Morning found Setia clad in full combat gear, dressed in a black caftan and trousers, and high boots, fastening a hidden dagger sheath under her left sleeve. She had a sword strapped to her back. When she left the chamber, she noticed some curious glances of the guards. No one had said anything about her overnight transformation from princess to commander of the troops . At least, not in front of her. She headed straight for the dungeons. On the way, she encountered Moros.
"Are you already on your way to the camp?" he asked upon seeing her.
"No, I have business to attend to." she replied evasively.
"Is something going on? You're dressed for war." Moros persisted.
"I need to interrogate an Equerd spy in the prison, so we'll meet in about an hour." Setia didn't want Moros to be present during her conversation with Red.
"I understand, we'll meet at the gate." Moros sensed her intentions.
"Okay, and take about forty guards with you." she ordered him.
"That many?" Moros asked in surprise.
"Yes, they'll be our protection. We'll talk when I'm finished." Setia cut the conversation short; she didn't have time to explain the situation now.
The dungeon doors creaked softly again, and two guards were playing dice. At the sight of the princess, they froze, unsure what to do.
"Bring me the prisoner," Setia sat down on a chair at the table while toying with the dice, said, "and fetch me some wine and two cups."
"Yes, mt lady" the young guard ran quickly toward the exit, probably to the kitchen. His flushed companion, a head taller than him, went to fetch the prisoner, jingling all the way with a bunch of keys. A moment later, he returned, accompanied by Red.
"Sit down, Red." Setia gestured to the chair opposite, then turned to the guard. "You may leave. I'll let you know when I need you."
Behind her, she heard hurried footsteps and panting. The second guard, carrying a bottle of wine and cups, appeared, gasping for air. "Put it here and leave," she ordered.
When the dungeon door closed again, she poured the wine into cups and handed them to Red, who drank them greedily. Without a word, she refilled it again and set the bottle aside.
"Now, tell me what you know about Gorsep and the Equerdas."
After drinking the cup of wine, Red felt hopeful that he could get out of this situation. He sat back, drank again, and without putting the cup down, began to recount everything he knew.
Setia heard the story of Uncle Belmor's betrayal, his marriage to the heir to Prenian, Dagrana, and Gorsep becoming the ruler in Kanror. It was clear from the tales that the Equerdas had grown powerful and would soon march on Fenigrid. It would be a mighty army, Prenian, Kanror, and Gardynia.
"Is there anything else?" Setia asked.
"That's all, Queen Setia," Red said, relaxed. "You already know about Gorsep falling for you. He's giving me a pile of gold for any information about you." A broad smile spread across his unshaven face. "You've done quite well here. Duchess of Emfer, well. If you want," Red brightened visibly, "I can find out anything you need . Old Red can do it," he said, placing his elbows on the table.
"And you know I really need a man in Kanror?" Setia stood and began pacing around the table. "Someone to keep me informed of Gorsep's movements."
"No problem," Red waved his hand and reached for the wine cup, which was already showing its empty bottom.
"May I?" he asked, pointing to the bottle.
"Sure." Setia took the bottle, smashed it against the table with a powerful blow, and then plunged it into Red's surprised face. The mercenary tried to defend himself, but Setia pressed down with all her weight. The chair tipped over with a loud crash, the bottle slick with blood. Red howled in pain as she released him; his face was a bloody mess, his eyes bulging, and the tip of his nose severed. Red choked on blood. Setia drew her sword from behind her back, raised her arms high, and prepared to strike. At that moment, Moros stepped in.
"Setia, Haleon, what's happening..." Moros was terrified.
"Treacherous scum!" Setia finished Red off by plunging her sword into his chest. Red kicked his legs for a moment, then froze.
"Setia...what did he do?!!" Moros turned his head, feeling sick.
"He was a traitor," Setia said, wiping her sword on the dead Red's clothes. "Guards, guards!"
The guards waiting outside rushed inside, the younger one vomiting at the sight of the mangled body.
"Clean up this mess for me." Setia pointed the tip of her sword at Red's body. "And you," she said to the pale guard with remnants of vomit on his face, "get used to it, war awaits us." She turned to Moros.
"Brother, it's time for us to go."
Daylight dazzled after leaving the dimly lit dungeon. Moros remained silent, and Setia had no desire to explain anything to him. She washed her bloody hands in a bucket of water by the dungeon door. Forty men in black and red jerkins waited at the main gate. They were a sight to behold; they had high-quality weapons, horses, and uniforms. She wanted them to impress the mercenaries. They needed to be well-equipped, especially since the chests in the treasury were empty. She had to go, and she had to capture Fenigrid, or she wouldn't have anything to pay them with.
She mounted her horse and set off. Moros and forty of her guards followed her. They rode quickly; the mercenary camp wasn't far. Setia still remembered what Jefre had told her. She wondered if the battle with Rosnar would be today, or if she still had time. In either case, she was ready. She had trained furiously; defeating her wouldn't be easy.
The camp's tents were visible from a distance. Such a large army occupied a considerable area. Wagons were positioned around the tents, resembling a defensive wall, and guards were posted. Setia and her guards were allowed through with honors. She entered through the main alley. The camp was divided into sections. Immediately at the entrance, on the left, was the infirmary, where four elders sat. On the right were the colorful tents of the whores, who flocked to the army like flies to manure. A short distance further on was the kitchen and the supply depot. Subsequent crossroads divided the camp into groups of hired troops. At the very end were the blacksmiths and carpenters, who worked on war machines and equipment. In the center was a free square, and next to it was the largest tent, where meetings and conferences were held. The camp was alive with activity; one could constantly hear the quarrels of those sitting around the fire, the clash of weapons during combat practice, or the moaning of a whore coming from the tent. Setia could smell the stench of unwashed bodies mingling with the scent of roasting meat. All these sounds, this whole place, reminded her of her happy childhood and her father Setes. She felt an inner peace; this was her home.