Heverad's house resembled a besieged fortress - there were arrows on the walls, the road to the alley where the house stood was blocked with logs secured to trestles - you couldn't just walk or drive through, whether you wanted to or not, you had to linger.
The procession of four men and a girl was met with suspicion—the newcomers were armed, each with a sword, some with two. The leader of the detachment stepped forward and, his hand on the hilt of his sword, asked menacingly:
- Who and for what reason? Are you assigned?
Ned stepped forward and said calmly, without emotion:
- To General Haverad, Sergeant Ned Black.
"Black?!" The guard nearly flinched, his stunned expression clearly evident at the stranger's name. "We have orders to let you in day and night. The general is waiting. Gentlemen, is there a lady with you?"
- With me.
"Then come in. I'll give you a guide now. Can you duck under the log, or do we have to remove it?" the guard asked hesitantly, then realized he should have lifted the thick log without asking. Very important guests had arrived. General Heverad wasn't expecting everyone so impatiently that he gathered all the guards and told them the name of the one he was expecting.
"Let's dive," Ned smiled and easily slipped under the barrier hanging at stomach level. "Tell me, why such security measures? Did something happen?"
"The king is dead," the guard nodded curtly. "We're expecting unrest; all troops have been put on alert and are on combat alert. There may be an assassination attempt on General Heverad; we've been warned."
He paused for a moment, then added sheepishly:
– Actually, you can't approach a general with a weapon… but if he insisted so much that he wanted to see you…
"He wants to, he wants to," Amela grinned slyly, adjusting two swords, almost copies of those that Ned had, only shorter, "we are his hope and support!"
"You?" The guard skeptically eyed Amela's thin figure, her snub nose wrinkling playfully, and turned away, apparently deciding that with such a feeble support, the general's affairs would soon go into decline.
They were brought to the same fireplace room where something irreparable almost happened during Ned's conversation with the general.
Heverad met them almost at the threshold and, running up, asked with concern:
- Found it? Well, you say you found it?!
Ned looked closely at his former commander—he now looked like himself, like the Heverad, the commander, the officer the sergeant had known him as. Trim, clean-shaven, smelling of masculine incense, dressed in a comfortable field uniform, pressed so smoothly that the creases in the trousers seemed like you could cut yourself.
- Why are you silent? Did you find it or not?
"We need to talk." Ned glanced at the table in the middle of the fireplace room, and the general, pulling himself together, nodded:
- Yes, sure.
He gestured for the newcomers to come to the table and said to the servant:
– Set the table, quickly!
And he turned to Ned again:
– I have a feeling this conversation will be long and difficult, right?
"Okay," Ned nodded again, "let's sit down."
They settled themselves at a long table. Ned and his companions on one side, the general on the other. They sat in silence, and when the silence began to drag on, the general asked again:
- Found it?
- Found it.
"Phew... thank the gods!" the general exclaimed, covering his face with his hands.
Ned looked at the man, his heart aching. He tried to determine what was behind the general's cry, what feelings, what desires? Was it a desire for power or to take the sergeant's wife to bed?
Ned felt disgusted and looked down at the tabletop to avoid seeing the happy face of the man he had previously respected and considered his friend.
"What did you expect? He's doing the right thing. He needs power—he takes it. He needs a woman—he takes her, no matter the consequences. But there's one thing I don't understand: why the hell is he performing these complicated dance moves, trying to gain power when he has the most powerful and efficient army in the country at his disposal? Wipe out the heirs from the palace! Kill the dissatisfied! Throw a riot of sacrifices—so they'll fear him, so they'll respect him! That's what I would have done."
"He's not you. He wants a legitimate pretext for seizing power. So that anyone who opposes him is opposing Zamar's legitimate authority. He wants to preserve the country, not drench it in bloodshed."
"Well... that's also reasonable. But it'll be long and complicated. Be careful—the real thing is about to begin..."
– The main thing will begin when the Great Atrok comes.
"That's also true. But still, be on your guard. And before the negotiations, ask Imar to cast a visibility spell. It will work in this room, and anyone who enters will be immediately visible. I fear the Great Atrok is already here, and then..."
- True. That's right!
"So, Ned, I'm waiting for a report—where you found Sanda, what condition she's in, and your plans for her release. Or have you already released her?"
"Imar, cast a visibility spell—for the entire room!" Ned commanded, ignoring the general, whose brow furrowed slightly at his disregard. But Ned turned to the general and explained, "The kidnappers' spies could be here, hidden by magic. We need to prepare the room before we talk. Also, at noon, when the town hall bell rings, the head of the kidnappers will be here. For negotiations. Now be silent! Imar, begin!"
The old man walked around the room, reciting spells, then sat down and sighed with relief:
"No. Everything's fine. We can talk. The spell will last about three hours. Two hours until noon, a little less. We have time."
"Good. Let's begin!" Ned nodded. "So, General, my... Sanda was kidnapped by a secret organization that was planning to put their man on the throne. A girl. By marrying her off to Prince Bordonar. The girl didn't need any competition. Sanda is with them and, as far as I understand, alive. Until the power crisis is resolved, not a hair will fall from her head. She's a bargaining chip."
"Does this mean they can't put their own man on the throne now? And does it also follow from your words that something happened to Bordonar?"
"Yes. Bordonar has disappeared. I don't want to go into details, but he's fallen out of the running for the throne. The situation now is this: Sanda is the only direct heir left. She's in the hands of the kidnappers. These people are out of work. Of course, they could try to pull off the same operation as you, marry the girl off to their man, put him on the throne, but... they won't do that. There's no time, and you won't allow someone who's officially your wife to sit on the throne. We've arranged for the kidnappers to be at your house at noon—we'll discuss Sanda's return and what they'll get for it. And we're not talking about ransom money, although money is the key, of course. They want power. And something else... which we'll discuss later. We must ensure that you ascend to the throne, and then pay for all the services rendered to you. You're a man of your word, and the kidnappers know it." But if you break your word, you will be killed as easily as swatting a fly.
"The king! In his own kingdom?" Heverad shook his head in disbelief. "Who are these brave souls who decided to stand up to the most powerful people in the kingdom?"
"This is the Shirduan organization. Demonology," Ned said briefly and saw the general's eyes widen, as if he had seen an unknown monster.
"Where from?! How?" the general choked, coughed, then added hoarsely, "Where did they come from? They were exterminated, every last one!"
"As you can see, not all of them. They live among us. Hiding behind the guise of ordinary people. They kill, intrigue, and scheme. Bordonar was supposed to marry a girl from the Shirduan organization. The Brotherhood's fighters wanted to legitimize themselves, to make the worship of Death the dominant religion in the kingdom. They mainly wanted power, of course. Power and money. And they had everything in place, until Sanda and... us showed up. And now let's decide what you'll give the Brotherhood for the girl's return and for them not interfering with your ascension to the throne. But first, let's clarify our relationship."
"Ours? What relationship?" the general was genuinely surprised. "I told you – I'll give you money, five hundred thousand gold pieces. Eighth rank of nobleman, hereditary. No, even tenth rank! Tenth! Two estates – one in the capital, one outside the city, bringing in a decent income. What else? You want more money? Let's negotiate. Some other titles? Boons? Anything is possible – for example, the title of my first advisor, head of the agara of demonologist mages. We'll legalize demonology, you'll train combat mage officers, and they'll serve in the army. Everything will be fine!"
"That's wonderful," Ned nodded grimly, tapping his fingers on the table, "but I haven't forgotten that you stole my beloved wife from me. My wife. You held her by force, forced her into an illegitimate marriage."
"Ned, come on, seriously," the general snapped irritably. "Don't you have enough women? I'll send you twenty girls instead! The finest beauties, daughters of the finest noble families! And they'll be delighted to marry a Knight of the Star of Courage, a Knight of the Order of Great Bornar, a Knight of the Order of the Golden Sword—you'll receive all of this for your exceptional service to the throne. You can marry them all at once! Do you want me to issue a decree later allowing you to marry fifty women at once?! But I wouldn't recommend it—you wouldn't be able to handle fifty of their mothers eating your liver and pecking your brains." The general laughed—somehow unnaturally, shrilly, apparently from nervous tension.
Ned was silent, waiting for the general to stop laughing, then said:
"There's one more condition to all of the above... You mustn't touch Sanda. You mustn't cohabit with her as a man and a woman. But when you're in public, you'll pretend to be her husband. You want power—you'll have it. But I won't give you my wife so easily." Ned looked up and fixed the general with a heavy, dead gaze, and the general felt a shiver run down his spine.
"Actually, I didn't take Sanda after the marriage was consummated in the Temple of Celera," the general said thoughtfully, lowering his eyes. "Sanda wouldn't let me into her bed, and it's not my habit to take a woman without her consent. I'm neither a maniac nor a scoundrel. Her virginity at the time of marriage is recorded in the temple's books. But the marriage is invalid as long as she remains a virgin. After she ascends the throne, before handing over the reign to me as her co-ruler, she must no longer be a virgin. Do you understand?" The general glanced askance at the newcomers, his gaze settling on Neda. "Whether she does it herself or someone helps her, it must be done. Keep that in mind. Furthermore... Yes, power is more important to me. And if not for the circumstances, I would never have laid eyes on your wife except to admire her youth and beauty. It's not my habit to seduce my girlfriends and friends' wives. I consider it base. Okay, I agree to this condition, though it's unpleasant for me. I will find myself a woman. But you must guarantee that Sanda ascends to the throne and doesn't protest, declaring that she doesn't need the throne and that she won't do anything. I promise I won't touch her as a woman unless... unless she herself wants it. Let's give her a choice? I think she's earned it.
"Okay," Ned nodded, "I guarantee I'll persuade Sanda to ascend the throne, explain our arrangements to her, and let her make her choice. How long should she remain on the throne?"
"A year. In a year, she will be able to hand over her powers to her husband, the co-ruler, and retire," Heverad responded immediately. "In a year, she can go wherever she pleases, she will be given an allowance worthy of a queen, and granted a divorce. She will live as she wishes."
"You're so simple..." Amela's voice suddenly came through. "He guarantees it! And I'd send everything—the throne, the power, the money—and just leave with you! And if she's not a fool, she'll do it! Did you even ask her? Does she want it or not?"
"Before you ask, we need to get her out of the clutches of Shirduan's fighters," Ned muttered. "And keep quiet!"
"Who is this?" Heverad asked with interest, glancing at Amela.
"Calm down, she's definitely not a bastard!" Amela snapped. "You only have a thing for bastards!"
"It's a pity she's not a bastard," Heverad smiled, "I like lively girls. If only we had a Queen Zamara like her, we wouldn't have any problems!"
"Thank you," Amela blushed slightly under the watchful gaze of her companions and the general. "I'll just sit back in my place sometime."
"And what place? Who are you, beautiful warrior? Are you free? They won't give me Sanda, perhaps you'll do me the honor of marrying me in a year?" Heverad continued grinning. "Are you a noblewoman?"
"Eighth rank," Imar remarked dryly, "my granddaughter. Let's get back to our business. We have too little time to deal with matters befitting the worshipers of Celera. Amela, one more word and you'll get such a slap in the face from me..."
"I'll keep quiet, I'll keep quiet!" Amela turned away indignantly and muttered under her breath, "They only see women as bed partners and giggling fools! The power of men! Idiots!"
"That's how we live!" Imar spread his arms, sighing heavily. "Get to business, gentlemen, get to business. Ned, we're listening!"
The conversation dragged on for an hour and a half, and it wasn't until midday that it was all over. Ned had been cast in a strange role here—peacemaker, politician. And to whom? A shepherd from a distant village! However, he hadn't been a shepherd for a long time, and the knowledge of Yuragor, a ruthless schemer and tough politician, stored within him helped put pressure on the general and prepare the proud officer and nobleman for the inevitable—humiliation at the hands of unknown kidnappers.
It took a great deal of effort to implant in Heverad's mind the idea that if he, the brave general, attempted to capture the Great Atroc, then certain death awaited him, as certain as if he had held a wamba snake to his head, or even more certain. Neither Ned nor the others would interfere in the battle—they had promised there would be no fighting, only negotiations. Moreover, it was possible they would intervene in the battle Heverad had unleashed on the side of the kidnappers—to save face. After all, they had promised peace! They had given their word!
The last argument most likely convinced the general.
The half hour before the noon bell passed quietly: people drank juices, ate pieces of smoked meat with flatbread, greens, and feasted on pastries—everything had been said, so what else was there to say? They'd have enough to say, there would be time…
And the time had come. Just before the bell rang, a guard ran into the room and whispered something to the general. He nodded, the guard ran off, and Heverad turned to the newcomers:
- We have some lady here. Is this from them?
"That's her, Great Atroc," Ned chuckled. "And don't let her be a lady. This lady is more dangerous than a wamba, more dangerous than a herd of buffalo, more dangerous than a hurricane. Treat her with all due respect and... caution."
"I understand," the general nodded respectfully. "I'm looking forward to it!"
The door opened, and she appeared, the Great Atrok. A beautiful forty-year-old woman who looked thirty—she seemed frozen in her beauty. Her short, light, almost white hair was covered by a transparent silk cape, and her blue satin dress accentuated her figure, clinging to her hips like a second skin. She carried no weapons, but Ned knew she was not unarmed—hidden somewhere on her body were the deadly devices for killing people, without which no member of the Brotherhood, no matter their rank, ever set foot in the world.
Following her, about twenty Shatrii and two Atroks ran into the hall. They were distinguished from the Shatrii by the dark red color of the Shirduan sect's standard protective clothing. This color was reminiscent of dried blood...
The lady looked at the shatriyas lined up along the wall but without drawing their weapons, then at the guards who had drawn their swords, and said in a melodic, pleasant voice:
- Shh... no need for swords. No one is going to attack your general. This is just an escort.
"Why didn't we see them?!" the stunned guard blurted out. "You were alone!"
"That's nonsense. I'm interested in why you see them," the woman chuckled. "Well, that's clear. Well then... so be it. Where should I sit?"
"Are they just going to stand there?" the general asked sullenly, gesturing toward the line of Brotherhood soldiers. "Why should they know anything more?"
"Hmm... if they say anything too much, their tongues will be cut out... along with their heads," the woman snapped. "However, if it bothers you, I can throw them out the door. Only two will remain."
The Shatrii, on command, silently slid through the door and seemed to dissolve into thin air—the visibility spell did not extend to the corridor.
"Here's what we'll do: we'll sit here on the chairs and listen to you. So, begin. You invited us to the conversation, so you speak first."
Great Atrok sat down on the chair offered to her, but neither of the Atroks took the offered chairs. They stood next to the head of the Brotherhood, frozen like statues made of dried blood.
"You have Sanda. We propose a deal." Ned got straight to the point. "You release her, she ascends to the throne, brings General Heverad there—you receive a reward."
"Money?" the guest snorted.
"We'll do everything we can," Ned said firmly. "The prince is gone, you can't take the throne, so… think about what you want."
"It's you, just as I thought. A nimble young man! Yes, Sanda is mine. And Bordonar is yours. Why do you think I should give you Sanda, and not you give me Bordonar for some future favor?"
"We keep our word," Ned began, and the woman snorted, as if mocking such a damning argument. "Yes, yes, General Heverad always keeps his word, everyone knows that. And everyone knows me. And you know Imar—he doesn't lie. If any of us tries to break his word, the others will make him keep his word. That's the first thing. Secondly, you can't count on your daughter. She's uncontrollable. Silena attempted to arrange your murder—she thought she'd deceived me, charmed me, and I gave in. I should have killed you. This proves she's not very smart and doesn't judge people well. As soon as she ascends the throne, she'll do everything to destroy you. You know this—unlike her, you're no fool."
"She was... a fool," the woman chuckled, not looking at her father. "Well, that's a good point. But there's a nuance to it—who said Bordonar can only marry Silena?"
"Ahem!" Imar grunted and slapped his knee. "You've always had a twisted, cunning mind. She wants to marry Bordonar herself!"
"What do you mean?" Amela asked, puzzled. "But she's old!"
"Thank you, niece," the guest muttered venomously, "for your kind words!"
"Niece?" Heverad asked, surprised. "This show is getting more and more interesting... and confusing."
"My niece," Ned nodded, getting to the point without going into detail: "She wants to change her appearance, become Silena. A good healer, magic, and... here she is—Silena. Perhaps she planned to do this all along. Her figure is similar to her daughter's, practically identical—no birthmarks or other distinguishing marks. Their bodies are identical, down to the smallest detail."
"How do you know they have the same figure and no distinguishing marks? Maybe she has a mole somewhere... private?" Amela asked suspiciously, her eyes glittering. She was enjoying this whole thing beyond words.
"No moles. I know," Ned retorted calmly. "And anyway, shut up!"
Imar's hand slapped the girl on the top of her head, and she fell silent, offended, pouting and looking at the table top.
"So, she was about to take the throne herself. Silena was seducing Bordonar, her mother was preparing to take her place, and then suddenly… Bordonar disappears. What's left for the Great Atrok?"
"And really, what else can I do?" the woman chuckled.
"We should look for Bordonar, but he might have already turned into a corpse or is negotiating with the enemy, especially since time is running out," Ned shrugged.
"And you can't imagine how quickly it goes," the woman said seriously. "Do you know what's going on in the palace right now?"
"What?" the general perked up.
"Girsos of Amun declared himself the executor of the late king's will because there are no direct heirs, and he has a decree signed by the king. And I'm sure he'll be crowned in the near future. He's Iunakor's second cousin, after all, of royal blood. You idiots ruined such a beautiful operation for me! I prepared for it for so long! I waited so long! And now it's a complete failure, a dud! And now I don't know what to do. While we're here, conducting these idiotic negotiations, power is slipping away! And what to do about it, I don't yet know."