"Well, what can we do... just twist that Amunsky's head off, what else?" Amela snorted and glanced warily at her grandfather, expecting a slap. The slap didn't come, and she, emboldened, continued: "You certainly could have solved this issue! With your Brotherhood, I can't believe we couldn't get our hands on that Amunsky!"
"Imagine—impossible," Great Atrok chuckled wryly, "though I like the way you think. Now we can't even get into the palace. It's hung with amulets of visibility, every corridor and room is warded. Five Shatriyas have died. At this rate, I'll soon be left without my men! First this one," she pointed at Ned, "is slaughtering the Shatriyas, then we had to cut off some heads for participating in the conspiracy... All in all, things aren't looking good for any of us."
"How does Gyrsos know our secrets?" Imar asked, wary. "How does he know about the blindfold spell? How does he know about the visibility spells? What's going on? Are you leaking information?"
"As sad as it is to admit, yes," the woman said reluctantly. "The head of Amunsky's security is my former atroc, Zhordar. The best of the best. And Silena's father. He's not particularly smart, but he has enough strength, skill, and magic for ten. And he really doesn't like ispas. He loves power and money."
"This is some kind of swamp..." muttered Heverad. "It's getting worse by the hour! A third force! A third player on this field. And, as it turns out, the most efficient and fastest."
"Gyrsos has never been stupid," Imar shrugged, "and if he's got an atroc helping him… and he most likely already has a crowd of shatriyas under his command—who knows how many he's managed to train—then we're effectively dealing with an entire Ispas. And that's very, very bad. Now Gyrsos will hole up in the palace, letting no one near him but his closest confidants, until he's crowned. And after that, he'll rule quietly, never making public appearances, until everything blows over. However, once he's crowned, it won't matter anymore—'the mail van has left.' Well done, Gyrsos. A real man. You've pulled everyone's leg. How could you have missed it? What did I teach you? You behaved like a foolish girl! Such things need to be monitored! This Gyrsos should have been killed before he even got to the palace! By the way, why is your lover so against the Ispas? You mean against you?" Family squabbles, I see? I don't understand—how could you let that traitor slip by? You should have cut off his head as soon as those evil thoughts entered his cunning mind! The fact that you once slept with him wouldn't have stopped you, that's for sure. So why?
"What difference does it make?" the woman snapped sullenly. "He changed his appearance. Disappeared. Never showed up. And created his own ispas. Without a medallion, without faith—just a team of killers, no worse than mine. They managed to kill five Shatriyas, and that means something. He knows all our paths beneath the city, he knows the spells. He's basically the Great Atroc."
"It's unbelievable," Amela whispered, her voice sounding as if she were shouting, so quiet had fallen. The walls of the mansion were as thick as fortresses, the windows made of thick double glass, protecting from heat, cold, and noise. Though what noise could there be in an alley with only one mansion in the middle of a large garden?
"Exactly, it's mind-boggling!" Harald thundered, stunned. "Ned, have you digested this information? Can you come up with something brilliant?"
"Brilliant?" Ned chuckled. "I'm more interested in when I get my Sanda back. How everyone here fights for power is up to them."
"No, that's your business too," Atrok said coldly. "I won't hand over Sanda until the threat to my ispas is eliminated. And only then will we return to negotiations about what you must interest me in to make me accept your proposals. If anything happens to me, my ispas perishes, then the girl will be destroyed as surely as if you had killed her with your own hand!"
"Bastard!" Ned glared at the woman, who was staring at him like a snake hypnotizing its prey. "You know I have no magical powers! What can I do?! If all your useless Ispas can't do anything!"
"Easy with the definitions, shepherd," the woman's voice seemed like she could be scraping rust off an old sword. "If you can't use magic, use your head! Everyone, use your head! I need all the support, all the help I can get right now! And then, perhaps, I'll accept your proposals—we'll discuss them later, of course."
"She always knew how to twist and turn so that her opponent would end up on the ground, with a dagger at their throat!" Imar chuckled wryly. "That's something she learned for sure. Although I wouldn't make the same mistakes she did."
"It's easy to talk now!" the woman snorted angrily. "I should have seen you back then when I was catching Zhordar, you smartass! By the way, his name isn't Zhordar, it's... well, never mind. Let him die under that name. Get to the point! Time is running out!"
"What do you want from us?" Ned was focused, drawing figures with his finger on the table, in a puddle of spilled juice, as was his habit. "I repeat, we don't have enough forces; we have little we can do to counter Gyrsos."
"You have all of Zamara's armed forces in your hands! If we can't enter and eliminate Girsos and Zhordar secretly, then we need to drive them out of the palace with an army. What else? There's no other way."
"That's what I was afraid of," Heverad sighed loudly. "Civil war! This is civil war!"
"You know, she's actually right," Ned mused. "And there won't be any war... Or rather, no large-scale war. So, what we have is Gyrsos, who is now the king's steward. He's obligated to find the king's heir and place him on the throne. But he's locked himself away and won't let anyone near the throne, surrounded by mercenaries. We assume that poor Gyrsos has been captured and is being forced into some unnatural acts." Amela snorted. "We must help him by freeing him, giving him the opportunity to place the heir on the throne! We'll bring in the Corps, surround the palace from all sides, and beneath the city, beneath the palace, the Ispas will ensure that their renegade and Gyrsos don't escape, and also that additional enemy forces don't penetrate the palace. For that, we could give the Atrocs an army unit—a regiment, for example.
- No! No regiments! We will not show our ways to strangers!
"Well, if no, then no. Then you'll be on duty yourself. We'll simply set up barriers where the entrance to the dungeon is most likely—at the manhole covers, at the entrances to the caves on the mountain, at the sewer outlet into the sea. You must not allow anyone into the palace, and you must not allow anyone out. Sanda must be ready for the coronation. Are priests necessary for this procedure? Do we need to obtain a crown? I don't know what else is required, but everything must be prepared so we can deploy it at a moment's notice. And here's the question: sir, whose side are the mages on?"
"Mages?" Heverad chuckled. "On the side of the mages. They're not involved in any political games from the start—officially, of course. And what good are they anyway? They're as good as crossbow bolts made of shit. I can only use those who serve in my Corps. And even then, I'm not sure they'll go to the palace. I'm not even sure. You can't count on them."
"I'm not counting on it," Ned replied coldly. "I want to understand whether they might participate in the conspiracy on Amunsky's side or not. Who will they support?"
"If they don't support us, then they definitely won't support him. We need to forget about them," Heverad nodded. "So, let's get back to our deal. It's clear we need to put Sandu on the throne. Without that, I won't lead troops to the palace."
"We'll return to the division of power once we've destroyed Girsos and Zhordar," declared the head of the Southern Ispas. "Without Zhordar, Amunsky is nothing. In my opinion, Amunsky is simply a pawn in Zhordar's hands. Atrok is his advisor, and Girsos listens to his advice. It's not Girsos who's after power, but Zhordar, keep that in mind."
"A dead end, or what?" Harald asked, perplexed. "I've been listening and listening, and I still don't understand! I think we need to take things step by step – eliminate the two idiots in the palace, and then…"
"And then she'll figure out how to get us to hand over Bordonar to her! Her word can't be trusted," Ned barked. "Either we negotiate now and do something to protect ourselves from betrayal, or... the deal falls through."
"And Sanda?" the guest smirked. "She'll die! And what about power then? The General will never sit on the throne! And he promised you mountains of gold, didn't he? Right, right—I see you're not hiding it! I can't believe you made such a fuss over some girl! Well, anything can be expected from you," the head of the Brotherhood drawled thoughtfully. "You're an unpredictable fellow."
"We can wait for Jordar to destroy you. Then storm the palace, sealing every crack. We'll destroy Hirsos, Jordar, and his henchmen. We'll break Bordonar out of prison and marry him to Amelia. We'll destroy Bordonar—Amelia will remain on the throne. We'll promise Heverad privileges, money, noble rank, all sorts of benefits... and we'll also kill him if he falters. The general is a smart man, capable of retreating and profiting even from defeat. After thinking it over, he'll agree. He has no other choice. So—Amelia is on the throne, power is ours, the Savior is in the grave, all our enemies are in the grave. How do you like that plan?" Ned asked sullenly.
"Don't you feel sorry for Sanda?" the woman, suddenly looking haggard, asked coldly.
"That's a shame. I'll mourn her for years, then I'll find someone like Amela... and marry her. I'll marry Amela—for sure! Will you marry me, little bug?" Ned glanced at the stunned girl, sitting with her mouth open. She tried to speak, but Ymar frowned, and Amela remained silent.
"Well, there you have it—simple, tasteful, effective. And you, great cunning one, are not included in this plan. Three, even four deer, with one shot."
"Well done, boy! My school! I couldn't have come up with a better idea! You're starting to grow up. And really – what the hell do you need that Sanda girl for? Well, look – she tricked you into marrying her, she went along with the conspirators, she even allowed you to restore her virginity! For a new husband. She got married while her husband was still alive. What's there to feel sorry for her for?"
- I love her...
"Fool! Triple fool! You need to pull yourself together and do everything you said! You did everything just right, the plan is brilliant, it's hard to imagine a better one! Pull yourself together – you don't need Sanda, forget about her!"
Everyone froze, as if afraid to move. Ned stared at the table, not raising his eyes, hating himself. It could have been Yuragor who did this, not Ned. But who knows?
"Yes, it could work," the woman said calmly, regaining her composure. "I admit, I underestimated you. Now I understand why you're in charge here. And I'll tell you one more thing – I won't forget this!"
The Brotherhood leader's words were not threatening, but Ned and the others remembered—the order on him had not been lifted. And as soon as the power crisis was over… Well, they would have to run away, as planned.
"So, what do you propose? Let's haggle," Great Atroc suggested sullenly, and Ned's heart sank—he believed her! It worked! Well done, Ned! Well done!
* * *
"Report," Jordar's voice was colorless and devoid of the slightest sign of life.
"The corps is moving toward the palace. All the streets in the area are blocked, with cordons of soldiers everywhere, each at least half a company strong. The underground passages are blocked by a firewall."
- They have united after all, ah, little creature! Snake!
"What did you say, sir?" the man in brown clothes bowed, not raising his eyes to Jordar.
"This isn't for you," the advisor answered coldly and made a gesture with his hand, "go away, take your place according to the combat schedule."
"Yes, sir!" The atroc backed away, turned around five steps away from the lord, and slipped out the half-open door, closing it behind him.
Zhordar remained seated at the table, pondering his course of action. The situation was rather dire. So, what was available? Three thousand mercenaries, gathered during this time. Three thousand of Amunsky's soldiers, gathered from the nobleman's fortresses—they scavenged everything they could. Six thousand in total. Five hundred fighters of Zhordar's Ispas—of varying levels of skill. About one hundred and fifty Shatrii were truly trained. The rest were in training. However, any one of them, even those not fully trained, was three times more lethal than a regular army soldier. Five Atroks—not as powerful as Zhordar, but… they were demonologists, capable of casting spells. The palace resembled a fortress. And, in fact, it is. Entering it is not easy. The attackers would suffer at least one loss to five. And with Atroks, it was impossible to predict the enemy's losses altogether.
Now, what about the enemy? The corps. A terrifying force. If in the field... Within the palace walls, their training and skill are useless. Here, mercenaries are on par with them. What else? Horsemen? Of course—stupid. Archers, yes. You can hide from archers behind the battlements. Then there's the infantry. There are ten times more of them than Amunsky's troops. However, we mustn't forget about Zhordar's atrocs. Their atrocs are dangerous, yes. But to strike at the mass of Amunsky's troops, we need to scale the wall. Besides, who's stopping us from casting a protective spell along the top of the wall? That would be enough to repel the demons.
The forces are roughly equal. And if Heverad can win, it will be at a cost that will be too great. He's unlikely to risk destroying the Corps. But he'll have to—once the infantry on the walls are decimated and the reserves are brought in. The palace's supplies will last for years: the cellars are full of food, the tanks are filled with water, and rain is common now. Amunsky's messengers have already rushed to his allies, promising them favors, a place at the Emperor's side, ranks and titles. If all goes well, they'll strike Heverad's army in the back.
The fight could be incredible. It's been a long time since Zamara saw anything like it. But we shouldn't let it get to that point. We need to offer Heverad a lot, a lot, and he'll sell out his allies and withdraw his troops. Or kill the general. It's difficult, but possible. If Heverad is removed, the entire pyramid will crumble. This army rests on the general's authority. Most likely, the situation should be resolved this way: no Heverad, no problem. And we can deal with that bitch later. Hunt them down like rats! Kill them! Burn them!
Thank the gods, mages make a point of not getting involved in political squabbles; it's even written into their agara charter. Prudent. And good.
Zhordar rose, walked out into the corridor, and strode with a springy, light step toward Amunsky's office. How long he'd waited for this moment! How he'd prepared for it! In the shadow of a nobleman, constantly building up his strength without the ability to use it. You can only strike once, and that's all. Yes, this bastard had once again spoiled the "soup" he and Girsos had been cooking together—Zhordar wasn't quite ready to engage in open confrontation with the Ispas and seize power, but... it still worked out well. They played into Amunsky's hands, and most importantly, into his, Zhordar's. Next to the king, he would have reached unprecedented heights. He would have ruled the country from the shadows, punishing and pardoning at will. But everything was still ahead; now he just needed to lift the siege and pacify the army...
"Well, my faithful servant, how are we doing?" Gyrsos reclined comfortably on the sofa, smoking a mazis stick.
Zhordar bowed, staring at the floor, and, hiding a smile, reported:
"We're surrounded. Heverad's corps, infantry, riflemen—everything is in order. As I said. We're awaiting a response from our allies. Homing pigeons have been issued to the messengers."
"What if they deploy battering rams?" Gyrsos worried. "Will they destroy the walls?"
"The walls are strong, there are no battering rams capable of breaking down a wall with a single boulder," Zhordar reported. "Besides, my mages will destroy those operating the rams before they can even aim a shot. Time is on our side, Master Amunsky. When reinforcements arrive, we'll lift the siege. And we'll crown you. And everything will be as you wished."
"That's good. That's wonderful," the nobleman smiled contentedly, relaxing and closing his eyes. Beads of sweat formed on his noble brow—the ointment was burning from the inside, soaking into his body.
Amunsky was feeling very good now.