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Mastery, XXVI

Lühatça had finally fallen. Mehmed was really tempted to put the entire place to the torch, but he had to contain his bloodlust. Many local nobles did pay him quite handsomely, both in gold and in oaths, for sparing their worthless hides and meager possessions. Medilah was also sure to get even more gold from the coffers of the local bey, as the man’s life was most certainly forfeit.

These matters did not interest Mehmed, at least not to any notable degree. The only reason he contained his desire for vengeance was his need for information. The Lühatça assassins’ guild hall stood in the very center of the city. It turned into a bloodbath when Medilan forces stormed it and slaughtered all of the small-fries. Only the leadership was spared as well as the archivists. Naturally, archives were generally spared the violence so generously dished out by Medilan forces.

“This is the worm, my Sultan,” Deniz dragged another man by the collar. The janissary general then proceeded to throw the captive at Medhmed’s feet.

“Not that I don’t appreciate the gesture, Deniz-cä,” Mehmed looked at his general with a raised eyebrow. “But what am I looking at?”

“The scum who accepted the order placed on your son, my Sultan,” Deniz elaborated with an expression as neutral as ever.

“I see,” Mehmed nodded. “Why have you brought him to me? The fool does not look like he is fresh out of an interrogation chamber.”

“He decided to chicken out, my sultan,” Deniz replied. “Apparently, the assassins are not quite as tough as all the rumors make them out to be. So much for the most dangerous guild on the continent.”

“Indeed?” Mehmed asked. “How fortunate… Well then, worm, tell me who hired your little band of cretins to kill my son?”

“Swear you won’t kill me first,” the arrogant fool had the gall to make demands. Deniz promptly informed the prisoner that he was in no position to demand anything -- of course, the officer delivered this information via a powerful kick to the prisoner’s stomach, making the man fall over. Notably, the assassin did not make a sound.

“Do I need to repeat my question?” Mehmed asked again. “If I do, perhaps a torturer in Medila will do a better job after all. Kick him again for good measure, Deniz-cä,” he ordered.

The general complied without question, delivering a round of kicks to the assassin’s torso. Still, the man made no sounds, even though he was obviously in pain. How… curious.

“So?” Mehmed leaned back in not quite his throne. Technically, the entire castle did belong to him now, but his real throne was always back in Medilah.

“I’ll tell, just no more, please, Mehmed-çekcä,” the prisoner fell on the floor, begging.

“Go on then, don’t keep me in suspense. It tends to be unhealthy,” Mehmed ordered.

“Yes, it was Yäcvevşpõl,” the man confessed in a shaking voice. “The bey of Yäcvevşpõl paid us handsomely, he even offered assistance to Lühatça and the guild in all matters. The deal was too good to pass up.”

“You should have done just that,” Mehmed mused. “Well, that is rather enlightening. I suppose I have to write to Yõzfät-üyug to assemble his forces. Yäcvevşpõl is not exactly an impregnable fortress or a treasury with limitless supply of resources. The forces of Becä should be enough to raze their pitiful city. Deniz, could you do that?”

“At once, my Sultan,” the other man said with a bow.

“Wait, write to Ibrahim, tell him to prepare to lead that campaign. Let your son participate as well… As for this worm, send him to Medila. I will have him and his ilk reveal everything there is to know about their guild. It is such a wonderful source of blackmail after all,” Mehmed said.

“Indeed, Your Imperial Majesty,” Deniz bowed and dragged the snarling prisoner away from the throne room.

Somehow, Mehmed had trouble believing what this assassin had told him, but now was not the time to investigate that. He would have plenty of opportunities back in Medila. Ah, how he longed to return home.