Novel 2. Royal Justice

— My God...

— Exactly, your nobility. The Hall of Justice has decided that either you or Baron de Stroga are going to attack your neighbor.

— I would never...

— I believe you, Baron. — Armando let in a tone of sadness and sympathy. — But I have an obligation to make sure. Just as my colleagues sent to Stroga's castle will be convinced of your adversary's criminal intent. Let me ask a few questions of you and your nephew.

— Why should he? — for some reason the master of the castle became more alarmed than ever. — Mario has nothing to do with it, he has only just arrived...

— If the Baron de Stroga is preparing an attack, your loved ones may become a target, -explained Armando with a poorly concealed pain in his voice. — I must find out if Don de Luigi saw anything suspicious. But let us begin with you...

More than two hours later, Armando and Gotech were met in the street, near the stables — ostensibly to see how their horses had been arranged.

— 'Let them go to lunch,' said de Gorazzo, leaning against the boardwalk with his shoulder and folding his arms across his chest. — Said I could not join them as I was in a hurry.

— What about them? — The dark-skinned giant wondered.

— The Baron is lying, — Armando shrugged. — Scared to death, but not at the possibility of a neighbor's attack, but of our visit. He's sent his family abroad. His nephew, supposedly from Iolia, who knows who he really is. Not local, but not Iolian, either. His accent is similar, but he knows less about the republic than I do. And not just about the republic. He's strange, this Mario de Luigi. In some places, he's so down on simple questions, it's hard to believe. But he knows something very well. He must have learned his biography by heart, people don't tell it by memory. What about you?

— There are twice as many horses in the stables of his squadron as there are boxes for them, — Gotech yawned, polishing the tip of his iron hook with his fingernail. — There's plenty of supplies in the kitchen, cooking for a whole horde. There's a lot of scruffy-looking types hanging around the mess tent. They looked like soldiers, but they don't wear baron's robes, just servants' uniforms.

— Mercenaries?

— Surely. I counted seventeen or eighteen at least. They live in cellars somewhere and take their food there. They don't eat in the dining room.

— I suppose the Count has got it all right? — Armando squinted.

— That's the way it is. Two dozen cutthroats doesn't look like they're planning a mutiny. But to take the neighboring castle by surprise attack does. And that "nephew" is, I think, the squad leader.

— So... then I have something to say to our hospitable host, — de Gorazzo grinned wickedly.

Once again in the warmth of the baron's chambers, Armando said blandly:

— Your nobility, it is time for me to pack for my return journey, and I have not yet made up my mind. I have found no evidence to suggest that it was you who purchased the weapons illegally, but a number of facts disturb me. That you have sent your family away from the castle, though you have not done so before, and that there are many new faces in your castle... I dare not draw any conclusions, but I will have to present these facts to my superiors. They will probably send other people to look into this in more detail. Don't worry, the new inspection will certainly clear your good name.

— Is there any way we can influence the content of your report, sir bailiff? — De Montore was preceded by his nephew. — So as not to bother your colleagues with another trip?

— Perhaps... if I am personally assured that after my departure there will be no clash between the two baronies... — Armando looked up at the ceiling. — Then I could, of course, report in a less troubling tone.

— I swear by the One Creator, it will be so. — The Baron fervently inscribed himself with the Sign of the One.

— But then it would be a waste of time, and in such cold weather... — stretched de Gorazzo. — I fear I would not get a raise for such news and that if I should fall ill on my way to Daert, how would I pay for my medicine? And if my companion gets sick? He's not used to the snow, you've seen him.

— I don't think that's a problem — his nephew took the floor again instead of the castle master. — We'll make an agreement...

Armando left the hall of the castle with a tight leather purse hidden in his pocket. Gotech was already waiting for him at the stables, perched on his heavy horse. De Gorazzo jumped into the saddle and waved to the baron standing on the porch. But as soon as the towers of the castle disappeared from sight, the young bailiff strained the reins.

— To hell with this track, — he said to his companion with a frown. — We'll take the short cut back, away from the road. Good, there's not much snow yet...

Chapter 3

In the days of Ancient Daerth, road building was the job of the imperial legions, the same legions that had conquered the continent from the northern seas to the deserts in the south with steel and blood. The roads were always laid out along the shortest route, straight as a ballista arrow. And like a ballista arrow, they crushed any obstacle in their path. If there was a hill in the way of a road under construction, they tore it down. If there was a mountain, they tunneled through it. If there was a swamp, they drained it. Forests were cut down, white stone bridges were thrown over rivers and chasms.

After the collapse of the Western Empire, trade routes and the paths of armies changed. Some of the imperial roads were abandoned, and lonely travelers, merchant wagons, pious pilgrims, and columns of soldiers stretched through some untraveled places. Thus new tracts were born — as if by themselves. Unlike the roads of the Great Daert, these ones looped powerlessly through deep forests, mountain ranges, and dense swamps. No wonder travelers going light, unburdened by cumbersome wagons, often preferred to cut the loops of the path straight through the groves and hills. Any experienced traveler knew the narrow paths, impassable for a large group or a cart, but greatly shortening the trip for a rider.

The comfortable journey from Daert to Castel de Montore, with rests in roadside inns, took Armando and Gotech three days. The return journey promised to take only two days. Only one overnight stay, but in the open air, without tents, in the bitter cold.

When, after midnight, five dark silhouettes appeared at the edge of the bailiffs' camp, the fire was already out. In the moonlight near the fire the figures of two men wrapped in blankets, one smaller, the other larger, were visible. The horses, tethered to the bushes, smelled the intruders and snorted alarmingly. But the sleepers did not move. One of the dark silhouettes gestured a command, and two of his companions raised their weapons. Crossbows clanged, and an arrow struck each of the sleepers. The crossbowmen began to reload their weapons, and three of their companions stalked toward the fire, obviously to make sure that the campmasters were dead. The one who had given the command to the gunners went first. He drew his narrow stiletto, quickened his step... and then he gave a wild shriek, dropping the blade. He jumped on one foot, grabbing the other, trying to pull something out of his foot. Shots rang out again as the crossbowmen of the attackers fell to the ground. Two piles of dry leaves away from the fire seemed to explode from within. Dropping their empty crossbows, Gotech and Armando, who had been hiding under the foliage, charged at the confused night guests. The black-skinned giant crushed the skull of the nearest foe with a single blow of his steel rod, Don de Gorazzo crossed his sword with the blade of another. His opponent was a skilled swordsman, but he held only a dagger. Defensively, he backed away. Suddenly he too cried out, stepping on something sharp. Armando didn't miss his chance; he intercepted the dagger in his hand and drove the point of his sword under the man's throat.

In the meantime, the leader of the assassins had pulled what was lodged in his foot, assessed the situation soberly, and tried to run away, limping badly. Gotech threw his staff after him. The heavy steel rod, topped with a massive crest, struck the villain between the shoulder blades. He collapsed to the ground, writhing, unable to get up immediately. Armando, looking carefully under his feet, approached the defeated enemy, kicked him in the temple. Sitting down beside him, he turned over the collapsed body, took off his waist belt, and began to skillfully tighten the prisoner's hands behind his back. He said, grinning with the corner of his mouth:

— I hate and adore these military inventions of yours, Gotech. First digging a hole in the frozen ground, then sleeping under leaves in this cold... My nose is already running and all my joints ache.

— You are not an old man, you will recover. — Gotech kicked the "doll" that represented him by the fire, shook his head at the hole left in the blanket by a crossbow arrow. He began to gather something around the bed. Armando, who had finished swaddling the prisoner, also picked up a small item from the ground. A little "hedgehog" made of several iron nails chained together. Both ends of the nails were sharpened, so that no matter how you threw the "hedgehog" on the ground, the points would stick up.

— Nasty thing, — said the young bailiff. — I like it.

— Actually, hedgehogs are for cavalry, — Gotech took the dangerous toy and his staff from him. He wiped the blood from the rod on the prisoner's jacket. — We used them in the war against Elvartian raiders and Imperial Clibanarians. Scatter them in front of the infantry and watch the horses go crazy, throwing the riders off. But if a man steps on it, it can pierce the sole of a boot. Especially a bad one. How's our new friend?

— He ain't gonna die. Do you recognize him? — de Gorazzo lifted the head of his bound enemy by the hair.

— Yeah. He's one of the ones that used to hang out in the kitchen at the baron's castle. And the other one, too. I don't recognize the other three. Maybe I just don't remember.

— Are we expecting anyone else?

— I don't think so.

— Then let's build a fire before I freeze to death.

The servants of the law spent the rest of the night by the fire, warming tea in a cauldron and keeping their crossbows — their own and the trophy ones — loaded. No one disturbed them, and at first light the captured mercenary showed signs of life. The bailiffs immediately put him under a tree and hastened his awakening with a couple of slaps.

— It's not a good morning for you, but don't be discouraged — whether it gets worse depends only on your actions, — Armando told the captive with a broad smile. He deliberately stood so that the prisoner could see the stacked corpses of his comrades. — First of all, what is your name?

— Go to the demons, you bastard, — the mercenary snapped, testing the strength of the bindings on his arms.

— As you wish. — De Gorazzo yawned. — I don't really care about your name. Tell me who sent you. We could have guessed it ourselves, but we'd like to know for sure.

— Fuck you... — the prisoner choked when Gotech kicked him half-heartedly in the stomach.

— Look, I don't want to prolong this, — Armando said to his friend. — 'He's obviously stubborn. Shall we go?

— Let's do it.

They hoisted the prisoner under his arms and dragged him to a fallen tree trunk. They lay him on his belly on the trunk. Armando cut the mercenary's pants with a trophy stiletto, pulled them down to his knees along with his underpants.

— What are you... what is it? — The prisoner asked warily.

— We're changing your profession, — Armando replied confidentially, sitting down on the cold ground in front of the prisoner. — To a safer and better-paid one.

Gotech approached the mercenary from behind, bent down and with his hook, which replaced his left hand, hooked something between the poor man's legs. He shrieked in an unmanly way.

— I only stuck the point in, — the giant muttered. — I don't even see any blood yet.

— Don't you move, it will be worse! — de Horatso pressed his palms against the man's shoulders. — And look, we haven't started yet, and you're already doing it. Don't worry, we won't kill you. You'll go to Iolia, there's always a shortage of falsettos at the opera. They pay well.

— A-a-a-a-a-ah! — the mercenary shouted when Gotech moved his wrist.

— It's a little deeper, — the big man reported. — I see blood.

— I'll... tell you! — Tears streamed down the mercenary's face. Armando, who had expected more courage from his night guest, sighed in ostentatious disappointment. — I'll tell you everything! Ask me!

— Did the Baron send you? To kill us because we've seen too much? — The young bailiff made himself comfortable, though his ass was already starting to lose sensitivity from the cold. But in front of the interrogator's eyes, it was necessary to look confident and carefree.

— Yes!

— Why not right away?

— Not everyone in the castle knows... it was necessary to keep a low profile. And then we didn't find you on the road, we had to go back, follow the tracks from the castle...

— There were only five of you here?

— Yes.

— And all of you? You have a squad, don't you?

— Twenty-one.

— Where are the others? — Armando glanced at Gotyeh to move his hand again, because the "client" was beginning to calm down.

— Ouch! On the main mission. We couldn't wait. Them to the main mission, the five of us to follow you.

— What's the main mission?

— I don't know.

— Gotech, put some pressure on it.

— Ouch! Aaaaaaah! The main task is.... to kill Queen Octavia!

The bailiffs looked at each other dumbfounded. They were expecting anything but this. But Gotech shook his fist, urging his friend to pull himself together, and Armando quickly shook the look of confusion from his face. He bellowed:

— We knew! But why would the Baron kill the Queen?

— I don't know... It wasn't him... He just provided the base. It was his nephew, Don de Luigi. He's not really his nephew...

— We knew! But who?

— I don't know. An emissary or an intermediary.

— When exactly will the assassination attempt take place?

— Tomorrow... I mean, today. I don't know exactly. Nobody knows. It depends. In the afternoon.

— What do you mean? — De Gorazzo grabbed the prisoner by the ear. — How will the assassination attempt be organized? How, exactly?

— The Queen has been out hunting since morning. In the royal forest near Daert. We were told a gamekeeper we'd bought would lead her to an ambush. They showed us how to set up the ambush after the guards have checked the forest and the huntsmen have passed. They gave us amulets so the mages wouldn't notice.