Ned peered into Heverad's face—he was confused, dejected, and, one could swear, slightly frightened. This struck Ned as much as the general's appearance. Always trim, neat, and clean, even on the march, when there was nowhere to wash, Heverad now looked as if he'd spent the night in a ditch. He reeked of alcohol, his eyes were red, and his sockets were swollen with brown bags. He suddenly aged twenty years and looked like an ancient man. Heverad's eyes, which had always looked straight ahead, confidently and slightly arrogantly, now darted about, as if the general couldn't focus his gaze on one thing, couldn't concentrate on the most important thought.
A silence fell, and no one dared break it. Ned—because his status dictated that he shouldn't ask unnecessary questions; the general—because he didn't know how to start the conversation. He bit his lip and clenched his fists, as if gathering strength. Then he stood up abruptly and asked:
- Why did you come? What do you want?
"What do I want?" Ned asked, genuinely surprised. "You ordered me to come. And now you're asking me what I want?"
"She's my wife now, Ned," Heverad said sullenly, "and there's nothing I can do about it. That's just the way it is. What do you want in exchange for a peaceful resolution? Money? A title? What do you need?"
"Who – the wife? Why should I do anything about it? Mr. General, what are you even talking about?"
Ned wasn't just surprised; he was shocked by Heverad's tirade, and he didn't know what to think. Why on earth was the general going on about his wife? And to WHOM?! To his subordinate, a simple sergeant? He might not be exactly simple, but...
"Step twenty steps away from me!" Heverad ordered, looking at the head of the guard, and gave him a sign: "Be ready!"
The bodyguards obediently walked away from their master.
"Ned, sit down. I need to talk to you," Heverad nodded toward the chair the security chief had recently occupied and settled himself across from him so as not to block the trajectory of any potential shots.
Ned found himself with his back to the shooters, and his spine erupted in goosebumps—what was happening? What kind of miracles were these? Just in case, he began to gather energy, completely unconsciously, instinctively, as if before a fight.
- So, do you know who became my wife?
"How should I know, General?" Ned's eyebrows rose and he froze, his hands crossed in his lap.
Heverad paused, gathering his strength, and glanced back at the chief of security, who was gazing serenely at the general. Having calmed down, he continued:
- Your wife.
"What?" Ned winced. "What did you say?!"
- Your wife... ex-wife, Sanda, is now my wife.
"Is this some kind of joke, General?" Ned frowned. "Sanda is home now, waiting for me. I'm alive, I haven't divorced her. How can she be your wife? And why should she be? I don't understand the point of your joke. I don't think I deserve such mockery. Such jokes."
"Sanda Nitul, aka Sanda Brogan, is the king's bastard. A direct contender for the throne of the kingdom of Zamar. A few days ago, she married me here, in the capital of Zamar. Your marriage never existed. Sanda is a virgin, and you only dreamed it. It never happened. Remember? It never did! And I owe you one hundred thousand gold, the title of nobleman of the sixth... no, eighth rank, hereditary. And... an estate in the capital. On the southern outskirts. The house is not new, but quite decent. The money and the title will come when Sanda ascends the throne of the kingdom.
– Did you understand anything? What is he saying? My Sanda is his wife? How is this possible?! Why? I don't understand…
"I understood everything. Only a shepherd couldn't understand this. Your wife was stolen. And by the way, she knew what was happening. Women can't be trusted at all. They were given by the Creator only to satisfy the whims of men. And as skillfully as possible. Sanda, according to him, is a bastard, and the kingdom is having problems with the king. It looks like he's dying. And it's clear as day – Heverad decided to take advantage of the opportunity to climb onto the throne. Honor and praise to him – well done, soldier! And you're a fool who dreams of a naked wife and worries about his infidelity with a woman who, for some reason, calls herself the Great Atroc. And also – with her daughter, who's as nasty as her mother. You need to look at the world more simply, more simply! Just like the general. He needed to get to power – he went and stole a subordinate's wife! He's not the first, he won't be the last." Somehow they destroyed your marriage certificates, restored her virginity, and now she's moaning under Heverad in their marital bed! Remember how she scratched your back with pleasure? Remember how she screamed when you entered her? Ask the general to show you her back! You'll be interested to see the results of her nail work from the side!
- Shut up! Be quiet, I'll strangle you, you bastard!
"You don't love the truth... who does? Go ahead, kill the general, and you'll lose everything—your money, your power—and become a despised pariah. Where will you go? You'll be put on the wanted list as a state criminal. That same Sanda will do it! You'll kill her husband. Where will you go? Run away to Isfir? Or further? And there's no doubt you'll have to run very, very far. Take the money, take the title, the house—you'll always find yourself a woman. But this one isn't worth fighting for—she willingly went to bed with another man while being your wife. And she went to bed, I'm sure, for power, for money. You'll say she had no choice? Nonsense! There's always a choice. For example, to die. To die so as not to disgrace your husband. And so—do what's best for you." "Look what's going on around you," Heverad demanded, and he forgot that you had saved his life and the lives of many of his subordinates. Your colleagues. That's how you should behave. Like a real, intelligent politician. Like a grown man, not a shepherd from the village of Black Ravine.
- You, demon... what are you saying?!
"The truth. The truth you hide inside yourself. I am your mind. I am your cold calculation. And you yourself understood everything, but you just don't want to admit it – Sanda betrayed you. And you must do what suits you best."
- How is it beneficial for me...
Heverad looked at Ned, and goosebumps ran across his skin. Ned's large, veiny hands were white, clenched, and the veins themselves seemed to pulse. Ned had gone pale, and the look in his green eyes was heavy, terrible, deadly.
The general realized with horror that Ned was about to kill him. Another second, two, and… it would be over. He braced himself, lifting the paper knife so all the guards could see. All he had to do was open his fingers… and all that would remain of the sergeant would be memories.
Suddenly Ned leaned back in his chair, breathing heavily, his eyes half-closed and his face flushed as if he had been scalded with boiling water. The general did not drop his knife and looked hopefully at the sergeant:
"Are you willing to accept my offer? I would be very happy if you did. I need you, the kingdom needs you. What's more, I'm doubling the compensation—two hundred thousand gold pieces! That's a huge sum, you'll be able to stop working for the rest of your life, living off the interest alone! In your own home, with a new wife. I'm sorry it turned out this way. I'm worried about it, I regret it... If there was even the slightest chance to change things, I would! But it turns out this way... So what, Ned? Are you going to keep quiet? Do you agree to accept my offer?"
Ned peered at the man he once considered his friend. His chest burned, as if a hot coal had struck his heart. He wanted to punch her face, which reeked of fumes, but Sanda's face loomed before his eyes—beautiful, with lips as plump as flower buds. They always smelled of berries, and even now Ned suddenly tasted her sweet lips. Traitor! Yuragor was right—she was unworthy of his love, his loyalty. Right. And if he was right, then Ned should think of himself, not the slut who had abandoned him for personal gain.
"I agree," Ned's voice seemed alien, lifeless and cold, as if it was not he who was speaking, but another person who had temporarily occupied his body, "two hundred thousand gold, an estate, the title of a nobleman of the eighth rank."
"Good! Very good!" the general exhaled loudly, almost making Ned wince. Heerad's breath was foul, as if a cesspool had opened up before Ned. "I'll make you the head of the black magicians' agara! Together, we'll restore the authority of the demonologists, you'll earn a ton of money, you'll have a position in the state, you'll be first in line at my side! And the women—what are they, women?! Fie on them! They were created solely for us to have sex with!"
The general laughed creakily, wiping the foam from the corners of his pale lips, and asked:
"Is there anything else you want? I'll do anything! I'll give you everything! We've been and remain friends! You're like a son to me..."
"I want to see Sanda," Ned said suddenly, interrupting Heverad's praises, "I want to make sure that everything is as you said."
"You don't believe me?" the general frowned. "It's as I said. And I keep my word. After my wife ascends the throne, you will receive everything I said. There's just one thorny issue... a problem, so to speak."
– What kind of problem? Well, that's your problem. And I want to see Sanda.
"That's the problem," Heverad sighed. "Here, read it!"
Ned opened the note, which had suspicious stains on it—either blood or wine—and read: "She's alive. Mind your own business, don't act rashly. Make a mistake, and she'll die. And you'll die."
"What is this?" Ned asked, looking at the general in bewilderment. "Are you implying that..."
"Yes. Sanda was kidnapped. On the very first day after the wedding. I spent all these days searching for her, trying to find out where she was, but I couldn't. No one saw anything, no one knows anything. The kidnappers managed to scale a four-meter-high wall studded with sharp spikes, slip unnoticed past the guards—of which, as you can see, I have plenty—opened the bedroom window and silently smuggled my wife to an unknown destination. Almost everyone I told about it agreed that it was impossible. The few who admitted such a feat were vague and said magic was involved. And they also said they wouldn't advise me to get involved in this matter—otherwise they'd blow my head off. I spent a lot of money, bribed, greased the whistles, hired detectives and made deals with the city's gang leaders—nothing. Nothing. Everyone is silent.
"Now he's going to offer you the chance to find your stolen wife! Ah, good man, ah, General! Now I know why he won battles and why he was able to earn such status and fortune! Turning an enemy into a friend and making him work for you! Isn't that the highest art? Isn't that the height of a sophisticated, developed mind? You'll agree to look for the traitor, you definitely will! Right? And you know who did it and why..."
"Of course I know! And you know! After all, you are me. But then tell me—if you care so much about our skins—how can we take Sanda from the Brotherhood without dying in the process? How can we single-handedly defeat the Atrocs and take their coveted prize?"
"Joker! You don't know, and how should I know? As you rightly noted, I am you. Think. Figure it out. And the general is a fine fellow! Learn how to handle things properly. He came in from the flank, struck – bam! And with one blow, two boars. Straight through. Impaled on a spear!"
"Nobody impaled me! I can refuse – let him find his young wife himself, f-f-f-f him..."
"You know how to swear, of course, you're a shepherd. But you can't refuse. Just think about it—you'll save Sandu and get the money, the general will give you the money, that's for sure. He keeps his word, you know. And then there's the title, it's hereditary! Just imagine, you'll go from shepherd to nobleman, and quite a high rank at that! And your children and grandchildren will be noblemen—that's wonderful!"
"If you find Sanda and return her to me, another hundred thousand gold! No, two hundred thousand! And an estate in the south, bringing in twenty thousand gold a year. After she ascends the throne," the general clarified wearily. "You're my last hope. If you don't find her, they might kill her. And you won't get your money or your estates. Your title. The chance to become head of the agara. Agree!"
"Okay," Ned said in a wooden, raspy voice. "I might need money for expenses. And people. People I can trust. They need to be paid for their work, too. I'll take the note. Also, I might need some people I bring to inspect the scene of the kidnapping. Alert the guards."
Ned stood up and walked silently to the door, not waiting for the general's answer. Heverad jumped up:
- Wait, Ned! Wait!
He walked up to the sergeant in two long strides, gave a forced smile and, shaking his head, said:
"Honestly, I didn't mean to! I'll tell you later how it all happened! It couldn't have been any other way, believe me. I care about the country, about the people, and I will care about them when I rule Zamar! Forgive me... Here's my hand!"
The general awkwardly extended his right hand to shake Ned's in a military salute, as an equal to an equal. His hand was occupied—the paper knife he'd been clutching all this time was in the way. Heverad shifted it to his left, his palms sweaty, slippery from excitement and the alcohol he'd consumed. The knife slipped and fell to the carpet.
The general's slow, hungover reaction prevented him from quickly realizing what had happened, and Ned was saved by Heverad's involuntary placement in the trajectory of arrows and bolts, shielding the sergeant with his body. But this didn't stop the bodyguards from attacking Ned from all sides. They were prepared for battle, Ned was not. At least, that's what it seemed from the outside.
Having let the blades pass by, almost ripping his jacket along with his long-suffering flesh, the sergeant made an unthinkable jump, breaking free from the circle of steel stings.
Of course, these opponents weren't Shirduan fighters—they lacked skill, the deadly precision of their movements. But that's understandable: while Shirduan fighters cultivated the deadly art of killing, the bodyguards' job was entirely different—to protect their master from the attacks of enemies like the Brotherhood's warriors. To shield, to protect, even at the cost of their own lives. While Shirduan fighters mostly operated alone, and rarely in pairs or threes, the bodyguards were numerous, and their tactics consisted of drawing the enemy into combat, then picking them off from afar or simply overwhelming them with their mass—without any special sophistication or skill.
Now they acted in exactly the same way, according to all the canons of their difficult art. They didn't care whether the host had dropped the knife on purpose or whether the order to eliminate the guest hadn't been rescinded due to his stupidity. The main thing was that the order had been given, and now they had to earn their keep, demonstrating everything they had learned over many years.
And they were well trained. A simple soldier wouldn't have stood a second against Ned. The first two bodyguards who rushed the sergeant died after only five seconds. Three more after ten.
The general couldn't do anything—unfortunately, two bodyguards standing next to the chief of security rushed at the master and knocked him down, shielding him with their bodies. Huge, heavy-set men, clad in concealed chainmail, knocked Heverad down like two battering rams. He hit his head on the floor as he fell, and was practically unconscious, unable to comprehend or comprehend what was happening. Especially since two massive bodies lay on top of him, obscuring his vision and preventing him from moving.
Arrows and bolts flew through the gap. Ned skillfully parried them with his swords, but now he was in trouble. While fighting the guards, Ned leaped and dodged arrows like a caged animal. A sharp projectile to the head meant certain death. Anywhere else on the body was a piece of cake; he'd heal in seconds. Ned was charged with life energy, effectively channeled to him by the demons, but he couldn't live with a damaged brain.
- Hostage! Take the hostage!
Ned took Yuragor's hint and jumped to where a stunned Heverad was moaning on the floor, trying unsuccessfully to free himself from the heavy load.
An arrow whistled, and my left shoulder went numb. The arrow had pierced it, the tip emerging somewhere near my shoulder blade. My body didn't yet feel pain, and the charge of energy from the demons healed the wound, merging the blood vessels and stopping the bleeding. But naturally, the arrow couldn't be removed, and it rubbed against the bones of my body, sending warnings of damage to my brain.
Ned's sword pierced the prone man's back like paper, pinning him to the parquet floor. The other man's head flew off, clattering to the floor like a fallen stone vase. The bodyguards died as expected—protecting their target. And no one was to blame for their choice of duty. Except themselves.
Blood spurted from the guard's severed veins, spraying a hot stream over the general. He coughed, the iron-rich taste of blood seeming to sober him up and drive the stupor and delusion from his head. And then the horror of the situation dawned on him—everything he'd worked so hard to build, all ruined by one mistake, one stupid, accidental move! Had he been completely sober, had he not been drunk for hours, would he have committed such a folly? And now Heverad simply roared in disappointment—such a collapse, such a defeat! A drinking binge! This was it—the gods' punishment for drunkenness!
Ned jerked the general upright, easily tossing the guards' corpses aside. His strength seemed to multiply under the stress. The "tsu" energy pumped into his ghostly body forced his muscles, barely recovered from the previous fight, to work at full capacity.
Protected by the general, who was growling, apparently in rage, Ned stood against the wall, watching as fresh guards rushed through the doors of the fireplace room, forming a tight formation. An archer and crossbowmen emerged from cover and took aim at Ned, occasionally firing missiles. One of them had already caught the "target's" leg, cutting a deep, bloody streak down his thigh. The marksmen were very experienced and skilled, so firing between the general's legs to hit Ned was no problem.
"One more shot and I'll slit his throat!" Ned shouted, gasping with tension. The Right's blade was pressed to the general's throat, thin streams of blood flowing from beneath it—the sword was so sharp that the slightest touch to the skin parted it like water.
"Dude, don't be stupid," the security chief said calmly, raising his hand. The shooting immediately stopped, and the soldiers froze, weapons at the ready.
"If you kill the master, you won't leave here, and you know it. Yes, many will die, but we'll stud you with arrows like a pincushion. We'll bring nets, swaddle you, and then flay you alive. Lower your sword and let the general go. General, we await your orders! Oh, my gods, boy, let the master speak, you've already squeezed his throat, you idiot! He wants to tell us something!"
"Ugh... hrr..." Heverad tried to say something, then coughed, trying not to flinch and touch the sword's incredibly sharp blade. He caught his breath and said:
– Stop it! Stop it! Everyone out! Ned, this is a mistake, I'm sorry! Get out, you idiots! Everyone out and go to your posts! Riflemen, don't shoot! Bring clean clothes for him and me! Quickly! Ned, let's sit down, I'll explain everything to you…
"What's there to explain?!" Ned said harshly, watching suspiciously as the bewildered guards slowly filed out of the room, sheathing their swords, and the archers unbolted their crossbows. "Treachery! Plain and simple betrayal! They fooled me, and then decided to kill me. And when that didn't work, when your head was in danger, they came to their senses and began to hatch a new plan. What plan, that is the question! What are you planning, Lord Heverad?"
"I meant what I told you. I really need you. Forget about what happened here—it was a huge, stupid, dumb mistake! And I'm ready to swear to you on anything you want! Well, think about it: why would I kill you NOW? When I actually hired you to find my wife? When we agreed on everything? When everything turned out the way I wanted? The guards mistook the accidental drop of the knife for the command to attack. I admit, I was afraid of you. What if you turned out to be an unbalanced, unreasonable person and attacked me, taking revenge for me taking your wife. You know I calculate everything, I'm a strategist, I know how to negotiate with people, and I keep my word, because deception will cost me much more later! Do you remember a time when I didn't keep my word? Even my enemies know that if I promise, I will fulfill it, no matter the cost. And if I can't fulfill it, I make no promises. And given the absolute logic of my actions, what does this attack look like? Stupid, unnecessary, utterly idiotic. Yes, in life, it happens that the most well-thought-out plan, painstakingly crafted and thought out to the last detail, is ruined by a stupid accident. And that's what almost happened now. Ned, believe me!
- Is he lying?
"Hmm... most likely not. And really, why would he kill you now? Now you're his only hope of reviving his plan to seize the throne. A coincidence... oh, those coincidences. Anything can happen. Search my memory—how many people have been saved by pure chance, and how many have died, simply by being in the wrong place at the wrong time. The gods play strange games with us humans..."
- Do you think we should believe it?
"What else can you do? So what if you kill him? There are dozens of experienced, skilled bodyguards waiting outside the door. Yeah, you'll take out most of them. The rest, as the head of security rightly pointed out, will turn you into a prickly budros, riddled with arrows. Once you leave here, then you can think about how to avenge the attack and whether it's worth avenging. I think you need to believe."
"Well, Ned?" the general asked impatiently. "I'll compensate you for this stupid attack! One hundred thousand gold pieces – after I ascend the throne. Five hundred thousand gold pieces – all together! You'll be a rich man! I swear by everything holy that's in me – I'll keep my word. Change your clothes, they've been brought. I'll give you five hundred gold pieces now – to cover the expenses of searching for Sanda. Or do you need more? Speak up, don't be shy – I'll give you as much as you need. This matter is too important! A thousand gold pieces, better yet, a thousand. You'll get part in gold, the main part, and the rest – silver and copper. I'll give the orders. Hey, Shissar! Bring the treasurer here! Tell him I've ordered a thousand gold pieces to be given to the sergeant – eight hundred in gold, and two hundred in silver and copper. And get him a good horse. Quickly! Put the clothes on the table. Well, Ned?"
"Okay. I believe you," Ned said heavily, removing the sword from the general's neck, who exhaled loudly, like a munog emerging from the ocean only to take a deep breath before plunging back into the dark depths of the sea.
"Excellent. You won't regret it, Ned!" Heverad said cheerfully, his eyes shining as if he were running a high fever. He desperately wanted a drink, but the general was determined—that's it. Not a drop. At least until he ascended the throne. This last bender could cost him too much. His life.
The general's gaze fell on the corpses of the guards who had protected him with their bodies; he winced in pain and shouted through the half-open door of the hall:
"Get the head of security here! Remove the bodies... and this... everyone with a family will receive a hundred gold pieces of compensation and their salary until the end of the month."
- Who doesn't have a family?
"Well, they do have someone, right? Mother, father... why are you asking such nonsense? No means no. Give their pay to their comrades—for the repose of their souls, but don't pay compensation. That's it, clear up the bodies. Don't let anyone lay a finger on the sergeant, and if he comes, let him see me at any time of day or night. Especially if he comes with my wife. Is that clear?"
"Okay," the bodyguard said calmly, "can I go?"
"Go," the general said sullenly, "it's a pity that this happened to your guys."
"That's their job," the man shrugged, "and the guy really is good. Very good. It's wonderful that he's working for you now—I wouldn't want to have such an enemy. By the way, maybe I should invite a healer for him? He actually has an arrow sticking out of his shoulder..."
"Ned, should I get you a healer?" Heverad asked worriedly, only now noticing the arrow fragment protruding from Ned's left shoulder. No wonder something had been pricking Heverad's shoulder blade when the general stood pressed against Ned.
"No need," Ned said, throwing off his chopped-up jacket and shirt, leaving him bare-chested. He placed his swords on the edge of the table, so he could use them at any moment, taking no more than a split second.
Ned himself couldn't remember when the arrowhead broke off. Surely, it was while he was holding the general hostage. The tip, near his shoulder blade, had broken through the skin and stuck out about a finger's width. Pressing his palm against the broken piece, Ned pushed at it, hissing in pain. After Ned pulled the shaft, the tip almost completely exited his body. The arrow had passed very close to his heart, miraculously missing it.
Ned tried to grab the tip with his fingers, but failed - his fingers slid through the slippery blood, and the arrow, immediately covered in flesh again, was stuck firmly, like in a tree trunk.
"Tongs! Bring the tongs!" Ned shouted hoarsely, biting his lips and spitting bloody saliva onto the floor.
"Strong, lad!" the guard captain grumbled respectfully and ordered, "Brogal, hurry to the stables and get some horse shoeing pliers! And tell the groom to saddle a decent horse for the sergeant! Quick!"
The pliers arrived about ten minutes later, and a minute later Heverad watched with a shudder as Ned tried to pull out the tip, wincing in pain and sliding the steel lips of the pliers over the faceted tip.
"Let him help you!" Heverad said, nodding toward the head of security.
"No way," Ned grinned wryly, "there are few people in the world I'd let behind my back. I don't trust you, gentlemen."
"No wonder," the security chief chuckled. "Boy, it was a mistake, an accident. The boss is a decent man, always keeps his word. I won't touch you, don't worry!"
"Myself!" Ned gritted his teeth and tried to grab the tip again.
"Stop! Bring Kosta here!" Heverad decided. "Faster! Wait, Ned, don't torment yourself. Someone you trust will be here soon. Rest for now, sit down."
Ned sat down on a chair, keeping close to the hilts of his swords, and froze, pondering what had just happened. He smiled bitterly – today had been quite a day… And who was this Kosta they were bringing here? He knew only one Kosta, and he could only trust one Kosta… could it really be him?
The floor shook under heavy footsteps, and Ned turned toward the door.
Ned once asked Zheresar how much he weighed. But he merely grinned into his thick beard and boomed that he weighed as much as a real man should. And let all the skinny weaklings cry. Women love it when they have something to hold on to. However, he didn't specify what exactly women should hold on to.
- Oh! It's definitely him! I thought he was lying, the bastard!
"Who's the scoundrel?" Ned didn't understand.
"I'm a scoundrel," Heverad explained sourly. "I'm not his friend anymore, I'm a scoundrel. By the way, Kosta, if I really were a scoundrel, you'd be living on bread and water! And I wouldn't give you any medicine!"
"Scoundrel, scoundrel—scoundrel! Do you know he stole your wife? Scum! It's a shame you don't do magic. I wish I could plant a demon in his ass, make it come out through his front, give him a free passage for gas!"
"Old pervert," Heverad retorted dully. "Go on, heal your friend. Pull the arrow out of his back. He's not letting us, he says we'll stab him."
"And you'll kill me, rightly so. He won't let you near. Lits, garbage rats!" Zheresar cursed with relish. "May the worms eat you! May you never have anything with a woman except your shit! Can you imagine, they attacked me and smashed my head in! And then they kept me in a dungeon like a street robber! They fed me some kind of slop!"
"This dungeon is just a room with a strong door. And he almost knocked it down. And the slop is food from my table. He ate as much of it as a company eats in a week! And he drank a barrel of wine—the best, mind you!"
"Beasts!" Zheresar continued to curse, feeling Ned's back. "Traitor! Throw my friend into the dungeon!"
"I was going to let you out as soon as this was over! You would have ruined everything for me, you idiot! And who attacked whom, you have to see! He chewed up half a company before they took him down! He should be unleashed on the spearmen like a wild animal, not kept as a healer! Ugh!"
"It doesn't matter what you intended or didn't intend, the important thing is what you did. Be patient... whoops!" Zheresar pulled the arrow from Ned with one powerful movement of his hand. Blood spurted from the wound, but the hole immediately closed and the bleeding stopped.
For a moment, Zheresar, his eyes wide, watched as the wound on Ned's back healed, turning into a barely noticeable scar. Then he sighed and turned his gaze to the general, who watched in anguish as his loyal servants were carried out, reduced to sacks of bones.
"You chopped them up, Ned? Good job! That's it! And did you beat him up? That scoundrel? No? But you should have. So what are you going to do about this now? I'll testify in court, if necessary. I'll say that Sanda is your wife. You can count on me."
"He knows, don't waste your eloquence, defender of truth," Heverad said, sitting down wearily at the table. "Sanda was stolen..."
"How did they steal it?" the doctor raised his eyebrows in bewilderment.
- What, what! - the general exploded. - They took her away! Devoured her! Carried her away on wings! What nonsense are you talking?! They kidnapped her. Now Ned will look for her. He will find her and return her to me.
"You? What do you mean?" the doctor gasped. "Why you?"
"She's my wife because. And because it has to be that way," the general retorted. "I'll explain everything later. You're free to go wherever you want. If you want, go to work. If you want, go wherever you want. You won't trust me now, so I don't expect you to stay with me."
"I won't stay," Zheresar shook his head. "After what happened, I won't stay. I'll go home, open my own practice, and live the life I want. I'll stop wandering around battlefields, stop fixing the hacked, cut, and pierced. I'll treat runny noses, hernias, and constipation."
"And thank the gods," Heverad nodded, "I'm happy for you, my friend. Indeed, that's enough. I'll give you some severance pay—you'll get it from the Corps office. It's for setting up the medical ward. And... I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything. It just happened that way."
"That's what everyone says," Zheresar said vaguely, then suggested, "So, Ned, shall we go? You can tell us there what happened... what you traded your wife for, how that huckster in uniform managed to break you."
"Oh, Kosta, Kosta, you're incorrigible," the general chuckled sadly. "Ned, the money for expenses is in the sacks on the saddle, they reported it to me. Count it. If you find even one copper missing, I'll skin the men who stuffed it in the sacks. Come on, son, find it! A lot depends on it… people's lives. Now get out of here. I need to rest. I've had enough of this for today. Hey, Sitrog, get me a bath and some masseuses ready – I need to take care of my health. And plenty of drink – my mouth is dry. No wine! Enough, I've had my fill…"