Chapter 9

Aron dreamed of an underground temple, one of those that the servants of Death dedicate to their Mistress. Magical lamps burned on the walls, and in the center a stone altar, a place of human sacrifices, rose like an irregular oval. Not far from the altar, in a pentagram, sat a dark-skinned creature with green eyes and a bone crest from the forehead to the back of the head.

The demon turned his head to Aron and smiled, spoiling the perfection of his chiseled features with a fanged grin.

“Oath fulfilled, human.

Aaron recoiled from him and woke up.

The transparent fabric of the canopy swayed overhead. It was getting light, through the open window one could see the sky, slightly tinged with pink. Glorifying the morning, a lonely bird burst into a joyful trill, a little later others joined her. It was nice to lie there doing nothing, thinking about nothing. The feather bed was comfortable, and the warmth of the human body was felt nearby.

Aaron turned his head to consider what kind of girl he had picked up that night, and to remember how much money he had spent on the most expensive, judging by the sensations, hotel room ... when he met the frightened look of his bedmate. It was the neighbor - next to him lay a half-naked young man.

Perhaps, in normal circumstances, Aaron would have paid attention to the elven origin of the youngster. But now it only lasted for one word:

— Out!

The young man shuddered, but immediately jumped to the floor, picked up his clothes with one movement and, as he was, flew out the door.

For a few moments Aaron looked after him, then, just in case, he pinched his arm. This is probably a continuation of the dream with the clawed demon. An oath, an underground temple, it is not clear who is in his bed ... What's next?

Aron shook his head, trying to correlate what he saw with reality, but his thoughts rushed, throwing up memories of distant childhood, or something in general that looked like a flickering of animated rainbows, a ball of fireballs, a duel of lightning ...

Aron rubbed his temples, remembered the healing effect of a slap in the face or, in extreme cases, a slap, but did not experiment. If he's crazy, it won't help.

Throwing off the blanket, Aaron looked at himself, hoping to resurrect memories at least by the look of his clothes. The clothes—thin linen pants and a short-sleeved shirt adorned with delicately embroidered protective runes—were only astonishing. Aaron never had such things. If only because of the presence of artfully woven threads in the embroidery, tariya is an expensive pleasure, not every noble can afford.

Giving up trying to make the memory work, Aaron looked around. Inn? Doubtful. Even the most expensive hotels do not have such luxurious bedrooms. Mahogany furniture - let's say, but gold inlay? Or a khan carpet all over the floor? The years that Aron served in the Golden Guild taught him to appreciate any product no worse than an experienced merchant. His centurion's salary for a whole year would hardly have been enough for such a carpet.

Aaron lowered his bare feet to the floor, and they sank into a thick long pile. If Teri were here, she would appreciate this luxury.

Teri...

The name seemed to break through the dam, and memories flooded in, obscuring reality: their first meeting, secret dates, escape, wedding in a distant temple ... The happy face of her beloved, her words that a child would be born soon. The house, albeit small, but filled with warmth, love, children's laughter.

And then - the return from a short trip: the charred skeleton of the house, Ricard suffocated in smoke, a small grave at the edge of the forest and, six months later, the second one for Teri ...

Aaron clenched his fists, staring blankly ahead of him. And the memory continued to unfold before him the story of the last four years of his life, when everything was subordinated to a single goal: to find and kill the enemy who deprived him of his family. Found. Killed. And then he met a demon who promised a miracle...

Aaron jumped to his feet. Something was convulsively shrinking inside, emotions demanded an exit, it seemed unbearable to stay in one place. Fifteen steps along the room and the same back. The demon in his dream said that the oath had been fulfilled. Apparently waking up in this strange place is part of the deal. And Teri, Rickard, and Aaron's two best friends should be alive here. Find them a matter of time. And he will find, of course.

But first you need to understand where it has taken him.

Aaron stopped, shook himself, went to the window. Far below, the courtyard stood out like an irregular oval, most of which was elegantly green with grass. People were scurrying from the main tower to the annexes and back. Aaron asked himself a fleeting question: why is the yard not paved with paving stones, and how many feet have not yet trampled all the grass? Then he looked up and up. Battlements of the fortress wall, armed guards and forest to the very horizon.

Where did the demon take him? To a border fort? To the castle of a rich noble? And since Aaron woke up in a strange house and a strange bed, did he still remain himself? Anything can be expected from a demon.

Moving away from the window, Aaron looked around for a mirror. He was not in this chamber, but farther on, behind a tall cabinet of red cedar, he could see an archway. Beyond the archway was a room as spacious and luxuriously furnished as the first. A suitable place for the office of a wealthy noble, who spends his evenings here studying the reports of managers and spies. Only one detail stood out from the overall picture - a cupboard full of old, judging by the condition of the bindings, books.

And here is a mirror - a large one, from the very floor and almost to the ceiling, in an openwork frame of silver, darkened with time. As old as the books.

Aaron approached, peering into the reflection. He remained himself: tall, broad-shouldered and dark-haired, with eyes as gray as the seas of his northern homeland. And the facial features were the same: a straight nose, a harsh pattern of lips, a strong chin, on which the morning stubble was already breaking through. At first glance, everything seemed right, but Aron spent most of his life under the sun. Over the years, it had fried him through and through, tanning his skin, tanning it and bleaching his hair in jagged strands. Here, his reflection was so pale, as if he had not seen the sun since birth.

Leaving the mirror, Aron went to the window. In these chambers, it faced west. Instead of a yard below, there is an orchard with a pond in the center. Behind the fortress wall was a forest. Again to the horizon.

— Mister! A frightened youthful voice came from the first room. And then its owner, in a hurry, chattered: - You ordered to immediately report the arrival of a caravan from Kiret-grad. They just let him into the castle.

Aaron turned to the archway. Here it is, the moment of truth! Now it will become clear how the local inhabitants will react to his presence in these luxurious chambers.

Standing at the front door was a fair-haired boy, hardly more than sixteen years old. Page? At the sight of Aaron, he hastily bowed. Surprise on the face of the young man did not arise, only fear manifested itself brighter.

“Caravan,” repeated Aaron.

- Yes, sir. People are placed, as you ordered, in the east wing. Would you like me to give something to the manager?

- Not. “The caravan will wait, Aron was interested in more important things. First and most importantly, the boy did not look surprised; moreover, he was addressed to him as "Mr." Recognized by one person, recognize and the rest. The second is the page's reaction to his presence. Such outright fear in the eyes of a servant usually does not say anything good about the master.

Powerful fortifications, being lost in the wilderness, and even this fear... The sooner Aaron realizes what a joke the demon played with him, the more likely he is to turn the situation to his advantage.

Aaron wasn't going to admit that what was going on was unclear to him, admitting it meant becoming vulnerable. No, first of all, he needed answers to the accumulated questions, and the page could give them.

- Inform me that today I want to have breakfast at my place, - ordered Aaron and added: - You will return and you will serve at the table.

At the last words, the boy, who had already moved towards the door, turned very pale.

Aron was standing at the window, trying to mentally draw up a plan of the fortress on the basis of what he had seen, when, after a timid knock, first the maid appeared to make the bed, and then the page and servants with trays. The latter, having silently arranged the dishes, disappeared just as silently, leaving only the page, who looked lost and unhappy.

Aaron could not assess whether the local gentleman's eating habits matched his own. The dishes brought seemed as appetizing as sand, only they crunched less on the teeth. Although the demon's promise made Aaron emerge from the void of indifference, the taste of food eluded him.

Aaron squinted at the page: now, ten minutes after the start of breakfast, he got a little comfortable. As he brought dishes to him, the page no longer looked as if any sudden movement or sound could cause his heart to break. Even the semblance of a blush returned to the teenager's pale face.

Have you ever served me before? Aaron decided to start the interrogation with the safest topic. Had the boy had the experience, he would not have moved so clumsily.

The question seemed harmless only before Aaron asked it. The page turned white and looked with such fear that Aaron could hardly keep back the curse that was torn from his lips.

“N-no, sir, I haven’t,” the page said with difficulty.

Aaron sighed and pushed back the plate of leftover chicken stewed in a tricky sauce.

"Take a stool and sit down," he ordered, nodding towards the graceful three-legged structure, as expensive as everything in this chamber. With a convulsive sigh, the teenager complied with the order.

- What is your full name?

“Rien ar-Korm, sir,” judging by the almost untrembling voice, the teenager was trying to control himself.

- Where are you from?

“My family has an estate in the northern part of Kiret province, sir.

Are you the youngest son? - No sane parent would send an heir to such a distance to a stranger.

“I am the only son, lord,” the page refuted his guesses. But I have sisters.

- How did you get here with me? Aaron was really curious.

Rien took a deep breath, as if about to dive.

“At the emperor’s reception, my older sister behaved…unkindly. Another breath, fingers digging into the edges of the stool turned white. “You, master, refused to accept the usual apology, but promised to change your mind if the heir of our family performed worthily in service. And so.

“Ar-Korm…” Aaron repeated thoughtfully. Before, he had met a certain ar-Korm, a high-flying bird not like the landless centurion. The ar-Korms had a long lineage going back to the First Emperor and rich holdings. I wonder if they are the same?

- How do you serve me?

The answer was a startled look.

- Scary? - decided to prompt Aaron.

“Yes, sir,” whispered the page.

"What scares you the most, Ryan?"

“D-dungeons, sir.

- Did you go down there?

“Y-yes, sir. Tar Mithril showed how those who displease you end up.

"What else, Ryan?" What else inspires fear in you?

“Your personal guard, sir. The teenager looked like he was drowning in a quagmire with no hope of rescue.

- What's wrong with her?

- They are werewolves. Rien's tone implied: the last word is enough.

Indeed, it was enough.

In all his life, Aaron had heard only about three - the language did not dare to call these creatures people - three monsters in human form who kept werewolves in their service. Two were necromancers. The third was the high priest of the Gray Lady, the goddess of Death.

How did Aron manage to get into such a warm company?

***

Rien sat, trying not to show fear and realizing that it was not working out well. He told the master a lie - not the dungeons and not the werewolves in the guard frightened him most of all, but Aron Tongil himself, four years as the unspoken master of the north of the empire.

The gentleman, meanwhile, seemed to have forgotten about the page, thought about something. And this something turned out to be unpleasant, deepening the crease between the dark eyebrows, forcing the corners of the lips to droop. Then he got up and went to the window.

- What do I do when I'm bored, Ryan? Tongil's voice sounded distant. So they ask, knowing the answer.

“Going down into the dungeons, master,” Rien whispered and closed his eyes tightly, already guessing what the continuation would be.

"Then take me there," Tongil confirmed his suspicions. Entertain with an interesting conversation along the way. - And by the changed voice of Mr. Rien realized that he smiled.

Everything that happened afterwards passed in a blur. And how they left the chambers, the door of which Rien, bowing to etiquette, kept open for the master, and how, before starting the descent, he frantically searched for a torch in the empty guard and incoherently muttered apologies for not being able, like a master, to see in the dark.

What did you know about me before you got here? A voice from behind sounded unexpectedly, breaking the echoing silence of the flights of stairs. Rien stumbled and did not fall only thanks to Tongil's hand, grabbing his forearm.

"So, Ryan?" The master spoke softly, but there was something in his voice, something that made him want to obey, to follow any order.

“Like everyone else, lord,” Rien said uncertainly. But Tongil was clearly waiting for more, and Rien added: “I knew that you were in charge of the north and part of the east of the empire, half of their taxes go to you. The emperor is aware of this, but he is silent. My father said: his majesty even offered you the title of duke, but you refused without explaining the reason.

Ryan paused, trying to decide whether to continue talking.

“Go on,” said the master.

Ryan took a deep breath.

“Everyone is afraid of you: vassals, allies, even the emperor. Nobody wants to be your enemy.

How nice of them. Tongil's voice sounded slightly venomous. “So I don’t have any enemies?”

Ryan swallowed.

- Yes, sir.

- For example?

- Prince of the Azure Valley. He swore to destroy you.

- Yes? Why?

Rien ventured to turn around to check if the master was laughing. But he looked with polite interest, even raised his eyebrows questioningly.

“You ordered the kidnapping of his youngest son and…” Rien trailed off, feeling his face begin to glow.

- Yes?

And they made him their concubine.

There was silence. The gentleman again plunged into thoughts and did not insist on continuing the strange conversation.

The flights of stairs ended, leading them into the dungeon. The torch illuminated the black walls polished with magic, on which streaks of lilac, shining from within the stone, and gilded runes glittered.

Ryan stopped, waiting for an order. Several passages led from the first hall, and two of them led to the lower levels, where he had not yet descended.

“Do you know where the prisoners who have recently entered the castle are?” Tongil asked in an absent tone.

- Yes, sir. “That was probably the only thing Rien could find in the dungeon.

- Then lead.

Tongil fell silent, losing interest in the conversation. And he was silent until they reached the first cells. For a few moments, the gentleman looked around, as if choosing, although, in Rien's eyes, all the doors looked the same; then he confidently moved forward, but not towards one of them, but further, into the darkness, where the light of the torch barely reached.

Are you hiding from me, guard? There was a hint of mockery in Tongil's voice. Or from other terrible monsters that live in the dark?

Rien turned his head, but the surroundings seemed to be empty, until a shadow moved in the far side passage and a cold voice rang out:

"Didn't mean to disturb you, sir.

“What forethought. Tongil's voice lost emotion again.

“Open this cell,” the master ordered, and immediately added irritably: “The one next to which I am standing is a fool, not the next one.”

Muttering apologies, the guard approached, and Rien thought that he must have been sent here for some kind of offense. After all, just like that, only such a loser as Rien himself could be in the dungeon.

The guard did not fiddle with the lock for long, and the door opened easily and quietly, without the rusty creak that the page had already tuned in to hear.

- When was he imprisoned? Tongil nodded to Rien to go in first. The guard received the same gesture.

- Fifth day, sir. As you ordered, they didn’t take me here right away, to the interrogation room, and without that everything is clear. The guard was found to be talkative, and even the fact that Tongil himself was the interlocutor confused him only at first. “Third killer this summer. Yes, he did not hide his plans, - a dismissive nod followed in the direction of the prisoner.

The master took the torch from Rien and brought it closer to the prisoner sitting by the wall. He blinked, covered his eyes with his hand, and immediately jumped up. A strong body tensed, and, if not for a short chain with a collar, the prisoner would have rushed at the newcomer.

The prisoner appeared to be a pure-blooded man: tall and broad-shouldered, with a short thick beard. He looked a little like a clansman - it was they who were considered the best hired killers - they retained their youthful harmony until old age, remaining nimble, like snakes. And yet the prisoner did not have the indifferent lethality inherent in them. The prisoner looked like an ordinary warrior: strong, dangerous in battle, but not trained to strike with stealth.

“Vend ar-Sin,” said the master in a strange tone. Why did you decide to kill me?

Impotent rage flashed in the eyes of the prisoner.

Once you remember the name, remember the reason!