The gate slammed shut behind Ned, he nudged his horse with his boot heels, and the stallion, ears twitching and eyes cast sideways at the suspicious figure on the right, strode forward, its hooves clicking briskly on the pavement.
The figure on the right grabbed the stirrup and walked alongside, muttering discontentedly:
"I should have shaken the damned general onto a horse! But, frankly, I was so eager to get out of there that I didn't even think about it. Would he have given me a horse?"
"I would," Ned replied sullenly. He couldn't decide what to do. One thing was clear: Ned couldn't go north now.
"Where are you headed?" Zheresar inquired. "Maybe we could sit down, talk, discuss it? Do you have any ideas on how to begin the search for Sanda?"
"Honestly, no," Ned admitted. "But that doesn't mean anything. They will. As for sitting down—another time, okay?"
"Okay," Zheresar said, visibly upset. "How can I help you? Don't be shy, tell me!"
"Nothing," Ned snapped. "You don't need to get involved in this. Just file your severance pay, go home, pick up the guys, and start treating the whole gang. You've had enough of this war. You've had enough of this problem."
"As you say," Zheresar agreed unexpectedly easily, looking at Ned with respect. "You've matured, Ned. You were already serious beyond your years, and now... you're a man. Good luck to you. I hope we meet again."
Zheresar extended his hand to Ned, who shook the healer's thick wrist. Then Zheresar turned abruptly and walked right, down an alley. Ned stood there, watching the healer go, and after a couple of minutes quietly touched his horse. His heart was heavy—would they ever get to meet again? Zheresar seemed offended that Ned wasn't going to share his plans for finding Sanda. It was as if he'd cast him out as a friend. But Ned didn't want to put the healer in danger. This wasn't his thing. Let him rest. He deserved it. So what? The main thing was he'd live.
It took Ned at least an hour and a half to reach Senerad's house. He had to squeeze between the carts that filled the city—it felt as if merchants from all over the world had converged here. Wagons, carts, and carts of various sizes filled the already not-so-quiet city, filling the air with the neighing, bleating, and shouting of red-faced drivers.
The army, stationed in the suburbs and partially entering the city, must be fed and maintained. When else will such a favorable moment for trade arrive? And besides the regular army, dozens of mercenary detachments have amassed in the capital, descending like a flock of vultures on carrion. Where there is politics, where there is coups, there is power; there are mercenaries earning their living through their hard military labor.
"It's going to start soon," the townspeople gossiped, while the rich people recruited fighters - some to protect themselves and their loved ones during the turmoil, and some, on the contrary, to organize this turmoil, to support it, to try to tear off at least a small piece of the state for themselves.
Food prices rose. Shoes, clothing, weapons—everything that might be of interest to soldiers and mercenaries—sharply increased in price.
Finally, the obstacles and congestion were cleared. Ned threw the reins over the hitching post by the familiar porch and swung from the saddle, inhaling deeply the intoxicating scent of the flowers, their fleshy red buds unfurling. Cenerad said these flowers were brought from the southern jungles and fed on insects. Ned had never seen such plants, but the healer claimed there were more exotic plants in the world, plants that humans couldn't even imagine. Plants that could cast spells. Whether this was true or not, Ned couldn't yet verify. He knocked on the door of the healer's room, which immediately swung wide, as if whoever was standing there had been expecting Ned's arrival at any second.
"He's here!" Amela leaped at Ned, and the boy barely managed to stay on his feet. "Grandfather said you might not come out of there! Grandfather! He's here! You said so!"
Amela kissed Ned on the lips, ignoring Harald and Isa's disapproving looks, which condemned her lack of restraint. She stuck her tongue out at her brothers and dragged Ned along with her, grabbing his hand.
Ned leaned against the doorframe, resisting the persistent girl, and, winking at Isa, asked:
"Please take the bags off the horse! And bring them into the house. There's money in there, a thousand gold pieces, and I wouldn't want it to go to waste. And anyway, the horse needs to be unsaddled. We're not going anywhere yet."
Isa raised an eyebrow in surprise, then nodded and slipped out the door to fulfill the request. Ned walked into the room where Imar and Cenerad sat at a table, discussing the properties of some plant. Ned understood that this plant was used to make a particularly capricious poison, one that would kill a person for sure, but delay death for a week, and which would induce the symptoms of a severe cold. Noticing Ned, they paused in their highly scientific discussion about the time for digging up the rhizomes. The old atroc asked, smiling slightly and watching as Amela dragged Ned to a chair and almost forcibly seated him on the wooden seat:
"From what I heard from your conversation with Isa, you had a pretty successful trip. You got your money and, presumably, some time off to get your affairs in order? By the way, why are you wearing someone else's clothes? Where are yours?"
The smile faded from Imar's face and he looked closely at Ned's face, saw a drop of dried blood near his ear and, shaking his head, sighed:
"An ambush, huh? You were ambushed? Who was it? Shirduan's men? The general's men? Someone else? Come on, tell me everything in order. Amela, put some water on to boil, we'll brew some herbs. And we need lunch. Does the esteemed host mind if I'm in charge here?"
"No, no, my dear Imar," Senerad smiled contentedly, "let him manage. I've been meaning to hire a servant or get married, but I just don't have the time. Besides, I've gotten used to living alone. I take care of myself. But it's getting difficult—I'm not old enough."
"So, for you, marrying and hiring a servant are the same thing?" Amela snorted and went into the kitchen, her entire back expressing disapproval of her grandfather's order. She desperately wanted to hear Ned's story.
"She's a naughty girl," Senerad chuckled, "but she's cute. Ned, you should marry her if you weren't already married! She'll definitely get you into the world, even if you don't want to!"
"And it turns out I'm not married," Ned said with a stony face, leaning back wearily in his chair.
"What do you mean?" the doctor didn't understand. "But you said you were married to a certain Sanda. You've been blabbering on about this Sanda for so long, and now you're not married?"
- So it turns out that way... listen.
Ned spent about twenty minutes describing what had happened at Heverad's. The men were silent, and when he finished, they began asking questions. This took another twenty minutes—he had to explain where Sanda had come from, who Jeresar was, and so on. The entire story came in about forty minutes—one could say Ned's entire life had been told.
While Ned spoke, he neither ate nor drank—he couldn't, nothing would go down. Only when he finished did he take a sip of the herbal infusion, warm as blood.
The thought of blood made him feel sick to drink, and Ned pushed the mug away. Amela, who had been looking at him sympathetically, began to fuss and ran into the kitchen, shouting:
- I'll pour you something hot now! Poor thing!
"Where are my twenty years?" Senerad said with a grin, watching Amela's shapely figure leave. "I wouldn't let such a beauty slip away! Looks like she's got her eye on you, Ned. That girl's the kind who won't let go of what's hers and will snatch up what's not!"
"That's for sure," Imar chuckled involuntarily, "an unyielding little bug! She always gets her way!"
"Grandpa, how many times have I told you – don't call me a bug! I hear everything, everything! It's because of you, Grandpa, that those two blockheads call me an insect! Would you like it if they called you an insect? A beetle, for example? Grandpa-bug, sounds good, right?"
"I'll give you a spanking!" Imar replied curtly, deliberately frowning and making a stern face. "Speak, and don't waste your time!"
"It's always like this!" Amela squealed pitifully. "What about me? You can do that! But what about the men? Don't touch them! By the way, when are we going to beat up those scoundrels? We need to get the girl out of their clutches! What are you all sitting around talking nonsense for? We need to go and rescue her!"
"First, we need to hear what Ned himself thinks about how to rescue his wife. And what it would entail, anyway. If they destroyed all the evidence of Ned and Sanda's marriage, then the situation would look like this: some young man, a sergeant, fell in love with his commander's wife and is lying, tarnishing the general's good name. He's spinning tall tales about her, Sanda, being his, the sergeant's, wife."
"And the witness, Geresar? A respected man?" Amela asked with interest, emerging from the kitchen with a boiling kettle. "Other people? As I understand it, hundreds of people witnessed the wedding, everyone saw that Sanda is Ned's wife. HOW can they hide it?"
"They don't care," Senerad shrugged. "If you knew what crimes, what events they covered up, preventing further investigation, you'd be amazed. Money and power can do anything. Everyone can be bought!"
"Not all of them!" Amela hugged her grandfather and laid her head on his shoulder. "You can't buy Grandpa!"
"Well... maybe just Grandfather," Senerad chuckled. "The price might not just be money, though, but, for example, the lives and health of relatives. A peaceful family life. And that's just for not remembering who's whose wife. Understand, it all depends on how you approach this matter. You could find dozens, hundreds of witnesses who will testify that Ned is lying, that Sanda is Heverad's wife, and that the sergeant is nothing but a pathetic liar. See, your grandfather is silent. He knows how it's done."
"Yes, he's right. It's not the most difficult operation, though it's a hassle. Let's go back to the beginning: what does Ned think about how to search for Sanda?"
"I need to take a hostage. Beat the information out of him. And then go from one hostage to the next until one of them reveals my wife's location. What else can I do?"
"Hmm... crude, straightforward, but perhaps effective. However, I must say—it will take a long time, and when Shirduan's fighters start disappearing, the cell commanders will immediately report to the Atrocs, who will draw their own conclusions. And then the full might of the Brotherhood will be unleashed upon the enemy. And believe me, no matter how prepared you are, you won't be able to resist. And I'm not sure you'll survive. A lot of people will die, and whether you'll free Sanda is anyone's guess. They could even kill her in retaliation. No, that's not the answer. You have no idea how inventive the Brotherhood is and how they can hide those they shouldn't show. Well, you do. You've forgotten who you are..."
"What if we find Silena, capture her, and then demand an exchange from the Great Atrok?" Amela suggested. "That would be a good trade!"
"Good," Imar chuckled. "Just don't forget that Silena Atroc, practically Great Atroc, is incredibly difficult to capture. Almost impossible. And besides, who said Great Atroc would exchange her for Sanda? Who said Great Atroc would allow himself to be controlled? As far as I know, my daughter would rather have Silena killed than let anyone dictate her terms."
"What if we capture her? The Great Atrok?" Harald said, settling down on the sofa by the window and carefully observing the goings-on outside. "Silena will exchange her mother for Sanda, and that's it."
"And if she doesn't exchange it?" the old man chuckled again. "What if she says, 'Well, chop off her head then?' After all, they're in some kind of standoff right now. Silena's aiming for the Great Atrok's place. You'll play right into her hands. And after the Great Atrok's death, we'll all be wiped off the face of the earth."
"So what's the solution?" Amela was confused. "You described the situation as if there's no solution! None!"
"Any other opinions?" The old man surveyed the assembled group with a searching gaze. "Does everyone think there's no way out?"
"Kill the entire Brotherhood! Declare war on the Atrocs!" Isa intervened. "Cut them all out! You know all the passages, all the secret hiding places! We'll destroy the bastards! Stop causing them harm!"
"And that's a possible solution," Imar nodded sadly. "Yes, I know a lot. And the damage the Brotherhood would suffer could be enormous. Yes, with enough skill and luck, it's possible to exterminate most of the Brotherhood. Just note, the chances of dying are so high that I'd be surprised if two of the six of us survive this epic war. This isn't some aristocratic brat-punching thing; this is Shirduan. The best of the best fighters in this world, unrivaled killers. Any other thoughts? Ned?"
"Make sure they need Sanda. So they'll get her from her hiding place. And when they get her, when she's in plain sight, they won't have to look for her," Ned said wearily. "And to do that, they'll have to kill all the other heirs. Who's left? The king's son? Kill him. And then Sanda will be dragged into the light, and they'll negotiate with Heverad. They'll have no other choice. However, another option is to abandon everything and live as they have, waiting for the right moment to make things right."
"Hmm... yes, basically, yes," Imar nodded. "If Bordonar is killed, their entire scheme will collapse. But let's consider this: do they understand this or not? Does the great Atroc understand this? Let's not underestimate her mental abilities. I'm sure she does. Which means Bordonar is now surrounded by a ring of protection you couldn't even imagine. We have only one advantage: they are the prey, and we are the hunters. And they don't know where the attack will come from."
"Why didn't anyone think of kidnapping the prince?" Harald interjected. "Exchange him for Sanda. That's the exchange they'll definitely agree to."
"Well done, grandson," Imar said after some thought. "Yes, that's a good solution. But it's difficult, very difficult. Imagine—a grown man surrounded by guards, state security agents, and Brotherhood fighters! And he needs to be dragged through all the barriers. And alive. How? When Sandu was stolen, the Brotherhood only had mercenaries and soldiers to fight, and their level of training was far below that of the Shatriyas. And even then, of course, they had to use Atrocs with illusion magic, otherwise the outcome could have been unpredictable. And illusion magic might not work against the Shatriyas—they have special amulets. It's simpler, after all, to kill the prince and then negotiate with the Brotherhood. Knowing that General Heverad keeps his word, they'll negotiate with him. Besides, if necessary, they can take revenge—later. Killing the king isn't that difficult. Troublesome, yes. It would cause a stir, an investigation—yes. But it's possible." Kings were assassinated, and their killers weren't always found. No, that's not true—someone was always executed for murder, but whether those executed were the true killers is debatable. Heverad is a proponent of legalizing demonologists, so they can certainly come to an agreement with him. Ned's plan is the most effective and simplest. And this, as I taught you, is the shortest path to success. Only one question arises in this case... We'll have to leave everything as is—Sanda is General Heverad's wife, the future queen, and she must ascend the throne. And no revelations. Do you understand? As long as Heverad is on the throne, as long as he pleases everyone, nothing will happen to him or Sanda. Incidentally, they could try to eliminate Sanda and marry the general to Silena. Or even to my daughter. The law allows the dowager king to marry anyone, as long as his bride is of noble birth. And they are both of noble birth. After recent events, Great Atroc is unlikely to allow Silena to marry the king and escape his control. Incidentally, Great Atroc could execute Silena if he learns she attempted to kill her. What does Ned think about this? Will he be able to overcome his love and jealousy by leaving his wife, Heverada?
"Why don't you take Sanda herself into account?" Amela couldn't resist. "What if she says, 'Screw you all'? I want to be with my husband, and that's it! Then what will you do?"
"Yes, that's not out of the question," Imar nodded. "Women are unpredictable. I've never known what you might do in a minute. And most importantly, no amount of repression has ever worked. In my opinion, women never think about what will happen if they do this or that. They only think about what they need to do now. I'm not saying all women are like that, but… life has taught me to think exactly like that. In Sanda's case, here's my opinion: we need to make sure she has no choice. If Ned is determined to tie his life to her."
"Why would he want to spend his life with her?" Amela snorted. "I wouldn't go to bed with someone I didn't love! No matter how much they pressure me, no matter how much they intimidate me! I don't give a damn about their intimidation! It's better to die than give in!"
"Little bug, you're not exactly an ordinary woman," Imar smiled. "I raised you. Raised you to be a man—for better or worse. A woman gives you only a body and desires. A man gives you an unbending will and strength. Your aunt is the same. An iron woman. Unbending. And Sanda... well, what about Sanda? An ordinary girl, romantic, intelligent, with a little quirk—judging by Ned's story. What do you expect from a simple girl?"
"I just want Ned to understand that she betrayed him, and therefore is unworthy of his hand!" Amela snapped. "She had a way out! Everyone has a way out! At least to die with honor! What did she choose? To crawl under an old man?"
"Ugh! What kind of language is that?!" Imar frowned menacingly. "You may be a man at heart, but behave like a girl! After all, you're of old noble birth—where are your manners?"
"Come on, Grandpa," Amela waved her hand, "no time for manners. You know I'm right. And Ned knows it. There he sits, stunned, silent. Why are you silent? Say something! Tell me, do you want a wife who's been in another man's bed because that's what she had to do at the time? Who didn't get up and say, 'Screw you all! I have a husband!' Who..."
"Shut up!" Imar slammed his heavy palm down on the table so hard that the silver spoons rattled on the saucers. "You're crossing the line! I don't recognize you! What's got you so worked up?"
"She's got a crush on Ned," Isa said sarcastically, lounging on the couch. "She dreams of stealing him away from his wife and jumping into bed with him! She spent all day asking us about Ned: what he likes, what he doesn't like, what kind of women he likes. Did you see her hairdo? Who do you think she's doing it for? And instead of pants, she wore a tight dress—to show him her ass."
"Fool!" Amela, red as a boiled lobster, deftly threw a pie at Isa, who caught it and eagerly took a large bite. He chewed it and added in the ensuing silence:
- What of it? The insect is a good girl. Marry her, Ned! Forget about Sanda. I agree with the bug – Sanda behaved somehow... wrongly. That's my opinion. And Hara thinks so too. Right, Hara?
"It's true," the boy managed to squeeze out. "I'm sorry, Ned... she had a choice. And she chose. And now it's your choice. We'll get her out. But I wouldn't advise you to tie your fate to hers."
"Thank you for your opinions," Ned said woodenly and dully. "I've taken them into consideration. When you get married, I'll be giving you advice too. I hope you'll take advantage of it."
"Don't be offended, Ned," Senerad shook his head. "They speak from the heart, albeit a little harshly. No one but you will decide what to do. The situation here is this: the liberation operation must be carried out in such a way that Imar, for example, is not forced into a situation where he's forced to break his word. Do you understand? No one wants to hurt you, no one. Everyone is here for you. Even I, an old stump who can barely walk without a cane, am ready to help in any way I can!"
"Hmm... imagine, we agreed with the Brotherhood that they would release Sanda by agreement with Heverad, promised that she would ascend the throne, bringing her husband with her, and suddenly, when they released her, she says: 'I don't want to marry Heverad! I won't take the throne! Here's my husband, and I don't want anyone else!' And then what? And then there will be such turmoil, such upheaval, that the country will be washed in blood. And us too. Ned and Sanda will be pursued by the Brotherhood's men—until Ned is killed, until Sanda is captured and forced to lie to whomever they choose. She is an enviable prize. And as long as she lives, no one will leave her alone. You will never live in peace, you will always expect a blow from the darkness, from the bushes, from everywhere.
"Leave Sanda Heverada?" Ned asked bitterly. "Just imagine what that would be like."
"I can imagine," Imar nodded. "And I propose this: we negotiate with the general so he won't lay claim to Sanda's body. What does he want, after all? Power? Get it. And what about the body? What, aren't there enough women? Heverad is a man of his word, a smart politician, a skilled schemer. He wouldn't trade power for a girl's smooth bottom."
Amela snorted indignantly, and Imar continued:
"Sanda's no fool; she'll understand it's right, too. And once she's firmly established on the throne, she can give it up in favor of Heverad. If she wants. And you'll test how strong her feelings are. If she truly loves you, she'll give up power, the throne, and marry you. She can divorce Heverad, of course; the law allows it. And you'll test yourself—do you trust your wife? Do you love her, do you trust her? If you don't trust her, what kind of family life can there be?"
Imar fell silent, and an oppressive silence fell. They could hear the buzzing of flies somewhere in the rooms, scurrying about in search of food, the whistling and cursing of carters somewhere in the distance, urging their horses on, and the hoarse breathing of Cenerad, who was looking at Ned's grim face. Then Harald said:
"Ned, Grandpa laid it all out perfectly. Honestly, you couldn't have said it better! Admit it, there's not a single flaw in the logic!"
"Yes," Ned sighed. "That's exactly it. Well, let's proceed according to this plan."