- Be careful! - Ned peered at the shimmering runes on the blade of the sword and began to turn around the axis, noticing in which direction the runes glowed brighter. The difference in glow was not too great, but Ned still caught the difference. Having made sure that the runes showed the way away from the houses, towards the forest, Ned went where they showed. Oydar and Arnot followed, carefully monitoring what was happening around - you never know what might happen, suddenly some visiting enemies might run in.
"Are you sure it's in the forest and not somewhere in the houses?" Oydar asked cautiously. "The first box was in the house, after all…"
"Shut up and watch your back!" Ned said tensely, watching the runes glow. "Arnot, if he opens his mouth again, smack him on the shoulder! By the way, we'll sort this chatter out later..."
- Your promise sounds disgusting! You're evil! - Oydar answered dully and immediately screamed - Arnot gave him a slap on the back of the head.
They walked about twenty paces into the forest and found themselves near a huge oak tree. The remains of a vegetable garden were visible here, and there stood something like a bathhouse or a barn – an old building, slanted by time, thickly overgrown with weeds. Ned touched the black log wall with his hand and said confidently:
- Here! Look here!
Oydar silently dove under the low lintel of the barn and was gone for about two minutes. Then he appeared, covered in dust and cobwebs, but happier than ever:
- There! Found it! They shoved it on the shelf, buried it in the trash! And then something heavier than that one, with the dagger! Weighty!
"Put it on the grass," Ned ordered, and when Oydar had done so, he walked over to the tight bundle and made sure that yes, this was it. The runes on the sword glowed as if they were bright lanterns.
Ned pushed the Right one back, took the Left one out of its sheath and began carefully cutting and unfolding the ropes and fabric until he reached the leather bag in which something was jingling dully. Ned lifted the bag and weighed it:
- Heavy! There's something here besides the artifact...
- Open it quickly! Don't waste time! - Oydar couldn't resist. - His eyes were feverishly shining, and the guy bit his lip until it hurt, blood was threatening to spurt out.
Ned grinned and began to untie the loops of the knots - the lid of the bag was held together with leather ties. Finally, the ties gave way, and the magician carefully turned the bag over, dumping its contents onto a clean place covered with bluish forest moss.
There was silence for a minute, then Oydar exhaled in admiration:
- I knew it! I knew we would become rich here! I told you!
Arnot let out something between a groan and a squeak and asked in a strangled voice:
- Is this gold? Precious stones? I wonder how much it costs?
Oydar fell to his knees in front of the pile of treasures and, before Ned could stop him, he had his hands in them, crying out in delight:
- There it is! There! We are rich! To hell with this war! To hell with all that is bad! Now everything will be fine, everything will be very fine! Guys, guys, look!
Ned walked up to Oydar, yanked him up by the collar and threw him aside like a kitten, subconsciously surprised at how strong he had become. Oydar was, of course, thin and flexible, not massively built, but his weight was quite appropriate for an adult, especially one dressed in chain mail.
Having flown through the air about three meters, he plopped down on his backside, sat for a few moments, looking at Ned in shock, then his face distorted into an angry grimace, and Oydar jumped to his feet in one leap, instantly drawing his sword:
- Do you want to take it for yourself? Take everything?! I'll kill you!
He lunged at Ned, and the blade whistled through the air, drawing a complex arc, heading straight for the mage's neck. Ned parried the blow with the Left, which he still held in his hand, and the steel hummed indignantly, rang from the powerful blow - Oydar was not pretending to hit.
The guy's eyes seemed to be covered with a cloudy haze, and he went on the attack like a madman. Ned pulled out the Right and with two swords was already repelling the attack of his maddened friend, who had fallen into a battle ecstasy.
The matter was complicated by the fact that Ned had no intention of killing Oydar. It was clear that the spell protecting the treasure had "shot" him. Ned was forced to only fight back, stand on the defensive and hope that he would knock the sword out of Oydar's hands. But he held the blade tightly and, in addition to it, pulled a dagger from his belt, which had previously been a magical artifact. It was no longer a magical item, but it had not lost its sharpness, which Arnot immediately saw for himself when he tried to intervene, approaching Oydar from the side.
The dagger flashed and Arnot recoiled, clutching his cut shoulder.
The senseless and brutal fight continued for a couple of minutes, and in the third minute Oydar shuddered, rolled his eyes, and softly fell onto the grass.
"Well done!" Ned said breathlessly, looking at Arnot throwing away a huge log. "I didn't know what to do!"
"What's wrong with him?" Arnot asked, puzzled, looking at his comrade lying there like a pile of rags. "Has he gone crazy?"
- Some kind of spell was cast on the treasure. He discharged it. Now I'll remove this nasty thing from him. Did he... hurt you badly?
- No. I cut myself. It's just unpleasant, - admitted Arnot, - and painful. Nothing dangerous.
- Then let's drag him away from this pile, I'll do a little magic.
"As you say." Arnot obediently grabbed Oydar's right hand, Ned his left, and they pulled Oydar aside. Arnot, when they laid his friend under the tree, lightly kicked Oydar in the side:
- This is for my cut! He's always butting in, sticking his nose where it doesn't belong! What kind of nasty person is he?
- Enough! - Ned stopped him. - Shut up, and not a word, or you'll get in the way, and instead of removing the demon, I'll stick another one in him, even worse. Or in you!
- That's it, that's it! - Arnot cautiously ran to the side, jumping like a hare, and Ned, grinning, began to read the spell of liberation. Having finished, he felt - that's it, Oydar is free. The first-level demon, who deprived the guy of his mind, flew away to the land of fear and anger.
- That's it. It's ready. Let him lie there and rest. And we'll see what that demon was guarding. Don't touch anything without my permission, do you hear?
"I hear you," Arnot nodded, "you don't have to say that. I'm not that idiot!"
"I hope so," Ned confirmed dryly, and, going up to the pile of treasures, stirred it with a dry stick he had picked up along the way. Yellow coins, rings, pendants, tiaras and beads scattered to the sides, revealing a small box with a familiar runic inscription: "Take me in your hands, and you will receive what you deserve."
Ned poked the box with his stick, then leaned over and picked it up, to Arnot's loud sigh. It was small, about the size of a palm and as thick as a thumb or slightly thicker. Ebony, finely polished, with gold or gilded latches, the box resembled the one that had held the dagger-artifact. Ned shook the box gently, listening to the rattling inside, and then decisively unlatched the latches and opened the lid, frozen in admiration.
A beautiful piece of work made of stones sparkling in the sun, cut with the skill worthy of a royal jeweler. In the middle is a dark blue stone the size of a little fingernail, beautiful as the sky... your hand just reaches out to take this treasure and hold it in your hands!
- Ned, be careful! - Arnot watched with excitement as Ned, as if enchanted, reached out his hand to the necklace, and after his cry, the spell immediately flew off the magician, as if it had never been there.
Ned slammed the lid of the box shut, clicked the locks, and froze, feeling his heart trying to jump out of his chest. Then he carefully placed the box on the litter of fallen leaves and sat down next to it, catching his breath.
- Thanks, Arnie - you helped me a second time. Now I'm caught. The wishing spell. They made it so that everyone who looked at this treasure wanted to take it in their hands. A trap. A magnificent trap! This thing is loaded.
- The necklace... for some reason I thought it would be the same dagger, - Arnot chuckled. - How beautiful it is! I wanted to take it in my hands too. Only I was standing further away than you, otherwise I would have tried to grab it too. What bastards, those who hid these treasures! Do you think they knew about the properties of the box?
- Of course. Otherwise, it would have been discharged long ago. Hmm... it's a pity that we'll never know what kind of village it was. It's too rich for robbers... besides, the other treasures were also cursed. So, there was a magician here. And maybe more than one. And a black magician at that. And he was a demonologist - the demon was tied to the other treasures too. Maybe some weak demonologist, degenerate, a descendant of those ancient ones... anything is possible. Why didn't they collect the treasures and leave? Or maybe they didn't know about them? This building is two hundred years old, at the very least. Maybe the treasures have been lying there since then?
- What's the point of guessing, - Oydar's weak voice was heard, and the guy groaned, touched his head with his right hand, lying on his left side, - we won't find out anyway, only my head will hurt. Like mine, for example! Arnie, you pig, was it you who treated me to a log like that? You, I know. Ned, I held out against you for a long time, noticed? I'm not such a weakling!
- I didn't treat you enough, - Arnot spat angrily, - you were told not to touch anything, and where did you go? Say thank you to Ned that he didn't kill you! But he could have, he could have a hundred times! Look how you cut me! You bastard!
- Oh, come on... don't whine. - Oydar carefully touched the lump on the back of his head again. - Look how you hit me. My head almost cracked. So we're even.
- It wouldn't have cracked. You've got only bones there, no brain, - Arnot chuckled, - only a brainless person would reach into a bag containing a terrible artifact and start sorting through the treasures.
- You're a fool, Arnie... I may have dreamed of such a treasure my whole life! Maybe it will improve my life! And yours, by the way. We can buy ourselves out of the Corps, start a peaceful life!
- You're a fool, Oyda, - Arnot sighed sadly. - If the Isfirians win, you won't have a peaceful life. No life at all. They'll take everything. Ned, in my opinion, we should bury these treasures until better times. We can't carry them around. They're heavy and inconvenient. If someone sees them, it'll be a disaster. Look how something shifted in Oydar's brain when he saw the jewels. And remember who serves us - bandits, thieves, vagabonds.
"You're right," Ned nodded, "let's gather everything back. Dig a hole under the tree – over there, under the oak. Someday we'll come back and take the treasure."
- Let's take at least some with us, Ned! - pleaded Oydar. - Five coins each! Just five - they won't hurt!
"Well… five by five, then," Ned agreed, looking indifferently at the precious pile. To be honest, he couldn't understand Oydar's interest in stones and gold. Well, yes, they were beautiful, yes, they sparkled, so what? You couldn't eat them, you couldn't fight with them, you couldn't wear them – what use were they here, in the forest? Or in war, when you'd give everything in the world for a sword that happened to be in your hands at the right moment. After all, a dead man doesn't need anything anymore. He can't take anything with him to the grave…
- And how are we going to divide it... later? - Oydar flushed and even slightly out of breath, squeezing his hands so hard that they turned white. - What if someone digs it up before we get back here?
- Look, shut up and dig! - Ned got angry. - I'm going to throw this shit down the well or throw it somewhere so you won't find it! Are you completely out of your mind? Are you crazy with these trinkets!
- It's easy for you to say, - Oydar hung his head, - you're already an officer, you'll definitely be sent to study at an officer school - I heard the colonel say that you're also a magician, you have your whole life ahead of you. And me? Who am I? Maybe this is my only chance to escape to freedom! To live like a human being! How can you reproach me for having a brain that's gone askew? Fate itself carries you upward, you don't even make an effort for it, and have you thought about us?
- Hmm... maybe you're right, - Ned answered after thinking, - but you understand - with these trinkets they'll definitely catch us, or lose us, or take us away. Better to bury them deep and then come back. And no one will let you go from the Corps, not for any money - there's a war going on, what the hell kind of ransom are we talking about? Money has become much cheaper now. What's valuable is a good blade and a strong hand. Arnot laid it all out perfectly: if the Isfirians win, it's the end for everyone. Slavery or death. A slave can't have valuables, and you don't need them in the grave. So until we defeat the Isfirians, we won't be able to use the treasure, do you understand?
- Yes, I understand everything... - admitted Oydar, - but my hand still reaches out. To leave, leaving my dream here... it's scary.
An hour later they walked silently along the path, returning to the city, to where they had left their comrades in arms. Everyone was silent and thinking - each about his own.
Oydar made plans to avoid being deceived and losing the treasure.
Arnot thought about the treasure and how it corrupted even essentially good people.
Ned... Ned had already forgotten about the hidden treasures. It was much more important to solve the main problem - how to transport the box with the artifact to the city and how to throw it... where to throw it? Preferably - where the Isfirian commanders live, to be sure - if the demons do not manage to knock out everyone, the entire garrison, then at least the command will be torn to pieces.
An army without leaders is just a mob that will scatter at the first onslaught of an organized army. And by the way - perhaps this was the way out of the situation. Destroy the command without killing all living things around.
There was another, very unpleasant factor of uncertainty here - what if the Mirror itself does not close? What if this artifact does not close the passage at all, and demons can freely and unhindered enter this world? They will destroy all living things. Life in this world will cease. Only eternally hungry demons will remain.
So what to do? It's clear what to do - activate the artifact, being near it, and then, after some time, if it does not close the hole in the universe - close it yourself. Yes, the scrolls said that the hole was made for a certain time, and as soon as it ended - the demons were carried away to the underworld again. A spell of the highest level, the most complex and dangerous. Ned would not dare to do such a thing. For now. But where is the guarantee that THIS artifact was made exactly as described in the scrolls?
So, everything is "simple" – you need to enter the city, get to General Kheragh's palace, activate the protective dome, hide under it while the demons are tearing everyone around you apart, manage not to suffocate in the dome and not let it be broken by all the evil that will fall out of the window into the underworld. Then somehow return from the city and… that's it. That's it, basically. Somehow return.
And Ned didn't know how to do all of this.
* * *
Iunakor opened his eyes with a groan and for several minutes could not understand where he was. Then he focused his gaze on the roof of the alcove and, throwing his hands behind his back, began to think - what happened yesterday? What did he do yesterday? For some time now, his memories had become very bad, if not catastrophic. However - as with the rest of his health. Everything ached - his arms, legs, stomach, the king, not so long ago a strong, flourishing man, was slowly but surely turning into a decrepit wreck. All he could do was drink every day until he lost consciousness, then the pain subsided, and besides - drunk he could at least do something with women. Although not very effectively ... Alcohol does not contribute to potency, that's for sure.
However, Iunakor tried to maintain the image of a stallion who was just waiting to trample the next mare. Alas, he didn't really want that either. The ladies who had been in his bed were silent afterwards. About everything. About the fact that the king was now a decrepit wreck, and about the fact that he could do almost nothing in bed, and about the fact that his mind had faded to such an extent that Iunakor often got confused, calling his confidants by completely different names, not those given to them at birth. Especially his mistresses, whose faces and bodies merged into one white-pink spot for him.
The king's remaining sanity was enough to understand that something strange, something abnormal was happening to him, but he could do nothing. Dozens of the best healers and magicians tried to cure King Zamar, but failed. No medicines or spells worked. Well, no, they worked. If not for them, the king would have long since rested in the family crypt next to his father, grandfather and dozens of his ancestors, who had gloriously ruled the kingdom of Zamar and left him a prosperous and strong kingdom, which was now burning in the fire of war. The healers' spells supported the decaying organism, restored it for some time, so that later it would begin to disintegrate again. And so it had been for a long, long time.
At times the king had moments of enlightenment, and he tried to understand state affairs, summoned ministers, demanded reports, documents... and then immediately forgot about what he wanted to do, looking at the assembled people in bewilderment and demanding strong wine for himself.
In fact, the state was overripe, like a tasty, satisfying fruit, and now it was falling into the hands of the Isfirian king. Everyone understood this, including Iunakor's confidants. But they could do nothing. Well, they could. Remove the king. Completely, forever. And put someone else in charge. A smart, efficient, skillful ruler. But who? And that was the most important question, which had never been answered.
Iunakor glanced sideways at the naked girl of about twenty lying next to him, a complete stranger, and, wincing in pain, pulled the bell cord by the bed. A bell rang somewhere far away, and a few seconds later a servant appeared in the bedroom - a man of about sixty, gray-haired, thin, with the bearing of a former military man and the soft, ingratiating manner of an old, experienced servant. He bowed before the king in a silent question, Iunakor fixed his gaze on the man's thinning crown and said with displeasure:
- Estor, wine for me. Strong.
- Your Majesty, Mr. Amunsky is waiting for you, he has been waiting for a long time. He even sent me to wake you up... but I refused. You get angry when I wake you up at an inopportune hour.
- I'm angry, I'm angry! - muttered Iunakor. - Bring the bedchamber attendants here, let them dress. And get this girl out of here. Who is she anyway?
- Your Majesty has deigned to forget... - the servant bent even lower. - This is Mrs. Sivander, one of the ladies-in-waiting of Her Majesty the Queen. Her second cousin.
- Yes? And how did she end up in my bed? Well, what difference does it make. Show her out.
- I'm leaving already, your majesty. - The girl shamelessly jumped out of bed, naked as she was, stretched, causing her breasts to rise upward, and, taking a translucent peignoir from the chair next to her, threw it over her shoulders. Then she smiled and said slightly mockingly:
- You were magnificent this night, your majesty!
- Yes?! - the king was genuinely surprised. - And I don't remember anything. Do you need anything from me? What do you want?
- You, your majesty, - the girl smiled cloyingly, - and also - could you sign my father's petition, he asks for the exclusive right to import spices into the capital and trade in them. Here is the petition... and here is the pen!
The king looked for a second at the sheet of thick, expensive paper, covered with incomprehensible signs (it's embarrassing to say, but for some time now he couldn't make out what was written – he simply couldn't understand the letters. He forgot!), then he scribbled a curlicue and handed it back to the girl:
- Go with Estor to the office, put the seal. What's your name? Anyway - what difference does it make... get out of here.
The girl fluttered out into the corridor, almost colliding with a tall man, sharp-faced, dark-haired with graying hair. He managed to jump away from the half-naked beauty and, watching her go, frowned, noticing a sheet of paper in her hands. Then he pushed the bedroom door and entered, arriving just in time for the moment when the king was putting his hands under his fresh shirt.
The bedchamber attendants were bustling about, trying to dress the capricious and unpredictable in his desires Iunakor as quickly as possible, and he did not immediately notice the person who entered. And when he did, he frowned with displeasure:
- Gyrsos, soon you will barge in even when I am sitting on the potty! Soon you will be sitting on your king's neck! You are not subjects, you are my nightmare! Other kings have subjects like subjects, but you are some kind of scoundrels!
- Your Majesty signed some document again without consulting me? With his faithful servant, who cares about the prosperity of the kingdom?
- I signed? Did I sign something, Estor? - The King blinked his eyes and winced from the pain in his head and the inability to connect several thoughts into one.
- Signed, your majesty. Exclusive right to trade spices for Mr. Sivander, the girl's father. - The servant glanced sideways at Amunsky, and he nodded slightly, showing that he understood.
- Maybe he did sign it. Does it matter? - the king sighed. - Will you bring me some wine? And bring me some more mazis. I feel really bad today. Gyrsos, why did you come? Will you torment me with stupid papers again?
- Your Majesty - there are very few of them today! Sign it and do whatever you want. You need to take care of the welfare of the state. You are a fair, intelligent king, unlike others. - The aristocrat spoke to the king as if he were a child. Today, his illness was clearly worsening. On good days, the king could reason about what was happening at the level of an adult, a little dull, but today he was a child - capricious, stupid, but at the same time possessing enormous power over the lives of hundreds of thousands of people...
All the nobility of Zamara was divided into groups, into families of aristocrats - as always and everywhere. The main, leading were three families, relatives of the king - at the head of the first was an aristocrat of the twelfth rank Girso Amunsky, the king's second cousin, the second was headed by Brogan Issark, and the third - Zhosnar Tivol. These families, or aristocratic houses, as they can be called, owned together with the king fifty percent of the entire territory of Zamara and had capital that many times exceeded the capital of all the other aristocratic houses.
And all these ruling aristocratic houses hated each other and fought for the throne or at least for influence on the throne. Now Girso came to the forefront. He managed to push aside the rest of his competitors and take a place next to the king, effectively managing all his actions. And this was very bad. Very bad. Because Amunsky, no matter how much he cared about the needs of the state, always put the interests of his own family first, and only then the state. However, it depends on what you look at, what is bad and what is good. It was bad for other influential houses, but for the state there was no particular difference.
It would seem – what would it cost Amunsky to remove the king and take the throne? So simple – he poured a choice poison worthy of a king into a glass of bitter wine, and here – the throne is free! No-o... there remains – the king's son from the first, deceased, queen, a miserable, idiotic boy of seventeen, a bookworm and a quiet one, the queen, née Tivol, who will pull the blanket to her side, and... dark horses, who can emerge from oblivion at the very moment when the king gives up the ghost. What horses? Yes, as usual – suddenly bastards appear, who can be raised on shields by those who want to seize power in the country by force. Such cases have happened in history, and more than once.
Well, yes – we can solve the problem radically – put everyone under the knife! The heir, the queen – that young wretch, who was tried by all the guards officers, and according to rumors – even the soldiers, and then the bastards who will emerge from oblivion at the right moment – destroy everyone, everyone! But that will be a war. It will be a terrible civil war that will not leave a single aristocratic house intact. And two enemy states will immediately pounce on the country weakened by the civil war, tearing it apart like dirty vultures. And that means – there is no choice. We must rule in the name of the king, especially since there are no obstacles to this. He signs everything that Amunsky gives him, does what a king is supposed to do – that is, does nothing. Drinks and sleeps, drinks and sleeps…
The other houses, like Amunsky's, are trying to influence Iunakor, but... it's not very effective. Not as effective as Amunsky's. For example, they slipped the king a girl with a pre-prepared decree, she slept peacefully next to Iunakor all night, then told him what a stallion he was, and the pleased king immediately signed the decree. The only thing is that Iunakor immediately forgot about this decree. And also - he does not put the seal personally. And the chancery will not put the seal without Amunsky's signature - otherwise their heads will fly off that same day. And that means - this decree will not go anywhere.
The queen, at the instigation of her relatives, tries to resist Amunsky's influence, but... she is not smart enough to cope. Gyrsos has placed his own, loyal people in all the positions around the king. Even the old servant who grew up with Iunakor and knew him from childhood now works for Amunsky.
- Your Majesty, here are three very important decrees that urgently need to be signed. One is for general mobilization, and two are for appointments. Please sign.
"Why the mobilization?" the king wrinkled his forehead and rubbed it with the back of his hand.
"The war with Isfir. We must defend ourselves," the aristocrat explained patiently. "One of our decrees will appoint Colonel Heverad as commander-in-chief and promote him to general. As you wanted."
- I wanted? Well, yes, I wanted, - the king smiled. - Heverad is a fine fellow, a real warrior. And his wife is a whore. She slept with me, after all. But I kicked her out, yes. However, I kicked everyone out. And where is the queen? Did I kick her out, too?
- No, not yet, - Amunsky answered seriously and, having waited for the king to sign, took the sheets of decrees from him. - Here are two dozen more decrees, scribble resolutions. This is about economic matters, and also - today we will throw a feast for you, a performance, invite comedians, jugglers - you will be pleased.
- A show? I love a show, - the king smiled, - just don't forget the wine. And lots of ointment. I hurt all over, Gyrsos... these damned healers don't know how to do anything. I'll probably die soon. As soon as I die, chop off their heads. No - better yet, stake them all! Yeah, stake them. And let them taste what it's like when you hurt inside!
- Maybe you shouldn't be so harsh, - smiled Amunsky, - they are not gods, they can't cure everything, alas. And you live, don't leave us with your wisdom, kindness. We love you, your majesty.
- You are my only friend, Gyrsos, - complained the king, - the rest are just waiting for me to die! The queen is plotting, the damned whore! If she gets pregnant from a guardsman, chop off her head! And where did my son go? Why doesn't he come to me?
- He's sitting in the library. Reading! - Amunsky responded dismissively. - Apparently, his father doesn't interest him.
"I'm unlucky with my son," the king said sadly, "there's no one to pass the kingdom on to. You're the only one I have, Gyrsos! It's a pity that by law you can't inherit the throne. And that… bookworm… I don't want to talk about him. Tell me about the show! Will there be jugglers? Knife throwers? Acrobats? I love acrobats! They're so… firm, springy. Our ladies are affected, flabby somehow, and they, the acrobats, are so… so…"
"Interesting!" suggested Girsos.
- Yes, yes, my friend, interesting. Take me to the banquet hall, I want to have breakfast and drink. Will you call the doctors again? They wave their hands, mumble, but to no avail! I wish I could drive them away.
"They are helping, your majesty. It would be worse without them," said Amunsky, and went out into the corridor with the king. The guards at the door saluted the king and the nobleman and again froze, like shining statues in their polished armor.
Amunsky walked and thought about how to get out of this war with Isfir. This war was untimely, oh how untimely! As soon as the king went mad, everything went to hell. The army began to fall apart, torn apart by the generals, and Amunsky had great difficulty preserving at least some of its fighting capacity.
He wondered – when did the problems with the king begin? When did he become what he is now – a half-wit, who has fallen into childhood? A year? Two? A little over a year, it seemed. And in that time – such changes. A strong king turned into a half-mad wreck, and a prosperous, strong state, which had driven even the Ards into its holes, turned into a decrepit blanket of forests and fields, torn apart by enemy armies. A strong hand was needed, and he, Amunsky, must give the kingdom such a hand. His hand.
But first, the enemy had to be driven out of the kingdom. And for that, Heverad was needed. Amunsky knew of no other commander like him. If he couldn't defeat the Isfirians in this difficult time for the state, then no one else would. And then everything would be bad. Very bad. Amunsky and the leaders of the other noble houses were not professional soldiers. The most they could do was to start local squabbles and pacify riots among the population dissatisfied with the extortion. But fighting a professional army was not for them. A real warrior was needed.
* * *
- Any suggestions? Well? How to get into the city? Think, boys, think! - Ned looked around at his comrades. They sat silently, their eyes downcast - it was clear - trying to get into the city meant certain death. Oydar shrugged:
- You are smart, and a magician, you know better. Maybe you will somehow change your face and become an Isfirian! How should I know?
"I don't know either," Arnot answered, confused, "you know better, here Oida, oddly enough, is right."
- What's strange, what's strange?! - Oydar bristled. - You take me for a complete fool! If you need to get to the city, then go to it!
- Hmm... yeah. If you need to go to town, go there. And you're right, - Ned nodded thoughtfully and wiped the web with a forest spider stuck to his cheek. Then he rose to his feet and ordered:
- Look here, guys - I'm going to the city. I'm leaving the swords and coins... - Ned looked at his friends carefully and finished: - Arnot. You're responsible for their safety. By the way - I'm leaving the chainmail too. I won't need it.
- Unarmed? Where are you going? What if they shoot you right away? - Arnot was worried.
- I hope not. But I have no other way to get into the city except to stupidly go to the gates and demand to be let in.
- That's exactly it, it's stupid, - Arnot frowned. - Oida, why are you silent? He's going to his death, and you're silent?
- He is his own master, how can I talk him out of it, - the guy looked down, - it is useless to prove anything to him. He thinks that this is what needs to be done - let him do it. That's all. There is only one thing I can't understand - how will he bring the box into the fortress? They will search him right at the entrance, take everything.
"They won't take it away," Ned said mysteriously, and added, "So, here's how it is: you go to our people and pass on my order – to move five li away from the city and start looking for food. After sunset, we'll meet at that very oak tree where we agreed. Oydar, if you get the idea to leave us, dig up the treasure and run away with it wherever your eyes look, I warn you – I've put a spell on the treasure, if it's not removed, the demon will bite into your insides and eat them out until you die. Keep that in mind."
- What are you saying! - Oydar blushed. - I didn't even think of that! " How does he know?! Demons Ned... and it was such a good idea! What a bastard!"
"It's good that you didn't think that," Ned answered dryly, "then you're safe. And I want to warn you again – if you blab to anyone about what's going to happen in the city, I'll blow your head off. I'm serious, absolutely serious. Honestly, the right thing to do would be to kill you. You're nothing but trouble. But you and I, Oida, have always been friends, so you're holding on to that friendship. Don't test it, okay?"
"Okay," Oydar nodded, "Ned, you really have changed. You would never have told me that before."
- Before - you did not pounce on me with a sword, dreaming of killing, and did not intend to rob, running away with treasures. Enough about this. We will sort things out when the war is over. Now is not the time. Here, Arnie! - Ned took the swords from his belt, then took off his chain mail and hung it on a large branch sticking out of an old, gnarled oak. - Don't take the chain mail. The demon with it - let it hang. It's heavy, to carry around. And you are responsible for the swords, Arnie! Do not give them into anyone's hands. Take care of them. These are very old, ancient swords. Very expensive. They were given to me as a gift. Take the money - here, take it, - he poured gold coins into Arnot's outstretched palms and shook his hands with relief. - That's it, I'm ready. You go straight ahead, and I'll go to the river, and along it to the fortress.
- Ned, you should put the box away properly, tuck it somewhere, - suggested Arnot, - and also take off your uniform jacket. Otherwise you won't even make it to the gate - the bastards will shoot you!
"You said that right," Ned admitted and, taking off his jacket, remained in a white, or rather, conditionally white shirt. After all the events and in the absence of the possibility of washing the uniforms, the shirt, soaked in sweat and covered in dust, turned into a dirty rag.
Ned looked at himself with displeasure and mentally waved his hand – it would do! He checked the small flat box hidden behind a wide cloth belt – had it fallen out? – and, patting the guys on the shoulder, without looking back, walked along the path, going down to the river, along which the trade route ran, now completely empty. Looking at the road, it was impossible to believe that hundreds of carts carrying their goods sometimes accumulated before entering the city. Now it was quiet here, and only the wind rustled, bending the tops of the trees and scattering fallen leaves…
* * *
- Look, what's this? Zamarets, it looks like... let me shoot him with an arrow... from here, easy. After they pinned Itrug, I just hate them!
- Wait! - The patrol leader rubbed his eyes and said in surprise: - Look! Do you see a ball above it? Well, a ball that's burning? Do you see it? Look, you idiot!
- Exactly! What does that mean, a magician? A Zamar magician?
- No - it's the shepherd! - the partner quipped. - Call the sergeant! There's a reason this magician is here.
- Maybe we should ask him what he needs? What should we tell the sergeant now - well, the magician came, so what?
- Hmm... sometimes you can think, - admitted the partner. - Hey, come closer!
"I'll take aim at him just in case… you never know what he'll do," the archer squinted and pulled an armor-piercing arrow with a sharp, faceted steel tip from his quiver. He put it on the bowstring and waited for the stranger to approach in response to his partner's gesture.
Zamar came closer and stood under the fortress wall, right next to the lowered portcullis. The slab blocking the entrance was raised, and the passage was blocked only by the portcullis, "decorated" with steel spikes. The soldier quickly ran down the stone stairs to the portcullis and, standing almost right next to the steel lace, began to silently and carefully examine the Zamar magician. For some reason, he was dressed in the uniform of a Corps soldier - shabby, dirty, with traces of wearing oiled chainmail - he put on the jacket of the uniform, which he had been holding in his hands.
A young guy, no more than twenty years old, but the soldier knew how deceptive the age of magicians is. The magician who looked young could well be three times older than at first glance. How this happened, the soldier did not know. But there were rumors that magicians age later than ordinary people.
Blond, blue-eyed – nothing special, just an ordinary, simple guy, nice-looking, only a little gloomy. However – you will be gloomy when an armor-piercing bow is pointed at you. He looked at the soldier behind the bars impassively, like a stone statue, and was silent. And only above his left shoulder a small magic ball glowed, moving with him. The soldier had seen such balls before – every magician knew how to make them.
- Who are you and what do you want? - the soldier asked importantly, filled with the solemnity of the moment. It's not every day that a strange mage comes to the fortress's doors, probably to go over to the enemy's side. And why else? It seems that his previous owners didn't take very good care of him - look how he's torn up, wallowing in the mud. Isfirian mages don't take a step without servants. And this one - like a simple soldier! These Zamars are savages after all. They don't know who to value.
"I'm a black magician. I need to talk to General Herag," the guy answered calmly, "I have an important conversation with him!"
- What a way to say it! - the soldier laughed. - What makes you think the general will see you? He probably has more important things to do.
- More important than your own life? Let me through and take me to the general. His life is in danger. And one more thing - if that idiot over there doesn't put his bow away, I'm going to curse him so much that he'll have bloody diarrhea for a month until he dies. I don't like being aimed at with a long-range bow.
- Stay here, - the soldier turned pale, - I'll report to the sergeant now, and he'll decide who to report to. Hey, Zistar, lower the bow! Lower it, I tell you!
The soldier trotted off somewhere to the side, and Ned walked to the side of the road and sat down on a roadside stone, polished to a shine by thousands, maybe tens of thousands of travelers' backsides, who sat down on it to rest before going into the city.
Ned raised his head and looked up – high! The wall, made of rough stone, held together with white mortar, hung over with all its mass, leaving a feeling of power and steadfastness. Thinking about how the Isphirians took the city, Ned decided – it seemed that betrayal had worked here after all. Otherwise, how could one explain that the city had been captured so easily, and there were no traces of a siege or battle on the walls? Maybe it happened because of the element of surprise? However – what difference does it make. In any case, if the Corps goes to storm these walls – they will stay here. There are neither the necessary number of people nor the necessary siege mechanisms for a direct assault.
He thought about it and was surprised – why were such thoughts creeping into his head? How did he know about the siege mechanisms and how did he calculate the required number of people for the assault so precisely? How did he know that for every defender of the fortress killed there would be at least three or four enemies? The Black One had not gone away irrevocably, Ned concluded, and he had to be very careful. He was sitting somewhere in his brain and waiting for his moment… which one? That was the question. The main question that occupied Ned – what did he need, this Black One? And who was he anyway?
The Isphirians had to wait quite a long time. However, it may have only seemed that way to Ned. In any case, there was a whole crowd standing at the gate when Ned looked up at the shout – five mages in black clothes, two officers and several soldiers with powerful bows, watching every move of the stranger.
- Who are you? And what did you want? - one of the magicians stepped forward, a tall, gray-haired man with a black stripe on his shoulder, one would assume a black army magician.
- I am a black magician, previously served in the Corps. I want to get an appointment with General Kheragh, warn him of the danger, and also go over to the side of the victors. I heard that the general offered our commanders to go over to Isfir's side, that after the surrender they will be treated well. I believe that the war is lost, and I want to take my rightful place among the victors.
- Hmm... as I see, the Corps doesn't spoil its mages. I wonder why you all didn't run away earlier, - the Isfirian mage grinned, looking at the stranger's tattered uniform. - And why are you in soldier's clothes? What, there is no mage's uniform?
"It's worn out," Ned lied without thinking, "I had to wear what I had. So, will you let me in?"
- Not only will we let you in, but we won't let you go! - the satisfied Isfirian joked. - Now you either serve us or die. By the way, keep in mind that if you decide to cast a spell, the soldiers have been ordered to shoot at the first pass or word of the spell. Is that clear?
- I'm not going to read any spells! I need to talk to Herag, I have important information for him. And it requires immediate intervention. So what do we do? Do I have to sit here for a long time? By the way, I'm terribly hungry. Do you have anything edible?
- Don't worry, we'll feed you, - the magician grinned. - So, guys - have you seen whose power is better? Have you ever gone hungry in the service of our king? Just look at what they've brought their magician to! What are they doing to their soldiers then, if they've reduced the magician - THE MAGICIAN! - to the state of a hungry vagabond! Open the grate. One more thing, colleague - in addition to the soldiers, the spells of four magicians are aimed at you, and it wouldn't hurt to repeat - if you move, you'll fly to pieces. Keep that in mind.
"Then how will the soldiers get into those pieces? If they fly apart," Ned asked without smiling.
- Why would they fall into pieces? - the magician did not understand and after a second he grinned: - Yes, you have a sense of humor. I would never have thought. You are so serious, even gloomy. The grate will rise a meter, dive under it quickly. What if you are here only so that a squad of fighters will burst in after you! We cannot take risks.
The gate mechanism started working, the chains rattled and clanked, and the spiked grate went up, freeing a narrow passage. Looking with distrust at the sharp steel spears that came out of the grooves at the bottom of the grate, Ned came closer and, bending down, easily rolled to the other side, in order to jump up and find himself in front of a crowd of Isfirians.
Taking the stranger into a cautious circle, they led him along the cobblestones under the surprised gaze of the garrison soldiers. When the convoy approached the palace where Kheragh's headquarters were located, several hundred soldiers were already following Ned and his escorts. The rumor that the Corps battle mage had surrendered spread faster than lightning, and everyone wanted to see this monster, one of those who had contributed to their defeat. Some laughed triumphantly, some shouted furious curses, and some simply looked with curiosity at the damned Zamar, a defector who wanted to save his life by betrayal. And they thought that, apparently, things were really bad for the Corps, since those who had always been above everyone else - the mages - began to flee from there.
Ned looked with curiosity at the streets, the houses, the soldiers who walked next to him. If he hadn't known that they were Isfirians, he might have mistaken them for Zamarians - weapons, clothes - everything like the Zamarians. It was immediately obvious that the empire had once been united.
There were no city residents on the streets. Most likely, they were evicted from their homes and sent to Isfir, as the Isfirians did in all captured settlements. This was profitable in all respects - the slaves were then sold at slave markets, and now no one would stab the army in the back.
Soon Ned found himself in front of a two-story building that had previously belonged to some wealthy citizen. At the entrance stood a squad of men-at-arms, who immediately blocked the crowd's way:
- What kind of meeting? Who allowed it?
The mage-escort whispered something in the ear of the senior guard, and he stared in surprise at Ned, above whom the white lantern was shining. Then he answered something, and the mage turned to the people accompanying Ned:
- Stay here. Don't take your eyes off him! I'll report to General Kheragh, then you can go in - if he allows it. By the way - search him. Take away everything suspicious.
A guard sergeant ran up to Ned and deftly patted the stranger's pockets, ran his hands over his thighs and after a few seconds declared:
- He's clean! No weapons!
- Idiot! - the magician got angry. - Why does a battle magician need a weapon? You should look for magical artifacts! Maybe he has some object in his pocket, charged with magic power! Bring him to the general, and he will unleash some nasty trick on him!
- He doesn't have any objects! I felt him from head to toe! - the guard said confidently. - What, am I just serving for the first year?
A weight was lifted from Ned's soul - he tried, tying the artifact between his legs with a strip of cloth. The small flat box remained unnoticed. Especially since the guard disdained to feel his groin - Ned smelled like a garbage can. It was not for nothing that he tried to find a dead fish and thoroughly smear his clothes with it. He smelled simply awful.
The Isfirian mage nodded his head and quickly walked up the stairs. He was gone for about ten minutes, after which he appeared on the top step and beckoned with his hand:
- Follow me! General Herag is waiting for you.