Meanwhile, Amon descended the stairs into the hall. As the priestess had said, the servant was asleep. The candle in the copper bowl had almost burned out, melting into a shapeless lump. The sorcerer stood over Ali, playing with his expression, and was pleased. He gave the servant a light kick to the leg.
"Don't worry, light of my heart, the baths are ready," the man mumbled sleepily.
Amon smirked and kicked harder. Ali jumped up as if stung and stared dazedly at the sorcerer.
"Sleeping, you scoundrel!" Amon snapped.
The servant bowed low to the ground and mumbled, "No, my lord, I was just sitting here..."
"Sleeping, you scoundrel," the sorcerer repeated with emphasis, and then indignantly continued, "You're sleeping, and my friend, the honorable Ibn Hasiyar, is forced to shout beneath the windows so that I may pay attention to his beloved third cousin, whom he had to leave all alone in El-Farra!"
The servant bent even lower, nearly folding in half.
"I had to open the door for her myself, as if I were no worthy guest but a wretched slave!" Amon exclaimed angrily. "While you indulge in dreams, filthy and vile like yourself, I am doing your job for you. What a disgrace! Tomorrow I will certainly inform the master about this!"
Ali fell to his knees, clutching the sorcerer's legs.
"I beg you, my lord! Forgive me! Please don't tell the master," he pleaded, crawling at Amon's feet. "I have to feed my family, I have five children and a sick wife!"
"What do I care about your family," Amon spat contemptuously. "I am dishonored! The poor girl, my friend's cousin, stood there like a beggar at the market. Such shame! I escorted her to my companion's chambers, and you didn't even wake up."
"Please... forgive me..."
For a minute, the sorcerer listened to the servant's lamentations, then said more calmly, "I'm going to bathe."
He was descending the stairs when Ali ran after him and, standing on a step above, helplessly stammered, "Don't tell the master, my lord."
"If you redeem yourself with loyal service, I might consider it," Amon said as he walked. "Now get out of my sight!"
***
The sorcerer bathed leisurely and then returned to his room. When he entered, Camilla was handing Alexandra a jug of wine.
"You'll see, everything will work out!" the succubus encouraged gently. "It will be great!"
The mercenary shook her head doubtfully, but a wide smile remained on her face. When she saw Amon, she froze, not taking the jug offered to her. The priestess nudged her with it, trying to get her attention, but Alexandra didn't move.
"We were just chatting," the girl said shyly. "Like you asked."
"I see you've already become friends," Amon said mockingly. "Very well. Now to business—I've settled things with Camilla. Her presence won't be a surprise. That means," he said to the priestess, "you can go to the adjacent room."
"As you command..."
Camilla set down the jug. She smiled with her eyes at the mercenary, gave Amon an adoring glance, and slipped out.
"We drank a little," Alexandra said apologetically, hiding the jug behind the pillows. "I barely drank anything."
"Fine," the sorcerer waved dismissively. "You can go to sleep. I'll stay up for a bit."
"No," Alexandra stacked several pillows together, making a tall pile. "I'll keep watch while you rest."
Amon shrugged. He blew out the oil lamps and lay down on the carpet.
Time passed. Alexandra nodded off, and eventually fell asleep. Amon stared at the ceiling.
'Things are moving too quickly and almost out of control. Saving the priestess was a fluke that triggered a chain of events I hadn't foreseen. But as our primarch used to say, coincidences are not random. And maybe, just maybe, my meeting with Alexandra has some deeper significance.
Who knows? At least she's loyal to me and doesn't cause much trouble. More than that, for a mercenary, Alexandra is surprisingly principled. She could have easily slit my throat when I was unconscious and taken all the gold. I'm sure most people in her place would have done just that. And she didn't do it out of sympathy. That came later, after I spun her a web of lies.'
Amon felt something deep inside him stir, an old, forgotten feeling, akin to trust in his companion—but not the cold certainty of calculated moves ten steps ahead. This was different, warmer, tinged with respect. For a while, he tried to listen to himself.
'I can't remember, not at all,' he thought uneasily. 'This feels familiar, but I can't recall. What's it called? No, I can't remember. Well, Chaos take it! I'm sure of one thing: Alexandra won't betray me, even if I'm too lenient with her. Drinking with a potential enemy! And I didn't even say a word. Funny, I keep comparing her to a blade, and this blade has a notch—an insatiable thirst. But you get used to a weapon, and even that flaw doesn't irritate you anymore. You just know it's there, and you keep fighting. And when offered a different one, you refuse, even though it's the wrong choice, but you're used to it, simply used to it. No, something's off here. Alexandra is still human, and a human is more complicated than a sword. What was that word again?'
The mercenary snored. Amon turned onto his side, placing his arm under his head. Giving up on finding the right word, he lay there, staring blankly at the wall. Gradually, his thoughts shifted to the Fallen Goddess.
'She gave me an excellent lead. The Iron Demon—he's the key to my return! Along with magic and the Goddess herself, who will surely help me if I truly free her. The Iron Demon… From the description, he was a Tzeentchian, but his behavior… Senseless. Unless he knew something I didn't.
He surely knew. Otherwise, why engage in an open fight with a group of powerful beasts? I must stay vigilant. I need to find out who he was and what drove him.
Yes. And as for the Fallen Goddess… there's something off about her too. She's quite naive, foolish even, and inconsistent. And the world she created? It's a nightmare, worse than the demon worlds. A lack of logic is even better than flawed logic.
A complete nightmare. Yet, I still don't feel contempt or disdain toward her, despite all her flaws. The last encounter was even... pleasant.'
Amon shook his head slightly, trying to shake off the pleasant memory.
'And it's nothing like the influence of Slaanesh's demons. There, the pleasure turns you inside out, and you eagerly accept anything—even being gutted alive.
And the scent is completely different, though similar in some way. It's pleasant, but it doesn't drive you mad, robbing you of your senses. And her appearance? Demons of Slaanesh are generally hideous. The difference is that under their charms, lust and admiration overpower revulsion. Here, it's different. She really is beautiful…'
For a long time, Amon tossed and turned, thinking about his allies instead of calculating his next steps for the Academy, gathering information about the Iron Demon, or planning his return to his home galaxy. Eventually, the sorcerer managed to focus on these matters, but not for long. In the absence of external threats, his body relaxed, and Amon closed his eyes to rest in the darkness. When he opened them again, the morning light was already breaking through the window.