Vol 6, Chapter 13

At first glance at the estate, I felt a sense of déjà vu. Of course, it wasn't an exact copy of the one that had blown up in the suburbs of Eagle's Cliff, but it was obvious they had shared the same architect. The same massive greenery all around, with perfectly round bushes and meticulously trimmed trees. The same screamingly gaudy luxury of countless marble columns and gleaming white balconies. I was almost curious to see the inside… Wouldn't surprise me if everything was covered in gold in full gypsy style.

"You're ruining the lawn," the butler accompanying our group said disapprovingly.

I turned around. Indeed, the cart wheels carrying the three-meter statue, still hidden under a cloth—didn't fit onto the marble path and left a very visible track across the perfectly cut grass. By the way!

Without the slightest embarrassment, I crouched down and smoothed the grass with my hand. How the hell had they managed to make it so even without lawnmowers? The blades were sharp at the tips, as if no tool had ever touched them. Clearly, a mage's handiwork.

"I'd love to have such a gardener. I hope he hasn't come to the ball?" I asked the butler.

The man gawked at me in surprise.

"What? Of course not! How could you even think a gardener would be allowed at a noble gathering?"

"All the better," I replied with a mysterious smile, leaving him even more bewildered. He muttered something under his breath and cast a disdainful glance at the soldiers scuffing the grass.

New uniforms, revolver rifles with fixed bayonets, leather backpacks on their shoulders. No cuirasses, no helmets—only rolled-up mail shirts hidden in the packs.

And there were two reasons for this. First, the weaker we appeared, the more people I could smuggle closer to the estate. Second, considering the number of aristocrats inside, steel armor would hinder rather than help. Better a soldier lose his weapon than go flying and break his neck if I failed to smother enemy magic in time.

The soldiers pushed the cart steadily by hand. What else could they do, with horses forbidden by the guards? Besides, it wasn't our fault the statue was so broad and the paths so narrow.

Creaking, the cart rolled up to the gleaming white steps.

Now it was my turn. I rolled up my sleeves and prepared to lift...

"Not so fast, sir. We must inspect it first." The voice of a knight, the estate guard—stopped me.

A squad of men in plate surrounded the cart. Their captain lifted the cloth, laid his hand on the statue's leg. Behind him, a novice in a robe waved something like a magnifying lens over it, searching for any traces of magic, runes, glyphs, circles.

I was calm. No matter how hard they tried, they would find nothing.

"All clear. We'll carry it inside ourselves. As for you—you're subject to inspection."

"Inspection?" I raised a brow.

That, to put it mildly, was outrageous. One of the basic privileges of nobility was the right to carry arms anywhere, anytime. Even in the Royal Palace you weren't always required to surrender your sword—much less at some shabby estate! It was simply insulting. Frankly—humiliating for a noble.

"All must surrender weapons. The Marquis's orders." The captain smiled, his whole bearing showing how much he relished enforcing that order. His enthusiasm was no surprise. How often did an ordinary knight get the chance to lord it over someone vastly outranking him? I approved of such boldness… just not when it was directed at me.

Til stepped in, realizing that arguing with guards wasn't fitting for me.

"The right to bear arms was granted by the King. This is the first time I've seen a mere knight lay claim to what the Crown itself bestowed."

"Hmph. And I, for the first time, see a 'Baronet' with neither warrior's nor mage's Gift. Mercenaries have no right to interfere in noble conversation," the knight retorted.

"I granted him that title, in accordance with my rights. To imply it is invalid is an insult to me."

"My apologies, Your Grace. That's not what I meant," the knight backpedaled reluctantly.

"In that case, stop this farce. If the Marquis wishes us to enter his house without swords, let him come down and ask personally."

"Not swords, no. Lord Laslo has no wish to damage your honor by demanding you surrender blood-bound steel. He only requires you to hand over dishonorable alchemical weapons." The knight pointed to the revolvers.

"These are my amulets. Symbols of faith," I said, stroking the grip.

The knight's gaze shifted to the soldiers, who had already unslung their rifles, sensing trouble.

"These are spears," one of them replied.

"Club," Dorvan added laconically, hefting his massive hand-cannon.

"I don't care. The Marquis's order is clear: only those with ordinary swords may enter the estate."

"And what did the Marquis say to do if guests refuse?" I asked in a silky voice, lowering mine.

"He did say, but these fools never remember." The reply drifted down from the top of the stairs.

"And what is that?" I turned my gaze on Laslo. Come to think of it, this was the first time I'd seen him so close.

"That in that case, the talks will collapse, and it will be your fault. The King won't like that. He might even die of such disappointment!" he smirked.

To joke so openly about the King's death… Either he was insane, or certain the King wouldn't survive the coming rebellion of the Second Duke. But most likely—insane. No sane man would flaunt such knowledge.

"Yes, that would be unfortunate. Very well, we'll comply," I said, unbuckling my belt.

Dorvan lowered his cannon, and Til, after clearing his throat, addressed me.

"Commander… seeing how it is, maybe I'll just wait outside?"

I sighed, taking into account how much gear he had piled onto himself—it would take him ages to disarm. The gifted revolvers hadn't convinced him to abandon his other weapons: four flintlock pistols with bayonet-like blades strapped across his chest, a musket, a blunderbuss, several grenades at his belt…

Shaking my head, I waved my hand in reluctant permission.

Laslo smirked.

"Correct. Dressing your men like nobles doesn't change their peasant faces. Let them stay outside, where they belong… except for the ladies. For them, I'll make an exception."

His insolence grew with every minute. Still, let him strut a little longer.

"For the sake of peace, we must seek compromise," I answered humbly, making his grin widen. Oh yes, he definitely thought himself the victor. All the better—it would dull his vigilance.

"Don't worry, I'll have the servants bring scraps for your war dogs. Now then, let's see what you've brought me under the tree…" The Marquis descended toward us and lifted the cloth.

"Be ready. Eat and drink nothing," I whispered quickly to Til. He gave a barely noticeable nod.

"Oh-ho! By the heavens, the guests must see this! Ha! And how did you even think of it? I admit, I might even soften my demands. A little." He laughed, but his face soon darkened as he touched the statue's leg. "Tch. You skimped on silver, Condor. Not only is it hollow, but there's as much silver as iron. But I'm not surprised—what else could one expect from such a poor house? Gold? Bring it inside."

With ten hands the guards struggled to levitate the statue into the hall. Taking the girls by their arms, I followed.

"Why two, Randal? Lend me one. I'll pay her twice what you do." Laslo's mood was spiking again, as if he were not only drunk but high on something as well.

"I doubt the King would object if I challenged you to a duel for such insinuations, Marquis," I said calmly, without sparing him a glance.

"Boring. By the way, interesting accessories—never seen such before. Tell me, where does the tail attach?" He pointed at Mira. She couldn't restrain herself and hissed.

I burned him with an angry glare. Seemed it would be harder to hold back and not kill him prematurely than I thought.

"What? Just a joke. Come on then, move it faster!" he barked at the guards, who were straining to levitate the statue. "Can't wait to show it off to the guests…"

The statue rolled into the hall, followed by a puffed-up Laslo. The herald hurried forward to announce us, but the Marquis knocked him aside.

"Out of the way! Now, gentlemen. Ladies. I present our new guest—Viscount von Condor himself, who has come in person to settle the misunderstanding about his troops occupying part of my lands."

Once he finished his short speech, his gaze flicked toward me.

"In accordance with the King's will, we shall attempt to reach an agreement tonight that satisfies both sides," I commented neutrally. Laughter rippled through the hall, barons hiding their smirks behind their wine glasses.

Laslo moved to straighten the statue, giving me a few moments to look around. I admit, I was slightly off in my guess. Gold was present, yes, but it was red and black wood that dominated. Railings, walls, even the parquet. And marble? Was the marble flooring covered with wood paneling?

Something told me that was exactly the case.

"Not good," Tamilla whispered in my ear.

"Yes, tasteless," I agreed.

"No, I mean something else. Look at the guests."

I swept my gaze over the aristocrats. A bunch of smug peacocks, nothing unusual.

"And?"

Tamilla sighed.

"Far too many knights, but few barons, and not a single count. Many noble houses are absent. Only the most loyal to the Marquis are here, and some came from far away."

"All the better for us, worse for them," I shrugged, glancing at my watch. Ten minutes already. We had wasted too much time at the threshold.

Meanwhile, the Marquis tore away the cloth.

"Ta-dah! Look, what a marvel!"

The fabric fell onto the ebony parquet, unveiling a three-meter-tall statue of Baronet Alex von Hornet. Clad in armor, he stood with one foot upon the Matriarch's head, his sword thrust deep into it. The blade was warped, part of the metal melted and sagging from the creature's acid. His fist was raised in victory, his pose screaming of a hard-fought battle, dented armor completing the impression.

The hall fell silent. People crowded in from the far ends of the chamber to see it up close. Several aristocrats stroked their chins in admiration.

"I heard the Condor heir had a Sculptor's Gift, but…" one began, before Laslo cut him off irritably.

"Are you blind? Don't you see who this statue is of? Have you forgotten the rumors swirling about their house?"

But the crowd wasn't in the mood to discuss old rumors. On the contrary, they debated the statue. Those who had been at court argued over how accurately the Matriarch's head had been recreated. Indeed, its size had to be reduced, even considering it appeared half-sunken into the ground, serving as the statue's pedestal.

Laslo wouldn't give up and turned to me.

"Very bold of you to erect such a monument. Many will see it as a sign you're no longer trying to hide your kinship," he said with malice.

"Kinship? Yes, I would prefer that to be the case. But no. This is a tribute to a true warrior who walked the path of honor to the end. A man who gave his life to defeat a monster. Tell me, how many of you still consider the knightly ideals important, and how many of you sold them off in exchange for comfort?" I swept my gaze across the rows, searching faces. Many showed cynical smirks, others rage, and only a few looked abashed.

"After all, you all serve the Marquis. No one is more privy to his deeds. You know everything. You know the truth, you know how low he has dragged you all. I am certain among you are those who burned my villages, betraying the oaths of knighthood. Oaths to protect the common folk, set down during the Age of Discord. So tell me—was it worth it?"

A few seconds of silence hung after my words before Laslo cut in.

"Yes, yes, the Age of Discord. Thank you for the history lecture, Viscount. I so sorely missed it, since the decrepit old farts of the aristocracy absolutely don't bore everyone at every ball with tales of the glorious past, when all were noble, muscular, and able to bed a dozen girls at once. My ears bleed. Their time is gone, as are their tales. Servants, bring me my crossbow!"

Several liveried men immediately dashed deeper into the estate.

Seizing the pause, I spoke again.

"People do tend to embellish the past, that's true. But a glorious past creates a glorious future. Belief that men once held ideals allows us to preserve and multiply them today. How many would be ready to perform heroic deeds if from childhood they were taught only different ideals—ideals of selfishness and greed? What kind of world would that be if it were filled only with such people? A far uglier place. But think—what would the world be like if there were more men like…" I turned toward the statue, and my words were cut short by a ringing clang.

A bolt slammed into the statue's silver forehead and lodged within. Laslo lowered the discharged crossbow.

"Dead. Hornet's dead, and we're alive. There's only one ideal that matters—Power. Only power makes subjects obey your whims, however stupid they may be. Even if it's your idealistic drivel, it doesn't matter. As long as you're strong—people obey. Period."

I raised a finger.

"As long as you're strong. But when you're weak, when the enemy is stronger on every front? When the odds are nearly zero—do you know what happens? Your jackals scatter, for all they can do is grovel before overwhelming force. The moment the tide turns against them—it's over. The end. But men with ideals… They won't surrender, even when there's no hope. They will claw out victory even in a hopeless situation. They will accomplish the impossible."

The eyes of those present turned toward the Matriarch's head.

"Ha. That's why I never demand the impossible of them," the Marquis shrugged, but his voice rang false. Realizing it, he gathered himself for a few seconds, then smiled. "You know, I'll prove I'm the one who's right. Everyone here is bound to me not only by oath but by their dependence on my gold and my will. Therefore…"

He spread his arms, addressing the crowd.

"I command you to mock this naïve fool. In the real world, what matters is power, influence, and wealth. There is no place for idiotic ideals. So laugh at them—ha-ha!"

People exchanged glances, which made him grow savage.

"I SAID LAUGH!"

Timid chuckles began in the hall. Like a snowball rolling downhill, they grew until they turned into an avalanche. But I saw a few knights not laughing—they were leaving the estate. Few, but some.

Mira's tail smacked against my leg. Her ears were pinned back, her hand on her rapier's hilt.

I shook my head.

Idiot. Forcing people to laugh at their own oaths? Even if they've rotted through… even they have their own sense of honor. They won't forgive him this humiliation.

I checked my watch. They wouldn't have time to forgive him.

At last, the laughter died down. Laslo raised his fist with a radiant smile.

"See? That is Power. As long as they obey me, I can do whatever I want. Today they praise the Theocracy, tomorrow—the Commonwealth. They have no ideals, except the ideal of obedience."

"Let us return to the negotiations," I said dryly. Time was running short.

"Already? Fine. My terms are simple: all of Short's lands must return to me. But I am willing to compromise and leave you that miserable little town by the roost."

"Not much of a deal. Now my turn. As compensation for the burning of Ognevka and its surrounding villages, as well as for arming the goblins—I demand half of Short's lands."

"What? Has humiliation addled your mind?"

"You refuse?"

"Of course I refuse, may I be damned!"

"Then the negotiations are over."

I turned and walked away.

"What the… Hey, what about the King?"

"You know the answer as well as I do," I replied without looking back.

Behind me came the shout:

"So be it, Condor, but you'll come back here. Sooner than you think!"

"Unlikely…" I muttered under my breath, glancing at my wristwatch. "Because I intend to return in just a few minutes."

The soldiers outside instantly leapt to their feet, snapping to attention. Til handed me the revolvers, and I returned them to their rightful place.

Mira sighed.

"I expected something else from my first ball. We didn't even dance…"

"Forgive me. We'll have our own ball someday."

"It's fine. Really."

I checked the time.

"It's time. We move."

The hedge was already near, but the exit was blocked by men. Many men. And not guards. Strange faces, azure scarves on their necks.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" I asked their leader in deliberately friendly tones.

"You're coming with us, Viscount. And your companion too."

"Me-nya?" Mira blinked in surprise.

"Not you! The busty one. Vitor wants her."

"Interesting proposal." I glanced at the watch. "I'll answer in five seconds. Four… three…"

***

"My lord, will you really let him go just like that? He insulted us by rejecting our generous offer!" whined a sycophant whose name Laslo hadn't bothered to remember. Nor did he intend to—there had been many, and there would be many more.

"Of course not. He'll be staying with us for a long time. A very long time…" the Marquis chuckled, then froze. "Abyss, I forgot to warn the men to take his women alive. Hopefully they'll figure it out… Though no, they're dumb as bricks. Servants! Send word to the mercenaries: the women are mine. And tell them not to touch them… without me. Ah, and to be careful with their weapons. They look different from the last ones…"

Bowing, the servant sprinted from the estate. Laslo stretched and surveyed the hall. The mansion was unnaturally quiet, and the once-merry guests now looked as if someone had pissed in their goblets.

"Why the long faces? Cheer up!" he bellowed, then muttered under his breath, "Useless idiots…"

Alas, even Laslo was forced to admit that while he had been consolidating the region, the most skilled and capable among Short's barons had perished.

In sour spirits, he approached the statue. Tomorrow he would order it melted down before Condor's eyes. And afterward—he would have a new one made, of himself. The Marquis raised a hand, and the bolt ripped free from the statue's forehead, flying into his palm. Noting its dulled tip, he turned away.

He was just about to leave when a faint, sinister rustling scratched at his ears. Quiet, yet relentless, like the last grains of sand slipping through an hourglass. Slowly, he turned back to the statue. From the hole in its forehead, black powder trickled onto the parquet.

"What the—"

A blinding flash seared his vision. The blast deafened him. The last thing the Marquis saw was a colossal silver fist Alex von Hornet's—hurtling toward him.

And then, darkness.

***

"Two. One…"

The evening sky lit up with a man-made sun. The shockwave shattered stained glass, lifted the roof, collapsed part of the wall, and smashed manicured trees. A servant who had just run from the mansion fell, rolling across the ground. The remnants of the front doors and their master crashed down beside him.

Hot air struck my back, forcing the mercenaries to recoil.

Columns of black smoke rose over the half-destroyed estate. Unlikely that anyone inside had survived.

I pulled a flask from my belt and took a swig.

You made them laugh at ideals. I made you die. That is Power.

"All-God…" the mercenary leader whispered, tearing the azure scarf from his face in shock.

I returned the flask to its place.

"Well then, gentlemen, that's my answer—you may clear out… unless you'd rather die. The choice is yours."