《Celesta》


 Prologue

    Prologue

    * * *

    The most unpleasant aspect of an ambush is rightly considered waiting. If it were only a matter of standing in one place quietly, looking out for a drunken customer, then one could accept being stuck in an alley that reeked of shit and vomit. Alas, it was not so simple. I had to choose the place carefully: not very bright, with several escape routes. Secondly, to be constantly on guard, keeping an eye out for the appearance of local bandits or the excessive number of drunks. The ideal prey was a drunken fisherman with stumbling legs or a local drunk, that is, people who could offer little resistance and whose words would probably be ignored by the people around them. I retreated into the shadows as the three drunken men passed me, then returned to my spot and waited again.

    At last, a tempting staggering figure appeared in the distance, and I mentally prayed to the powers that be, asking for help and luck. Someone above must have heard the prayer, for the man, seeing the slender female figure, let out a contented exclamation and moved purposefully in my direction. I mentally rejoiced; not only was he barely able to stand on his feet, but he wore a sailor''s suit and did not give the impression of a physically strong man. He was too good a client to pass up. I smiled timidly and leaned back slightly, so that the collar of the dirty cloth dress "accidentally" fell back, revealing a considerable piece of the chest. From the outside, my whole figure radiated defenselessness: he must never suspect a threat.

    "Hello, belle, why are you bored alone, on a dark night?" The drunkard yelled from afar. "Maybe you want me to warm you up, you must be cold! Gah, gah, gah!"

    I didn''t feel cold, but he didn''t need to know that. Hunger dominated all my senses, intensifying with each passing moment. I had to hurry.

    "Ah, sir, you must be joking with the poor girl. How could I interest such a strong man?"

    "Well, you''ve got something interesting," he pinched my ass with a laugh. "Come on, let''s take a walk back to your place, and I''ll show you something, ha-ha. How much do you charge for the job, pretty girl?"

    "Like everyone else, six coppers at a time, a silver coin a night."

    "All right, come on, let''s go." Apparently, he couldn''t wait.

    We entered a narrow alley, walked a couple of dozen steps, and I suddenly stopped near a pile of crates.

    "Sir, if you wish, we don''t have to go anywhere. I can serve you right here."

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    He snarled, pressed me against the wall, and began fumbling between my legs when a short shadow came up behind him and swung the truncheon. There was a thud, and the sailor fell unconscious to the ground. I nodded to Medea:

    "Pull him behind the crates, they won''t see him there."

    Medea helped hurriedly pull the body away. Her eyes glittered feverishly and didn''t take their eyes off the prey''s body, her fangs showing from her mouth. Her last meal had been three nights ago, and now she could hardly control her instincts, forcing her to dig into the exposed neck so she wouldn''t let go until she was fully satiated. She grabbed the man''s wrist and hissed furiously when I had to pull her away by her hair:

    "Be patient a bit longer, sweetheart. Now you''re going to eat."

    She wrapped her arms around herself and swayed, not taking her reddened gaze off the hapless lover of girls, as I cut a vein in his arm with a splinter I found and handed it to her.

    "Drink."

    Medea clung greedily to the wound, sucking the blood while I looked around once more. There was no one there. The sucking sounds subsided and grew longer, my friend''s back shuddering less and less until finally, she leaned back with a satisfied rumbling. When Medea turned to me, the madness was gone from her gaze, clear again:

    "Thank you, Celeste."

    "You''re welcome. Are you full now?"

    "Yes, at last. Will you?"

    Yesterday I managed to catch only a couple of rats, so the madness was less of a problem today than it was with my friend. I could use some sustenance. I checked the fisherman''s pulse and nodded: "Yeah."

    The blood was still oozing thinly, and I didn''t have to widen the wound. When the brackish liquid filled my mouth, I closed my eyes involuntarily in pleasure, the sharp taste of the divine flavor rendering the world irrelevant for a brief moment. Something inside me howled in frustration as I pulled away from the source of the euphoria. No, not anymore.

    Fortunately, Medea had not torn the man''s arm with her fangs, and the wound looked like it had been accidentally inflicted during a fall. No one would connect her to the ghouls, the consequences would be dismissed as common criminals. We hastily searched the helpless body, took the money and the knife hidden under his shirt, and then ran toward the docks before dawn. We have a few good hideouts in the harbor quarter, just in case, so we can wait out the day there if we have to. But there were no guarantees that people would not find us helpless during the day''s sleep.

    * * *

 Chapter 1

    Chapter 1

    * * *

    Three months ago he hardly stood out from the crowd of office workers. You could say he was a typical philistine. He went to work, drank with friends, watched TV, and occasionally spent the night in the company of girls he knew. Like most people, he had a small hobby, which served as the object of jokes of friends and sometimes helped him get out of the rut of "work-home". Andrew collected various stories related to the occult and paranormal phenomena, communicated with witches and satanists, priests and healers, attended sabbaths, dark masses, and pagan services.

    It was nothing serious: some people do the aikido, some people collect butterflies, but he was into all sorts of witchcraft. Most of what he saw were either pure charlatanism or just an excuse to socialize - people had as much fun as they could. There were the fanatics who really hoped to get the attention of the Prince of Darkness, but ninety percent of the flock were kids who''d come to see a naked exhibitionist tied to an altar. And so it was with everything. Very rarely did something happen that didn''t fall within the definition of "sleight of hand - and no cheating".

    So, another visit to another "master of black and white magic" didn''t promise any trouble - it looked ordinary in every way. Standard dark office, lady-secretary with a standard mysterious expression, embroidered runes on the curtains and scare away evil spirits bells from the Chinese tradition. Andrew came by invitation, along with his host''s colleagues, so no money was taken from him. Others were not charged either, for what was happening was not a paid session, but rather a seminar to improve their skills. Strangely enough, almost everyone present was seriously engaged in the occult.

    Apparently, noticing the bored look on the guest''s face, the magician offered to undergo a session of hypnosis. He needed a guinea pig to demonstrate "insight into the fate of previous incarnations of the being". As Andrew had long ago found out by experience, hypnosis did not work on him and reported this to the master. In response, the master caustically commented on dilettantism in the field of the occult and expressed strong confidence in his powers. Andrew fully agreed with the statement about dilettantism. Although not only the absentees were considered as mediocrities.

    When the venerable master was convinced that neither the pendulum, nor the mirrors, nor the candle flame could put the stubborn guest into a trance, he became enraged. Outwardly his anger looked quite decent, but the glances being thrown made him feel a little frightened. The chuckles of his colleagues did not add to his calmness. Suddenly the master left the room and returned about five minutes later with a small box. Out of the box appeared a headdress, most resembling a hoop of silver with a large blue stone in the center, which was solemnly placed on Andrei''s head. The sorcerer made some passes and ordered him to look in the mirror.

    Andrew shrugged and looked...

    Andrew disappeared.

    Dark. Scary. Rage. Kill! Food, food, food, food... Hunger. Searching. Up - food, food, food. Strike. Harder! Harder! Rage! Harder!!! Bad. Hunger. Hunger. Dig. Dig. Faster, faster... Food? Yes... Food!!!!!

    The sensation of moisture on his hands. That was the first thing Andrew felt - the rest came later. Something wet and a sweet, salty taste in his mouth. He struggled to raise his head and looked around. Most of all the terrain resembled scenery from a sci-fi movie: a deserted city with no colors, dead bodies in strange clothing, the glow of a fire in the distance. At his feet lay the body of a man with his throat torn open, his face grimacing with horror. There was a sudden flash of awareness to the young man as to the cause of the wet hands and what was now hardening on his clothes and face, covering his body in a thin crust. He jumped back, his mind racing, "How, how..." Then suddenly his thoughts changed direction. There was no one around, no one to see - he still had to run.

    He raced away from the murder scene, his mind spinning with one thought: escape. It didn''t matter where he was, it didn''t matter what had happened, to escape first, the rest later. Terrified, Andrew darted down the street, took another turn, ran into some abandoned building, and crammed himself into a distant room. There he was slightly relieved. Sitting in the semi-darkness, he wondered what the fuck had happened and what to do now.

    The last event that remained in his memory was a hypnosis session. He was most likely in the chair now, and the "wizard", who turned out to be not so untalented, was standing next to the body that had lost control. I''ll apologize to him when I come to my senses. After calming down in this way, Andrew began to remember all the ways to get out of the trance on his own. He remembered none that gave a complete guarantee. He would have to wait for external intervention - hope not medication. A sorcerer would have to bring him back to normal! There must be an article in the penal code for damaging the subject. Once he had assured himself that all would be well, and slightly calmed down, the man looked around curiously. At the same time, he tried to wipe the blood off his hands.

    Unfortunately, his ability to think allowed him to notice one thing he hadn''t noticed or hadn''t allowed himself to notice before. Namely, his new body.

    Female!

    A silly giggle, when he thinks about it, is not the worst reaction to such news. At that moment, however, he would not have been impressed by the coming of Jesus Christ in glory and with a host of angels behind him. Andrew continued to believe that he was under hypnosis, so he saw the changed sex as another twist in his subconscious. My older sister, a twice-divorced adventurer, thought all men were secret perverts - she was a hundred percent right about her dear brother.

    At least, after a brief examination, he was glad that my sense of taste was still intact when he was delirious. He couldn''t see the face, but the new body looked well built, with long legs, a thin waist, and small, firm breasts. The hands and feet were small, graceful, and blister-free. He assumed he looked like a young girl of seventeen or eighteen, which made him chuckle nervously again. This is something incredible, a delighted thought came to mind. I didn''t even get this kind of vibe at a Castaneda fan party. Andrew had the worst memories of his life associated with these merry fellows: he had almost died of an overdose and had stayed away from drugs ever since. He had to get rid of the nightmarish visions of the slightly cloudy liquid for several months with a psychologist he knew.

    The sky in the east was slowly turning red, and suddenly he felt tired and broken. He wanted a miracle, a faint hope that if he fell asleep now, he would wake up in a normal world-not in this nightmare. Obeying his instinct, Andrew crawled into some closet and passed out right on the bare planks.

    He woke up with a pang of hunger. Contrary to expectation, sleeping on the hard floor had had no effect on his health, except that he was thirsty and hungry atrociously. Lamenting a little that he woke up not at home in a soft bed, at most in the hospital on a bunk, Andrew got out of the building to get something to eat. The sun had already set, from the fatigue, the man (he perceived himself as a man, trying not to look down on his chest) had slept all day, but the darkness did not disturb him at all. Whether the moon was shining brightly or for some other reason, it was easy enough to walk, the light was ample. I couldn''t ignore the sight, though. The thirst grew stronger with every second, and to quell it, Andrew thought about the twists and turns of his subconscious. He had always been one hundred percent heterosexual, tolerated queers, but there was no desire to become one himself. Not at all. So he did not know how to perceive this illogicality and wondered if he should reconsider his self-image.

    He went outside and looked around carefully. There was no sign of life nearby, though he could hear what sounded like human activity in the distance. After hesitating a little, I went that way. What difference does it make, really?

    It was an unexpectedly long walk. It was as if the air was suddenly better at conducting sound, or as if his ears were better. Nevertheless, in about fifteen minutes he reached the source of the noise - three ragged men who were enthusiastically breaking apart a trunk taken from the house. They were so concentrated on their occupation that they did not notice the appearance of the witness. Not the best company, but Andrew wasn''t thinking straight from hunger.

    "Excuse me..." The quiet female voice made the marauders flinch and turn around sharply, knives in the hands of two of them, and a third grabbed a stick from the ground. "What is the name of this place, and where can I get some food? I''ve lost my memory, and I don''t know who to turn to."

    The ruffians scrutinized the unexpected phenomenon, and then one of them grinned:

    "You were right to come to us, sweetheart. We can teach you a lot of things!"

    It suddenly became clear to Andrew what a foolish thing he had just done. He took a step back, rightly assuming that being raped in a dream was no more pleasant than being raped in reality. He had no experience in this area, and he did not want to gain any.

    "What are you doing?" the other ruffian intervened. "It''s a ghoul. She''s dead."

    "What''s it to me? I can make a woman like that happy even she is dead!"

    The man tried to grab the girl by the arm, but she managed to bounce back and run into the building. The two partners rushed in after them. The door was torn from its hinges, so there was no way to hide inside the house. Despite three years of wushu lessons, Andrew doubted his ability to handle three armed men, much less in a woman''s body. So he jumped out the window and was about to flee when a ruffian with a club came around the corner. He shouted something, calling to his comrades, and tried to hit Andrei on the head. Not too hard he was afraid to spoil his future toy. Andrew dodged the stick, but the ragamuffin grasped his free hand on his shriveled dress and yanked hard, dropping him to the ground. Despite his lightweight, he held firm and kept trying to hit with his weapon.

    It was at that moment that the earthling realized: everything that is happening is real! It was not a dream. The wave of smells that wafted up to his nose, the greedy, hurried hands, the lustfully bulging eyes served as unpleasant and very strong evidence. And if later Andrew still tried to convince himself of the illusory nature of the surrounding reality, it was somehow embarrassing. Deep down, he firmly believed: it didn''t matter how he ended up here, what kind of forces brought him to this world, but now he was here to live. To suffer and fight. With the likes of this rapist, for example.

    He broke the grip easily, twisting the wrist, and then punched her fist sharply into the man''s stomach. For a brief moment, as the man gasped for air, he wrapped her arms around his bowed head and jerked it sharply around its axis. A deafening crack and the flattened body flew aside. Andrew jumped sharply to his feet; the other two pursuers were already running toward him, swearing and waving their knives.

    "Bitch!" The first one yelled as he noticed the body lying motionless to the side.

    He had to jump out the window again, this time back into the house. The odds had improved, but he didn''t feel like fighting. Perhaps he would have escaped if a rock had not knocked Andrew to the ground. The first man followed the stone, while the second man tried to climb up the window.

    He dodged the inept swing of the knife by stepping aside. Before the ragamuffin could regain his balance, he managed to catch my opponent by the arm, keep moving, and jab the knife clutched in my hand at the man who had finally fallen over the window sill.

    A pungent, salty smell rushed into his nostrils, knocking him off the feet. Andrew seemed to freeze in place, not paying attention to the man pounding on his head, just enjoying the ineffable bouquet of scents. The desire to touch the source of bliss, capable, he instinctively felt, of satisfying the burning hunger in his insides, was so great that he reached out to smell it with his whole body. No one knows how it would have ended if a hard blow to the head had not distracted him and turned his gaze to the remaining ragamuffin.

    The horror written on the man''s face cleared his mind a little. Just a little. Andrew realized that if he saw the blood pouring out of the ripped abdomen, he would lose his mind again. The pungent smell was maddening. He let out a half shriek, half moan, and ran out of the house with his prisoner. Breathing was much easier in the yard, though the brackish scent of blood still beckoned with terrible power.

    Andrei threw his enemy to the ground; the enemy cried out and began to crawl back to the corner of the courtyard. He seemed to have a crushed wrist: the way he pressed it against his body. There was a foul stench of urine.

    "What is it?" The shock of what happened is still there, and my voice is unnaturally loud and thin. "Why do I want the blood?"

    The man did not answer. In a rage, the girl slapped him across the face:

    "Answer me!"

    "You''re a ghoul! All ghouls drink blood!"

    The word "blood" rang in my ears, making me want to go back inside. Apparently, the man noticed Andrew''s condition, because he tried to run away. In vain: a thin hand grabbed his leg and jerked him sharply. The ragamuffin fell on his broken arm, cried out pitifully, and lost consciousness. I had to slap him several times, holding back and measuring my strength:

    "What does "ghoul" mean? Answer me!"

    He was able to deduce the following from the incoherent and verbose story. Three years ago, a Plague of the Mages, some kind of epidemic, swept through the land, and a lot of people died. A great many. About a month later, some recently dead people began to rise from their graves, to come back to life. The ghouls, as the uprising dead began to be called, could only walk at night, hibernating during the day, their existence supported by the blood of their victims. Ghouls were destroyed, the bodies of the dead were burned, even though it was against the local religion, but thanks to hunger and robbery, too many of the dead were left without a burial. There were more and more of the living dead. The captive was sure that the frail girl who had just killed two of his associates had also recently risen from the grave.

    The man fell silent: he was exhausted. Andrew, too, was silent, pondering the new information, trying to define his questions. The shock of understanding the reality of what was happening to him came over him with renewed vigor. His legs involuntarily buckled with horror and awareness of what had happened, he wanted to yell, to fight, to take out his fear on someone.

    The ragamuffin chose the wrong moment to try to escape. He jumped sharply to his feet, jumped aside, and darted out of the yard and into the street. Fear gave him energy: it was not easy to catch up with him. When Andrew was about to grab him by the shoulder, the man turned sharply and waved his healthy arm in front of him. The movement was so fast that there was no time to dodge, some sharp object deeply cut his cheek and forehead. The gushing blood flooded his eyes, and then a dark wave of madness, rising from somewhere inside, flooded his mind. What happened next, Andrew did not remember.

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    And never tried to remember.

    Judging by the position of the stars, not much time had passed. When he woke up, his face was slightly bloody, and so were his clothes and hands. The corpse lay at his feet like a broken doll, its throat torn open. Strangely enough, Andrew felt fine. The sucking feeling of hunger receded, looming at the very edge of his consciousness. Understanding what exactly he had quenched his wild thirst did not cause any consequences, as if the body asserted: everything was as it should be. The boiling energy needed an exit, he wanted to move, her body became light, the colors bloomed in the night city. Without thinking, he quickly darted toward the sound of the surf.

    Running allowed me not to think, to detach myself from what had happened, to forget, not to try to answer many questions, pushing them to a distant corner of my mind. Just look curiously at the ruined houses, listen to the night rustles, the squeaks of rats, and rare songs of birds, feel the wind caressing my half-naked body. Freedom, happiness! Happy and maddened laughter swept over the desolate street.

    The rapid stride was interrupted as abruptly as it had begun, the laughter replaced by sobs. He stopped, squatted in the dust, and pulled the ragged dress off her shoulders. The cold and the nakedness didn''t faze him - it didn''t matter at the time. He wanted to howl. The realization of the horror of the situation in which he or she... found himself, came suddenly and struck him hard. He had never felt so bad. Not even the day his mother died. If a ragamuffin like the three he had killed today had come now, a despairing Andrew would not have resisted. He simply would not have noticed the threat.

    That''s how the dawn found him. The scattered sunlight, the harbingers of the coming day, tingled menacingly on his naked skin. At last, the undead with the soul of a man from another world, looked around dimly, rose slowly, and shuffled into the nearest alley, seeking shelter for the day.

    The evening brought awakening and pain. The energy from last night''s feast was in short supply, and the body was telling it in the way it could. He was desperate for blood. He should have gone in search of the living, but the thought of killing made him disgusted. After all, while hunger was tolerable, it was better to find out what was going on around here.

    Sometimes the thoughts of suicide came to him, and Andrew chased them away. He continued to call himself by his old name, consciously "forgetting" about his female form. He had to be called something! In general, in his situation, the best thing was to ignore the changes that had happened to him personally and deal with the issue of survival, so as not to go crazy. So he decided to look around first, and then we would see.

    With some difficulty, he found the rags I''d thrown off yesterday and wrapped myself in them as best he could. The dirty rags didn''t cover as much as they exposed, but still, it was better than nothing at all. A naked girl and a girl in rags evoked slightly different emotions, though it was not worth getting caught by marauders in any case. The touch of the scruffy cloth was uncomfortable: the sensitivity of her skin seemed to have increased. Strange, the marauder had severely scratched her hands during last night''s fight, then fallen badly to the ground... She should have felt a painful shock at that moment, with her skin so tender. It wasn''t. Andrew ran his fingernail along her forearm, looking at the rapidly healing wound. There was no blood, and the pain felt distant as if it were another person.

    Hurriedly stopping his experiments, Andrew climbed onto the nearest building. Half-destroyed, like all the nearby buildings, it towered slightly above the surrounding area and allowed him to look around to get at least a rough idea of the strange city.

    The impression was not a happy one. The streets were dead, with frightening shadows, and a few tiny patches of fires that dispersed the darkness a bit. The houses were mostly squat, behind low fences, the gates were often torn down and lying around the courtyards. It is as if the inhabitants were suddenly forced to flee from the invasion of the enemy, with little concern for the safety of their property - just to get their feet away. Roofs had collapsed, some buildings had been damaged by fire, and lumps of clay and shell rock lay in their place. The bleak desolation was reminiscent in some ways of the chronicles of the Siege of Leningrad. The streets were filled with all kinds of garbage, from sticks to sand-covered human bones. However, the usual wrappers, cigarette butts, and other such trifles were absent, as well as rags longer than twenty centimeters.

    But there were more lights on the side where the city crept gently into the sea. He could hear faint shouts, which meant that people were living there, or engaged in some kind of meaningful activity. The latter assumption was confirmed by something that resembled the ship''s masts, but the ruins made it difficult to see the details. Shall he go there? Ask for help or hunt... Andrew shook his head, driving away the delirium of obsession. No, not yet. How to treat and how to welcome a pretty defenseless guest, he had already realized - first, he should learn more about himself and the world in which it seems, to live. Smart people had said, "Don''t mess with the devil". Not listened - so not only that, even managed to find an amateur with a serious artifact. And more dangerous than a fool - only a fool with a machine gun, so now pay for his own stupidity and others.

    You need a source of information. Thank God - gods, fate or the creator of the artifact that threw him here - Andrew understood the local language, so he would be able to ask the prisoner. Having looked around once more, he was unpleasantly surprised to find a pattern in the movements of the few people darting about the streets or resting. No singles appeared at all: the city''s ragamuffins were packed into packs of at least three. Contacting a group wasn''t something you wanted to do. So they''d have to stun the sentry or wait for someone to step aside.

    Four men were sitting by the nearest fire - two were asleep, two were having a leisurely conversation. It was easy to get close to them: the starlight made it easy to distinguish the debris and knots, so they could move noiselessly on the ground. Slowly, of course, but Andrew was in no hurry: the opportunity to overhear other people''s conversations suited him. Just to get information, not to waste time on idle chatter. Unfortunately, he could not find out anything worthwhile. The two men were discussing where they would be heading tomorrow, cursing the miserly buyers, dreaming aloud of "finding something of value". There were too many unfamiliar names, terms that Andrew did not understand, though he tried to remember them just in case. The tramps'' speech, lavishly interspersed with foul language and jargon, was gradually becoming inaudible, pauses longer and longer. At last one lay down on a piece of rag, the other continued to stare thoughtlessly into the fire.

    What should he do now? Try to get close, stun the sentry, and escape before the others wake up? Andrew had noticed yesterday the unexpectedly great physical strength of his new body. Yes, he could drag a man away, especially one so puny, if they didn''t interfere with him. Tempting, but unlikely. They sleep too soundly-they shudder and wake from time to time, look around with muddy eyes, and then fall back into a half-conscious slumber. As soon as they feel the presence of a stranger, they immediately come to their senses.

    That night, fate itself played on the Earthman''s side. Apparently, she decided that he''d had enough of it and she have to help the loser a little bit. The sentry rose quietly and made his way to the block of the wall behind which Andrew was lurking. A murmuring sound was heard, a contented grunt. At the very moment when the man began to tighten the rope that served as a belt on his tattered pants, a swift maiden figure jumped up to him, a thin hand struck him on the temple. He suppressed the first impulse to sink his fangs into her neck: Now was not the time. He threw the flaccid body on his shoulder and ran from the fire. There were frightened shouts behind him, and he had to hurry. Dawn will come, judging by feelings, in three hours, until then it is necessary to find a quiet place, to interrogate the prisoner, to hide in a place protected from sunlight. In general, we need a permanent shelter.

    The prisoner had to be secured with his clothes. The rope was used to bind his hands, and the pants pulled down and wrapped around his legs, hindered his escape. After a couple of slaps, the man recovered enough to feel the nails on his throat and hear a low hissing voice:

    "I ask, you answer. If you ask questions, I''ll kill you. If you yell, lie, call for help, I''ll kill you. You got it?"

    The ragamuffin nodded. That is, he blinked his eyes and grimaced in agreement.

    "What''s the name of this place?"

    The prisoner tried to speak, but a hoarse hiss came out of his throat. Andrew relaxed the pressure a little. The second attempt was more successful.

    "Taleya, Mistress."

    "Is that the name of a city or a country?"

    "The city, Mistress."

    Taleya was deep in a large gulf and formerly served as the sea gateway to an entire country, even more than one. To the east was the Good Sea, a vast body of water that used to be a source of sustenance and income for numerous merchants and fishermen. Shores with convenient coves and numerous islands facilitated shipping. Now pirates rule the area. Although merchants continue to prowl between the towns, their numbers are much smaller than before, and they must hire soldiers to guard the ships.

    To the north and south of the city are the former possessions of the kingdom of Salvatia, which after the Plague scattered into scraps of land under the rule of autocratic rulers. The vast valley, which was the main part of the state, became a battleground for food between distraught people. The sea bailed out the inhabitants of the coast; most of the famine was raging in the west. There, near the high mountain ridge, there were hardly any people left. The distance to the mountains could not be ascertained: the captive did not know the exact answer. Before the disaster, it was possible to cross the kingdom in a week.

    Weapons were plentiful for now, even if most of them were inoperative. The Plague of the Magic, as he called the catastrophe that had occurred - all over the world, as far as he knew, had changed something in the global laws of the planet. Magic was gone, and civilization collapsed with it. Three-quarters of the population died in the first year, and there have been fewer and fewer people since. There is almost no food to eat, no medicine, and the wild beasts and witch creatures that broke free have lost their fear of man. The risen dead did not cause much excitement against this background compared to other inhabitants walking at large. What''s a ghoul? He''s easy to kill - it''s enough to pierce his heart or blow his head off. Or just drag it out into the light.

    The Duke of Dinir ruled over Taleya - at least, that''s how the alien translated the title of the ruler. First, he and his cronies hid in the citadel, waiting out the worst of it in relative safety, then regained control of the city and the surrounding area. Slowly the fields began to be sown, the economy restored, and the soldiers slaughtered the most dangerous monsters. Dinir''s domain now stretched three days in all directions and was considered relatively safe, a huge achievement by local standards. He even managed to sink several pirate galleys.

    The place where Andrew found himself had been called the Pustule for the past three years. These quarters used to be considered quite prestigious, if not compared to the Golden Quarter, the quarter of the nobility. It was home to prosperous merchants, weak wizards, and wealthy artisans from among the owners of businesses. They were the first to suffer during the Plague. Fearless mobs massacred the inhabitants, who had no protection from the city guards holding up the walls of the inner city. After the slaughter and looting, the quarter was abandoned and the poor moved closer to the sea. It was easier to find food and fewer monsters in the harbor districts. True, the semblance of a primitive economy that survived eventually forced the poorest of the survivors into the dangerous trade of scavenging for useful things to sell.

    During the Plague, the rioters had stolen much, but many things remained hidden or were simply overlooked, forgotten to be picked up. Luxury goods were not much valued - the buyers were more interested in weapons, metalwork, cloth, and carpets. Gold was valued less than a good jacket or a loaf of bread made from rough flour. A tin of tinned food was killed without a second thought.

    Books, artifacts, carriers of knowledge were ruthlessly destroyed. Prophets multiplied like mushrooms after the rain, and all of them unanimously declared magic to be the source of all troubles. Mages were slaughtered along with their families; the shadow of a suspicion of possessing a book could condemn a man to a painful death. However, the newfound messiahs were no strangers to cursing each other, and their adherents often clashed in brutal, bloody, and senseless fights.

    "What do you know about ghouls?"

    The prisoner had already realized how to behave. Don''t flinch, don''t ask questions, answer briefly and clearly. With the last two conditions, however, the man coped poorly: the fear of ghouls interfered with concentration. At least he didn''t shit himself.

    "You... you come back to life on the third day after death, Mistress, and drink people''s blood. I don''t know anything else, I swear!"

    It''s possible.

    "If a ghoul bites a living person and that person survives, does the person become a ghoul?"

    "I don''t know, ma''am!" the ragamuffin was frightened. "I swear by Sixes, I don''t know!"

    Andrew thought about it. It seems there is nothing more useful to learn, the source of knowledge has dried up. And dawn soon... The undead stared thoughtfully at the thin vein swollen on her prisoner''s neck, inhaling involuntarily at the sweet, brackish-scented air. The thirst was growing stronger by the second. What if she didn''t drink the blood? "You''ll go mad," the rational part of the mind said.

    The swaddled man twitched in horror, for which he was immediately struck on the head with a stone. I didn''t want to kill him: the remnants of humanity forbade taking life unnecessarily, and that was satisfying. It meant that all was not yet lost. So it was possible to live, it was possible to hope, it was possible to plan the future.

    He cut a vein on the prisoner''s elbow with his small fangs and took his first sip.

    * * *

 Chapter 2

    Chapter 2

    * * *

    He wanted to curse and howl in anger before he even opened his eyes: nothing had changed, the next awakening brought the same sensations as the day before. Pain, weakness, a wary desire to find suitable prey. Thirst. Andrew cursed. Would it be like this forever now? Or would the thirst change over time - grow or weaken? He needed to figure that out soon, so he could be ready for anything.

    In other words, he needs an older companion. A more experienced ghoul. Where to look for him? Of course, wherever there are people.

    Yesterday Andrew noticed figures creeping in the dark, which his senses perceived somewhat differently from the living. Distance prevented him from seeing exactly, but instinctive apprehension at the sight of some humanoid creatures did not allow him to perceive them as prey. He dared not approach - besides, ghouls disappeared quickly and hid well. Today he felt ready to communicate, but preferably on his own terms.

    This time, peering into the ruined city and already knowing what to look out for, Andrew noticed an interesting pattern. The larger gangs camped farther from the port than the smaller groups of three or four, but the latter were much more numerous. It made sense: there were better targets for the ragamuffins in the backcountry, and on the other hand, the dangers were greater. Inevitably, the treasure hunters banded together, sought out leaders, and armed themselves, eventually becoming organized groups. It is possible that the bandits divided the quarter among themselves and carefully guarded territories against the encroachment of competitors.

    A girl in tattered rags must have looked more than a little strange, climbing onto the sagging roof of one of the houses. But there was no one there to see her: it was too dark for the awake sentries. Her kin, on the other hand, was a different matter. They probably noticed her, but for some reason not in a hurry to get acquainted. Unfortunately for them, Andrew was determined to talk tonight - he had too many questions. However, not all of them could be answered by the ghouls, even if they wanted to...

    The worm of doubt reared its head from time to time, and then the earthling began to feel the world around him again as a nightmarish dream, a virtual reality created by the hypnotist. He had to look around, to pinch himself, to listen to the shouts carried by the wind, to inhale the smells of dust and burning, once again being convinced of the clarity of sensations unusual for a nightmare. Except that any psychiatrist, and just interested in medicine knows very well how difficult it is for the patient to distinguish the imaginary world from the real one. Without help, the severe stages of the disease are incurable. What if a self-taught sorcerer accidentally caused too much damage, and now Andrew lies in a coma in a room with padded felt walls, and friendly muzzles in white coats are pricking him with syringes?

    One could stay the night in the open street. Then, according to yesterday''s prisoner, the dead body would burn, and Andrew might return to his native, human body. Or die, if he became a ghoul. It is quite possible death from painful shock - this option can''t be ruled out either. He would die in a madhouse, fried in his sleep under the imaginary sun... It was more than enough material for one dissertation.

    No, it''s better not to risk it. Sooner or later the subconscious will help, will give a clue - until then one should just survive, accumulate information and strength. Time will put everything in its place. In the meantime, it is necessary to consider the destroyed city and the woman''s body as a reality - it is easier to survive that way.

    He jumped from the improvised observation tower and ran in the direction where he''d seen his kin or someone like himself yesterday. However, he realized almost immediately how stupid it would be to run into an ambush or just run into people, so he took a brisk step. Gradually slowing down, listening more and more closely to the silence of the night, in the end, Andrew did not so much hear as feel the presence of someone else ahead.

    Human silhouettes began to be seen in the distance, and the smoke of the fire tickled my nostrils. People: another gang camping out. Twelve bandits camped by the fire and one sentry. Unlike the ragamuffins you''ve seen before, these are armed. Curious. Knives, axes, leaf-tipped spears, and something like a crude semblance of a halberd were normal; they were ancient weapons, simple and reliable. But there were no bows and no swords. Shields are not visible either, throwing weapons are represented by short spears. And they were dressed much better - in roughly made leather clothing, broken boots, and some were seen wearing cloth shirts, albeit dirty and tattered. But there were plenty of rags, too, not to mention the cleanliness of the men themselves: a gust of wind brought to my sensitive nostrils a smell more suitable to a wild beast than to a human.

    Though it was impossible to see the details from this distance, Andrew was not going to get any closer. Today hunger was bearable, so he should do more important things than hunt. At his last thoughts, the darkness lurking in the depths of consciousness began to stir unhappily: for it, the possibility of quenching thirst meant everything.

    After wandering around the camp for a while, avoiding the attention of the sentries, Andrew finally stumbled upon the first undead in his life. It was the first undead creature he''d ever encountered, and he couldn''t quite make out the exact classification at the time. The dog, mid-thigh-high, full of fangs, stood in the darkened alley, blocking the path as he waited. The encounter must have come as a surprise to her, too, because the creature didn''t pounce, but moved backward, mewing warningly.

    The upper part of the creature''s skull was missing.

    Neither was the brain.

    The opponents froze, studying each other. After a period of mutual scrutiny that lasted for ages, Andrew, trying not to make any sudden movements, slowly began to step back. The dog growled again. He sniffed. It sniffed discontentedly, jerked the ground with its paw, leaving three deep scratches on the stone, but did not pursue.

    Only when he turned the corner, Andrew dared to turn back and run, cautiously listening - whether there is a quick clawing sound from behind, whether the terrible creature has changed his mind to let the unexpected witness?

    The girl ran away and froze, looking around. Andrew was waking up from an unexpected shock. Some kind of nightmare. If the beast were a real monster, disgusting and unlike anything he had ever seen before, it would not have frightened the earthling as much as an ordinary dog like a husky, only with its skull neatly cut off. He hadn''t expected that. The captive had spoken of monsters roaming, but, first, he had never encountered them in the city before. Secondly, people are always prone to exaggeration, and Andrew simply brushed aside the story he had heard. He remembered it but did not take it seriously.

    It was a mistake.

    "Is you new?"

    A muffled voice, coming from somewhere on the side, would have made a mere human jump on the spot. The dead body, on the other hand, froze, only to jump sharply in the opposite direction. His mouth grinned viciously, a muffled growl escaped his throat.

    "The new girl, then," the short ghoul hummed contentedly, his face crouched in the dark corner. The half-naked man, with his eyes flashing and his tongue licking nervously, was not a trustworthy companion. On the contrary, as evidenced by his subsequent speech. "Quick, warm. Recently drank. Lucky, lucky. Dark gods, merciful and punishing, send a prey to your servant, do not leave the chosen one, give blood. Blood. I am not well."

    He suddenly crumpled, like a deflated rubber ball, and repeated wistfully: "Not well."

    "Who are you?" Andrew asked, and immediately berated himself for asking a stupid question. He hastened to correct himself. "How long have you been like this?"

    "A long time," the ghoul whimpered. "Second summer."

    However, the temporary insanity had passed - or, on the contrary, there had been a brief lucidity of the mind, who could tell. The man''s eyes gleamed keenly and interestedly. There stood before him a short girl of about seventeen, with thin features and long blond hair. She was thin-skinned and frail, with a supple figure and small breasts, and looked like the ideal of a man who liked petite women. More accurately, she would have looked like this if she had washed her face and body of dried blood crust and put on something prettier instead of a torn rag. Or at least clean. The ghoul sensed his kin - young and inexperienced.

    He had already opened his mouth to let off a greasy joke when the girl stepped forward slightly while looking him straight in the eye. Unusually she was acting out of character, wrong. All the new risen ghoul had previously encountered were a pitiful sight: shaking, pitying for help, hungry and vaguely aware of their condition. Or, on the contrary, wildly laughing madmen, in the euphoria of drunken blood attacking people. Such people didn''t live long. This one he''d just met looked too calm, too sure of herself. And she was standing unusually - leaning slightly forward, one leg resting on the ground behind her, her arms relaxed, but covering her head, her body, and most importantly, her throat. She watched warily, but without fear. Women were rarely taught to fight, except in temples or noble families.

    The aristocrat?

    "How long have you been an uprising, mistress?" it came out involuntarily.

    "Third night. What about you?"

    "Second year," the man grinned. "My name is Artak."

    Andrew suddenly realized that he should not introduce himself by his real name. In general, his whole story in the eyes of the locals would look a little strange. It is better to pretend to have lost his memory: it is safer and avoids unnecessary questions.

    "I don''t remember my name, I''ve lost my memory." He said and was glad that there was no gender division in the first-person conversation in Salvian. Otherwise, there might have been problems.

    "It happens," Artak agreed understandably. "Sometimes the Master takes away my memory before he brings us back to the world."

    He calmed down a little and became angry with himself. Just an ordinary girl-just an odd-looking girl. She didn''t remember anything. Now she was going to start asking him what was going on, asking for help.

    The girl really began to ask questions. Just not the ones that the man was used to.

    "Are there ghoul groups in town?"

    "What?"

    "Do you hunt alone or with others?"

    Artak remained silent. His intuition, honed over the past three years, which had more than once saved his life - and the afterlife, as the uprising called its existence - insisted that he stay away from the odd stranger.

    "The community lives nearby, in the former monastery," he finally pointed behind. "I''d show you, but I didn''t have anything to eat yesterday. If I don''t eat tonight, the demon will come out."

    "Need a hand? I just saw a dog without a skull."

    "The brainless don''t touch us. One Lord we serve," Artak brushed off. "Go straight down the street, when you see the wall with the Judges'' symbols painted on it, a simple cross and an eye, go right to the gate. There will be someone there to take you to Carlon. That''s our head''s name, Carlon."

    The first ghoul he encountered was left behind. Despite his instructions, Andrew twice had to avoid the bands of marauders who had camped overnight, so he arrived at the monastery almost before dawn. Fortunately, it didn''t take him long to find the gate. Or, more accurately, the search for the archway, for the gate itself had disappeared, only the massive hinges left of it. The monastery appeared to have been burned long ago; the stone of the low walls and the courtyard paved with carved tiles were black with soot, and there were no wooden parts left. In some places, grass made its way between the stones, wild ivy braided statues of unknown saints, crawled up the walls of buildings, climbed onto the roofs, and through windows with broken glass. I wonder if there is anyone left in the country who knows how to cast glass, or will people have to restore the lost technology?

    The announced guide was sitting in the courtyard. The gatekeeper was useless: he noticed the stranger''s appearance when the girl was five paces away. The ghoul''s gaze was unconcerned, unaggressive, unafraid, unconcerned. Skinny, ragged-looking, with his hair, pulled together in tangles, he stared at the stranger indifferently, hunched over and frozen in an absurd pose on the ruins of a column. Andrew said hello: "Hello."

    The answer was silence, which gradually became unpleasant and viscous. The ghoul seemed either asleep or in a narcotic-like trance. What was the next thing to do? Just ignore it and walk on by, go looking for this guy, Carlon himself? There was no guarantee of what the blank-eyed jerk would do - a man with a face like that would have been committed to the nuthouse a long time ago. "Hi."

    The only reaction was a blink. The eyelids slowly lowered and lifted, once.

    "Artak said you live here? Carlon where?"

    After sitting for a while, the man finally moved. He still shook his head silently, inviting me to follow him. Reluctantly, with difficulty, he lowered his bare feet to the ground, and Andrew was amazed at the length of the claws on his toes. He couldn''t have walked on his own with ten centimeters of "jewelry" - the ghoul had somehow managed to get around. It was a strange, bouncing gait, but it was fast enough. The ghoul didn''t look back, so the new girl had no choice but to follow him. He didn''t have far to go - to a small temple, which had a door right outside the courtyard.

    The inside, strange as it may seem, was relatively clean. It was sterile by local standards. The floor was scrubbed, torches of incense burned along the walls, illuminating the elaborately painted frescoes. Interesting architecture, somewhat reminiscent of the Arab-Spanish: the same light and airy. Only the color scheme was chosen heavy, pressing on the psyche, and drawings, to put it mildly, not the most life-affirming. Pictures of the afterlife, some monsters tormenting sinners, grinning jaws interspersed with images of executions and torture. A black cross with a white dot in the middle seemed to be the symbol of the deity - just as the sculpture stood at the end of the hall. The horizontal bar at the ends was divided, the resulting offshoots were decorated with jewels of blue, brown, red, and milky white. A ghoul stood in front of the cross in a prayerful pose.

    It''s interesting: whatever religion you choose, all require their neophytes to worship unconditionally. The only healthy skepticism is found in Buddhism, and many teachers treat the tenets of their teachings with excessive zeal. Faith presupposes no doubt, but it demands obedience. Doesn''t this mean that well-established canons are needed, not for people, but society? An extra binder to unite a bunch of personalities into a whole? Hence the similarity of customs: sermons, the requirement to kneel before sacred symbols, the adoration of "antiquity" and the need for the blessing of elders on any initiative.

    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    The ghoul crawled away from the cross at the sight of the intruders, and then straightened up to his full height. Still not turning his back on the symbol, he took a couple of steps backward, then turned around and jerked his hand demandingly, beckoning him to come closer. The guide was of no interest to him: all the man''s attention was on the girl. The newcomer, in turn, regarded him with interest.

    The leader of the ghouls, who could be no other man - much too commanding for a mere man - had a remarkable appearance. He was of medium height, made to look tall by his incredible thinness, and his long, straight hair, which fell to his waist, accentuated his gauntness. The long fingers on his hands were clenched nervously in constant motion. He apparently tried to fight this habit, clutching his hands together, but after a short time the naughty fingers would take over the old ones. But his face, contrary to expectation, was not bony and was rounded, with regular features, even handsome. The good impression was spoiled by the imperious lips and the icy eyes, in which there was a cruel and fanatical expression.

    "What''s your name?"

    The ghoul''s voice sounded unexpectedly soft. Andrew even looked around to see if a third person had approached. No one, and the escort was gone.

    "I don''t remember," he decided to stick to his storyline. "I woke up the day before yesterday, and I realized I''d forgotten everything."

    "It happens," the man nodded. "Most of the time it takes a month or two for the memory to come back. It doesn''t matter, though. When we enter the Darkness, we discard the past, just as a tree discards its leaves in the fall. Yesterday was dedicated to Celesta, the third of our lord''s brides, so from now on you will be named after her."

    Andrew shrugged his shoulders. By and large, he didn''t care what name to use. So he didn''t scandalize or object, though he was offended by Carlon''s way of making decisions for others without offering even a semblance of choice.

    "The sun will soon rise," the leader went on. "Come, I''ll show you a place where you can wait out the day. Tomorrow we''ll help you quench your hunger and answer the inevitable questions. Come."

    The sleeping place was a narrow cell with tightly boarded-up windows, and the only furniture in the room was a mattress covered with a rough rug. She ran her fingers curiously over the smooth surface. The furniture was not made of wood, as she had first thought, but of some kind of plastic material, elastic and moderately soft. A light door was also made of the same material, and, to judge by the absence of traces of fire, it had been recently installed. Footsteps were heard from the corridor:

    "Take it." Carlon came in, holding out a small, dark package. "Your clothes are tattered - this is a substitute."

    "Thank you."

    "Don''t thank me," the ghoul didn''t accept gratitude, "we''re all brothers and sisters, it''s our duty to help each other."

    Almost the entire territory of the monastery was occupied by the cemetery. The last resting place of the wealthy was characterized by the opulence of the tombstones - the locals continued to measure the thickness of their wallets even after death. Other vaults, which looked more like miniature fortresses, had withstood the fury of the madding mobs and now flaunted their disheveled stucco, soiled designs, broken mosaics, and if they couldn''t get inside, undamaged rich headstones. Most of the tombs, however, had been desecrated.

    The ghouls were housed in two buildings - the central temple and a sort of barracks. The rest of the buildings were unused because of the small number of inhabitants, which, with Celeste''s arrival, had grown to seven. In addition to Carlon, Artak, and the gatekeeper, who occasionally responded to Tick''s call, three more were introduced to her upon awakening. Immediately after they offered to satisfy their hunger.

    The uprising needed blood, not so much to sustain its existence as to suppress its inner "demon".The leader of this small group of the damned managed to answer all or almost all of the questions the girl asked him. Carlon created a coherent and logical system that explained both the recent catastrophe that turned a prosperous world into ruins and completely destroyed the old civilization and the emergence of new creatures such as ghouls. He himself preferred the name "risen," or "morages" in Old Sylvian.

    According to him, every ghoul is nothing but a receptacle and a material shell for a demon sent by the god of death, called to judge and punish mortals. The demon draws its strength from human blood to stay in the material world - as he is supposed to by his status in any religion. In this case, the demon is not called upon to fight in the night after receiving the next "dose" of blood. On the second night, hunger begins to pester more, but the need for blood is not overwhelming. Waking up the third night brings anguish and pain all over the body, and the ghoul has little perception of his surroundings and actively searches for prey. However, it will not attack a knowingly stronger enemy - the instinct of self-preservation will not allow it.

    If the ghoul does not find prey within four nights, he turns into a thirsty madman.

    To Carlon, a former priest of the god of Death - Morvan, the concept seemed not just correct but the only correct one. He believed absolutely in the "punishment of the gods," and, slightly insane after his ordeal, imagined himself to be the new messiah, called to cleanse the world from its filth. To his credit, he was consistent in his madness and as merciful to those around him as a fanatic can be. So his first concern for his newfound "sister" was feeding: the ghoul believed Celeste was in urgent need of blood. Just after sunset, the leader entered the newcomer''s cell.

    "How are you feeling?" Surprisingly, he was met by a wary, clearly hungry, but quite a sane girl. "Are you hungry?"

    "I drank blood the day before yesterday. Are you going hunting tonight?"

    "Yes, but without you." Carlon nodded, inviting me to follow him. "You know almost nothing so we can''t take any risk. We caught a man recently, and we didn''t kill him, we put him in a cell. My lord guided my thoughts, keeping the prisoner alive. By his grace, you will be able to quench your thirst without fear."

    "Do you have the prison?"

    "A former penitential cell - formerly used to hold sorcerers caught doing forbidden things."

    The former monk walked swiftly and purposefully. Twice he met some unfamiliar risers, but they were in no hurry to make conversation; they only looked at Celeste with dull eyes. The short walk ended in a courtyard, near a low, one-story building that reeked heavily of blood. A slender girl was standing nearby, sniffing eagerly, beautiful despite her ugly robe and layer of dirt in her hair. She turned around when she heard the footsteps and, frightened when she saw Carlon, backed away: "I just smelled it, senior brother! Lord my witness, I didn''t go inside!"

    Andrew did not hear the monk''s response. All his attention was focused on the brackish-sweet smell that overwhelmed his other senses, suppressing his emotions. The desire to go inside became, for a brief moment, unbearable. A hungry beast howled in the mind, a sharp pain cut through the stomach, and the body involuntarily stepped forward. Immediately someone''s arms wrapped around her, so strong that the frantic attempt to free herself was unsuccessful. Suddenly the smell was gone.

    Carlon put the girl on the ground just as he left the yard. He looked upset.

    "My fault. I should have tied up the prisoner." He peered intently into the newcomer''s face, searching for signs of madness. "Don''t worry, you''ll soon stop craving the source of life so greedily. In time, the demon inside you will need less food. Sister Alarika!"

    "Yes, senior brother."

    The beauty stood beside, trying not to meet the leader''s gaze.

    "I entrust Sister Celesta to your care. I''m going into town to try to capture another sinner."

    "There''s no need..." Andrew noticed the slight grimace of displeasure that distorted the leader''s face and added just in time: "... Senior brother." The grimace disappeared, and Carlon nodded in satisfaction. "It would be rude of me to interrupt your business, but I''m perfectly capable of hunting on my own. It''s quicker that way. But I would be grateful if Sister Alarika would be willing to teach me a few lessons, and give me some insight into my surroundings."

    "You have only recently risen, and your memory is as empty as a leaky bucket," the monk objected. "You are still too weak. Besides, it''s my fault you''re inconvenienced. I must atone for my mistake."

    "Don''t you have other, more important things to do? I assure you, nothing will happen to me."

    Suddenly Alarika, who had been silent up until then, intervened. The short, sharp glance at the new "sister" showed obvious interest. The woman, however, quickly lowered her eyes to hide their expression:

    "Brother Artak still hasn''t returned, senior brother." Her voice sounded quiet and hesitant. "I promise we won''t stray too far."

    The monk hesitated, then admitted with visible displeasure: "Yes, he must be found. Good. Try not to stray too far from the monastery: its power will protect you. May the lord''s blessing be upon you."

    After blessing both of them like a Christian priest, Carlon left in the direction of the temple. Andrew glanced at the "mentor" and was met with a watchful look. She was looking at him, or, more correctly, at her attentively. It seemed, or on the woman''s face flashed despair and timid hope? Such is not the way one looks at a rival, but at a possible ally or foe - with hope and fear of making a mistake. At last, the sister came to some conclusion and smiled: "You look hungry, don''t you? Let''s go find someone. Then I''ll tell you about this place, about us. And - just call me Alarika."

    The two girls headed for the exit of the monastery.

    "Then you can call me Celesta, too. But in reality, it was only yesterday that I got that name."

    "Yes, everyone who comes into the community must forget their past," Alarika confirmed in a neutral tone. She lowered her head, hiding the expression on her face with her fallen hair. "I heard you lost your memory?"

    "Yes. Did Carlon tell you?"

    "Senior brother. Better say "senior brother," the experienced one corrected me. "No, it''s just that I was in the temple yesterday and heard you talking. Don''t worry, your memory will come back in a time. Gunn is on guard at the gate now, and he only remembered his past three months after the uprising. I will introduce you to him now."

    There were two ghouls sitting at a respectful distance from each other in the courtyard. The first, tall and thin, dressed in knee-length pants and the familiar monk''s robe, at the moment crumpled up in a knot on his stomach, was looking intently at something on his thighs. At the sight of the girls, he raised his head and stared at them without taking his eyes off them. The second ghoul, the same Gunn, was a middle-aged man with a smoothly shaved head and a huge birthmark on his right cheek - he grinned crookedly in greeting.

    "What, the new one?"

    "Let me introduce you to Gunn, Celesta, the gloomiest ghoul in town." Gunn replied with an indefinite chuckle, staring shamelessly at his new "sister". She returned the favor with an equally friendly look. "Paltin sits next, his cell at the other end of the corridor. Gunn, has Artak returned?"

    "No. The senior took Tik and went in search of him, and we''ll go now." The man jumped off the pillar he was sitting on and went out the gate, followed by his companion. "Carlon told you to go to the South Market, were a little gang is supposed to be spending the night tonight. Well, and look for our painter, too."

    Then he stumbled and cursed foully. Paying no further attention to the other companions, he walked up the street without looking back. He didn''t even seem to care whether or not Paltin was following him. Who, by the way, still kept his eyes on Celesta and Alarika as he walked, his neck twisted.

    "Careful with Paltin," Alarika warned him as his kind disappeared around the corner so they couldn''t overhear the conversation. "We don''t enjoy carnal pleasures with the same vigor as before, but there are exceptions."

    "Gunn looks more dangerous."

    "He doesn''t care about anyone. He doesn''t care about himself either."

    Their first joint hunt was unexpectedly short and successful, which couldn''t be happier. Andrew could hardly keep up a conversation: his hunger was tormenting him more and more by the minute. Why the lone bandit had been driven into the ruins, why he''d lost his own, you wouldn''t know now - Alarika had hit too hard, and the man was dead. They had to hastily swallow the blood from his slit throat before it cooled. According to the older girl, the demon inside the risers does not feed on blood, but on life energy, which disappears quickly after the victim''s death. So the few attempts to store the precious liquid in vessels failed - there was zero use for the preserves.

    There was still plenty of time before dawn, so Andrew suggested we not go back to the monastery and talk here. He already knew the subtlety of ghouls'' hearing and knew how easily the leader would overhear the conversation if he wished. No, it was better to let the escort relax and talk without looking back - maybe she would say something interesting.

    Alarika agreed at once: she, too, wanted to talk to the new girl without strangers. Both for serious reasons and just to chat. Until last night, she had been the only woman in the men''s community, a status that had many disadvantages. She wanted to be sure of her future relationship - would Celesta be her friend or not? Carlon wasn''t too fond of Alarika, she was disturbing him, disturbing his cozy little world. No, thought the ghoul, she didn''t need enemies, and she''d already been punished three times for her "sins". The monk did not approve of her association with Artak, whom, incidentally, the woman did not intend to give to a possible rival. She should have explained this to Celesta at once to avoid any possible misunderstanding. The former artist the rebellious beauty did not like or even respect too much: he just gave her a sense of security, protected her from other ghouls, especially from Paltin.

    "Is there a bathhouse in the monastery?"

    "Consider it nonexistent. The sewers and water pipes are destroyed, and you have to go either to the springs or to the river for water. The road is dangerous - you can meet people or monsters. Some people don''t care what they eat as long as it smells like meat. And," Alarika said, glancing warily at the new girl, "our senior brother put spiritual purity above bodily purity."

    "I didn''t quite understand which Lord he was talking about."

    Celesta looked suspiciously calm. Unbelievable: usually the first days after awakening, the risen weep, try to find their kin, beg the gods for death. Few are grateful for the chance and euphoric. The girl who had come to the temple yesterday was a model of equanimity.

    "Father the Time gave birth to many worlds..."

    "Worlds?!" Celesta suddenly tensed.

    "Yes, worlds. Worlds of Light, worlds of Darkness, and the middle worlds, where elemental spirits rule. The center, the foundation of everything, is ours. There are many gods, but the most important are six: Illiar the lord of Light, Morvan the lord of Hell, Arcota the Heart of Flame, Salline the Benefactress, Derkana the Mistress of Waters, and Firiza the Impetuous. From their marriages, matter and life itself were born, and every living creature carries within itself a particle of the First Ones. Our Lord patronizes nocturnal beasts, dark magicians and sorcerers, merchants and shoemakers, in other words, all whose activities are connected with negative energies."

    "What''s that got to do with the shoemakers?" the new girl was surprised.

    Think about it, where does the skin come from? From slaughtered animals. Now, every original power manifests itself through many faces, the exact number of which even the priests don''t know. The demons that come into our world are patronized by Celesta, the Dark Mother, after whom our senior brother named you. It is true that the name of the goddess is spelled slightly differently, but you will not soon have the opportunity to compare.

    "Why is that?"

    Celesta scraped a piece of the floor, scooped up a handful of dust, and dumped it on the smooth surface, creating a makeshift writing board. She handed the little wand to Alarika. The girl grunted and drew two differently shaped and numbered rows of symbols. The writing was unexpectedly difficult: she''d forgotten what she was used to in the past three years, and now she was reviving it through sheer force of will.

    "At the top is the name of the Goddess, at the bottom is yours."

    "I''ll have to learn all over again," the new girl concluded grimly. "I don''t understand anything. Can you teach me?"

    "I''d be happy to."

    "Thank you. Tell me, does the phrase "The One God" mean anything to you?"

    Feeling like a teacher turned out to be unfamiliar, scary, and enjoyable.

    "Some sects claim that there is only one god, in the west, they also believe in a single creator. Maybe in your lifetime, you belonged to one of those sects. You look ordinary, you don''t look like a foreigner. It''s a pity you lost your memorial plate."

    "What plate?"

    "Look." The older woman pulled a copper plate with a pattern engraved on it from the depths of her robe. "Every Salva has one of these. It shows what family the person belongs to, who were the founders of the family, from what locality, what deeds they became famous for. The more complex the pattern, the younger the clan, some nobles have only a few lines. The plate is set on the altar at the temple when they want to make a sacrifice to the ancestors, put in the cradle of a newborn baby or the coffin of the deceased. If you had one, we might know where you came from."

    "Maybe," Celesta answered vaguely, showing absolutely no interest in her past. She had other things on her mind. "Have you ever wondered what''s going to happen to us?"

    Alarika hesitated. They had known each other too briefly to trust each other definitively. So she answered cautiously: "The senior brother thinks the end of the world is coming..."

    "I doubt it." Celesta curved her lips skeptically into a semblance of a smile. "There have been no new disasters since the Plague. Of course, it cost all the troubles of a thousand years, and now civilization would have to be rebuilt, but not from scratch. Even if the mages died - their knowledge, records remained, the crowd could not destroy everything."

    "Even if new mages are born," Alarika smiled sadly, "there''s nothing they can do. The Elements are no longer answering their calls, and the First Powers are gone. Men can no longer enchant. Except for the servants of Morvan and the few surviving priests of Illyar who have always focused on the spiritual aspects of the teachings. They have little interest in material existence. Or rather, they weren''t before; I don''t know how they are now. I haven''t seen them for a long time."

    "So, magic doesn''t work?"

    "Almost."

    Celest�� hesitated, then shrugged: "Whatever. Humans are cunning beasts, they''re resilient, they adapt to any conditions. I bet a year ago it was much harder to survive in the city. You''ll see, soon the Duke will begin to rebuild the city, purge the neighborhood of monsters, strengthen the garrisons in the villages. He will proclaim himself a king. You may call me a mad optimist, but if the human race has withstood the first and hardest blow, it has a future. So I have a future because I''m not going to die. On the contrary, I want to live in pleasure."

    "Don''t you dare say that to Carlon." Alarika felt something tremble inside her. The gray hopelessness that had clung to her soul receded for a moment, and for a brief moment, the woman believed the words. Could there be a better fate for her than eternal bloodlust and constant killing? Wandering through dark crypts and the hatred of all that is alive?

    "I''m not stupid, don''t be afraid," the girl smiled back. "And you know... Let''s start with something small. Let''s make a bath day."

    * * *

 Chapter 3

    Chapter 3

    * * *

    The ghouls were frightened of the sun, it burned them. At first, the skin turned red, then dark spots-burns appeared on it that gradually covered the entire surface of the body. After the outer covers died off, the meat and sinews burst into a bright blue flame, and the bones were the last to burn. It took less than ten minutes after the first touch of the rays for the risen to turn to ash. The knowledge of the threat from the sky ran so deep so need to take shelter in the darkness became the instinctive urge of any novice. Bloodlust and love of twilight were the first two qualities acquired by the risen upon awakening.

    Another awakening brought no peace - Andrew could not stop remembering yesterday''s events. The mood was disgusting. It had been four nights since he had come to the temple. Or was it more accurate to say "she appeared"? Salvian didn''t know the distinction between feminine and masculine, but if he continued to think of himself as a man, he would sooner or later speak out. Those around her already considered Celesta strange - it could be seen in the occasional glance they caught. They''re like wild beasts: they can tell immediately who''s a different breed. They live by instinct. If you make a mistake, they''ll tear you to pieces, no care that you, too, are an undead.

    You can only communicate with Alarika. The woman is intimidated, afraid of everything, trying not to get in Carlon''s face and never to contradict him, but remains the only one who is skeptical about his theory of the end of the world. Out loud she dares not doubt it, just slips something like this into her speech. However, as soon as Andrew brought up the subject, Alarika became withdrawn and turned into a model of obedience to her senior brother''s will. She didn''t argue, but she wasn''t supportive either. In a sense, she was a pariah in the local community of the damned, and if it hadn''t been for Artak, there was no telling what would have become with her.

    Artak... He is probably the only ghoul who consciously seeks to quicken the coming of his Lord. He destroys people who fall into his hands without question, and brutally. He left the monastery the day he met Celesta, too, not just because he was hungry. He likes to kill, he likes to feel his power. At the same time, he is an unquestionably driven person by temperament, under the influence of the head of the community completely and utterly. Why he continues to defend Alarika against Carlon''s wishes is a mystery. Maybe to satisfy his ego?

    Gunn is next most important. He could have been second in the group, or even the leader if he hadn''t been so desperate. I can feel a trace of his former strength in him. What''s missing is a will to live, and what''s left of his pride to spit on everything and go out in the sun. Artak said that in a recent clash with one of the big gangs of men, Gunn, pierced by a spear, fought with a completely indifferent face, and then coolly pulled a meter and a half of wood out of him without even a flinch. He seemed to feel no pain or other emotion at all.

    But he''s no match for Tick in this aspect. Tick lives in a world of his own, paying little attention to those around him. In general, there is logic in his actions - Andrew is still not sure of the reality of what is happening: too similar to the delusion of the ruined city and its inhabitants. The temptation to declare everything crazy and sink into sweet dreams is great, hindered by the habit of a rational perception of the world and some psychological stability, instilled by television and the old way of life. The man of the twentieth century is deaf to the technological wonders supplied by science - he who watched "Predator" is ready for anything.

    Well, there''s nothing to say about Paltin. He''s a horny jackal, and you have to kick him hard if you get the chance, so he won''t try to grope you. You won''t have to wait long for the chance.

    The last and most dangerous member of the community is Carlon. Not just a fanatic, but reasoning, thinking fanatic. A personality is capable of overwhelming, of leading. Give him time, he''ll snap Gunn out of his black melancholy and grind Alarika to dust, turning her into a wordless executor of his will. He already has. He''s well educated, and his priestly past has endowed him with great oratorical skills and a broad mind. It is not customary here to talk about his life before the plague, but, judging by the manner of his conduct, Carlon was a priest not of the rank and file. He was not at all afraid of magic, but regarded it as a simple trade, without any piety. Conclusion: Most likely, he belonged to the nobility.

    Although Celesta remembered nothing of the past, she could easily get the answers she needed from Alarika, so she had an idea of the social structure of the dead society. The words "mage" and "noble" could be equated. True, most were limited to the most primitive tricks, and the descendants of the gods often lived poorer than their merchant neighbors. Wizards made up about a quarter of the population, while the rest benefited from their labors. How many of those who had the gift had survived the catastrophe, I wonder? One percent? One-tenth of one percent? Less?

    Sometimes I got the impression that the senior brother hated people, the uncompromising manner in which he spoke of the coming end of the human race. Just now he was showing on a primitive blueprint, a dirty piece of paper, the location of the main gangs and the places where the dangerous monsters lived, how, almost without transition, he began to plan the next sortie, in which the chances of the living were reduced to zero. Carlon never even considered who or what he would become when his god came into the world: the process of service was far more important to him than the result. In fact, he even loved people - the love of a craftsman who loved his instrument. After all, by their deaths, the doomed helped him to bring what he wanted closer...

    Carlon would be a dangerous enemy, cruel and unpredictable. Andrew thought about it again and regretfully decided that it would not be possible to avoid conflict. It was a shame: he would have liked so much to get used to the new world first, to learn as much as he could about the new world, to just rest. The shock of the transfer still manifested itself in sudden bouts of panic or falling into a trance. What to do now? Fight or flee? The girl grinned. Fight the priest...

    Yesterday''s hunt not only drove the first wedge in the relationship between them but also provided much food for thought. Every three days the uprisings would raid their holdings around the monastery, killing all the people they encountered. It was not so much for practical reasons - you could get blood at any time, in principle: at the sight of a couple of ghouls, the ragamuffins scattered and were easily caught one at a time - as for psychological, or ritual reasons. The human race is steeped in sin, Carlon proclaimed, and so the time has come for him to retire into oblivion and purge the world of his vicious presence. Morvan''s reign would continue until the last of the stained race had passed, and then mankind would be replaced by other, more perfect beings. But it is the destiny of the ghouls to carry out the plans of their dark master in every way possible.

    There weren''t too many deaths this time: bitter experience had convinced the marauders to stay out of the danger zone. Celesta, under the pretext of weakness, tried to stay in the back row and out of sight of Carlon, so her participation in the massacre was reduced to a symbolic fight with some ragamuffin. She let him get away with it and stepped into the small square where the others were already gathered. Everyone was staring at the sword-wielding man, presumably the leader of the marauders, who had so far successfully flung Artak away. The wall made it difficult to get to the warrior from behind. The ghouls hadn''t bothered to come to the aid of his kin before Carlon had arrived, and even Alarika had stayed out of sight.

    "Why do you resist the inevitable?" The priest stopped a few paces away from the sweat-covered, scratched man. Artak stepped aside at the leader''s appearance. "Are you blind? Look, now is the time of the Great Night! The strict but infinitely fair judge has spoken his verdict, and the verdict is harsh! Leave your resistance and go to the next world to answer for the deeds of your kind!"

    In response, the hoarsely breathing warrior only spat: "Get back in your grave, ghoul. Or I''ll spill your guts, wrap them around a piece of wood, and hang them on that ledge over there. So you can roast better in the morning, bitch!"

    "You''ve chosen your way," Carlon pursed his lips, a fanatical expression on his face. "In the name of Morvan the Destroyer, curse you forever!"

    The priest''s head was tilted back, his mouth opens in holy ecstasy. The hand, pointing at the victim who had dared to resist, was enveloped in a bloody blaze, the hand seemingly surrounded by a thick, dark flame. A small lump of flame separated from the main mass and flicked lightly, like a feather, toward the man, striking him in the heart area. The senior brother lowered his arm, his figure hunched over. After a brief, viscidly silent moment, the mortal''s eyes rolled back, and he collapsed to the ground.

    Dead one.

    "Behold the power of the Lord!" The priest pathetically exclaimed, spreading his arms in a cross. "Thus he punishes those who dare oppose his servants! And he bestows his blessing on faithful servants!"

    A blessing is a blessing, but he looked terrible. His eyes were sunken, his skin was unhealthy gray and dull, and his fangs were protruding from his mouth as if he had been starving for days and was now in the final stages of exhaustion. He could not stand upright, he staggered. But all the rebels, without exception, stared at Carlon with wild delight - their awe more than compensated for the energy expended. Even the perpetually detached Tick was distracted from his reverie, staring at the leader with eyes glistening with tears.

    It was as if the stranger''s consciousness in the ghoul''s body was divided. "I-Andrew," with the detached delight of an outside observer, saw the manifestation of the real magic, the same magic that he had long sought in his homeworld, but did not have time to catch in this one. The descriptions of former power, sparingly and painfully recounted in the intervening nights, were no substitute for a single demonstration. Though there was not much to see or understand, there was hope that something remained, that not all knowledge and power had perished in the flames of the disaster that had ravaged the wizards. At the same time, he thought about the reaction of his kin. Why had they reacted so sharply? Living in a magical society, they must have seen far more impressive displays of wizarding skill. Perhaps it was the sheer ecstasy of the magic that shook them: while other wizards were powerless at best, more likely dead, Carlon was able to perform miracles. How could I not think that the Chieftain is Chosen One?

    "I-Celesta" had no thoughts at all. The second part was perplexed, looking at the dead body with no outward signs of damage, squinting warily at its frozen brethren, greedily inhaling the scent of blood. The scent of life, giving fluid permeated the air, the five dead men generously watering the dry ground. Hunger and mild bewilderment - the ghoul felt no other emotion.

    "Celesta." The senior brother''s voice shattered the strange stupor. The shattered mind trembled, the separate parts pulled together and merged into a coherent whole. He shook his head, coming to his senses, and the brief interval of splitting turned into a sudden shock. "Celesta, are you ready to serve our Lord, sister?"

    No matter how badly Andrew was feeling, he understood how a negative answer would turn out in this situation. Therefore, despite his bad feeling, he nodded accordingly.

    "Come closer, sister."

    Inwardly cringing, the newcomer moved closer to the leader. Up close, it was clear why the warrior had defended himself so fiercely and not tried to escape: In a narrow hole, against the wall, a young girl of about sixteen was crouching. She was hard to see, so deeply buried and so tightly pressed against the rubble of the ruined house. She did not expect anything good from the sudden attention of the night killers, judging by her eyes wide open in horror, fixed on the body of her fallen protector, her face whiter than white, and her hands clenched tightly protecting her body.

    Carlon spoke in a muffled, sonorous voice:  "The day came and the hour came when the living envied the fate of the dead. But the Lord''s mercy is infinite. He welcomes everyone in his kingdom, whether born on a silk bed or a child of unknown parents, the righteous and the sinner alike will bow before his throne to accept their fate with resignation. We, who have been brought back from the Darkness by his will, are in all things subject to the will of our Lord and Father. Become an instrument in the lord''s thoughts and bring the creation of the new world nearer. Make a sacrifice, fill the demon''s chamber with the blood of this wretched woman!"

    Andrew-Celesta stiffened. He had killed in this world before, though he rarely even fought in his own. How many had he killed? Three, more? He was not going to feel any remorse. The men themselves were ready to fight, to rape, to do other evil. But the priest was offering to kill a defenseless, almost childish person. That is, to break the stereotypes created by education, to spit on conventional morality, to trample on conscience and become a real predator of the night, to cease to be a man in the spiritual sense of the word.

    Each tribe has its ritual of entry. The father shows the child to his relatives and the sun, the civil registry office registers the new member of society and issues a paper decorated with a seal, the new relatives present the young wife or husband to the ancestral altar - it is impossible to list everything. Ceremonies unite individuals into a collective, establish strong bonds between them, and divide the world into their own and those of others. Celesta hunted with the community, lived in the same building, wore similar clothes. But she was not yet her own. Now Carlon intended to acknowledge the newcomer, thereby gaining another neophyte, and at the same time tying her to himself. With blood. He didn''t expect resistance.

    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    "I thank you for the honor, Senior Brother, but I feel no need to kill this child." Celesta shyly lowered her eyes as the experienced mind inside her frantically searched for a way out. The girl was pitiful - and she didn''t want to die. And the fact that if he refused, he would not live long, Andrew was well aware. "The demon inside me is silent. Maybe he didn''t like the sacrifice."

    "He likes," the priest cut her off sharply. "He''s only testing you, your loyalty."

    "And yet I''m not sure..."

    "Don''t doubt my words!"

    With difficulty he straightened up, he stepped closer:  "Don''t doubt the path you''ve chosen." His voice sounded caring and mesmerizing. "You are tired and frightened, you are tormented by the loss of your memory. There is destruction and chaos all around you, and death has put its mark upon this land. But believe me, you are not alone. We will be your new family, we wish you well. Come to us, become one of us..."

    If it were not the occult experience, Andrew would not have felt the extraneous influence. He simply would not have been able to realize that he was being influenced. Carlon did not hypnotize the newcomer; he gently enveloped her with his words, overwhelming her will with his participation and kindness. A normal person simply would not have doubted that the priest wished only good, sincerely seeking to help the poor girl, who had lost her bearings and did not understand what was right and what was wrong.

    "Please, Senior Brother, give me more time."

    The chief straightened, his eyes filled with amazement and rage: "Was I wrong about you!?"

    Celesta felt the pack behind her move closer. The ghouls, still under the sway of Carlon''s miracle, sensed the displeasure in their idol''s voice and were ready to tear apart whoever had caused the displeasure. Out of the corner of his eye, Andrew noticed Alarika tentatively retreating into the shadows. No, the woman would not help him now; they knew each other too little, and the fear of the chief was too great. And - the other side the crouched girl looked at her with fear and hope. She knew that for some reason the strange ghoul did not want to kill her.

    The pack behind me took another tiny step.

    There is no escape. There are many of them, and now their actions are guided by an instinct that screams: The one who is not with us is against us!

    Andrew made a decision.

    The hope in the victim''s eyes gone.

    She didn''t have time to scream as Celesta''s arms wrapped elusively and delicately around her head, twisting her neck. Death was instantaneous - the poor girl felt no pain. Behind, the rebels howled joyously, welcoming their new sister, a real sister now, not just in words. A tired Carlon straightened up, wanting to say something...

    He stuttered.

    Celesta stared straight ahead into the leader''s face without looking away. And he knew that one day he would be challenged. Yes, today he had won, the power was on his side, he had achieved what he wanted. The sacrifice was made. But the newcomer could not be broken, sooner or later she would respond to today''s coercion. Someday...

    Andrew, a child of the technological era, had a great prejudice against the word "magic". His interest in the occult did not prevent him from being skeptical about the legends and traditions he studied about the supernatural abilities of people, and his long acquaintance with charlatans strengthened his disbelief. But the strange and absurd belief in the unseen continued to guide him through life - and that is what it brought him to. Well, what can one say, knowledge has to be paid for. And perhaps losing his own body and becoming a bloodsucker wasn''t the harshest price.

    Because of his worldview, Andrew saw the inherent abilities of wizards as a way to advance technology. There was a good reason, according to Alarika, most local wizards used various artifacts and objects to practice their craft. "Pure" magic - the creation of spells by force of will - was the prerogative of the higher aristocracy, almost destroyed in the early days of the epidemic. The Duke''s family belonged to such in Taleya. Do they still have their powers, he wondered?

    If they survived, the glow around Carlon''s hand that killed the man gets a logical explanation. From the beginning, the religiously colored theory about the end of the world and the coming of the Lord of Darkness was questionable - there were hundreds of such doctrines in the history of old Europe alone. Every war produced satanic cults whose ideologies more or less coincided. Invaders of all stripes behaved with such exorbitant cruelty that the thought of the coming of the last days seemed real to the witnesses of the crimes being committed. The situation here is similar, just the place of war has been taken by the Great Plague, which destroyed civilization with no less efficiency. However, there will be wars later.

    Suppose the inherent abilities of the noble bloodline were still intact, though severely weakened. Celesta remembered how haggard the priest had looked after the brief use of his powers. Then... Then what? There were too many uncertainties and assumptions. It is not known who Carlon was before the disaster, nor is it known what magic even is in the local sense of the term. On the other hand, a false theory is better than none. There''s something to build on.

    The undead stirred and rose from the bunk, continuing to ponder at the same time. Another burning question, so beloved of the Russian intellectuals: what to do? What to do next? Of all the rebels, Alarika and, to some extent, Gunn inspire my sympathy. If we leave, we should leave with those two. The others are insane in varying degrees, and it''s dangerous to be around them, not just to live with them. I''ve no desire or reason to fight Carlon for power in the small community.

    In fact, what does he want? What is Andrew''s goal? To return to his homeworld? Absolutely. As bad as it was, compared to the local conditions, a small room in the center of the city seemed like a dream come true. Hot water, a favorite coffee shop in a cozy basement, a TV, a yearly vacation, beautiful women - just heaven. If he had been sure that suicide would bring him back to his usual body, he would have jumped into the fire without waiting for morning. Unfortunately, there was no such confidence.

    It remains to survive and hope for the best. If one charlatan managed to throw him to the unknown, why shouldn''t another bring him back? The main thing is to be able to find the native Merlin. The surviving intellectual elite had most likely concentrated in the palace: it was the only place where they could wait out the rampage of the beastly mob. So, first of all, to gain access to knowledge, and then we shall see. A difficult task, not for one year. Given the ideological attitudes of his senior brother, there is no time at all.

    He did not want to leave the cell. The thought of meeting the very creatures who had been ready to kill him yesterday made him shiver and feel unpleasantly angry. The scene of the conversation with Carlon and the murder that followed kept recurring before her eyes. Embarrassing. No matter how much Andrew convinced himself that there was no other way and the girl would have died anyway, still the decision he made did not give peace. If he had been a Christian, he would have said he could not stand the temptation. After all, he could give up his own life and risk it, he could. If he had failed, he might be lying in his own body now, instead of biting his lips in shame in a gloomy room.

    Usually, Celesta was one of the first to go out into the courtyard. Tick or Gunn sometimes spent all day in their cells, unresponsive to the knocking on the door, Artak for some unknown reason slept for a while after sundown. Today her legs wouldn''t go - she had to force herself. As a result, she was greeted downstairs by a frowning and angry Alarika:  "Let''s go quickly before they notice. Or have you changed your mind?"

    "Carlon where?"

    "I don''t know, let''s go. He mentioned last night that it was dangerous to wander alone. He can assign a chaperone"

    What a priest cannot be faulted for is a good response to the situation. If he did appoint Artak as a spy, life would become more difficult. In addition to the existing difficulties.

    A trivial attempt to wash turned into a real adventure epic with chases, throwing rocks, and running from monsters. All water sources were controlled by large gangs, jealously guarding their resources. The river was too far away, and either mindless creatures or shady swarms of midges hung around it, ambushing and sucking the brains out of passersby. Though they were not squeamish about livers, either. The ruined sewers could not help, the liquid splashed under the ground stank. Drinking water had to be carried to the monastery from afar or stored in barrels after the rains. The girls did not ask to share the water with them, the priest would not give it to them anyway. The ghouls did not need food, but they drank as much as the average person. Besides, most of the collected water went for washing the temple.

    At last, Alarika remembered a partially preserved building, the dwelling of a mage who had ordered a pond to be dug in the courtyard. He was experimenting, or he just wanted to. Short excursion confirmed that yes, there is water in the pond, and clean enough for washing. They scooped up some firewood in a certain nook, scraped away the dirt with a large jar of transparent material - Alarika assured them it wouldn''t melt on fire - and disguised the preparations securely. The risk of being spotted, they felt, was well worth it for the chance to get rid of the scabby crust on their bodies and hair. Celeste had suggested a bath day yesterday, but the hunt had interfered.

    The undead'' "possessions," an area about a kilometer in radius, were deserted at night. People didn''t risk approaching the notorious monastery. There were too many bad rumors about it. So the first part of the journey passed quickly, even chatting a little on the way.

    Alarika told me how beautiful the city was, how many beautiful buildings, parks, monuments, fountains, and palaces were in it. Some of the houses were still majestic, not because of their volumes, but because of their proportions and the skill of the architects and builders. From here on it was more difficult. They turned off the route three times to avoid places that seemed dangerous. They especially checked the place around the place of washing. They both did not want to be disturbed in the moment of pleasant relaxation. Fortunately, no one was seen, and nobody touched the prepared things. The firewood was there, the cauldron and a small pot had been taken from the hole in the corner, and the pieces of cloth and the precious bit of soap which had been miraculously found had been brought with them. They stole the rags, and borrowed one cassock from the general storehouse - there was plenty left. Maybe there was something else useful, but Carlon always kept the keys to most of the rooms with him.

    While the water was warming on the small fire, they had time to take a dip and wash off most of the dirt. He looked at his companion from the corner of his eye and felt several contradictory emotions at once. Admiration for Alarika, her perfectly formed body without a single flaw. Beauty is relative, of course, but in his eyes, she was as close to perfect as she could be. Average height, with long strong legs and small feet, wide-shouldered, without any fat under the smooth white skin; narrow waist and dainty hands, an oval face, with huge green eyes, straight nose, and sensual full lips ... luckily, he was born a man: a woman would have been jealous. His second sense was astonishment at his reaction: the admiration he felt was not a hint of carnal desire. In his former life, the slightest hint of it would have been enough to try to get him into bed with a girl like that; now, if Alarika offered him something like that, he would probably refuse.

    Celesta looked at the terrible tangle on her friend''s head and nobly offered:  "Wash first. You don''t know how much water you''ll need. I''ll check if anyone''s around."

    "Thank you," Alarika hissed, brushing her hair furiously with her fingers. We couldn''t find any combs, but the long, strong claws were a good substitute.

    By the time Celesta returned, the beauty had mixed success. In other words, her hair had lost its original ashy hue, but it was far from a final victory over the layer of dirt. It took four washes and another pot of hot water and half the soap before Celesta made an unexpected discovery:  "And it turns out you are a blonde."

    "Let''s not joke about that," Alarika smiled sadly. "Can you distinguish the colors?"

    "If they are very bright. Mostly things seem painted in shades of gray."

    "I can''t tell the difference at all. Only black and white and gray in between. Demons!"

    "Where?!" Celesta looked around frantically.

    "My hair''s all tangled again..."

    In a hard fight, Alarika''s hair regained its original color. The miserable piece of soap testified that the dirt didn''t give up right away, and the girls had to heat a third pot for Celesta. Finally, deeming themselves clean and sharing the improvised sheets in a sisterly manner, they sat down near the fire.

    "Don''t sit so close to the fire." Alarika felt grateful to her new friend and tried to express it somehow. "Undeads burn easily. Though we drink well and have just bathed, it''s not worth the risk."

    "Ok..."

    Silence, disturbed only by the clicking and whistling of nocturnal insects and birds. In the cruel world one cannot lose vigilance even for a second, but no one, not even the living dead, can be in constant tension. Sometimes you have to rest, relax. Lie on the ground, watching the unfamiliar sky with alien constellations from under half-closed eyelids, feeling the faint warmth of your friend lying next to you. I forget everything completely, a gnawing feeling of hunger prevents me from forgetting everything: tomorrow I will have to go in search of prey again. I don''t want to talk, I just want to lie there.

    The internal clock reminded me: It would be dawn soon. It''s time to go home... It''s time to go to the monastery.

    "Everything is annoying." Alarika groaned and stretched, involuntarily turning the simple movement into a sensual and seductive one. "Maybe we should stay. Be patient and go to the Gardens of Eternity, away from all this crap..."

    "Suicide is cursed by the gods of all religions. It seems."

    "I''ve suffered in advance, a dozen lifetimes ahead." She smiled grimly at the strong, long fingernails on her fingers. "You know, I could be in the citadel right now. Before the catastrophe, my manager had contracted me to perform at the Duke''s palace - the first concert was to take place on the seventeenth. And on the fifteenth an epidemic broke out, the carriers stopped all over the country, and I was stuck halfway down the road. By the time we got to town the company had split up and there were only four of us left - me, the director, and two dancers. Beautiful boys they were. We stood in front of a closed gate, shouted, and left for the Pit."

    "Were you a singer?"

    "I''ve got a medium talent for magic, and all my parents have is an ancient name and a distant kinship with Phirisa the Windy. I was still at school when the priests noticed me and invited me to sing in the temple. I have a voice, appearance suitable, the first records connoisseurs liked. I would become famous, find a good husband, give birth to three children, and live at my pleasure until death comes. I didn''t want too much... All right. There''s no point in feeling regret."

    Celeste squatted in front of her friend. She brushed a tear slowly crawling down the older woman''s face with her finger.

    "Everything''s gonna be all right. Got it? Everything. We got it. We will. Be patient."

    A surprised expression flashed across Alarika''s face. Despite the ridiculous pose, naked, wearing only a loincloth made from a piece of old cloth, the frail and young girl did not seem weak. She did not doubt herself. She believed in her promise. She gave hope, however foolish and unthinkable it might seem.

    "Do you think so?"

    "Sure. Not right away, but we''ll manage." Celesta smiled, got to her feet, and sighed, pulling on her dirty robe. They didn''t dare wash the clothes. Stealing a spare would be dangerous. "Come, it will soon be dawn. People rarely come near the monastery, it is better to hide there."

    * * *

 Chapter 4

    Chapter 4

    * * *

    The two nights passed quietly and calmly, as quietly as an existence amid a struggle between all and everyone can be called calm. At any rate, no gangs or monsters bothered the monastery inhabitants. The two girls tried to keep out of sight of Carlon, and the rest of their kin as well, though Celeste had asked the priest for permission to use the library. Under the pretext of studying sacred books, the earthling was going to learn to read and write - thanks to a nearby teacher. Who, incidentally, now wore a headscarf so as not to draw attention to the natural color of her hair.

    The plans changed a little when Andrew saw the geographical atlas. There was not much secular literature in the library: the fire destroyed almost everything, only the rarities were hidden in a special room survived. Indeed, manuscripts do not burn. A book of maps someone had forgotten in a special repository, but could not return and put it back, so the girls and had the opportunity to consider together the outlines of the old world. One remembered the other saw for the first time.

    Before the Plague, there were three continents on the planet - one, the huge Birel, in the eastern hemisphere, and two smaller ones, Kikin and Ossilanni, in the western hemisphere. There were also several large islands scattered in different places in the oceans. Despite the recent series of earthquakes, Alarika didn''t think the outlines of the continents had changed much: the catastrophe had had little effect on nature. Civilization originated in three centers, one of which was the shores of the Good Sea; gradually these centers of culture subjugated the rest of the world to their influence.

    Of course, people''s favorite pastime became a war. It was thanks to wars that the first mages became heads of states, founded dynasties, and learned to transfer some of their power to ordinary people. With different variations of state structure, the equilibrium has been maintained throughout the centuries. The entire history of humanity has evolved around the Three Greats - the Middle Empire, of which Salvatia was a satellite, Zirhaba to the west, and Roh to the east. The latter two countries have recently divided the small continents between them once again, and the bloodiest battles have taken place between them.

    The people who died in the last war were lucky compared to the survivors.

    The Midlands Empire was located on the shores of the Good Sea, connected by two straits to the Cold and Dark Oceans. In fact, the Emperor ruled over a conclave of smaller, almost independent rulers, most of whom were closely related to him. The army was also considered united and, judging by the successful wars with its neighbors, was not the worst. Andrew was not interested in the details. The authorities were inactive, the Imperial family was dead, like almost all mages - so why fill the head with unnecessary information? Except for Thalea, the former rulers continued to rule their lands in only three coastal cities, in all the other aristocrats were exterminated. As a consequence, chaos and anarchy reigned. If relative order was maintained elsewhere, nothing was known of such places. Most likely, the coast was no longer safe: sailors sailed all over the sea, and rumors flowed to Thalia from all sides.

    "I wish I had a detailed map of the area," Celesta said.

    "It''s no use..." Alarika replied. "We can''t stay away from shelters for long, and there aren''t too many people outside the city, either. I talked to a ghoul from the village a month ago. He said there was nowhere for people like us to go, no reason to, and too dangerous."

    "Still, I would like to understand where the ships come from, where the borders of the Duke''s domain are... The old towns have probably not yet been looted. What if we need it later? It would be good to capture one of the soldiers, they are always aware of the current situation."

    The beauty looked at Celeste with amused amazement, with a touch of fear. Not everyone can look into the future, not knowing if they''ll see the next sunset. You''d have to be either very sure of yourself, or a little crazy to make plans in their situation. On the other hand, this very position has the advantage of complete freedom of choice, because no matter what you do, it will not get worse. Will they be killed on another hunt, or will a vagabond accidentally wander into the monastery and slaughter the sleeping ghouls? Alarika''s death hadn''t been feared for a long time. She just hoped that something would eventually change, and that''s why she lived.

    A timid hope for change, coupled with a rare sense of sympathy lately, led her to suggest:

    "There''s a magician''s house not far from here that still has some books. Of course, it''s a terrible mess inside, everything of value was stolen by looters, but for some reason, nothing was burned. If you want, we can go and look."

    She said, and she was frightened. She was used to spending all her time in her cell or wandering around the monastery without purpose. Celeste did not notice her excitement: "It''s about four hours before sunrise. Do we have time to turn around?"

    "Of course."

    "Then go."

    Carlon gave the departing couple a long look. Since the new girl had come to the monastery, something had gone wrong. He couldn''t say what it was, he just felt it. On the one hand, there was a visible benefit: the girl had ceased to embarrass Artak, and that was a good thing. In his mind, the priest called Alarika exactly that: a wench. He remembered what she had been in her past life and did not understand his Master''s decision to bring her back to life. He did not doubt it - certainly not - for who was he to question his will? Perhaps God had decided to give the obscenity another chance, which she did not take. And he had gone to great lengths to try to explain the wickedness of her choice, to forbid her to sing, and to withhold blood until she had read the whole of the Great Canon. To no avail. The girl gave lip service to obedience, sabotaging all orders in secret. And yet she seduced his only truly loyal assistant.

    But his instincts made him take a closer look at Celeste, and the longer the priest watched, the less he liked the girl. Her calmness and determination were not surprising; they could easily be explained by her character. Knowledge, mindset, phrasing, were different matters. Can not a person who has lost the memory and turned into a vessel for the demon to behave with the equanimity with which she acted, study the situation. It is impossible to rely only on oneself, to etch the adoration of higher forces to the end.

    Carlon could compare; he had met ghouls who had lost their memories before. To them, as to himself, magic was a reality, albeit a shattered one. People did not doubt the existence of the gods, or, more accurately, it never occurred to them to doubt. They wondered, they looked for signs in the clouds floating in the sky, they consulted with experts about good and bad days, and they saw the supernatural in everything. For the new one, there were no true omens: She didn''t even remember them, she didn''t consider it necessary to take them into account, acting only from she''s pragmatic considerations. And, as the priest felt, she did not believe the words about the punishment of the rotten human race, as if she knew something else that was not available to the others.

    The senior brother thought, ''We have to do something.''

    "Are you saying humanity will survive? - If the priest could overhear the conversation, he''d be surprised at how much his train of thought coincides with Alarika''s conclusions. "It sounds like something from the writings of Pikran of Samonea, the philosopher who lived there. He thought the gods were creations of men. He wrote that "the intelligent animal will survive where the unintelligent animal will perish," for which he was executed."

    He was a clever man. People often blame their sins and troubles on an unknown force - it''s easier for them. Preachers are so popular now because they offer a convenient explanation for what is going on. Notice, not correct, but convenient and acceptable to most people.

    "Silence!"

    The conversation that had promised to be interesting was interrupted, and both undead listened eagerly. Finally, Alarika let out a light chuckle: "This is something new." After hesitating, she suggested: "Shall we go and have a look? That house had been standing for three years - it wouldn''t fall apart overnight."

    The frail girl nodded without opening her eyes. It made it easier for her to concentrate on the sounds: the creak of the wheels, the whimpering of children, the mooing of the few pets. There was the sound of metal objects rattling around on her belt like little bells, the sound of metal-stitched jackets and boots rustling. People, lots of them. Not the usual gang - much more.

    Something''s going on. Celesta nodded:  "Let''s check."

    Andrew had intended to climb up to a higher place to see what was going on when Alarika dragged him behind her. The woman knew her way around the courtyards, and she took advantage of it. They wandered through the ruined buildings until they came to a two-story house with a leaky roof, then dove into the basement. At the very end of the long, wide dungeon, the ghouls nestled into a small window that gave them a good view of the street and the column of people walking down it.

    "Do you understand anything?"

    Alarika shook her head perplexedly: "I''ve never seen anything like this before. Refugees of some kind."

    Indeed they did. Forty of the fifty people who walked were men, varying degrees of exhaustion, and a dozen women led four cows on ropes, dragged other livestock, and some carried children in their arms. Four cows were worth a fortune in today''s world - it was worth guarding the column for the animals alone. But the man who had ordered the unusual caravan had plans of his own, and to fulfill those plans, armed warriors walked along the roadside. With swords and spears, in rough but strong armor. They must have been ahead, too, but the head of the detachment was poorly visible from the observation position where the girls sat.

    "Why would they travel at night?"

    "In a hurry, they want to get away quickly." Alarika made herself comfortable on the hard stones, philosophically wondering that it could be worse. "Or they plan walking all day, so they could be out of the city by nightfall and ready to make camp. It''s safer to sleep in a fortified place, you know."

    "Is there slavery here?" Celesta suddenly inquired.

    "Now it seems so."

    "Then they are slaves or voluntary-forced colonists. Somebody has to farm the land, dig it, work it. And the soldiers would guard them and at the same time look after them so that they don''t run away."

    "There aren''t enough women," Alarika disagreed. "Rather, the men have to build houses for the settlers. There''s no point in guessing; our assumptions are no more than a castle without a foundation: too little is known. The duke could be planning something else, something we didn''t expect."

    Celeste hissed, craning her neck. A noise at the end of the squad drew her attention.

    "It seems to me that we were definitely not wrong about the status of these people. Look."

    One of the women was too weak to keep up the pace. Either she had been hungry or sick, but gradually she began to lag behind. At first, the guards jokingly chased her, pushing her with their spears, then they transferred some of her belongings to other prisoners. It didn''t help. Eventually, the woman collapsed from fatigue: she did not have the stamina to walk any further.

    Three guards lingered near her motionless body while the rest of the squad slowly moved forward. The remainder risked their lives. Large groups dared not be attacked by bandits, ghouls, or the monsters that lived in the city, though in the countryside there were packs of creatures capable of tearing apart a few dozen trained fighters. For the most part, the creatures didn''t like the light, but there were exceptions. Here, in the city, there was enough danger for three, even if armed, men. So the guards, conferring near a woman half-dead from fatigue, quite rightly did not want to stay away from their own for too long.

    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    After talking a little, they agreed. Two stood guard, while the third went to the woman and rolled her over onto her back. The first thing he did was to take off her shoes, turn them in his hands, put them aside, then he just as carefully pulled down her skirt and unwrapped the rags that covered her upper body. He ignored weak attempts to interfere, evidently not the first time he had done so. The clothes looked old and tattered, compared to what Andrew was accustomed to, but in the local conditions, they wore and not so. Eventually, the woman was completely naked, her possessions piled next to her. Suddenly Alarika grabbed Celeste''s hand and squeezed it tightly, not taking her eyes off what was happening. The marauder scratched his head, trying it on, then lifted her in his arms and carried her to the rubble wall, so that her bent-knee legs rested firmly on the ground, the rest of her body lying on the surface of the debris. He pulled up his shirt, made himself comfortable...

    He raped meticulously as if he were performing some customary ritual, disregarding the encouraging remarks of his associates. The others, however, were not too diligent, peering intently into the darkness. They were afraid of surprises. Though the place was dangerous, despite its proximity to populated areas, an attack could follow at any moment. But no, the silence of the night was broken only by the sounds of nocturnal insects, and the soft moans of a tortured woman. At last, the rapist froze for a moment, exhaled, fell away from the motionless body, and cleaned himself up; his place was immediately taken by a second. History repeated itself, the only difference being that this time the victim was not moaning at all. She seemed to have lost consciousness.

    The third soldier, who looked about sixteen, was in a hurry: his accomplices urged him on, advising him to finish quickly. The column was already far away, and even the rebels'' keen ears couldn''t detect its movement. But Celeste could hear Alarika''s heavy breathing, normally labored, and see the blood trickling from her chapped lip. What was the matter with her? It was a common sight: women in gangs were generally considered property of some sort - why was there such a reaction?

    The nervous rapist was in such a hurry that he tripped and almost fell when he tried to stand up, picking himself up near the ground. The others laughed lowly as they watched him awkwardly try to tie his pants. The first, apparently the leader, approached the motionless woman.

    He pulled out a knife.

    Alarika clutched at her neck.

    In a mundane, indifferent manner, the man slit the victim''s throat.

    Celesta barely had time to grab her friend, who rushed toward the soldier. Right out of the way, like a beast. Surprisingly, enough bricks spilled out of the wall, widening the hole to a serious breach. Fragments of shrapnel sprayed the ghoul in the face, but she didn''t notice, continuing to reach for the street. Her head and torso were outside, behind the wall, while her legs and Celesta, hanging on them, remained inside the cellar. The Earthling didn''t understand what was happening. But he was sure they couldn''t fight three armed men.

    Alarika suddenly stopped beating, trying to break free of the embrace that held her. Her throat sounded like a howl or a moan, while her body stiffened in immobility. But her hands clutched tightly to the walls, and Celesta rushed to tear her fingers off one by one, otherwise, she couldn''t do it. She couldn''t see what was happening outside - she could only assume that the soldiers were running there as fast as they could. The cowards had long since died out, but the survivors knew they must attack if the enemy was in bad shape - the ghouls were recovering from wounds fatal to mere humans, but a severed head served as the final pass to the afterlife.

    The howling grew, moving to a range inaudible to mere ears. Something ancient and wise inside Celesta, a primal instinct, twitched unhappily, demanding to go. To flee. It seemed as if the wistful and simultaneously furious sound was made not by a young, attractive woman, but by a dangerous mythical creature. Since the disaster, though, some myths have come to life. When she runs out of air, you can''t just yell nonstop, can you? Indeed, Alarika was silent for a moment - to sigh and to reprise her awe-inspiring song.

    Only by straining did Celesta manage to unhook her friend from the wall: one last tug toppled them both onto their backs. Without seeing the objects of her hatred in front of her, or simply tired, Alarika fell silent and collapsed. Maybe it was the bruising from the fall that did the trick, though the rest of her friend seemed to have borne most of the brunt. Whatever the case, the beauty lost consciousness, and Celesta had to throw her on her back and drag her to the basement exit. How much time had passed since the murder? It''s not clear at all. As he turned around, Andrew looked at the breach. No one, just in front of the hole something metallic gleamed. To risk and linger, despite a burning desire to know what people were doing, he did not dare. First, to evade possible pursuit, to clean up Alaric. We''ll worry about that later.

    We didn''t get to talk until the next day. She ran a fair distance and dumped her unconscious burden on the ground, trying to make it more comfortable. They had to beat her unconscious with a couple of whacks, which brought her back to life. She didn''t seem at all aware of her surroundings, though, and looked as if she hadn''t eaten in at least two days. She could think of nothing but blood.

    They had to go hunting.

    As might be expected, the hunt was unsuccessful. The shrieks echoed far and wide, and the people were alert and awake. There was no way to approach them undetected; small groups of three or four were impossible. To mess with so many ragamuffins would have been madness, which, unfortunately, didn''t occur to Alarika''s clouded mind. The woman had been stubborn, and Celesta had had to warn her off. She couldn''t wait to see what would happen tomorrow. The night was drawing to a close, and the first rays of sunlight, still faint, were warming the air. They had to get back to the monastery as quickly as possible, wait out the day, and go out again in the evening to find their prey.

    In her present state, Alarika would wake up a bloodthirsty madman, so any way to give her energy was necessary. Andrew thought for a moment, considered the consequences, and with an inward shudder sliced the wrist in front of the face of his friend - although at the moment it was more correct to call it a fang-faced maw. The ghouls could feed on each other''s blood, though they didn''t like the taste of it.

    The woman clung so tightly to the treat that Celeste had to tear her from her wrist. Thank God, she was thinking a little better: the blood was having the necessary effect. She was stubbornly silent all the way to the monastery, however, and tried not to meet her friend''s gaze. But with all her might nailed Paltin to the wall when he turned to her with some question - so that the back of a man disgustingly cracked. Andrew was even frightened: a broken spine takes a long time to heal, Carlon would punish him severely for this kind of willfulness.

    The next night started with severe pain for both of them: their bodies insistently demanded energy. One had not yet recovered from yesterday''s exhaustion, the other was sharing her blood - as a result, they could not think of anything but the search for prey. They could not leave at once: they had to answer for yesterday''s fight. The older brother met them on the way to the hunt, in the courtyard, but after the first questions, he left. He saw that to ask about something or scold is useless: his words women do not care, moreover, a little more, and they will pounce on the priest who stood in the way of the desired prey. So instead of preaching, he had to escort his wayward children to the city.

    Carlon heard an eerie scream shortly before dawn. The exhausted state of the girls, the weakness they felt, suggested that they were somehow connected to the strange event. Of course, there was no shortage of dangers in this city, and all kinds of accidents would do them harm, but... her instincts made her doubt that Celesta and Alarika had had anything to do with the accident. His desire to interrogate them, coupled with his concern-no matter how the priest felt about the girls, he still saw it as his duty to take care of all the members of the little colony - made him help find the prey.

    The corpse was hidden in the basement of the destroyed house. This caution was not due to a desire to avoid human attention. Ever since the first uprising appeared, people had begun to burn their dead, so the number of ghouls grew at the expense of those who died of hunger or cold, the vagrants who died of accidents - in other words, the dead whose bodies had not yet been destroyed. Occasionally, those killed by cold weapons or beasts rose, but this rarely happened - only if the wounds were not too great. As a result, the monastery ghouls covered the bodies of their victims comfortably, counting on the addition to their cursed family.

    Only then could Carlon begin the interrogation.

    "And we don''t know!" Celesta looked with clear, honest eyes. "We were walking through town, looking for the living, when we came upon a strange creature. It looked like a sheet hanging in the air, with torn edges. It screamed. Alarika was the first to go, and she took most of the hit - I got only a bit."

    Alarika nodded, looking at her sandals.

    "I grabbed my sister and ran," the younger girl went on with her story. "We were lucky that the monster didn''t follow us, distracted by the soldiers."

    "What soldiers?"

    The priest reproached himself for his foolishness. He should have questioned the girls separately - then they would not have conspired to lie. He did not doubt that the story he had heard was false, though he could not understand why he was being lied to.

    "At night a column of settlers left the city. Apparently, criminals with guards." Alarika still didn''t look up. "There''s a woman... trailing behind..."

    "And three of the guards killed her," Celeste said. The priest could see the worried look she threw at her friend. "I don''t know if they survived; we ran away too fast."

    "How big was it?"

    "Who?"

    "Monster."

    "I thought it was my height," the new girl shrugged. "I couldn''t vouch for that, though."

    "Sister Alarika, what do you say?"

    "I don''t remember, senior brother."

    The beautiful woman stepped aside and turned away. She showed a reluctance to talk, unlike her friend, by the way. But Carlon didn''t want to ask her anymore. The priest valued his time.

    "I understand your fear, sisters. But you have forgotten that everything in this world happens by the will of our Lord. He has allowed you to be reborn, and he has kept you from destruction. You must remember this and believe it. Your faith is weak, and therefore fear has possessed your souls. You should not have flared up at Brother Paltin who was only caring! Apologize to him. And by atonement I appoint you to draw water and wash the floors of the temple - it is not right that the house of the Lord become desolate."

    The priest chuckled inwardly. The girl hated Paltin, apologizing to him would be the worst punishment for her. While the girls were busy - and they had much work to do - the elder brother could go to the scene, verify their story. And perhaps Artak should be ordered to keep an eye on Celesta. The former artist is angry with her because of Alarika''s lost favor, so he would do his bidding diligently and with all his heart. Let him search. Perhaps he will notice something interesting.

    Waiting for Carlon to get a decent distance away, Andrew pulled Alarika after him: "Let''s go."

    The woman did not resist, though she walked slowly. She had no answers to Celesta''s questions and didn''t want to voice the ones she did have. The memories were too personal. At last, they reached the roof of a relatively sturdy house with a good view of their surroundings. It was hard to overhear a conversation in a place like this.

    "What the hell are you rushing to the soldiers?"

    "I... When I saw them kill that girl... Do you know how I died? How would you know... Almost like that. I was in a gang, 20 of us. Winter, no food, nowhere to get warm. It''s a long story. It''s the same for me - they stripped me, fucked all of us, and cut my throat. There were more of them, though."

    Alarika spoke confusedly, with long pauses between words. She was pouring out the memories she''d been holding back, the blackness in her memory that she''d tried unsuccessfully to forget. The beautiful face was distorted in a grimace of pain, and tears streamed down her smooth cheeks.

    "As I saw... It seemed - I''m there, they''re killing me again! I couldn''t tell you how frightened I was! Then... I think I pounced, tried to hit me, someone was holding me. I don''t remember the rest; you know better than I do."

    Celesta listened, silently hugging her sobbing friend and soothingly stroking her hair. Who would have thought. Before, Andrew hadn''t wondered how his new friend had survived those damned three years. Of course, he understood - both from the stingy hints dropped, the short stories told, and simple logic suggested - that Alarika''s fate was a difficult one. A young girl who had spent her whole life under the wings of caring parents, wealthy and loving, beautiful, talented, accustomed to the care of others, suddenly found herself alone. There was no one to protect her, she was not ready for the wild laws of a changing society. It must have been difficult for her, especially with her looks.

    It is strange how she did not turn to mean, did not callous, did not go mad. Through the cynical mask she wore, a tender and vulnerable being was always visible - Alarika''s capacity for compassion was not completely absent, either. Yes, she was selfish but selfish and kind, as paradoxical as it sounds.

    Simultaneously, other thoughts rattled around in the head. So Alarika could tell me nothing about her terrible scream. Intuition told him that there was no point in asking any more questions because she would remember nothing. She would only end up exhausted. Pity, Andrew would have liked to get a weapon, comparable in power to Carlon''s abilities: to have an ace card up his sleeve is always useful. The Earthling remembered the effect on him of the sound that burst from the throat of the enraged woman and was quietly glad that the main blow came to the soldiers. It was a strenuous ability, but logically it would become easier to apply as he mastered it. Perhaps a little practice? Andrew imagined himself standing in the middle of a ruined city, screaming at the top of his lungs, his lips curled up in a grimace. It was a delirious picture.

    We have to visit that basement. Take a look around. See if anything turns up.

    "Calm down." Alarika stopped sobbing, just wrapped her arms around Celesta, and howled softly. "It''s all in the past. No one will ever do that to you again, I promise. No one will ever hurt you again, do you hear me?"

    "Really?"

    "Yes. I give you my word."

    * * *

 Chapter 5

    Chapter 5

    * * *

    The word "kaav" means something between an accumulator and a symbol of sacred power. Andrew could not find an exact translation for this and many other terms, though he tried. Reading the books revealed an interesting pattern: he used words that had an acceptable analog in Russian without hesitation, while local idioms were more difficult. For example, the expression "dead man''s hand" meant not a severed limb of a corpse, but a hopeless job, which he did not immediately understand.

    Other problems appeared in the use of specific terminology from books. The girls got to the trashed library, which did have some useful literature. Not much, and some of the books were missing pages, but, as the saying goes, a stone will become bread without bread. By this time Celeste had learned to read reasonably well. Alarika attributed this to her waking memory, but the Earthling blamed it on her habit of processing large flows of information. The alphabet is simple, with only thirty-one letters, the hard sign is represented by writing two symbols together under the line, and there is no "shh" sound in Salvian. In short, reading was easy to learn, but the writing was much worse because of the lack of practice.

    Now every evening the girls went to the ruined house, carefully covering their tracks. A kind of thirst for destruction possessed the people. If they had known the books existed, they would have burned them. The same was true of Carlon. The priest only tolerated religious literature; art, as he saw it, had to serve purely religious purposes. So they had to be careful, literally one leaf at a time, to pick up the papers that were swollen with damp, falling apart, then hide them in the cellar.

    Celesta found a sturdy box of plastic-like material, put the trophies in it, and then covered it with garbage in the far corner. The rats couldn''t get to it; it was too dark for humans. They tried to read the most interesting and useful books, which were in a tolerable condition, on the spot. More precisely, Celesta read, immediately overwhelming her friend with a hail of questions. The purpose was twofold: to gain new knowledge, which, with any luck, would be useful in the future, and to keep Alarika from slipping into black melancholy. The beauty could not recover from her outburst of anger, at times overwhelmed by apathy. At the same time Andrew distracted himself, feeling that if he begins to think about his fate, he immediately broke.

    By the way, they went back to that abandoned house by the road, looked around the street. The body of the woman killed by the soldiers was gone. Too much time had passed, the beasts and marauders had taken everything of value, destroying traces along the way. It was not even possible to clarify the fate of the soldiers - whether they survived that night or not. The pool of dried blood could not answer that question, it was located where Celesta had last seen the victim. Logically, a person would have been seriously injured by a sound of that magnitude-at the very least, the soldiers'' eardrums would have burst. People might have come to their senses after a while, or there might have been one survivor among them who helped his friends. Or perhaps the corpses had been dragged away and hidden by bandits, flattered by the quality of their weapons and armor. The Duke was good at arming his servants.

    The need to keep an eye on the priest was annoying. He didn''t seem to be doing anything, acting as usual, but every time the girls left the monastery, they noticed... you couldn''t call it following. It was just that one of the ghouls suddenly had the idea to follow in the same direction they were going. They had to hide... which wasn''t much of a problem: their kin didn''t care about them, by and large.

    Andrew regretted the confrontation with Carlon. The priest was intelligent, educated, had a certain charisma, was distinguished by his strength of will and personal courage, and cared for those he considered his own. His sense of duty was combined with a certain kindness in his management of the undead colony. Unfortunately, the obvious positive qualities were more than outweighed by religious fanaticism that reached the point of insanity. A few cautious conversations revealed a complete aversion to anything that differed from proclaimed dogma; faith became everything to the priest. Could he have gone mad after the disaster? Without knowing his past, it was impossible to give an unequivocal answer, but looking around, recalling the familiar ghouls, the earthling admitted: in the atmosphere of general chaos, anyone could go crazy. Even the most stable one. Andrew doubted his mental health - let alone other people''s brains?

    In short, having achieved nothing, but bringing new suspicions to her head, the younger undead began to avoid contact with her senior brother. Instead, she went to the borders of the monastery grounds more often, looking for three possible shelters where she could wait out the day, if necessary. Together. Artak had finally descended, looking aggressive and spending all his free time in the temple. Probably angry about the "stolen" Alarika. Gunn, too, was sinking deeper into himself every night, and he was becoming more difficult to communicate with, and the other undead had been of no interest from the start. They were nothing but a burden. So there was no point in dragging them along.

    Cruel? Only a saint would give his last piece of bread to the first person he met, only to starve himself to death. Andrew was no saint and was not about to become one.

    However, Carlon had no doubts about his chosenness. He sometimes wondered why the Lord looked to him, but he consoled himself with the thought that the deity knew better. His mental picture of the world was simple and logical and allowed him to see almost every event as a manifestation of a higher power.

    The unexpected appearance of a ghoul who had lost her memory was no exception. At first, the priest saw it as a good sign. He was well aware of the shortcomings of the bulk of his flock and understood their inability to serve as instruments of the divine will. The monastery''s limit was isolated acts of intimidation-they could do no more. The newcomer pleased him pleasantly with her sobriety and the serenity with which she accepted her fate; moreover, the girl rose on a particular night. The goddess Celeste had long been considered the patroness of enterprises involving danger and unavoidable pain, which in the circumstances very accurately described the everyday life of any rebel. Moreover, unlike her two sisters, the Dark Mother was directly responsible for the "setting" of events, weaving the fates of different people into a single knot. So the priest christened the young girl with a certain trepidation, hoping ... no, believing in her unusual purpose.

    Perhaps he shouldn''t have let Celesta socialize with the wench too often? He had once, just before the plague, watched Alarika perform at one of the receptions to which he had been invited because of his high status. At first sight, the young singer shocked him with her promiscuity. As time passed, the priest thought there must be more to her than a promiscuous desire to enjoy life, otherwise, the Lord would not have allowed the wench to be reborn. But apparently, that something was buried too deep: Alarika would not accept her destiny.

    No. From the beginning, Celesta had not shown the zeal to serve. Carlon convinced himself in vain that the girl''s strange coldness was due to a loss of memory and that he would soon have a pure-minded assistant. With each passing day, he watched uneasily the newcomer''s growing influence on Alarika, and he did not like the consequences. The girl, seemingly finally broken - though he didn''t even use that word in his mind, preferring to think "guided to the true path" - was getting out of control.

    He must do something.

    "My brother." The priest chose a narrow room in the temple, to the right of the altar, as the place for the conversation. This used to be the place where the ritual objects were kept. Now, alas, most of the valuables had been desecrated or destroyed. But the room has one advantage that has remained unchanged since ancient times, and that is good acoustics. Even the subtle hearing of the undead made it impossible to overhear the conversation, while the quietest sounds arising in the temple penetrated the room perfectly. Besides, Artak felt certain awe from the sense of being close to the mysteries of the cult, becoming especially suggestible at such moments. A useful quality. "My spirit is filled with sorrow. Our Lord''s will is being done without due zeal. Look: the coming of his kingdom is certain, the signs and portents given can only be interpreted in one way! Brother against brother, madmen fights among themselves in the ruins of deserted cities, clawing out every last morsel of meat. Pestilence and smoothness, death and chaos rule the world! So why has the prophecy not yet been fulfilled? Why has the Lord not yet appeared in all his glory, seated on his dark throne, to judge the wicked mankind? A stern but fair tribunal?"

    Could it be that in his mercy he gives a chance to those who have lost their minds? Spared the wretched? No. The fields are overgrown with grass, wild beasts attack the few survivors, monstrous monsters multiply night after night. It is agony. The God of Darkness is patient, but his patience is at an end. Therefore we, his faithful servants, are called to alleviate the suffering of the emerging world, to hasten the departure of the rotten mortal race. We should not be seen as evil, for our mission is good, though bloody. Just as the surgeon removes the diseased organ to save the whole organism, so we cleanse the face of the planet of a race that has lost its supreme law.

    "The truth is, my brother, that there is too much humanity left in us. Don''t let our bodies, which need blood and can''t bear the fierce glow of the sun, confuse you. All this is external, unimportant. We still think like humans, we think in the same categories and concepts, good and evil for us are still determined by the attitudes we received in childhood. But this is not the way! We went through the second birth, purified. Our souls were in the embrace of darkness, where the Overlord evaluated and weighed them, choosing them out of thousands of similar ones. From now on, only the fulfillment of his designs shall be good for us, all that hinders the attainment of the good purpose shall be mercilessly destroyed. We are different now. This is the test they gave us - to see how soon everyone who rises will accept the changing nature. Embrace your new nature, unite with the demon that nests within, or cast it aside in an attempt to live as before, following the dogmas that lead to a dead-end! It''s up to you. It depends on your choice what you will be in the kingdom to come: a sinner doomed to torment - or a master tasting the caresses of the dark maidens!?"

    "I see your efforts, brother. You are sincere... What cannot be said of the others! They are lazy and careless. But that''s half the trouble. Some have deliberately turned away from their destined path. They are too weak for the honor bestowed upon them, and they long for their former life of sin. As much as it pains me to say, the two unwise daughters stubbornly resist their chosen destiny. They lack the zeal of true faith but are more than enough stubborn and prideful. They are unwilling to follow their duty. Especially Celesta, my mistake and disappointment. I had hoped that in time she would come to the right conclusions and gladly fall at the feet of our Lord, showering gratitude on him, but Celeste won''t heed my words. Moreover, silly Alarika has succumbed to her promises. You don''t talk to her much anymore, do you?"

    "Yes, senior brother," Artak nodded spellbound.

    "Your friend''s soul is in danger... We have to help them see that we are right. Do you agree with me?"

    "Yes, senior brother! - Artak looked with doglike devotion at... the pack master? "Say: what should I do?!"

    Andrew had recently come to the unpleasant conclusion that he knew nothing of life in the city. No matter how you look at it, ghouls nested on the outskirts and did not dare to get close to the port or the Duke''s castle, which had become the natural centers of Taleya. The guards did not allow it. A rough hierarchy of forces looked simple enough.

    At the top were the rulers of the city, who concentrated in their hands both the management of the troops - guards and navy - and the control of the food supply. Whatever they could procure, catch, or grow was first sent to the huge warehouses at the far end of the port, and only then was distributed among the people. The warehouses were guarded as carefully as the castle. It is not known if any factions existed in the duke''s territory, but if they did, they were firmly controlled by the guards and used by them as an auxiliary force. For example, they ''volunteered'' to participate in hunting expeditions, cleanup operations, and the like.

    There were no large gangs left in the district, capable of competing with the city government: they were exterminated. There were a couple of "field commanders" who had about a hundred men under their command, but they preferred to be friends with the higher-ups. Quite a natural desire, for those who tried to pursue an independent policy and claim to leadership, had by this time been killed. As Andrew surmised, in time they would get rid of the rest, too, when they ceased to act as a deterrent buffer. There are still a dozen smaller groups in the vicinity, not so fortunate.

    These gangs are needed now. They fight among themselves, seek out and bring valuable booty to trade, take the first blow from roaming creatures, and serve as a source of information. In other words, they function as a prelude, keeping the Duke in the loop while keeping his soldiers safe. Some of the gangs were rumored to have some sort of contract to guard the villages under construction and had moved there. The outskirts of the city belonged to the marauders, who banded together in groups of up to a dozen men.

    That is, in fact, all. The informants among the victims did not tell us anything about the internal management structure of the city, or about the system of distribution and circulation of goods. But they did give us some useful names of people who were engaged in illegal buying of all kinds of junk. In the future, connections with criminals might come in handy - there was no point in the ghoul going to official authorities. They also reported a rumor that was of particular value to Andrew. One mortally frightened ragamuffin swore that one or more true wizards of the high aristocracy had survived the Plague in the Duke''s Palace and had even retained some of their powers. How much truth there was in that rumor was unknown, but for now, it was the only thread that offered any hope of returning home.

    The girls were returning after a successful hunt, glancing around. It was much easier for the undead to move about the city than a living man with hot blood in his veins, but there were plenty of dangers. The mood, however, was good. Two of the men had been able to replenish their energy today, and they hadn''t even had to exert themselves: the prey had come to them by itself. Neither Celeste nor Alarika could identify what the two men had used, nor could they detect the scent emanating from their victims, but they offered no resistance. They grinned wryly at the women who burst out of the darkness, kicked them in the head with a stone, and lay down across the room. Perhaps the substances in their blood worked on the Ghouls, for the first time since being transferred into the half-dead body of Andrew, released oppressive tension, and he did not feel cornered beast. He relaxed.

    Fortune the Bitch loves such moments.

    Artak was looming in the small courtyard in front of the monastery, and he sprang to his feet at Alarika''s arrival and moved briskly toward her. He glanced at Celeste angrily but said nothing to her. He turned to the older girl. Apparently, he decided to finally clarify his relationship with his former lover.

    "Could we have a word?" Another look away. "In private."

    "Of course," Alarika nodded. She, too, was tired of the uncertainty, so she smiled soothingly in answer to her friend''s unasked question. "You can wait in my cell if you like and read the Sacred Scrolls. They are on the table."

    "Ok."

    Artak glanced at Celesta as she moved away, then, unable to hear her footsteps, turned abruptly. He had been meaning to talk to his beloved, who had suddenly grown cold toward him. However, the painter, deep in his heart, recognized the artificiality of their relationship, based more on a shared past and similar interests than on sincere feelings. They got together not because they loved each other. They were both people of art who could talk about things in common, they knew several people from their lives together, and they even used the same phrases. In short, they had a lot to remember.

    From their first meeting, they were instinctively attracted to each other, and the shared bed was a mere sign of sympathy, nothing more. Both man and woman hoped to find support in each other, looking for support in the new cruel world. Unfortunately, Alarika did not immediately realize how much her friend depended on religion. At first, his talk of the end of the world had seemed commonplace to her: she had heard it everywhere for the past two years. Perhaps she herself would have become a faithful follower of Carlon had she not been repulsed by the priest''s coldness.

    Some degree of exaltation, heightened sensitivity is peculiar to all creators. The ability to express emotion goes hand in hand with delicate mental organization and heightened intuition. Why Alarika recoiled from her lover''s mentor she could not tell herself. She couldn''t trust him, that''s all. At some point, at an invisible and insensible crossroads of destiny, Carlon had made a mistake - a small, insignificant one. He threw, unknowingly, an extra grain on the other side of the scale.

    Sometimes a glance, not even a word, is enough for two beings to become enemies.

    The first insolence had turned out to be her punishment. Three nights in a cell without blood, three nights filled with growing pain. And the grisly realization of the prickly truth: Artak wasn''t going to help her. Every night he came and heatedly explained how wrong she had done, fiercely convinced her of her mentor''s rightness, urged her to repent, to apologize. She broke down, begged for mercy. She was released, she rebelled again - and wept again in the stone cell, sucking her blood in a vain attempt to stifle her hunger.

    Whenever the girl emerged from her confinement, Artak cared for her. He escorted her to the hunt, restrained her attempts to pounce on a knowingly strong adversary, brought her caught and stunned prey. Then helped her get to her cell, scolding her incomprehension. Why does she disobey her senior brother''s orders? After all, he wished only good for her. As ruthless as Artak was with men, performing "cleansing" with the efficiency of a machine without a shadow of a doubt, so tenderly and diligently did he care for his wounded friend.

    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

    He liked to feel strong and wise.

    "You are avoiding me."

    "Is that so?" Alarika fluttered her eyelashes in surprise. "I thought you didn''t want to see me."

    "Don''t be silly. Every time I come near you, you''re in a hurry."

    "Yes? I wasn''t rushing anywhere tonight. And what did you say to me?"

    "You know there will be a sacrifice tomorrow!" Artak was indignant. "The senior brother has instructed me to find a gang of suitable size. It is a great honor to choose whose turn it is to enter the realm of Darkness!"

    The woman sighed, hunched over as if under an invisible weight.

    "Exactly..." Her voice sounded strangely quiet compared to the previous words. "You always have time for Carlon."

    "Of course. What else could it be?" the undead wondered. "The Master himself says, from his mouth, that his orders must be obeyed without delay. Or do you still stand there questioning his words? Alarika, how much longer?! It pains me to see you endanger your own soul."

    "Killing people to become saints?"

    It was unclear whether or not Alarika''s last words were sarcastic. Artak thought he was imagining things, and he said heatedly:  "Saints of Darkness! Yes, our fate is hard, but who else is to do his will?"

    "That''s enough, Artak," the former singer sighed wearily. "We weren''t going to talk about Carlon or the Lord. It was about you and me. So what do you want?"

    The man was quiet. The change of subject was not to his liking, but he answered nonetheless: "I just want our relationship to be the same. You don''t want to see me, you avoid meetings, you often leave the monastery. I could understand the need to hunt - if you weren''t hunting every day. Again, your intimacy with Celesta is disturbing: there is something strange about this girl."

    "Do you think I should socialize with Paltin?" This time there was irony in the question.

    Artak was embarrassed: "No, of course not. Brother Paltin serves the Lord faithfully..."

    "However, the people he kills suffer greatly before they die. Is that what you were going to say?"

    "No, it''s just... You really shouldn''t do anything with him."

    "Yeah, right! Gunn and Tick are out. Celesta, though she may have lost her memory, is intelligent and interesting to talk to. She has good manners, she''s friendly, and maybe you were right in assuming she was of high birth. And I didn''t notice anything strange about her, anyway."

    Alarika was a bit apologetic about the strangeness. There were plenty of those in her new friend''s behavior. She had plenty of doubt that the Plague was of divine origin and that she was looking for rational, "earthly" versions of the catastrophe. No one among her acquaintances except Celesta doubted the mystical nature of the Plague. Or language - Celesta''s manner of speaking and phrasing would have been more appropriate for a foreigner, though she spoke without an accent. But the woman would rather bite off her tongue than admit that Artak was right.

    "The senior brother thinks she is weak in faith," the man said with a frown.

    "Is that so?" Alarika suddenly became interested. "Does he have reason to make such a serious accusation?"

    She won''t be her if she doesn''t pull out what Carlon and her most trusted confidant are talking about in private.

    Andrew managed to keep a calm expression on his face as he met Artak, though he had to leave quickly to hide a wide smile. Well, that was to be expected: a spurned hero-lover trying to win back an unfaithful lover. The setting, however, is a bit bleak, but that''s about it. Nothing for the guy. Despite everything, Alarika loves life too much, while he is steeped in the philosophy of doom. Let''s hope the woman understands how the scandal is bad for them right now. She''s smart, except she gets sketchy sometimes.

    It would be good to stay in the monastery for a couple more weeks. Relative safety plus the possibility of a more or less comfortable existence - that''s all we need for now. In the meantime, they could scout the closest quarters to the port, find out the guards'' patrol schedule, and prepare a couple of safe harbors. What the hell if they could get a human agent in here? A pipe dream, unattainable next to fanatical ghouls. People are the only source of information about possible ways to return home, to communicate with them is necessary. Thinking about the stupidity of all the upcoming actions, Andrew diligently banished away: to be stuck in another world, and even in a woman''s fucking body, he did not want at all.

    "Sister Celesta..." A creeping voice made the girl tense involuntarily. "Sister, won''t you come into the temple? I''d like to talk to you about tomorrow."

    In the last week, communication with the priest was kept to a minimum, but it could not last long. Carlon believed it was his duty to care for the souls of all the members of the community. It was all the more foolish to expect him to ignore a potential "lousy sheep," especially before the big hunt of tomorrow.

    "Senior Brother?" Andrew bowed first to the stone cross, then accepted the priest''s blessing. On the outside, the local rituals were somewhat similar to Christian rituals; at least, they were baptized in much the same way. On the other hand, there were many more differences as you become more familiar with the religion. "Did you want something?"

    "Yes, sister. In his unspeakable mercy, the Lord has shown me a revelation. A great honor has been bestowed upon you!"

    While the priest held a solemn pause, the thoughts raced through the mind of the girl in front of him. So he was up to something; it was normal for him to declare his fabrications as the voice of a god. But what exactly?

    "Know that you are to lead the next mission and punish the wretched remnants of the rotten seed!"

    "The senior brother..." I didn''t have to fake confusion; it came of its own accord. "But I''ve never organized a hunt before..."

    And there is still no desire to do it.

    "Don''t use that word for the grace bestowed upon you," the priest said coldly. "Always be aware of your chosenness, sister, and do not be like a mere mortal. As for your doubts, cast them aside. The Lord helps his messengers in all things, and you will do well."

    "But what am I supposed to do? There are no small gangs left in the area, and it''s getting harder every day to get sustenance."

    "There''s plenty of food. However, I will discount your inexperience and remind you of the people who settled in the former bank building on the square with the three fountains."

    "Senior Brother, there are a dozen and a half of them!" Andrew was dumbfounded.

    "We are endowed with the power to punish the big gang as well."

    "There are twelve experienced men with weapons, the building is relatively well-preserved, there are even doors. Wouldn''t it be better to wait an extra night and find easier prey?"

    "You don''t have to worry about the difficulty of the task: think about accomplishing it! Yes, perhaps sinners will resist and damage some of us. Let them! Destruction means only one thing: the time has come for the fortunate to fall at the feet of the deity in glory! Surely you are not afraid of leaving your mortal body?"

    The threatening tone of the question suggested only one answer.

    "It doesn''t scare me, senior brother. But I think I could still be useful in this world."

    "That''s why the Lord chose you," Andrew noted in passing how easily the priest identifies his decisions with the will of God. I wonder if he often hears voices. "After all, those doomed fools I spoke of had committed unthinkable blasphemy! Their sin cannot be atoned for by ignorance."

    Which one is that? Suddenly it occurred to me that the priest mentioned the word "sin" too often today. If I understand, the term he used in Russian translates as "violation of the current world order" and has too many shades of meaning in it. The nuances of the locals'' speech sometimes slipped away, causing unnecessary difficulty in conversations and forcing us to remain silent in difficult cases.

    "One of the women, driven by animal instinct, dared to give birth to a child," Carlon raged. "You hear that, sister! Plant a fresh weed in a field ready to receive new grains!"

    "Are you sure, Senior Brother? At a time like this..."

    "I heard the child''s cries myself! What should not have happened has happened. Therefore we must correct the mistake and destroy the child cursed before birth. Your duty, sister!"

    The further it went, the more clearly the suggestion smelled rotten. Andrew covered his eyes, concentrated, ignored the fanatic''s speech, and listened to the silence around him. There was definitely no one in the temple, and there seemed to be no one outside either. If Carlon called for help, would he be heard? Perhaps. But Artak is far away, and the others are sitting in their cells or wandering around the ruins. Even if they heard the screams, they might not care what happens, or they might be too late. The leader is left without his pack, they are alone, the perfect opportunity to sort things out. Andrew was not afraid of a fight. Whatever abilities a priest might have, it takes time to use them, so all it takes to win is to not let him seize the initiative.

    "Thank you for the honor, Senior Brother," Celesta interrupted the fervent sermon. "But I must decline your offer. I don''t think you''re right. If the gods really wanted to destroy the human race, they wouldn''t allow women to give birth."

    Carlon was abruptly silent, then in a whistling whisper: "What?!"

    The girl bounced back nimbly, noticing her adversary swinging forward. Her body turned involuntarily toward the threat, her left leg back, her weight on her right. Her arms lifted, covering her head and vulnerable belly from the attack. Reflexes, damn them. Fate had given Andrew enough situations lately to resurrect forgotten skills - though they would have been better left buried.

    The clenched fists were no other than as a threat - the priest stopped. He didn''t seem to expect such rejection, but he wasn''t going to back down. Actually, it was a pity: no matter how it ended, he would have to leave the monastery; an attempt on the leader''s "holy person" would not be forgiven. Tick, for all his phlegmatic nature, would intervene, to say nothing of the others.

    "Is that so?" Carlon looked directly into Celesta''s eyes and smiled rather pleased. "You chose your fate, heretic."

    Alarika had the unpleasant feeling that someone was trying to deceive her. Any woman has a well-developed intuition, the truth is not always listening to the voice of the subconscious, preferring to remain deceived. After all, so nice to see the chosen one most beautiful, strong, gentle, loving ... the list goes on and on. After a while, a life together destroys the illusion, and all the deeds of the man are seen in a new, negative light. What used to like, causes rejection: jokes seem flat, courage becomes stupidity, caution turns into cowardice, and clever reasoning looks full of narcissism, snobbery, and self-admiration. Whether a woman will accept a man with all his faults, or choose to part with him, even the Lord himself cannot predict in advance.

    She had successfully avoided the "rejection" stage of Alaric''s relationship because it had been smooth from the start. She did not love Artak, she had seen his inherent quirks since the moment of acquaintance, but compared to the other options, this one was advantageous. And for the time passed, the singer had managed to study her former lover well, so now it was not difficult for her to recognize the note of falsity in his words: "So what did the senior brother have against Celesta?"

    "She''s a stranger, and that''s enough. Don''t think of her, think of yourself. You spend too much time together, you listen to her speeches, gradually changing and moving away from me. From us. Even I''m not sure how strong your faith is, let alone senior brother''s."

    "Changing?" Alarika asked. "I guess I am. Only a week ago I wouldn''t have dared talk to you the way I do now. And I like this change, you know!"

    She hadn''t been angry for a long time; she had no more power than a silent, strangled hatred. Now a keen sense of freedom rushed over her, an argument that forced her to put aside her usual caution and say things she probably should have kept silent. The opportunity to speak out was more intoxicating than wine. Artak stared blankly: "You like it?! How can you say that?!"

    "I can! I''m tired of it all - of having to pretend, living by the rules, and killing, killing, killing! I want to sleep in a clean bed, go dancing, travel, sing, live not in a doghouse but a big house, wear beautiful clothes, finally feel the taste of food in my mouth! I am tired of drinking blood! Why do I need such an eternity! For what..."

    The ghoul stared at the weeping Alarika in a daze; he had not expected the hysteria, and so he was at first confused. But not for long, and the confusion passed quickly. The man''s face gradually turned angered, and Artak straightened up and said coolly, haughtily:  "Your senior brother is right: you have completely forgotten about decent behavior. Your words are unforgivable. I do not know what punishment His Holiness considers commensurate with such a serious transgression. But I will pray the Lord to restore your sanity. Celesta, as I see clearly now, is truly dangerous and deserves no leniency. The lesson won''t work - she must be killed."

    "What''s the lesson?"

    The man backed away from Alarika''s glowing scarlet eyes. Inwardly he blamed himself for the foolish way he''d blurted it out. The woman jumped up, gripped him tightly by his clothes, and hissed a menacing whisper as she pressed her face closer to him:  "Answer me, what are you up to!"

    "A small lesson," Artak was frightened by the fangs at his throat, but he found the strength to chuckle. "I think it''s over now, and your friend''s in a bad state."

    The ghoul was thrown off with incredible force at the same instant, slamming against the stone wall with all her might. By the time he''d recovered, shaking his head, the woman had long since disappeared into the temple. She was afraid she would be too late.

    Reality splits into pieces, leaving cracks in the place of memories. A bluish fog swirls around, interspersed with streaks of dark smoke, and scaly shadows occasionally appear in its depths. There are no smells or sounds, the total silence presses on the mind, but it is not frightening. All the strength goes to fight with myself. You want to step, to touch the anthracite-black spot, to yield to the commanding call emanating from the priest. Two human eyes hanging in the void - and a clot of perfect darkness above them. This is what it looks like here. Where - here? One doesn''t know, all the same. All that matters is the faint voice at the very edge of consciousness, holding back from falling into the darkness with the last of its strength. It is not so important that the touch will be something worse than death: a persistent caressing gaze beckons, promising unimaginable pleasures, the source of which will be eternal pain. The joy of torment! Total emptiness - lose yourself and forget yourself in the arms of the night!

    Alarika stormed into the hall. She did not allow herself to consider what great folly she was committing by confronting the priest. Her gut knew that if she stopped, she wouldn''t have the courage to continue, her strength would be taken away by the sticky, nasty fear. So she acted without thinking.

    Yes, that''s it. Celesta stood in front of Carlon, hands helplessly along her body, while the priest gazed silently into her eyes. It would have been an ordinary picture was it not for the palpable tension between the figures and the thin trickle of blood running down the priest''s face. Something was amiss with him. Alarika remembered how easily he had invaded her mind and turned her into a whimpering creature, cowering in a corner of the punishment cell in terror. The divine power allowed the priest much - although he had to pay the price for turning to the Darkness with a terrible hunger afterward. How long has Celeste been holding out? Five minutes? Strange that no one had ever resisted for so long before.

    Alarika leaped toward Carlon, striking him in the temple with a single blow. The bone cracked under her hand, but she had no illusions: the rebels are very much alive, and soon he would regain consciousness. And then the punishment would be very severe... she must run while she had the chance. Before Artak showed up and called one of the other ghouls for help. Celesta continued to stare blankly into the void. Alarika had to grab her firmly by the shoulders and shake her violently several times. A faint moan and an attempt to sink to the floor was the response to the rough treatment. Well, better that kind of response than none at all.

    "Get up!" Alarika continued to pull on her friend, bringing her to her senses. She slapped her face. "Come on, sweetie. We have to run!"

    "What?!"

    "We have to run, you hear? Let''s go."

    She put one of Celeste''s arms on the shoulder and held her tightly around the waist, and Alarika led her toward the exit. It''s a good thing she''s so small and light she can barely reach her temple. Demons, there''s Artak ahead: the former lover of the world wouldn''t let them pass. What is to be done? Celeste groaned, glancing around with a hazy look: "Where?"

    "In the back, unconscious. We''re leaving. Can you walk yourself?"

    "I will try."

    "Come on, honey. We''ll get past Artak, run to the basement, wait out the day. I just want to be there in time. He''ll scream, the bastard, the scum, the jerk, the fucker..."

    The swearing helped calm her, and the slurred muttering gradually tidied up her shattered thoughts. What had she done? Fool! Now they were both dead. They would be after her, looking for her. Where could they go? They could hide for a night, a week, but they''d be found, sooner or later. If not Carlon, then the men or the other undead. She was far less afraid of the creatures of the night than she was of her kind.

    Celesta lifted her head, her gaze running meaningfully down the short corridor. Her stride became firmer; she didn''t have to be dragged anymore, just a little support.

    "Wait. How long until dawn?"

    "A couple of hours. Are you okay?"

    "I''ll survive," the girl grinned wryly. "What was he doing to me?"

    "I don''t know. They say the priests of Morvan can tear the soul from the body and give it to the Master. I was punished once, but differently: it was just very scary. We''ll talk later when we''re away from the monastery."

    The undead''s keen ears picked up the footsteps, and Alarika gritted her teeth: "Demon, I just knew it!"

    As Artak entered the corridor, he froze for a moment, refusing to believe his own eyes. The damned girl stood staggering and grinning mockingly, carefully supported by his unhappy lover. What on earth had happened? Where is the elder brother, why did he allow the heretic to leave?

    The distance between the fugitives and the bewildered ghoul was no more than four paces, and Alarika took advantage of that. She was still concentrating on Celesta, who was barely able to keep her feet. The older girl nimbly jumped up close and with all her might struck the man in the stomach with her left hand. Her growing claws ripped through his clothes and dug deep into his flesh. Artak crouched; at the same instant Alarika, ignoring the pain in her broken finger, struck him hard on the head with her other hand. As he collapsed to the floor, the woman kicked her lover, who was crouching in pain, several times with pleasure and fury. A muffled growl erupted from her throat, the skin on her face tightened, her pupils turning scarlet again. She might have continued the beating, taking out the fear she''d built up over months of a dull life if it hadn''t been for Celesta''s sobering voice: "Stop! Alarika, enough!

    "Yeah, let''s go." The former singer grabbed her friend by the arm, giving the one last punch. "We need to get as far away as possible before they wake up."

    The weakness came on suddenly, and this time Celesta had to keep them both from falling. Fortunately, the attack passed as suddenly as it had begun, leaving only an increased sense of hunger. We should get out of here, and fast.

    The two shadows slipped silently into the courtyard, passed the gate. Without encountering anyone - one undead silently thanked the gods, the other grinned silently - they strode away from the hostile sanctuary that had become hostile. After walking eight hundred meters in complete silence, they turned and cautiously, climbing over mountains of debris and listening to the sounds of the night, moved toward an old house. It was on the border of the monastery grounds and had the two virtues of a deep basement and a pack of feral dogs that had settled in the neighboring yard. People, fortunately, rarely appeared here: they were afraid of the fangs of predators who had forgotten their former friendship. The ghouls, on the other hand, were not to be attacked unnecessarily by common beasts.

    Only when she was buried deep underground did Alarika dare to speak up. She was still shaking, her eyes flashing back to Carlon''s face, and then to Artak''s astonished, stunned eyes. She felt no remorse for beating her lover-she would have loved to add more. What she felt was fear. She didn''t know what to do next, so she simply told Celeste about everything she had seen, hoping to hear words of comfort in return. Alarika believed in her friend.

    "Thank you," Celesta said after listening to the emotional narrative. "You saved me. I had no strength left to resist. The priest seemed to be angry. He didn''t want to kill me at first - but I resisted somehow. That''s when he started pushing me as hard as he could. If you don''t hit him, I won''t live."

    "You saved yourself," Alarika countered, "to last that long... You better tell me what to do next. There''s no way back to the monastery, no one to protect us, and Carlon will probably want revenge. He''s not gonna let today''s defeat go unanswered, is he?"

    "We''ll find a shelter," the frail girl with the tough, determined face answered firmly, "and probably more than one. Just in case. We do not need someone else''s protection: we can handle ourselves, and help others in time. We''ll teach them everything we know. Next night, we''ll leave the Pit. We''ll get to the other end of town, hunt, find a shelter on the way. I''m not afraid of Carlon."

    The beauty only sighed, pressed herself tighter against her friend, and felt her thin arms hugging her back in comfort. The priest was frightening her.

    "Dawn is coming. We have to go, Alarika."

    "Medea. That used to be my name, before the monastery. Forget about Alarika."

    "Is that so?" Celesta finally smiled. "It''s a beautiful name: Medea."

    * * *

 Chapter 6

    Chapter 6

    * * *

    Although Andrew tried to treat the fleeing with philosophical calm, from time to time irritation broke through. Early, too early to leave, nothing is ready yet. The dens they had explored, capable of being a safe shelter for a day''s sleep, were too close to the monastery, a new home would have to be searched blindly. More trouble and anguish were caused by hunger: after yesterday''s events, both ghouls needed blood. They had no stomach for killing a dog from a neighboring pack: their minds, clouded with pain, had understood the inevitable consequences of such a reckless action, so they had spent half the night hunting. It was easier to deal with one man than with a dozen furious beasts: one of the gang''s sentries had seen that for himself.

    "It''s time to stop killing." Celesta covered the dead man''s eyes and turned to Ala... Medea. She, unable to wash properly, soaked a piece of cloth in a puddle and scrubbed her face. "We are not beasts, after all, but sapient beings. Even if we were."

    "We''ll have to go hunting more often."

    "So we need to get close to our prey, that''s it. Do you know what I want? To find a good lie-in at the port."

    "Are you kidding me?" Medea grinned incredulously. "They''ll notice us at once."

    "The port is not just big - it''s huge. Even with the high population density, there are enough ruins in the seaside quarters to hide in. It is impossible to completely control such a large and complex area, no guards can do it! If we don''t get cheeky and leave bodies behind, for example by disguising attacks as robbery or drinking the blood of lonely commoners, we can remain undetected for a long time."

    "You seriously want to move closer to people," said the beauty grimly.

    "Not all at once. First, we have to learn the situation, prepare an intermediate base, stock up on human food... It will take months of work."

    "Why do you need human food? We don''t need it."

    "Food, weapons, and medical supplies are always needed. They''ll come in handy. I think..." Celesta paused, then looked at her companion with a thoughtful eye. "Suppose a patrol spotted us. They wouldn''t immediately recognize us as ghouls, would they?"

    "They''ll come closer and find out."

    "How? How are you or I outwardly different from an ordinary human girl?"

    Medea froze agape. Gradually, her face grew understanding, enthusiastic, and childlike, her lips stretched into a wide smile:  "If we could get normal clothes and control our thirst, we would be indistinguishable from humans! Dark Master, why didn''t I think of that before!"

    Andrew mentally noted the exclamation that involuntarily escaped the woman. After all, Carlon had had a great influence on her, even if she tried to deny it. But out loud, he found it necessary to cool her enthusiasm: "It''s not that simple. If you show yourself on the streets too often, sooner or later someone will be interested in two young and beautiful women. Where they live, whether they have any protectors, what they do at night away from home at all... Don''t make big plans - it''s easier to withstand their downfall."

    "Where did that wisdom come from?" the singer giggled.

    "Just common sense. A light dose of paranoia never hurt anyone."

    "Sounds like a quote. Did your memory come back to you?"

    Andrew thought for a moment. He was tired of pretending, bored of pretending to be a victim of amnesia. He wanted to share his story with someone. Against the backdrop of the hell going on in Taleya, the introduction of an alien creature should not cause much excitement - there are no reporters here, the secret services, which are everywhere, always and under any government, are busy with more important things. Who the hell needs him? Only Medea. Who trusted him, went up against a scary priest, and pulled him out of some very serious shit. For which the girl well deserved to know the truth. Besides, there was a pragmatic aspect: knowing what to look for, she might well remember something useful. To point out the path leading to the house.

    The older woman sensed the awkward pause that had arisen and was now looking at Celesta with surprise. She sighed and "cracked up":  "Actually, it never disappeared. The memory, I mean. - I just didn''t know before, and I don''t know how you''re going to react to the truth. It''s too fantastic, you know, and I don''t want to sound crazy."

    The story took an unexpectedly long time. Andrew kept stumbling and returning to things that seemed to be already fully described. He had to explain every detail, telling about his world. He deliberately inserted numerous details, wishing, on the one hand, to give the most accurate picture of his past life, on the other, intending to convince Medea: his story is too complicated to be fiction. The man in the woman''s body thought, with an inward chuckle, how amusing the situation looked from the outside, remembering his recent floundering. The first night he had thought what was happening to him was the result of an incredibly powerful hypnotist, and thoughts of the illusory nature of his surroundings still haunted him. Perhaps now he was trying to prove the idea of the existence of multiple realities to his imagination? I wonder what the doctor would say if he heard him?

    It would be even more interesting if Medea didn''t believe him. It would be hilarious. What would he do then?

    She believed. As any resident of the Midlands Empire, magic was an everyday occurrence for the former singer, now raised from the dead and a night hunter. As a child, she listened to fairy tales and fantastic stories that turned out to be embellished truth, her father held the rank of the magician of the third degree and served in the city government, home teachers along with literature, geography, and history taught little Medea the basics of magic and the hierarchy of spirits. She grew up with an awareness of the simple fact that miracles are possible, they just have to be carefully prepared. So, by her standards, the story Celesta told seemed surprising, but not supernatural. What interested her more was something else:

    "Wait..." The woman''s wide-open eyes gleamed excitedly. "So you were a male in your world?"

    "Yes. I was."

    "And... how are the differences?"

    The frown on her friend''s face didn''t stop her. The predator had smelled prey, and even Morvan himself could not have saved Celesta from being torn apart at that moment, had he come in all his might.

    "I have no idea. The body is different, it''s not quite human."

    "It''s bad," Medea pouted, for a moment transforming herself from a beautiful wiggly girl to a sexy high school girl. That''s what Monica Bellucci looked like when she was sixteen, Andrew thought. "The legend of the archer Shanna tells how an evil sorcerer placed her soul in the body of her uncle. After severe trials the sorcerer was killed, Shanna sat on the throne, but at the first opportunity, she regained her original sex. She chose a prettier slave girl and moved into her. When asked why she did so, she replied, ''A man does not feel a tenth of the pleasures that a woman is capable of feeling.''

    "I have no desire to experiment. Not at all."

    "Well, you should. You should take every opportunity you have, so you don''t regret it later. Listen, what''s your real name?"

    "Andrew." The girl squinted at the small but well-defined breasts, examined the thin thin arms, smooth skin, moved the tiny graceful feet, ran a strand of long blond hair through the brush, and with a sigh decided. "Call me Celesta, like you used to. Otherwise, I''ll go crazy."

    The ghouls rarely banded together. There were a total of three groups in the vicinity of Taleya, the monastery group, and two more in different quarters, plus a large number of singles or couples who didn''t want to join any of them. No explanation could be found as to why this was the case. Maybe the mental state of the undead was to blame, maybe it was the uneven distribution of potential prey, who knows. A year ago, the Duke''s soldiers wiped out the only major colony of ghouls, slaughtering nearly three dozen, and no large alliances had arisen since. And, as the girls estimated, there weren''t that many of their kin. The first three months after the Plague was the peak of "resurrection," and then the number of those who returned from the realm of death began to dwindle. Most died in the first nights, some died of starvation, and few survived - the word "life" both considered inappropriate in this case.

    For obvious reasons, humans killed ghouls. Who would want to have a blood-sucking monster around, seeing you as a source of sustenance? At the same time, it was human blood that gave them strength and allowed them to stay active for a longer time than animal blood. They had to find a shelter where they could feel safe and at the same time have their prey within reach. And besides, they wanted to be comfortable: they were fed up with asceticism to the end of their lives. But how to find such a place, if every person who notices a ghoul will certainly try to finish him off, or at least inform the guards?

    We had to walk slowly, sometimes going back, checking the cellars for protection from the sun in the process. We spent the day wherever they could, each time doubting whether we would meet the next sunset. More than once our caution saved ours skins, allowing us to spot a threat beforehand. The greatest danger was posed by small groups of armed men. An experienced fighter can handle an undead alone, the speed of reaction and the ability to see in the dark against an experienced swordsman will not help. And masters of the blade was unexpectedly a lot, which had an objective reason: fencing was revered among the nobility, so there was a large enough layer of servants to satisfy this whim of the ruling class. In addition, officers and soldiers, ordinary commoners who wanted to make a career - in a word, there were enough specialists. Girls had no desire to engage them in a fair fight, they attacked only from the back. Fortunately, the night vision allowed me to move silently and appear unexpectedly.

    Once we witnessed a real sacrifice. A group of ragamuffins led by a completely insane eunuch - the psycho wore no clothes, which allowed us to see a piquant detail of his anatomy, or rather, its absence - laid out the caught victim on a slab covered with dried up smudges and quickly dismembered it with wild howls. The victim was a man in his forties, and, judging by the smell coming from the improvised altar, he was not the first unfortunate victim to die at the hands of fanatics. The ghouls watched the bloody orgy with disgust and longing. They''d had enough of killing, but the senseless waste of precious blood seemed like a waste.

    Another unpleasant thing was the competitors. This was not about Carlon and his followers, though Celesta had not forgotten about them either. The kinsmen, irritated by the presence of intruders in their territory, were unwilling to help in the search for a new lair. Frankly, they did not respond well to contact - much easier to communicate with ordinary people (victims) who, after a promise to save lives, blurted out everything. If they didn''t go into a stupor from fear. Once lucky: the captured old man agreed to take them on a safe route between the burrows of the five mutated monsters, in exchange for asking for help in a fight with a hostile gang. The ghouls killed the four bandits, fulfilling the deal, and wouldn''t touch the human family - moreover, they gave him almost all the loot. Such a pragmatic-minded individual might come in handy in the future...

    The city was astonishingly large. Medea told me that Duke Parvat the Second had once forbidden the construction of buildings taller than the central tower of his castle, and since then the ban had been invariably enforced. As a result, Taleya grew expansively, while property prices in the center of the city never dropped from their exorbitant heights. It took an entire week just to get away from the monastery, whose proximity unnerved Medea, and they made their map along the way. They marked mutants, kinsmen, large gangs, water sources, ruins of libraries - in short, anything that might be of interest and use. It took another week to find a shelter, which in the end was chosen an abandoned sewer. To be more precise, what was the correct name for a one-story building with huge locks on the doors and a single window on the roof, the girls did not know, so they simply called it "home".

    The attic with all sorts of junk was of no use in functional terms, although the stuff scattered there was worth poking around in. Andrew also intended to board up the window. He was deterred by his reluctance to change the exterior of the building. What if the locals would pay attention and come in to check who lived there? For the same reason, the massive door on the first floor was barricaded from the inside, littering the small anteroom with heavy blocks. Eventually, they hoped to install metal bars on the attic window from the inside.

    So the living quarters were the two rooms downstairs, which housed the meager belongings of the two new settlers. There was not enough light there even for the sensitive eyes of the ghouls, so they had to find, or rather steal, a small oil lamp. The floor was covered with a strange dark material that bounced underfoot, and the furniture was a cupboard, a relatively complete table, three chairs upholstered in tatters, and a bucket of water in the corner. That was all the furnishings. Medea wished for a mattress: for now, she had to sleep on a pile of rags in the corner. The closet held the treasures she had found - books, the few working appliances, jewelry, and clothes.

    The only entrance, apart from the window, was the basement manhole to the sewer. On the concrete floor near the covered hole were an oversized booty and a large barrel of water, drawn from the nearby river. In the sewer itself, there was no water left long ago, the accumulated dirt dried up and turned to stone. The occasional rain moistened the surface and hardly penetrated down to the ground. Everything will change when winter comes: then stormy waters will clear the debris from the underground. In some places, the ground had sagged and the passages were blocked, but there were still enough passageways through which the girls reached the surface at night.

    Of course, traces remained - there was enough dust, so we had to set some primitive traps in "their" section of the dungeon. Their effectiveness was questionable, but they could buy us some time if we needed it. They kept a wet rag in the house because of the dust, and they did not want to dirty the place. It cost them both an enormous effort to make the house look habitable, to shovel out piles of garbage secretly, but now they were proud of the work they had done.

    "Look." A piece of something that looked like plastic served to explain Celesta''s words. "The guards patrol the borders of three sectors: the Golden Quarter, the central part of the port, and the food stores. Regularly they clear the roads between them - it''s easy to see them there, too. We are equidistant from the port and the warehouses, in the territory of Black Mash''s unit. A bandit like everyone else here, but a lucky one. Luckily for us, the people are a little slack and risk moving in small groups or singly, the more so since both Mash and the guards control the area thoroughly. And, mind you, there have been no rumors of ghouls for two weeks: they think we''re just common burglars."

    "It''s just for the time being." Medea was in the mood to argue. "There are more soldiers here than there are fleas on a dog."

    "That''s right. That''s why we have to find a hiding place close to the port and move there for a while. We should hide where they''re not looking."

    "We just got the house in order," sighed the beautiful woman. The topic had been discussed more than once, but the woman still hadn''t accepted the need to leave her cozy little nest.

    Celesta ignored her arguments: "We''ll bribe one or two men, we''ve looted enough. Let them learn the exact route of the patrols, tell us the schedule of duty, and then we''ll sneak into town. I have a rough idea of the situation in the port, and we''ll be able to settle in comfortably."

    "Why?" My friend nervously rubbed her hair in a ponytail. "Why all these actions, what are you trying to do?"

    "Well, I want to go home," Celesta shrugged. "But the prospects of this case are very vague, and it is useless to think ahead. So my immediate goal is much simpler, expressed in two words: "a decent life". I want to live in safety, I want to go hunting without unnecessary risk, I want to sleep on a bed and not on the floor, and I want to bathe at least once a week. Nothing complicated, as you can see."

    "I''d say you have really royal needs."

    "Everything is possible if you not sit on the butt idly."

    If you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans. A clever man said, very clever.

    The next night Celeste set out for the port, to map out a preliminary route to take, to find a place to stay for the day. Medea stayed behind to stow sacks of supplies and make a final raid on the houses in the neighborhood. The houses had been searched more than once, first by the humans, then by the girls themselves, but there was still a chance of finding a few useful items. Again, the value of the items fluctuated: an ordinary tin can was now a glass of grain, though no one picked them up immediately after the Plague. The ghouls did not engage in bartering, but they knew the prices, with a view to the future, quite well.

    Andrew estimated that he had just crossed the border between Mash''s "domain" and one of the smaller gangs. There were plenty of small groups competing fiercely for the scraps from the duke''s table, and there were skirmishes between them every week. Ruler Taleya was neither sentimental nor altruistic, but he helped as much as he could, so everyone was eager to work for him. Or almost everyone. In times of cruelty, people were drawn to a strong leader and forgave him their shortcomings in exchange for confidence in their and their children''s futures.

    The Duke could give a guarantee of survival.

    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

    Hearing some noise ahead, Celesta habitually hid in a dark corner. No matter what the bandits had divided among themselves, there was no point in getting into a fight. She wasn''t hungry, she more or less knew her way around, and she had clothes, so why risk it? Of course, if an opportunity came up, she would take it, but she would not organize it. Andrew noticed how in his thoughts he referred to himself as a woman and inwardly cringed. It happened more and more often.

    The noise was getting closer as if several people were dashing down the street at once. Uncharacteristic of the locals, their life had taught them to be cautious. The incomprehensible ones had been dead for three years. Most likely, someone is chasing them or they are trying to chase someone. Yes, that is how it is - one man dodges ahead, three men run silently behind, saving their breath. They will chase. The fugitive''s footsteps are too heavy, judging by his hoarse breathing, he is tired. He seemed to have a sober appraisal of his position, for, near the ghoul''s lair, he swung sharply to attack the first enemy who had lunged recklessly ahead. He recoiled, but not quickly enough. A long blade sliced him on the head. Still silent, the chaser fell, drenched in blood.

    Dead one, the girl determined professionally. The smell of blood excited her, but she had only recently eaten, and she was easily overcome her hunger. And watching the fight was unexpectedly interesting. The man deftly fought off two opponents at once, moving and shielding one from the other constantly, his sword constantly threatening, and at times it was unclear who was attacking whom. Nevertheless, the enemies also gave the impression of experienced warriors and made no mistakes, skillfully driving their victims to the middle of the street and trying to get behind them. They were similarly armed - swords, long knives on their belts, their bodies covered by something like leather shirts with stitched metal plates, and boots of sturdy leather or leather substitute on their feet, which sounded like they had sturdy soles. But the lone man''s broad steel bracelets still gleamed on his arms, and all the ammunition seemed better.

    The darkness did not bother the fighters, the moonlight and the sparks from the clash of swords were enough to see their opponents. They fought for no more than a minute, but the frenzied pace taken at the start of the fight soon exhausted both sides. The fugitive was the first to make a mistake. His hoarse breathing was interrupted for a moment when his enemy''s sword slashed across his thigh, the man dropped to one knee and with difficulty repulsed the next blow. It was clear to everyone involved, and to the invisible observer in the shadows, that the denouement was near. The assassins had only to wait until the blood-deprived enemy stopped fighting back.

    Afterward, Celesta asked herself many times why she had interfered in what was happening. What had pushed her? After all, she had seen fights like that many times before, so why did she want to help the losing side? She could not find an answer. She only remembered how, on an inner impulse, she had slid behind the back of the nearest pursuer without hesitation. With a familiar gesture, she pulled her hair, revealing her neck, and sank her long, thin fangs into the enticingly beating vein, while her gaze suggested to the defeated fighter: "Seize the moment." Both men froze in horror. There was silence for a brief moment, interrupted by the squelching sound and clatter of the soles of the body beating in the rebel''s embrace. Apparently, her mental call had reached its destination, or the fugitive was simply the first to recover from the shock. Either way, he gripped his sword by the hilt like a spear and hurled it at his still-standing foe with force. The otherwise pointless move worked: the weapon pierced through the man''s neck.

    Celesta finally finished her meal and curled her prey''s neck with a deliberate twist. She took a few steps forward, dropping the corpse to the ground, and stopped, watching the man with an approving chuckle. The man drew a long knife from behind his belt and held it out in a threatening gesture, while he crawled back against the wall.

    "You can calm down, I don''t intend to kill you."

    "Yes?" he grinned incredulously. "Why such a grace?"

    "First of all, I''m full." Gluttony, Celesta corrected herself grimly. "And I don''t like to kill without a reason. Secondly, I need something from you."

    "What exactly?"

    "Information. So put your toothpick away - you can''t kill a ghoul with a knife anyway." She threw her hand forward in a motion imperceptible to the human eye, and gripped the man firmly by the wrist, "You''ve lost a lot of blood, you''re not as quick to react as you used to be."

    Andrew let go of the wounded man and took a step back, showing peaceful intentions. The man, who hadn''t had time to be frightened, stared at the ghoul for a while in silence, then placed the knife beside him on the ground. He rummaged in his small waist bag and pulled out a surprisingly clean rag, which he moistened with a pungent-scented liquid from a small vial. From the scent, it sounded like some kind of alcoholic tincture. Celesta raised her eyebrows in surprise: any medicine was expensive, and common people hardly ever saw it. And he was dressed too well, his armor quite good. Looking at the awkward attempts to reattach the wound, she suggested: "Let me help."

    "You?" There was a cheerful snort in response. "What a day today... Well, help me."

    "Put the knife away. Behind the back." Waiting for the man to follow her instructions, she sat down next to him and began to apply a bandage to the washed wound.

    "What''s your name?"

    He answered after some hesitation: "Richard."

    "And who are you, Richard?"

    "Warrior."

    "A good warrior, I see. What''s the matter with these guys?"

    "It''s just..." he shrugged slightly. "We were on our way back from the port, with a sack, just the three of us. How could we not be attacked? Ten men came with Argash, and I still don''t know why they didn''t shoot arrows at us from afar. They probably wanted to mock us."

    "Did the two you were walking with die?"

    "One died for sure, Maroush seems to escape." The wounded man licked his parched lips. "Can you help me get to mine?"

    "Why should I? You''ll make it on your own. Or do you want to offer me regular food in exchange?"

    Richard, despite his good self-control, recoiled at the sight of the ghoul''s changed appearance. Her skin tightened, her eyes flashed red, and her grinning mouth bared long fangs. And almost at once, the ghastly mask vanished, replaced by the charming young face of a mockingly smiling girl.

    "How many people do you have? Answer."

    "Until tonight, I had twenty swords."

    "Not bad, although you can''t compare it to Mash. What do you do for a living?"

    "All sorts of things. We guard the wagons, patrol the city, sell things. In short, we do what they pay us to do."

    "You rob people," added Celesta to the list.

    "Sometimes, and not in the city: the guards are watching it. I wanted to settle in the port, but the locals wouldn''t let me in: they divided everything and don''t let strangers in. There''s not enough food for everyone."

    "Then why don''t you go to the settlements?"

    "Because there are a lot of mutants, every night at least one person is killed."

    "What''s going on at the port, tell me."

    A lot of interesting things were going on in the port. According to Richard''s words, a certain Count Lash, who was a favorite of Duke Dinir, was in charge there. In the beginning, he''d managed to take control of a huge territory, found several large yachts, fought off a couple of pirate raids, and organized fishermen''s regular trips out to sea. In other words, thanks to him, Taleya maintained a regular supply of food during its most difficult period. The Count also planted his men in charge of the accounting and distribution system of supplies, which made him violently feud with two other duke cronies, Baron Tarreke and Count Maulvlar. The first was listed as something of a diplomat, communicating with all the surrounding gangs and commanding those guards who served in the port and warehouses. The second was in charge of the project to rebuild the villages around the city and of the garrisons stationed there. In short, the principle of divide and conquer worked well here.

    Dinir also had a personal guard, according to rumors, about fifty well-armed fighters. The duke directly or indirectly controlled all the armed forces. This was greatly aided by his habit of personally appointing officers of absolutely any rank, as well as by some kind of security service. What exactly the latter did and who led it was not known. Ordinary people only knew that it existed.

    But the upper classes were of little interest to Andrew. Of course, he wondered how the Taleyan nobility had survived the Plague while the rest of the noble families were dying out. Later he would consider the question and come to the unpleasant conclusion that the rulers of the city had no magical powers: after all, the catastrophe had primarily struck the bearers of paranormal powers. At any rate, he could find no other logical explanation. Now the goal was the port, or, more accurately, the opportunity to live in it for a while with impunity.

    By all appearances, it looked like there was a way for a ghoul to make a living anywhere. There were no gangs in "government" territory, but there were plenty of all kinds of unfortunates who were actually slaves. The poor people toiled day and night, getting barely enough food to keep from starving to death. They often died of hard work and disease, so no one would pay attention to one or two extra corpses from that milieu. Especially if you act carefully and do not kill, then no one will believe the tales of the stupid trash.

    He will have to ask Medea later how much class inequality there is. Slavery didn''t seem to have existed before, but it didn''t smell like democracy either. There were still some thugs, small bandits who plundered, thieves, and other scum who didn''t dare to gather in large packs because they would have been destroyed, but they were practically indestructible.

    Drunkards could be another source of food. There were six or seven taverns in the city that served hot drinks from samples of local moonshine. This was a costly affair, available only to soldiers and officials, and they were regular customers of the city''s only brothel. These institutions also served to strengthen the duke''s power: distinguished soldiers were rewarded with free admission, and the proceeds from ordinary visitors went to the treasury. It was much more dangerous to touch the public, but a drunken alcoholic wouldn''t remember a thing in the morning.

    There would be no problem getting into the right place, as Celesta realized more and more clearly. It would be easy for the silent ghouls to slip past the guard posts: the soldiers wouldn''t notice them. It wasn''t quite clear what to do after that. The city slowly cleared of crumbling buildings, reinforced houses, removed trash from the streets, and people walked everywhere. The activities of the authorities meant trouble for the day; it was not safe to lie down in the first house you could find. It meant a well-hidden shelter, which would take a very, very long time to find. It was a vicious circle.

    My thoughts flowed smoothly to the man leaning tiredly against the wall. Could we use him? He was not an ordinary person - the kind of man who strove to be the first always and everywhere. To be near such people is as dangerous as to collect diamonds on a minefield: either you provide for yourself for the rest of your life, or lose everything. Leave him here? And let the dead trio''s accomplices finish off the wounded man? No, in her position, throwing chances away was foolish. They need all the help they can get. It was necessary to somehow bind Richard to them, to make him want to cooperate, to convince him to see the ghouls not as enemies but as possible allies. A delusional idea at first glance, but sometimes cats and mice are friends.

    "I think I''ll escort you," the ghoul hummed. "I''ll take you to yours. In exchange for a tiny, tiny favor."

    "What favor?"

    "It''s not so hard, take it easy. Help me sell some of my stuff. Two crossbows, bolts, eight swords, some clothes."

    Crossbows were the most expensive. The art of shooting, unlike fencing, was not considered noble, so few people mastered a bow. What was the use of crossbows when there were better weapons that could hit at much greater distances? As a result, after the catastrophe crossbows became very popular - you can learn to use them in a short time, and they hit harder. The only problem was that there were less and less craftsmen able to make such sophisticated weapons and the miniature hand-made ballistas cost more than a bar of gold in their own weight. Over time, the situation was improving, there were more and more skillful archers, but so far people preferred to throw knives, darts, some experimented with the slingshot.

    "Yes?" Richard groaned, trying to get up. The girl smirked, threw one of his arms around her shoulders, and got up easily. The large man''s body was not particularly uncomfortable: she could have carried him in her arms. "What do you offer in return, dead one?"

    "Undead one. Normal clothes and some information. I''m sick of wearing rags. What did you think I was going to do, ask for prisoners instead of canned goods?"

    The wounded man was silent - apparently, he really imagined something like that.

    "We don''t always kill. The undead needs about two hundred grams of blood a day, and we usually take half a liter," Celesta reassured the mortal. He was not the type to intimidate, so she had to build a mutually beneficial relationship with him. "People die from contagion, general weakness, some kicking and tearing wounds. If you take a little quietly, there''s no harm done. Although, of course, the public among us is different: many just like to kill. Do you want me to introduce you?"

    "Thank you. I''m fine."

    "As you wish. To the northwest of here, on the former street of..." Andrew strained his memory, remembering. "...Thanksgiving, I think there''s a monastery of Judges. The locals don''t go there, and rightly so. Can you find out if anything has changed around here lately?"

    "This is foreign territory. I''ll have to pay dearly for the answers, and I''ll have to come up with an explanation for my interest."

    "Perfect. I knew I could rely on you."

    Carlon, the girls thought, had lost track of them. They''d escaped far enough and fast enough. But it wouldn''t hurt to make sure they were safe. Who knows what the former leader had in mind? What if he wanted to destroy the heretics? The priest is the enemy, and the plans of the enemy should always be known. Let the man find out if people continue to disappear in the vicinity of the monastery, at the same time remember the address and tell the other bandits. Sooner or later the mortals will clean out the dangerous nest.

    "Tsk, tsk, tsk." Usually, the sound of claws tapping on the stone was accompanied by the animal''s breathing. Exceptions were rare, and always with good reason. For example, like now. The creature that had crawled out of the breach in the wall didn''t need to breathe, and frankly, it was hardly alive at all. Neither was Celeste. Normally the mutants, which were increasingly being called "undead," ignored the ghouls, not thinking of them as prey or competition. This time was different. The smell of blood emanating from the human force the creature to crawl out of its hiding place, and the rebel''s presence was perceived as a hindrance to the coveted meal.

    Andrew paused in confusion. The undead creature looked like a dog about half the height of his thigh if you imagine that dogs have long claws, not for beauty, and scales instead of fur. It wiggled its spiked snout and hissed in displeasure. What is he supposed to do now? Wounded would do no good in a fight; he could barely stand on his feet or fight on his own. She and Medea had stumbled upon something like this creature on their way to their current hideout, and they''d fought it, but they expended a great deal of energy. Most likely Celesta would win the fight, but what would it cost her?

    It is possible to choose the safe option: to leave Richard and run away. He does not owe the man anything, rather, the case is exactly the opposite. Andrew should not feel any moral torment from such a decision, because he understands that in a similar situation Richard would have left him without a second thought, to save his skin. The locals for the most part did not suffer from excessive kindness, the concept of Christian charity is alien to the imperial culture. It was not customary here to save people just because they were human. This is neither indifference nor cruelty, but the ethics are based more on the principle of "friend-or-foe" than in the native world. Unfortunately, the isekai himself is used to reasoning differently; his upbringing morality made him care about his companion. There is a difference between killing for the sake of blood, for the chance to survive - and the betrayal of the one who trusted you. Leave now, and then he would be... ashamed.

    No one likes to think of themselves as scum.

    Again, Richard was needed. There were just vague plans for the bandit leader, for his sake, the ghoul intervened in someone else''s fight, risked herself. And suddenly some stupid creature dares to destroy a structure that could bring benefit! No, she should not sell him out, she could use him.

    "Step back and stay out of it."

    Richard jumped back slowly, leaning on his sword drawn from its sheath. The ghoul handed the weapon back to him, flashing her scarlet eyes mockingly and warningly. He took the hint and tried not to touch the hilt unnecessarily. The girl herself busily stripped the dead, put all the valuables in a neat pile, then packed them in a neat pack and hung them on her back. The bundle weighed, by the most conservative estimate, about thirty kilograms. How the undead dragged the loot and him without any exertion remained a mystery to the man. They say, correctly, that the living dead are physically very strong.

    Now the package was on the ground, Celesta was rid of the burden. As a weapon, she used a long dagger with a handle for a small palm, taken from one of her "donors. In the past, in his homeworld, Andrei had briefly studied with an amateur baton instructor. After transfer, the lessons learned were adapted to working with bladed weapons. A real fighter would have cringed at the demonstrated technique, but for a ghoul, with her speed and strength, it was okay. Especially after her attempts to work with a long weapon had ended badly. Besides, it was comfortable to carry. Other clothing resembled rags, ready to tear after the first blow, light sandals on her feet, no armor. It is fair to say that only heavy armor works well against mutants: after all, the mages who created them were true masters of their craft.

    Richard almost stopped breathing. He had once seen a creature like this attack a troop of six men. It took out two good fighters before it was slaughtered with spears. Though the monsters had been more cautious lately, and they rarely showed their faces near the port: they were too successfully exterminated. And then one crawled out from somewhere, attracted by the delicious smell of blood. Just when he, Richard, was wounded, and if it were not for the help of the ghoul, he would not even expect to get home. Strangely, she did not leave. So sure of her powers?

    In the battle with beasts and not beasts, the first strike is important. If you manage to catch the moment, foresee the swift movement of the soaring body - and you win. One swing of the sword or kick to the underbelly is enough to make the animal lose all its ardor and run away. The main thing is to catch that brief moment. Some people prefer to look into the opponent''s eyes, trying to catch the beginning of the attack by the change of sight, others teach to follow the body, legs, stomach. Over time, the need to concentrate on individual parts of the body disappears: the enemy is perceived immediately and completely. Even with closed eyes, in complete darkness. What happens is what many masters call "unification," psychologists call "intuition," and practitioners call "the sixth sense. In the general, there is no difference, as long as it works.

    The ghoul stood still in a loose stance, her tension revealed only by the change in her features and her cold, vacant gaze. Andrew had enough experience of fighting - he''d fought more in his short time in his new body than he had in his whole previous life. So now he stood, trying to get a feel for his opponent, about to leap aside and deliver a single, hard blow to the neck when attacked. Any foul creature is guaranteed to die from a fractured spine, or at the very least, lose the ability to move and become helpless. The killing has to be done right away. Otherwise, thanks to its high survivability, the creature will recover and hunt again, gaining experience and a fierce hatred for two-legged creatures.

    Complete relaxation, absolute peace. Tension and the desire to strike first. The dull greenish lights in the predator''s eyes, the reflected light of the moon in the ghoul''s whites, pierced with a mass of scarlet vessels. The creature felt threatened. Celeste did not look away. There was a thin line between the two enemies on the deserted street, and they both felt it. It was as if Celeste had touched the thoughts of the creature mangled by magic, felt its hunger, its displeasure at the situation, its desire to rush into battle, and its fear of finding a foe too strong. The living dead had never behaved this way before; they were getting out of the way. And you go, the girl''s pale lips whispered, go today. As if hesitating, the creature took a tiny step back.

    Do not look away. Whoever looks away first - loses.

    The undead moved forward.

    The creature grumbled in response and retreated some more.

    A dark figure in rags silently held out a hand with claws protruding. The blade in the other hand gleamed dully.

    Suddenly the creature turned abruptly on the spot and, with one last half-grunt and half-snarl, disappeared into the dark alley. The claws clattered, and that was it, gone as if it had never existed.

    "Let''s go." Celesta ignored the weakness, continuing to listen to the silence. "It might come back."

    The man was smart enough not to ask questions. Precious minutes were slipping away like water between the fingers, and to waste them was a luxury he could not afford. Using his sword as a crutch, he leaped after his eerie savior. The ghoul walked a few paces in front of him, occasionally lingering in stony stillness, then glided down the stone sidewalk again with a silent easy step. It was about forty minutes before Celeste stopped listening to every rustle and relaxed. Only then did she pay attention to her companion. Richard was very bad, his thigh was bleeding and sore, his face was covered with large drops of sweat. His strength was exhausted; the wounded man needed a break.

    We had to stop to change the band on the leg. The bandit turned out to be a hoarder, and he had a couple of mild painkillers, though they had expired. Still, the medicine had worked, and a short rest had done her good, too. Celesta picked the wounded man up again, allowing him to lean on her, and dragged him purposefully toward the camp of his detachment. She was in a hurry: There wasn''t much time before sunrise, and she had yet to return home. So, after bringing Richard to the controlled territory, after giving him a last scare and setting a time and place for a new meeting, the girl ran away.

    I should have shared the news with Medea.

    * * *

 Chapter 7

    Chapter 7

    * * *

    Sullenly going through the things for sale, Andrew wondered how a real woman in any situation manages to remain a woman. At the same time, he glanced sideways at the object that gave him the reason for such thoughts - simply speaking, at Medea.

    It''s a funny thing. Medea''s demeanor, having learned of her male companion''s identity, changed for a while. Her movements began to show a certain slyness, flirtatiousness, almost coquetry, and eye-rolling. If she''d been asked directly, she would have vehemently denied it, but deep down she felt an unconscious desire to seduce her friend. Not because she fell in love: just the presence of a "man" who is not subject to her charms, not feeling admiration for her stunning beauty, perceived the former singer as a challenge. She did not accept a purely "working" relationship with the opposite sex.

    Fortunately, circumstances greatly interfered with the intended game. The road to the new hideout was difficult, and Andrew''s attitude gave no reason for an easy affair. He simply did not care about the processes taking place in the graceful head of his companion, he was entirely focused first on the search for a new home, then he arranged his life, looking for a way to get into the port... And then Medea became quiet. She came to her senses. Re-perceived Celesta as a female friend, not a man of exotic appearance. She calmed down to the minute when she heard the story about the night meeting with the wounded bandit leader.

    And now, sitting in front of a big piece of mirror, she was putting on her makeup. She washed in a tin trough, braided her long hair into a hairstyle, blackened her eyelashes and eyebrows with charcoal, and carefully trimmed her fingernails. Wanted to put some red crap on her lips, Andrew told her not to: too unpleasant associations. A ghoul, after all. Richard''s personality was scrutinized through a huge number of questions - the bandit must have been exhausted from such attention.

    Medea explained her interest simply: "The more you know about a man, the better chance you have of taking him warm."

    The wording of the reply Celesta received made her laugh.

    "Are you hoping to seduce him? Why?"

    "Why seduce right away? Seduction has to be earned... I just want to talk to a nice person, chat about this and that, laugh, flirt a little." She paused, then in a different, gloomy tone added. "I''m sick of looking at people as food. Tired of the filth, of the stench. No, let this Richard see me not as a dead bloodsucker, but as a beautiful, intelligent woman. Then he would want to meet again and again."

    The epithet "nice," in Celesta''s opinion, was the least appropriate for the supposed partner. He was a dangerous predator, no less deadly than the ghoul herself, and there was no telling whose hands had more blood on them. Around the bandit, even when wounded, you had to keep your guard up if you were to give him the slightest chance to strike. From the glances he cast, such thoughts crossed his mind. It was hard to pretend to be calm and relaxed. One involuntarily wanted to stay away from the man.

    A whole week had passed since the parting, and the agreed deadline had arrived. The agreed time was enough for, firstly, Richard to heal a little, and, secondly, to get the information the girls were interested in. Celesta appointed an old park with broken fountains, surrounded by dilapidated houses, as a meeting place. The main advantage of the park, which determined her choice, was its underground water supply system, which had a lot of outlets to the surface. The ghouls had discovered it soon after their arrival in the harbor district judging by the amount of dirt and untouched dust, people hadn''t gone down into the sewers. It''s a convenient spot. If the bandits wanted to set a trap, the quick and quiet undead would have the advantage in the ruins. It''s hard for a living creature to hide from a ghoul''s keen hearing and night vision, but still, an experienced hunter has a chance to go unnoticed. In that case, they''ll have to flee, and a hidden passage is the best way to do it.

    Andrew estimated the probability of an ambush at sixty to forty. That is forty percent for and sixty percent against. On his side played the advantageous offer to the gang, the possibility of useful cooperation in the future, and Richard''s character. From her conversation with him, she judged him to be a man cynical and adventurous enough to ally with the enemies of his kind to achieve his ends. On the other hand, he could also betray at any moment as soon as further partnership seemed pointless to him. Besides, the king is made by the entourage. Richard is sure to share the circumstances of his salvation with his inner circle of friends, and no one knows what they will advise.

    "If he deceives me, I''ll exterminate his gang one by one," Celesta summed up the grim reflection. "I''ll run away, wait six months, then come back, and make a bloodbath."

    "We don''t know how we''ll survive the winter," Medea said skeptically. "Last year people froze to death. It even snowed once. Fishermen feared to go to sea: food is not enough, a lot of mutants multiplied, the guards of the port did not show their noses. This winter, I feel, everything will be different."

    The mild Mediterranean climate of Taleya accustomed its inhabitants to waiting for the grace of nature, and the harsh weather for local latitudes claimed many lives. Mostly due to the lack of warm clothing and the consequent frequent illnesses. Although hunger has also taken its toll: outbreaks of cannibalism were everywhere last year. In any case, interrogated prisoners often confessed to eating their kind, sometimes repeatedly. Nowadays people were rarely killed for meat.

    There were persistent rumors of a community that practiced dark rituals, including cannibalistic ones. Quite true rumors, in the opinion of both girls. The prophets and self-appointed priests had recently enjoyed enormous authority among all strata of society, ironically enough, which had partially retained its former organization. Sects proliferated to all tastes. The most delusional ideas were passed off as divine revelation and found enthusiastic admirers; many gangs consisted of one "inspired" madman and his flock. The battles between them had long since become commonplace, and to fall into the hands of fanatics meant death.

    "Okay." Celesta checked clothes, weapons, goods one last time. She put the heavy bale on her back and jumped around a bit. She had counted heavily on today''s meeting and was therefore worried. "Enough guessing. Let''s go."

    "Say a prayer to the patroness - let her help," asked her friend seriously.

    "To whom, Celeste the goddess? I haven''t seen any help from her before."

    "You''re alive," Medea objected logically. "The gods rarely perform obvious miracles, usually they point the right way or grant good fortune in matters. A little luck in an hour or two won''t hurt at all."

    "It is better to count on yourself, not on a mythical aunt with superpowers. Then you''ll know exactly who to blame if anything happens." In the eyes of the locals, Andrew''s statement stretched to the revolution and immediate execution.

    Medea sighed habitually, rolled her eyes to the dark sky, and silently prayed to Morvan, asking him not to punish the empty-headed woman. Celesta did not mean any harm. Just does not understand that she was here and now is not accidental, for there is no accident at all. She was brought. Called. Someone powerful, someone with power over souls, with an unknown purpose, transfers the mind of an alien-human into a dead body.

    Who else but God?

    They went to the park just after sunset and checked the area first thing. It seemed clear, there was no one around. All the time on the road, Andrew thought about the upcoming meeting, and as a result, as they say, "overexcite" himself. Therefore, the absence of observers frightened him, because it forced him to assume that the insistent invitation Richard ignored and chose to stay away from the ghoul. The decision is wise, correct, but for the girls, it is extremely disadvantageous. In such a case, it would be necessary to look for a new agent, unnecessary rumors about the presence of the living dead in the lands previously considered safe, the hunt would become more difficult. The prey itself might try to catch the predator. Then it would be necessary to leave the beloved burrow for a longer period than originally intended and immediately move to another area.

    Was the man not greedy enough or too careful? At first glance, he seemed to be a cruel, unscrupulous person, with a tendency to take risky steps. Andrew knew what to look at, he had a wealth of practical experience in terms of psychology. True, somewhat monotonous. Usually, people next to the undead or other monsters experienced either horror or burning rage, few dared to speak quietly. That was why Richard was valuable because he reacted unconventionally.

    Before the appointed time, the ghouls had time to do more than just walk around the neighborhood. It would be more accurate to say that they had touched every inch of ground. There was nothing else to do but wait. And hope. The remaining two hours lasted much longer than usual for the nervous girls. Celesta stood motionless as a statue, her stony calm only occasionally disturbed by a slight movement of her chest. The rebels needed air, but not as much as the humans alive. Medea chattered, hiding her excitement behind her cheerful speech. She reminisced, told amusing sketches of bohemian life, occasionally pulling her friend to get one-word answers out of her. The listener''s token attention suited her just fine.

    Finally, about half an hour before the appointed time, footsteps were heard in the distance. The city was unusually quiet tonight: only the strange silence and the tension of Celesta''s presence allowed her to distinguish the slight shuffling of footsteps. People, close, two of them.

    "Someone is coming."

    Medea was momentarily silent and wary, too: "Is this them?"

    "From the sound of it, yes. One has a shuffling gait, and Richard is wounded."

    "Did he take only one assistant with him?"

    "When meeting with ghouls, you should take those closest to you, those whom you trust as you trust yourself. You can never have too many of them." She paused for a moment, then said, "If it''s Richard. And if we didn''t notice the ambush."

    "We checked everything, there are no intruders here."

    The younger undead shrugged: "Maybe they''ll come up later." Then she began to command, determining for the last time the course of action. "Now I''ll bring them here, ask them questions, introduce them to you. Then I''ll make one more run around the neighborhood. You trade weapons for rags and food stamps..."

    "Dinirs."

    "Let the dinirs, just make the exchange. The main thing is to try to get as many rumors and gossip as you can, to spin the men for information. And for God''s sake, remain vigilant. If anything happens, I won''t be able to come to your aid right away."

    "Don''t worry about it." Medea shook her shoulder irritably. "Everything will be all right."

    Celesta walked lightly, trying to pick her way through the darkest corners of the park. She should have welcomed the dear - no joke - guests, led them to the right place, found out who the bandit leader had brought with him. The moon in this world was small and dim, but starlight on a cloudless day was enough for the human eye. Local astrologers were particularly fond of the four incredibly bright "stars," which were the closest planets, and we''re dedicated, according to tradition, to each of the elemental lords. Whom they would denote now, after the disappearance of the forces of their masters, it is not clear. Andrew believed that inertness of thought would play its role and people would not change either the names or the occult meanings of each of the planets.

    The ghoul approached the people at just the right time.

    "Careful, the hatch."

    In response, there was the rustle of weapons being drawn, and the two male figures froze, peering into the darkness of the gap between the two rows of sprawling bushes. The woman''s voice did not respond to the aggression, just as calmly said.

    "I see you didn''t come alone, Richard?"

    After a moment''s hesitation, the first man put his sword away. The second warrior reluctantly obeyed his elder''s sign, but didn''t hide his weapon, just pointed it at the ground.

    "Celesta? Is that you?"

    "Were you expecting someone else?" The slender figure suddenly moved out the other side of the room, not at all where the shaken people expected it to come from. "Follow me. And watch your step."

    Richard swallowed involuntarily. The two undead, standing side by side, were as different as night and day. The one he first met, Celesta, looked like a fragile and delicate flower, enchanting with its weightless beauty. There was something unreal, foreign about her. Small, slender, dressed in an incomprehensible patchy cloak, she might appear to an outsider as a harmless, unfortunate refugee in need of protection. The first impression passed with a glance at her movements-strong, thrifty, self-assured. Although Richard had no illusions about her ability to kill from the start, the girl had proven her cruelty and survivability when they first met.

    The second... Hair the color of thick honey, perfect body shape, not hidden by any rags, perfect face with mockingly and slyly curved lips. Huge blue eyes, at the very bottom of which occasionally flickered tiny red dots. The unknown woman stood slightly behind her companion''s shoulder, towering over her by half a head, and regarded the men with interest. Who were suddenly acutely aware of the days-old stubble on their chins, the smell of their own bodies, and their hair sticky with dirt. Borak beside him snorted embarrassedly.

    The goddess smiled.

    "So who did you bring, Richard?"

    There was a note in Celesta''s tone that made him answer:

    "This is my assistant, Borak."

    "Let me introduce my friend Medea, you can discuss business with her. What have you learned about the monastery?"

    The assistant was of no interest to Andrew. He was obviously not a titan of intelligence, but the dog''s loyalty in the look directed at the leader was enough. A faithful dog, his right hand, and, if necessary, the executor of dirty deeds. He was a good candidate for a meeting, whether with fellow craftsmen or ghouls.

    Richard did not report anything specific. One week is too short a time to gather enough rumors and gossip about the territory controlled by strangers. Yes, someone lives in the monastery, for a long time, the surrounding people try not to go there unnecessarily. In general, the place is gloomy, not far from the nest of some creatures. It''s not known what''s going on there now, because normal people try to stay away from danger and closer to the city and port. They don''t rummage in the ruins, they charge for passage through their land, and that''s how they live.

    "In other words, you didn''t tell me anything new."

    "So little time has passed. Again, I don''t know what to ask people. Maybe they know something useful, they just don''t understand it."

    Richard did not expect that in response to a crude attempt to find out why the ghoul was interested in a monastery, he would receive a simple and clear answer: "Our kindred live there." She admired the man''s involuntary twitch and looked thoughtfully at his companion. The man retaliated by gripping his weapon tighter. Celesta seemed to pay no attention to the movement, continuing to speak exclusively to the man in charge. "Good. I''ll be patient for a little while longer. Excuse me, Richard, I have some business nearby. Talk to Medea - she''ll show you the goods, discuss prices. I''ll be right back."

    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

    A step, another, a sliding movement to the side. That''s it - she''s gone, hidden in the darkness, not even the rustle of her footsteps to the bewildered mortals. However, almost immediately their attention returned to Medea as she laughed quietly and softly: "Don''t be offended by my friend: she never saw the need to follow the rules of propriety."

    It was a stunning voice, deep and sensual and gentle, absolutely appropriate for its owner. Richard reminded himself that she was not just a beautiful - okay, devilishly beautiful - woman, but an essentially dead creature. Dangerous and unpredictable.

    "Compared to many people I know, Mrs. Celesta is the epitome of politeness. Alas, in these difficult times we cannot hope for a thorough observance of etiquette. And it is certainly only by the interference of the gods that I am fortunate enough to behold your beauty, Lady Medea..."

    The phrases accepted in noble society were suddenly easy to recall and roll off the tongue. However, the thoughts in the leader''s head, which were frantic, were much less sophisticated. He was startled by the disappearance of the Ghoul. What was the point of her leaving? What to expect now? Richard had fought all kinds of creatures, but they had never made such a complex and frightening impression as this short girl. She seemed to radiate confidence, never for a moment doubting her ability to destroy both him and Borak if she wished. I didn''t want to anger her, much less have her as an enemy. The Dark One knows what powers the living dead have, and there are all kinds of rumors about them. Maybe not all of them were mere gossip. That bloodsucker had made a deal with that dog-like creature, hadn''t she?

    Now he almost regretted his decision to come to the meeting. Almost. His squad had suffered too heavy a loss, he had to take a risk. Otherwise, his neighbors would crush him, if not in a couple or three weeks, then certainly at the beginning of winter.

    Richard was greatly offended by the Duke of Taleya. A descendant of the gods must be in the company of his equals, it was his sacred right. He could not mingle with dumb commoners who were in the service of the higher-ups, could he? And it was at the Duke''s order that the guards prevented him from entering the castle after the Plague, laughing violently from the high walls. Richard was very offended then, and the anger has not gone away to this day. It was it that allowed him to survive, to form his detachment, to gradually take a high place among the leaders like himself.

    At first, he picked up three men with whom he robbed stores, warehouses, and fought small groups of embittered men. Gradually, there were more male warriors and young strong women. True, few women survived, but now they had to be stolen or traded at a high price. Old, crippled men were ruthlessly culled: they hindered survival. He taught the men to fight. He was a career officer and a nobleman, his squad enjoyed a good reputation due to his training and strict discipline. He eliminated those who disagreed: the dangerous he killed, the weak, and the wimpy he drove away. So when the duke''s servants began hiring men to guard the wagons, he was one of the first to be invited. It proved dangerous, but profitable.

    And with the help of ghouls, a clever man can make it even more profitable.

    Waking up from his thoughts, Richard was surprised to find himself telling Lady Medea in detail about a recent slippery operation his men had carried out in the port. He had managed to negotiate with the captain of one of the fishing schooners and sell half of the daily catch under the table. If the guards found out about the deal, all those involved would lose their heads. Moreover, Borak, the most faithful and loyal guard who trusted himself and his master alone, did not attempt to restrain the talkative ringleader! He didn''t even look around, concentrating on his mesmerizing companion. Fascinating? No, magic doesn''t work. It shouldn''t work...

    "I beg your pardon." The woman smiled disarmingly embarrassed. "It had been so long since I''d met a decent storyteller that I''d forgotten the real purpose of our meeting."

    "Well, lady, it''s a real pleasure to talk to you! Dare I ask whose family gave birth to such a beautiful daughter?"

    Medea shook her head sadly: "Ah, no. In our circles, it is not customary to answer such questions. The transition to a new state erases old debts, connections, commitments. Please, understand and do not be offended."

    "A lady''s wish is a law to me."

    "Thank you. Please take a look at the things we''ve brought you. I flatter myself that they will arouse your interest."

    While his master was examining the sack''s contents, checking the quality of the weapons, and tsking his tongue contentedly at the sight of a pair of crossbows, Borak remembered his duties as a bodyguard and looked around. As he glanced behind him, he shuddered - that second ghoul was sitting on a rock not far away. If she wanted to, she''d have killed them both before anyone could see her. A chill ran down the back of his neck. Risky, risky, his master. No need for enemies with friends like that.

    Medea, on the other hand, was immersed in examining the huge bale of clothing the bandits had brought. There were evening gowns of expensive fabric, which had cost a fortune before the disaster, and the usual blouses, skirts, scarves, wide pants, a light jacket, and even one heavy woolen tulup. Surprisingly, some of the items appeared to be intact, recently unpacked, apparently the result of the efforts of the city''s looters. Though there were a few that smelled like smoke and blood. The rags appeared to have been lightly scrubbed before they were sold, but no definitive trace of the violent deaths of their former owners remained.

    With a heavy sigh, the woman put aside her luxurious light raincoat. Now it was time to prepare for winter by buying good and simple clothes. Best of all, ex-army uniforms from army warehouses or hunting suits. But, alas, three years after the catastrophe such things were in very short supply and were worth their weight in gold. Out of the huge pile, Medea chose only two pairs of pants-not the right size, but okay - and a nice summer jacket. Apparently, the jacket was made with a teenager in mind, but it would fit Celesta just fine. The leather booties, which happened to be among the other things, were a nice touch, too. Shoes were an issue of great concern to the girls; now they had to wrap rags around their feet. There was no way to get good shoes. Most people wore either heavy boots that rumbled on the ground as they walked or various kinds of homemade boots that crumbled after a few days of running through the stone mazes.

    Of course, she couldn''t resist buying something else. As soon as she imagined what a black dress with a closed collar and a low neckline would look like on her, her hands put it aside. Fortunately, Celesta had turned her head away from her friend''s activities.

    <b>Spoiler</b>: T.N. <input type=''button'' value=''Show'' class=''spoilerButton''>Toreador such Toreador.

    Medea also chose three warm blankets of some artificial material, thin and almost weightless. They had similar ones, in principle, probably stolen from the same warehouse, but it was better to buy new and clean clothes. They were cheap, and the girls'' pile of merchandise went to pay for the crossbows. With bolts. The rest was to be exchanged for "dinars". That was the popular name for food coupons with the Duke''s profile on one side. On the other side was a stamp listing the foodstuffs that could be exchanged for the coupons. The dinar from its inception became the only stable currency around Taleya, gold, and silver being ranked lower. The system created by the city rulers proved as simple as it was reliable. All food, no matter how it was obtained, was deposited in warehouses. Fishermen reported their catch to the port collectors every night, hunters were not allowed to keep even a small piece of meat, gardeners were divided into brigades and obliged to keep a close eye on each other. One must assume that the accounting in the newly-formed villages is no less competent. The guards on the one hand and the ubiquitous principle of mutual responsibility on the other successfully ensured that not a single bit of food, valuable materials, fuel, weapons, clothing, and other necessities passed by the duke''s storerooms.

    And yet a "black market" existed. The eternal passion for the good life forced people to conceal some products and exchange them for a profit. The organizers and most active participants in the illicit trade were various kinds of small and not-so-small gangs that existed both in the port and outside it. Although the term "gang" can hardly be applied to people who were operating in the territory controlled by the guards. Often it was those charged with enforcing the law who broke the law. In other words, the officials themselves, who patronized the low-ranking perpetrators. On the surface, it looked simple enough. A farmer who secretly grew and managed to hide from accounting, for example, a sack of beets, secretly exchanged it with an acquaintance for dinars. This sack was then transported through a chain to the port, where it was sold for twice the price or exchanged for part of the catch. The most expensive items were spirits or the ingredients for making them.

    "Wouldn''t you like to buy this wonderful sword, lord?"

    "The price you asked scares me."

    "Quite decent, I assure you. At any rate, the previous owner paid twice as much for it. I am ready to catch him again to convince you of the truth of my words!"

    "Thank you, that won''t be necessary. A man who gave four dinir of fish in exchange for a soft steel sword is of no interest to me."

    "But the weapon has no signs or markings," Medea countered. "You, in turn, have an excellent opportunity to resell it to anyone who wants it."

    Andrew watched the virtuoso work of his girlfriend and quietly admired it. Everything from light flirting to carefully veiled jabbing threats was used. Having some idea of the prices in town, they hadn''t had a chance to sell their trophies until now, so Medea hadn''t had a chance to demonstrate her talents in buying and selling before. Maybe it was for the best. At that rate, she''d have the market under her control in no time. Or lose her life, which is more likely: the average oligarch would be worse than a ghoul.

    After receiving more than she expected and deciding to ignore the "unplanned" purchase, wondering where she would wear the dress, Celesta shifted Richard''s attention back to herself: "I see that you have a deal?"

    "Yes, Lord Richard was very generous," Medea fluttered her eyelashes, giving the man a charming smile. He choked on a prepared phrase. "He is such an interesting companion! I am so happy! I hope you won''t refuse to continue the acquaintance?"

    The question asked in a purring tone was answered by Celesta instead of the leader: "Absolutely. He wants to offer us a deal. Doesn''t he?"

    "Why do you think so, Mistress Celesta?" Richard finally managed to cope with a dry throat.

    "Because you brought one man with you and didn''t even try to hide a few more in an ambush. But, no, if you didn''t want anything from us, you wouldn''t have come at all," she grinned dryly, fangs gleaming for a moment.

    The response grin on the ringleader''s face came out crooked: "Maybe you''re right."

    They drove back, laden with clothes, in complete silence. Andrew was careful not to think about the proposal, concentrating on the road, carefully monitoring all the extraneous sounds. Medea anticipated going through the new clothes again today, trying them on, going to sleep on a clean bed - for the occasion, she intended to open a package of sheets, found long ago in the looted store. She was also pondering how she would explain her luxurious new rag, and she was preparing for a little scandal in advance. What she wasn''t worried about was the future: she trusted her friend.

    Only when he returned home to the den did Andrei allow himself to relax. Relax from the tension he''d been under tonight. Listening halfheartedly to Medea''s contented cooing as she laid out her purchases, he tried in vain to understand what he had become. What he had become. That confrontation with Carlon had affected him more than he had thought at first. More and more often, even in his thoughts, Andrew referred to himself as Celesta, the memories of his past life faded and distant. His memory perfectly preserved the images of his homeworld, the faces of his parents, friends, pictures of familiar life, but they had all become alien. As if the events were happening to another person. As if, sitting in a theater in front of a huge screen, with interest watching a feature film. Except that no matter how talented the director was, no matter how beautiful the acting, it is impossible to completely identify with your favorite character.

    Here and now there is Celesta. A girl satisfied with her body. A ghoul used to hide from the sun. A bloodsucker who has resigned herself to having to go out hunting at least once every two days. A citizen of a ruined city for whom killing her kind, though with hot blood in her veins, had long been the norm. Her life was cheaply valued - and she responded in kind, mercilessly defending her right to exist. There was little that prevented her from becoming a cruel nocturnal predator: strong moral principles, preserved from the past, and the understanding of a simple truth - a human being is stronger than a beast. So, no matter what, you must remain human.

    You can''t survive at all costs, it''s a path to nowhere.

    Carlon said a different, perfect race would take the place of humans. Maybe so. Only the priest got carried away and forgot the fate of those commanders who despised the enemy. And in most cases their fate was unenviable. Besides - what would ghouls become in the new world? Would there be a place for them?

    We must learn to coexist with people...

    Except that humans don''t want to have such dangerous neighbors. And, frankly, they are understandable.

    "What do you say? Do we agree?"

    A deliriously contented Medea twirled in front of a large shard of mirror that had miraculously survived and had been transferred to the girls'' dwelling. She did not wish to talk about business. If Celesta had complimented her appearance, told her how great she looked, how well that dress suited her, then the girl, unused to compliments, would have gladly supported the conversation. Alas, her friend sat with a gloomy look and did not understand the hints. Even though tonight was a good night, Medea had received more male attention than she had in the past year.

    "I don''t see any reason to say no," the older ghoul answered after all. "We do almost the same thing almost every night. Yeah, we''d have to hunt a certain gang member, not everyone. So? We''ll manage. We don''t really have a choice. You know, Richard has to be tied down at all costs."

    "A career as an assassin doesn''t suit me somehow."

    Medea was silent, then suddenly spat out angrily: "There is no other work! There isn''t, and there never will be!"

    The sudden outburst of rage surprised Celesta. Normally Medea was meticulous about her appearance, but now she was completely out of control. From beneath the mask of her human face peered a hungry and cruel essence, sharp claws piercing the air with a sharp movement as the woman turned sharply, continuing to speak: "What else could we be?!" Her voice grew stronger, and the mirror on the wall rattled. "This damned body is like it was made for killing, we''re not good for anything else..."

    The incipient hysteria was interrupted by a mighty slap. Ghoul''s head jerked back from the blow, and the woman involuntarily recoiled, fangs bared and froze in a tense stance. But no one was in a hurry to attack her.

    "Have you calmed down? Have you come to your senses?" Celesta didn''t seem small now. Even when she looked up, it was as if she towered over Medea. As if something enormous and powerful, capable of commanding and ordering, was peeking out from behind her. "Then listen to me. We will be whoever we want to be. Do you understand? Everything is in our hands. And no bandit can make us do anything we don''t want to do."

    The girl slid smoothly forward, close to her friend. Small hands wrapped around Medea''s waist, stroking her back soothingly: "Calm down. Everything will be all right. Don''t be afraid of anything..."

    A little later, when the weeping beauty returned to the interrupted conversation, she heard the decision of the older ghoul. The older one, despite her short stature, general frailty, and shorter lifespan in undead form.

    "We''re not going to help Richard on this one. We''ll take out a couple of guards, and that''s it. Let him get used to the fact that he can''t use us at his own discretion."

    "Then why would he do business with us? It''s easier to find less intimidating partners."

    "That''s right... Think. Think - what else can we do to attract him?"

    Since childhood, Andrew had learned a clear rule: if possible, combine morality with logic, ethics with rationality. And now his decision to ignore the ringleader''s request was determined both by his desire to act within the "rules of the game" established by society and by sober calculation. People don''t like murderers. They treat them with respect or fear, yes, but they do not like them. A friend of his who had been in Chechnya and Ossetia had noticed more than once the way his conversation changed if the person he was talking to knew that he was a war veteran. Even here, in a country devastated by the catastrophe, where human life is worth less than a crust of bread, too much of an outsider''s blood is avoided.

    It''s hard to call a ghoul harmless.

    However, the human consciousness very accurately, though inarticulately, divides the threat into tolerable and intolerable. The second must be eliminated at all costs. Not taking into account the losses. Until now, people, faced with those who have risen from the dead, have perceived them as absolute enemies, a dialogue with whom is impossible. All the more so because they have more than enough reasons for this viewpoint: ghouls rarely leave their victims alive. For the past three years alone, the authorities have had enough other problems, in comparison to which the danger of various kinds of plagues is insignificant. They defended themselves against ghouls, headless ghouls, basement dwellers, hydras, wolfhounds, and cadaver eaters, but they were not hunted purposefully. There was no power. Before.

    Richard talked about the rewards recently awarded for killed undead. It was rewarding work, but dangerous. So dangerous, in fact, that it only made sense to take it as a last resort. Besides, someday the area around the city would be cleansed of the monsters...

    Fear and hatred, multiplied by greed, could well wipe out the nonhumans in Taleya. The girls frankly didn''t care about the rest of the ghouls, but they didn''t want to be among the dead themselves. They wanted people to see them as useful, to protect them, to nurture them from time to time. Why not? The Romans had thrown the condemned to the lions. But how could they prove their friendliness without giving the impression of weakness? Plays, plays on the edge: on one side the beastly jaws of the Night, on the other - ruthless human rage.

    What to do? It is urgent to entice the leader, to make him an offer he cannot refuse. Because he won''t. The undead has the advantage of high survivability, stealth, subtle hearing and night vision, and high speed compared to ordinary humans. An ideal spy, if it weren''t for the fear of light and bloodlust. Of course, you would still have to spy, but it would be better to choose a calmer profession, to begin with. One that would allow making connections, to move freely around the city - as much as possible in modern conditions - to collect rumors and gossip.

    Andrew was always anxious to go home because he didn''t like being a bloodsucking girl. He didn''t like it at all. Besides, the nomadic lifestyle allowed him to hunt far away from the main base, without attracting attention to the refuge. The girls had managed to learn a fair chunk of the city during their escape, knew the places of convenient layovers. There is another advantage. The more they studied the local sewers, the more confident they were in getting far from home - knowing the signs and peculiarities of the underground architecture, they could find a temporary shelter anywhere.

    "I wonder if there are any smugglers here."

    Medea lifted her head from her sewing; she was adjusting the size of the clothes she had bought.

    "Of course," She seemed surprised by the very formulation of the question. "The black market exists because of them."

    "I don''t mean carrying bags of dried fish from one place to another or anything like that," Celesta snickered back. "Think about it. We don''t want to be assassins, or monster hunters, or anything like that. It''s dangerous, and besides... But trading information, or small but valuable possessions, is very profitable."

    "It is unlikely that Richard needs this kind of service."

    "We''ll see. At the very least, he knows officials who might be interested in our proposal. Those in power are always intriguing - it''s the law. Let the bandit work as a middleman, get his percentage, and in return, he''ll get us access to the port and warehouses. We just need to motivate him properly."

    * * *

 Chapter 8

    Chapter 8

    * * *

    To the inexperienced eye, the outer ring of guards served carefully. The five main roads leading into the port were controlled by large groups of thirty men each, housed in lonely buildings that had been turned into small forts. Enough force to withstand the simultaneous onslaught of three or four large gangs or packs of Darkness scum. Sentries, and patrols pulled up if necessary, doubling the number of besieged, then the main Duke''s troops came up. Initially, the ruler of the city had about two hundred swordsmen at his disposal, but after successful actions against large gangs and thanks to his outstanding diplomatic talent, he managed to enlist almost eight hundred more men. Eight hundred men with weapons and a willingness to use them. A tremendous force in today''s world. And a force active, well-organized, with distinct and clear goals, ready for expansion.

    Bypassing the guards, Celesta estimated, was possible. Long observation and questioning brought the desired result. She was able to find several passageways that had been overlooked by the watchers. Somewhere an ordinary person simply could not pass, somewhere there was a mix-up due to unclear delineation of patrol boundaries of different squads, in one place the lazy sergeant badly followed his subordinates. In short, there are holes in the fence. We even managed to find a few convenient hiding places inside the outer perimeter, where we could wait out a day or two. It was not possible to explore the discovered routes for a long time, hunger began to pester, and the ghouls did not dare to hunt the soldiers.

    The question is what to do next. Disregarding the usual threats like the sun and the strongest day''s sleep, every patrol encountered has the right to check the tag, confirming a person''s belonging to the duke''s subjects and his right to stay in this particular territory. There are tags and different tags, but they may also want to escort a lonely girl to "home". No, the documents must be as plausible as possible.

    The system was somewhat nostalgically reminiscent of the Soviet Union through the eyes of Western filmmakers. Patrols, bans, regulation of movement, mutual surveillance... Of course, control was not total, the bureaucratic apparatus was also unexpectedly small. The authorities kept a close eye on the careful accounting of resources - hence their strange policy. At first, the severity of the local order was striking, but later the strangeness found an explanation. The common man had nowhere to go. Outside the Duke''s land, gangs of bandits rule ghouls, creatures of terrible nightmares attack creatures with hot blood. In other cities the situation is much worse, it makes no sense to move into them, and it is dangerous. The choice is simple: either you play by the established rules, or risk your skin. A very great risk. Most people preferred to agree and live in relative peace.

    Richard was naturally surprised and upset when Celesta refused to comply with his request. He sincerely believed that the ghouls had no problem killing five or ten warriors, thereby weakening his rival gang. The bandleader tried to hide his emotions, but the change in tone of voice and facial expression failed him. He was still more astonished at the reason for the refusal. The diminutive little ghoul had merely spoken of some urgent business. She snorted merrily, "Don''t you think you''re the only one we do business with?" She quoted him a price tag: ten dinars for delivery within the city, extra for escorting a man, twenty for gathering information on a particular target. The most expensive work was at the port and the warehouses, but Celeste was willing to visit those places, too, if she had good papers.

    Andrew, brought up by generations of earthly politicians, clearly learned: the bigger the lie, the easier it is to believe. So he bluffed without remorse.

    As soon as Richard heard that for a relatively small sum the bloodsucker was willing to lead the porters past the posts, he immediately imagined the benefits to be had. Now the bandit leader had either to buy weapons and food at official rip-off prices or share with the officers of the patrols and officials. In both cases, the bandit''s coffers remained empty. Attempts to bypass the "customs" did not bring any success: the guards had orders to immediately shoot to kill at the sight of intruders in the border area. And here was a real opportunity to cut costs!

    "Can you get my people through?"

    "How much and when?" The girl shrugged her shoulders slightly. She rarely moved at all, preferring to remain frighteningly still.

    "Well, three, in two days," Richard estimated.

    "I''ll guide you through the posts or back. Inside the port, it''s up to you. Terms - do not argue, follow all orders at once and silently. Ten dinirs. Yes, I''ll wrap myself in a cloak and hide my face. You know there''s no need to talk about who I am."

    Medea stayed at the base. The undead had a peculiar division of labor, which so far suited both of them. Celesta went far from home, keeping an eye on people, getting involved in all sorts of adventures. She slept in odd places and fed on captured rats and cats, trying not to attract the attention of the villagers. In the meantime, she scouted out the nooks where she could wait out a bright day and, if necessary, stay for a long time. Then she was succeeded by Medea, who explored the territory more thoroughly, at the same time looking for various useful things in the basements of stores and other buildings. She set up the temporary dwellings, made them as comfortable as possible, and made sure that there were not too many people in the vicinity.

    No matter how hard the girls tried, they could not hide their presence for long. In the end, word spread among the bandits about the brazen ghouls who had gotten very close to the surviving part of the city. Rumors were unsure, though, for the attackers had behaved uncharacteristically and left no corpses behind. Still, they had to change hunting grounds and move to the very border of the explored land, to risk their skin at a time when life was just beginning to get better, friends were not going to. "Moving" was carried out in one night - just packed the most valuable things in a bale, jammed the door to the old house with a bent iron crowbar, and went to a pre-arranged place. Not as comfortable as the old one, but closer to Richard''s territory.

    Naturally, the bandit was not informed about the unexpected neighborhood.

    However, the bandit was more interested in the deal he was about to make, and he did not watch the state of his possessions so closely. Dumping the internal affairs on his assistants, he went to the city and talked with the right people, offering and buying up a shipment of goods at a very favorable price. The exchange was risky and left Richard nearly bankrupt, with barely enough money left over to buy food and fuel for the coming winter. On the other hand, if the operation went well, he could hire two or three more fighters, or buy one craftsman, a slight edge over the neighboring gangs. It seems like a small thing, but it''s the little things that make up real power.

    Although he really wants to play big, to get everything at once!

    Just let the ghoul guide him, show him the way, and then he''d turn around! The dangerous creature would probably have to be killed. The bandit was not going to share his possible income with anyone. Then he could gradually stockpile weapons, to hire a couple of small gangs that prank in the Pit, to nail the neighbors ... What is he worse than Mash? He''s no worse than Mash.

    Borak, unfortunately, did not accompany his master on this march. A faithful assistant should keep an eye on the squad, there are a couple of overly independent people there. The ones who want to be leaders themselves. Richard took the dumbest and toughest ones with him. They had to carry a lot of goods, obey the chief''s commands without question, and not know that a ghoul was leading them. Then again, if Celesta lied or the guards noticed, let the "meat" cover the flight of the commander. Better sacrifice those who do not feel pity.

    Now the three were sitting around a small fire, talking quietly to each other, occasionally glancing around. The dilapidated house stood out of sight and was often used for overnight stays by small groups: through narrow windows, the men controlled most of the approaches. They were waiting for a guide. The leader sat a little aside - he wanted to hear the ghoul''s approach beforehand. He was angry and frightened by Celesta''s ability to move about in total silence, not accustomed to feeling vulnerable. So now the light clatter of pebbles from across the street pleased Richard. Not for long.

    "It''s just the wind." A familiar voice echoed above his ear, a cold hand preventing him from pulling his weapon from its sheath. "The houses are collapsing because the magic the architects used is gone. The properties of the materials have changed. Are you ready?"

    "Yes." Richard waved to his men, rising from his seat and breaking the distance between himself and the predator. "Ready."

    "Then go."

    Andrew tried not to show nervousness, but with each step, the idea seemed more and more foolish. First of all, he shouldn''t have frightened the man. He still hadn''t recovered from the brief shock. He walked, shrugging his shoulders. Looking at the leader, the porters warily peered at the figure wrapped in his broad cloak. How much attention the extra attention would lead to, no one could say. They''d better watch their step because they stumbled and made noise and fell. Of course, when planning her route, the ghoul was mindful of human blindness, but she still hoped for more inconspicuousness. You can''t help feeling like a kindergarten teacher on a walk with a brood of clumsy children. You''d have to cut a few corners to get the squad through before dawn, and you didn''t want to do that - what if the guards had changed their habits and changed the location of their patrols?

    They are so blind...

    The clinking of weapons and the ghastly quality of the armor was irritating, not to mention the stench of unwashed body odor emanating from her companions. The ghoul herself wore short daggers in carefully fitted scabbards and made no sound. Long weapons require good handling skills unlike short ones, so the girls armed themselves with what they could use in combat. Besides, traveling through sewer corridors and narrow manholes with spears is uncomfortable; it''s better to take something small with you.

    Correcting and supporting people at almost every step, Celesta stubbornly made her way through the back alleys. The city, which had become a dump, offered the knowing creature many opportunities to pass unnoticed, but it also obstructed, blocked the way. A building had collapsed at one point, blocking the narrow street, though it had looked sturdy a few nights before. The ghoul would have easily slipped over the stones and wobbly planks; now she had to leave her companions behind and look for a way around. Such delays were unnerving and made me listen more and more often to my senses, my eyes habitually searching for possible shelter.

    I didn''t feel sleepy yet, and there was no sign of impending dawn, but if they continued to waddle like that, then... then what? There were a lot of options, and they were all rather unpleasant. The plan had originally been that they would enter the port at night, sleep during the day, collect their goods, and then, at nightfall, Celesta would lead them back out. This plan kept the bloodthirsty demon at bay and prevented her from attacking her companions, especially if she could get a rat or a stray dog. Now she might have to hunt in earnest.

    After weighing the pros and cons, the guide resigned herself to her fate. There was nothing to be done, it was necessary to take a risk and go down underground. This part of the route is not convenient from the point of view of safety: at the end of the road passes through a long and narrow corridor, as in a pipe. For about thirty meters the whole group will be visible, and a single crossbow bolt will pierce two or even three people at once. In the end, there is a wide area, fenced off by bars, which is convenient for shooting. All right, check my luck.

    The sight of the rusty hatch did not inspire enthusiasm. The bandits were sympathetic to the ban on fire, but it was too dangerous to go underground without light. Mutants, wild beasts, and crazy hermits often took up residence in holes like this, ready to bleed out their congeners who disturbed their refuge. Richard brought to order by slapping the most talkative one in the face:

    "Shut up, shit. The guide''s been here before, okay?! There''s nobody there, got it?"

    "There''s something," Celesta saw fit to clarify. They''ll be less frightened when they see it, so they''ll know it. "There''s a grass catcher at the entrance, with broad leaves. Don''t mind it, it''s small and doesn''t attack people. In a pinch, yank your foot harder and the grass will unhook itself."

    The big men continued to shuffle from foot to foot, and so the woman was the first to go down. In principle, since the Neolithic Age, the first to enter an unfamiliar cave was a woman, and in this case, we can see a peculiar continuity of generations. The woman was the first to enter the cave, and in this case, we can see a kind of generational continuity.

    The warning, predictably, did not help. The first porter to descend the creaking, rusty ladder felt a soft touch on his leg and became frightened. He yelled and began to shake his legs in a convulsive attempt to shake off the encircling vine, all the while clutching at the lintel and restraining his anxious helpers. The screams echoed through the underground catacombs, and Celeste couldn''t even begin to imagine what was going on upstairs. Jumping up to the distraught porter, she struck him briefly and precisely at the base of the neck. The scream fell silent. There was silence, interrupted only by the hoarse breathing of the men and the anxious whispers coming from above: "Meat? Meat, are you okay?"

    "He should have been given another nickname," the girl said venomously. "Brainless, or Idiot would have been better. Richard, give me some light."

    "But guards..."

    "They heard us already. Let''s run now, but let''s deal with this... body."

    The leader jumped down, setting an example for the others. In the light of the small light, you could see the grass slowly braiding around the motionless porter. As the men cautiously descended the ladder, Celesta cut the thickest stalks and then easily plucked its prey from the predatory plant''s grasp. The trap-weed, Medea said, had been around for a long time, almost in the gray days of Taleya''s founding. Some mage-experimenter had invented it. It successfully hunted small animals and insects, served as an excellent home guard against rodents, and posed almost no danger to humans. Except when a person was dead drunk or seriously injured, and the weed grew a lot. The catastrophe that had shattered the former world had only benefited the grass. Now there was no one to watch its growth, so it multiplied freely, sometimes turning into real thickets. So the man''s fright was somewhat justified and understandable.

    Although, as the saying goes, "To understand does not mean to forgive". If Richard killed a cowardly fighter on the spot, he''d be right. The brat had endangered the whole squad. Leaving the leader to deal with the revived bandit, Celesta stepped to the surface and listened intently. No one seemed to be in the vicinity. Good news - she thought all the neighborhood patrols would be rushing to see who was screaming. Lucky for her. The deep well where the action was taking place had muffled most of the sound, and the rest had been shot skyward or extinguished in the winding labyrinths of the sewers. However, not even a ghoul''s keen hearing could pick up the quiet footsteps of an experienced tracker, or just the too distant tapping of the ammunition of the fleeing soldiers. She could only hope that no one heard them, and try to get through the dangerous stretch of road more quickly. As she had planned earlier.

    Thankfully, now I don''t have to drive people around.

    In the meantime, Richard scratched his fists against the muzzle of the offender - the latter did not dare to shield himself from blows - and calmed down enough to worry about further plans. His gut told him to run, too.

    "Celesta, what is there?" For the first time, he called the guide by her name.

    She jumped down easily, glanced at the battered porter, and was glad to see that her face was covered by a mask. The smell of blood in the cramped space awakened her instincts-despite her recent successful hunt, she wanted more. And more. To gulp down the spicy, brackish liquid and shiver with pleasure. She bared her fangs in a half-mad grin, and the ghoul had to tilt her head to keep the reddish glow out of her pupils. She took a few steps deep into the corridor and stopped there. Away from the source of the smell.

    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

    In a certain way, it is an achievement. If she had been in a similar situation immediately after her uprisings, she probably would have given herself away.

    "We must go, and soon. Light a torch; it won''t hurt." The guide retreated deeper into the darkness. "Hurry up. We do not have much time."

    "Hurry up, you sons of bitches!" Richard roared at his subordinates. "You heard her, let''s go!"

    A piece of rag soaked in combustible liquid provided enough light, but people still stumbled and fell. Though no one complained, Celesta''s pace was too hard to maintain for long. The girl deliberately ran a little ahead, wanting to be the first at the dangerous part of the road and get a good look at a possible place of ambush. While Richard and the porters were resting, she would go quietly into the corridor, hidden by shadows, and at the same time avoid unnecessary attention from the wingmen. But the difference between the husky, haggard breathing of mortals and the steady walk of the conductor would be a source of bewilderment. The bandits would be silent now, frightened by the ringleader''s wrath, but the whispers would come later. Completely unnecessary whispers.

    She was not afraid to get lost. First of all, this section of the sewer had a very specific layout that made it easy to navigate, and secondly, the sagging ground blocked most of the passages. And, by the way, no one canceled the danger of falling into a new cave-in, thus increasing Celeste''s desire to get out of the ground as quickly as possible. In some places she left signs to ease the way and serve as additional clues, so she confidently led the people forward.

    She had a hunch that the weary porters were about to collapse to the floor from fatigue, and the ghoul stopped running. She surmised that two-thirds of the subterranean road had been cleared. It remained to scout out one suspicious spot, successfully make it to the surface, and lead the men another five hundred meters, then the obligations could be considered fulfilled. Now she would not dare go far into the depths of the port: she knew too little about the routes of the interior patrols. While the bandits were recovering under the keen guidance of Richard, who continued to curse in a whisper, Celesta quietly moved forward along the corridor. The ringleader, by the way, was holding up well, much better than his subordinates. He wasn''t lying on the ground, greedily groping for air, but listening intently for the occasional sound that came from the darkness.

    There were no guards in the narrow straight corridor, nor the area beyond it, but some uneasy feeling prevented me from going back and dragging the small caravan behind me. Intuition strongly advised to take a closer look, and during the time spent in the new body, Andrew/Selesta learned to trust the voice of the subconscious. Squatting down in front of the staples hammered into the wall that served as stairs, the risen froze motionless, absorbing the details she saw. Dirt and dust fell from above, no boot prints, the hatch covers over the opening still clamped tightly to the rim, the metal of the stairs gleaming in places in the starlight piercing through the tiny holes. Stop. Shiny? There was no glitter last time. She looked closer. It looked as if someone had gone down the drain and used their boots to scrape the rust off the brackets, and it was very recent. Damn, was there an ambush upstairs?

    Celesta snakily climbed to the top and pressed her ear to the hatch. A human could hardly hear anything useful, the soundproofing was not yet completely frayed, but to the ghoul, the quiet noises formed a complete picture of the world. Living like a hunted beast, hiding daily, one unwillingly acquires some useful skills. You will get stinginess and smoothness of movements, saving energy, your hearing will begin to select the threatening notes in the incoming continuous background, your eyes will adapt to pick out unnatural pieces from the surrounding landscape... It turns out that human breathing is very loud, and it is quite easy to hear it if you want to. It is only necessary to press closer to the cast-iron surface, to disconnect from all extraneous things, to concentrate, to cut off unnecessary things, to turn into a single sensitive ear. To put thoughts out of my head, leaving only my instincts, to tell myself for sure that no, there is nothing upstairs right now. Except for the smell of smoke.

    After a bit of hesitation, the girl opened the hatch and cautiously poked her head out. There was no one. Judging by the tracks, the guards were sitting here and had been sitting there recently, the ash from the tiny fire still warm. Not badly settled, they rested without fear. On the other hand, why not build a fire? The fireplace was hidden between two dilapidated walls, with little wood (partly because the wood was prized in the city), and they stayed within their territory, behind the outer patrol line. Maybe they cooked a meal, too - there were marks on the bricks from the kettle. It is a good place, cozy, you can spend the whole night. One drawback - the surroundings are poorly visible, it is impossible to control the approach. The guards can not be seen, but they can not see the intruders. A normal commander would not linger here longer than necessary and will check the situation, give people a little rest, and lead the group on. That''s probably why no one is near the exit right now.

    Or they did hear the wild shout made by the porter. It''s ironic if two groups of people got tangled up because one was walking on the ground and the other was walking underneath it.

    When she returned, Celesta looked around at the rested bandits and reassured the leader, who had been disturbed by her long absence: "The guards are gone, we won''t have to wait. But we''ll go back another way, this route is now spoiled."

    "Darkness!" The man ran his hands through his hair irritably. "Can we get there safely now?"

    "Yeah, we''ll just meet at a different place tomorrow."

    After explaining where and how the novice smugglers would be able to find her, the guide led the men out into the fresh air. The rest of the way was easy, so Celeste, having said goodbye, hurried back to the sewers with a clear conscience. It would be dawn soon, and she had to catch some prey - at least a couple of rats, or she might snap and pounce on her companions tomorrow. There''s also a small window of time left for the hunt in case of surprises the next night, too. The demon inside should be appeased. Thank goodness there''s no need to look for a lair. A smile ran across the masked face - if only people knew! That bush of catcher grass she had personally fetched and planted on her first visit, diligently watered and fed with the calf of a drunken cat. Now the plant, which did not regard the undead as prey, ignoring them, concealed with its broad leaves the passage to the small chamber.

    That''s where she''ll spend the day.

    The way back was briefly memorable. The blood of the ubiquitous rats was of little use. A dozen of them had about the same effect as trying to put out a fire with a liter of water. The ghoul craved a different kind of food - the kind that flows in human veins - and was tormented by the sensation of panting at the back of a coveted but inaccessible prey. She''d been without food for three nights before, but this was the first time she''d been near a source of blood. It was hard to restrain herself. Her thoughts were confused, and she had to keep reminding herself of the inviolability of her companions.

    With each step, the demon within grew more powerful, and it became harder and harder to fight it. The occasional frenzy forced her to break away from the main squad and walk ahead - the smell of prey was weaker there, the hunger somehow managed to be suppressed. The men sensed something, though, all the same. The bearers unconsciously shunned the guide, Richard periodically grasped the hilt of his sword, at such moments he reeked of fear and menace. However, whatever he was thinking or plotting, he dared not do anything. Either he remembered what kind of monster he was walking next to, or his gut told him to.

    Maybe the scarlet gleam in the guide''s pupils convinced the man not to do anything foolish.

    In short, everyone breathed a sigh of relief when Celesta received the agreed fee and hurriedly left. She, first of all. Her thirst became so strong that she almost pounced on the bandit, stopping at the last moment. The memory of Medea waiting nearby, who had to catch some prey with hot blood for her return, helped. Before she knew it, the ghoul had switched to running, completely oblivious to the houses whizzing by. Soon, soon enough, she would be able to satisfy her hunger. If only her friend had failed her down... A muffled growl erupted from her throat. No! Medea would do the right thing - she knew the agony Celesta was going through.

    The small ghoul had never felt happier than when she noticed the tall, graceful figure, frozen in the shadow of the house, and the long bundle lying at her feet. The man smelled sweet of living blood. Celesta leaped up to her coveted prey, hastily tearing at the garment with her claws and snuggling with a satisfied purr against the filthy neck of her victim. Food at last! The next few minutes fell from her memory. When her eyes cleared and a pleasant, satiated languor settled over her body, the calm and rational part of her personality took over and forced her to tear herself away from her prey. No matter how great the disappointment, no more could be taken. A few more sips wouldn''t do much good, and it could be fatal for the donor.

    "Who is this?"

    "Just a bandit." Medea sat down next to me, looking at my face with caring eyes. "He''ll have to be killed anyway, so drink as much as you want. How''d it go?"

    "Worse than expected, and better than it could have been. I became thirsty."

    Both knew it wasn''t about plain water. The short account of the crossings she had made suddenly turned into a saga filled with tension and danger. Only now did they fully understand the risk they had taken in offering Richard''s cooperation. One could not help but wonder how to proceed. To abandon the original plans was to betray everything they had sought in their post-life, but could there be a way to lessen the difficulties?

    "So you don''t hunt beforehand, but on the night of the crossing?" Medea interrogated. "It''s too risky."

    "Yes, I understand. We''ll think it over. Maybe you''ll lead the squad there and I''ll lead it back, or we''ll set a schedule with possible hunting in mind."

    "So there will be a next time for sure?" tensely asked the beauty. "Was Richard satisfied? He wouldn''t try to act on his own? After all, now he thinks he knows the route."

    Celesta looked at her worried friend and grinned: "He didn''t know the route. The darkness, the stone maze of ruined houses, the underground passages, the guards'' tracks... If he had any wrong thoughts about "ditching the bloodsuckers," they''re gone now."

    "Not for long, I think. The alliance with the Darkness poses too many dangers, after all, and a reasonable person would try to stay away from us."

    "In general, it''s true," admitted the younger one. "As soon as he doesn''t need us anymore, Richard will betray us."

    Medea lay on the ground with a sigh, clasping her hands behind her head.

    "You see. Ghouls can never live together with humans."

    "It all depends on the habit. You don''t hurry to get rid of the common evil - for fear that something worse will take its place," said Andrew philosophically. "By the way, in my world, there are stories about creatures called vampires. Very much like you and me. They also drink blood, sleep in graves during the day, but they prefer to hunt relatives, and a man bitten by them becomes a vampire himself."

    "Didn''t you say you have no magic?"

    "There is no magic, but people have the fantasy. I don''t know where the legends of the living dead come from! That''s not what I want to talk about. Originally vampires were unpleasant and repulsive creatures, at least in the ancient legends they are described in the darkest colors. Then a writer created an image of the "suffering vampire," ennobled it, and composed a sob story about eternal love, and in a hundred years, society''s attitude to the children of the Night changed. Books began to be written about them, movies began to be made, and, mind you! - The Undead began to be seen as positive heroes. Not always, of course, but in general, a vampire is not unequivocally a bad character. You can come to terms with it, coexist with it."

    "Tell me they live in palaces," skeptically snorted Medea, interested in the story.

    "In palaces, estates, apartments. The main thing is that they''re around people. Don''t laugh, I had a neighbor who read novels and seriously believed in them, went to cemeteries, and dreamed of sticking her neck out for a bite. Until she was almost raped.

    "Celesta, there is a difference between a book character and a real creature. If I ask Richard to share his blood, he''ll flick my head off, just like any other inhabitant of Taleya."

    "I''m just saying that we have a benchmark to strive for. All right, that''s enough. Let''s go home, the sun will be up soon."

    Where law arises, lawlessness inevitably appears. The old man Lao Tzu never heard of in this world, would have been convinced of the correctness of his teachings by a glimpse of the bustling activity in the port. Despite the strictest control and accounting, the constant inspections, and the system of snitching, the market for forbidden pleasures continued to exist and grow with success. Not without the connivance of the authorities, who understood people''s need to release their accumulated tension from time to time.

    Apart from officials and officers, sailors were considered the richest. It''s only natural if you think about it. If one pressed the crew a little harder, one could lose not just the ship and all the catch, but the very source of valuable food. Moreover, yesterday''s peaceful fisherman could easily turn into a dangerous pirate, whose raids affected the coast. Therefore, combining carrot and stick methods, the port masters allowed the crews to spend their earnings in organized taverns.

    Officially, it cost a pretty penny to open a drinking place, and few patents were issued, but there were many semi-legal ones, ranging from small liquor stores to real brothels. The guards rarely interfered with their activities, receiving a weekly bribe for "keeping their eyes closed. Here they offered ways to satisfy any vice, for money the owners fulfilled any desire. The whip was a system of hidden hostage - the families of fishermen and traders (two ships sailed to a neighboring archipelago) were under constant surveillance. Richard argued that because of the latter circumstance, there had been no attempts to escape from Taleta by sea for a long time.

    But where there are the rich, there are inevitably the poor. There was another category of people in the port that the ghouls saw as a future food source. Drunkards, brawlers, and petty thieves alone were dangerous to quench their thirst. Incidentally, almost all the criminal element was covered up by officials who could be seriously concerned about the deaths of their "wards" and organize an investigation. It is much easier to hunt among the disenfranchised inhabitants of the urban bottom.

    Ordinary people who worked in rubble removal, as laborers on farms, or as a source of labor for the villages being built were eager to take up any occupation that could yield a profit. This caste was originally formed by refugees who had no roots in the city and were unfamiliar with the new authorities. People simply wanted to flee from the mutants that had appeared in the villages and towns, and instinctively sought out the largest power center on the coast, which was Thalia. Some were lucky enough to secure a warm position in the guards or join one of the gangs on the outskirts, but the rest were living a rather miserable existence.

    Initially, the flow of refugees was very large, as was the number of victims, but over time the growth of the Duke''s subjects slowed down. For a variety of reasons - the roads became much more dangerous, people adapted, learned to survive in difficult conditions, the guards turned away some of the refugees. They only let through craftsmen who could be of real use, or whole families with children, who could easily be moved to the right place and occupied with useful work. The rest were considered useless and detained at the posts. The last category was used to form marauders, small outskirt gangs, and they joined larger groups or became hunters of the undead.

    Also highly valued were young women capable of giving birth, who were always allowed to pass. Their fate developed differently - sometimes successfully, sometimes not so much. Being sold as a concubine to an officer or an official was not considered the worst fate, even parents traded their grown daughters. Both sides considered the deal profitable - the man received status, a mistress in the house, and the opportunity to start a family, while the seller received from ten to fifty dinars, depending on the personal qualities of the goods.

    Celesta was the one to consolidate her knowledge into a coherent picture of port life. Medea preferred to deal with the arrangements of everyday life and the surveillance of the patrols. Why the port? The warehouses were better guarded, there were fewer people around, and only a madman would dare venture into the palace. The analyst''s work was unexpectedly difficult and labor-intensive because every grain of information had to be checked against what was already there. Sources of information - overheard conversations, interrogations of people caught, Richard''s stories - were also quite fragmented and did not give unambiguous answers to the questions that interested the ghouls. As a matter of fact, the girls wanted a lot: to live among people, not depending on them as much as possible. In comfort, warmth, comfort. Andrew would study sacred texts and search for surviving mages, Medea dreamed of simple companionship. To fulfill this tiny wish, which until recently had seemed the unattainable delirium of a madman, it was necessary to acquire merely nothing: a hidden shelter, a source of constant income, and a network of informants, which the money was intended for.

    The shelter was not yet in the forecasts. To find a suitable burrow, one had to sneak into the port and make a long, thoughtful exploration of the area, using temporary hiding places. In other words, a waste of time and nerve (or its equivalent).

    A source of constant income... Robbing victims don''t count. This means there''s a willing collaborator, Richard, already aiming for a second crossing of the posts, and a couple of names of unscrupulous people obtained at random. That''s it. Richard is pointless to trust, he can only be used. So rely on the robber''s help in finding a permanent home was not worth it. He''d turn him in the first chance he got. With the rest of the "sharks shady business" still had to meet, stay alive, to convince them of their usefulness and sanity, to offer favorable terms of cooperation ... Depressing need to hunt consumed much time and energy - if not for the frequent search for prey, to establish contacts with useful people could have long ago. Alas, the ghouls understood clearly: it was useless to try to fight their nature.

    Sometimes it seemed to Andrei that all his actions were programmed. That he was trapped in the information corridor and could not act freely. Each decision had a limited number of options for development, stemming from one another. It was as if he was being led like a rat in a maze, it was not clear only what was waiting at the end: a piece of cookie or a mousetrap. Even the appearance of the bandit leader fit into a certain scheme because sooner or later he would have to look for an agent himself. So wouldn''t it be better to combine two tasks at once? Get a job in the city and look for an opportunity to make money at the same time.

    Yes, it will be very hard at first. She would have to go alone, but Medea would stay behind and serve as insurance in case Celesta came back in an exhausted state. Let her gather rumors, charm Richard, explore the dungeons and check every night in certain places for messages from her friend. It''s calmer that way. Belle is too carried away, even postmortem has not made her submit her senses to the commands of her mind. It''s strange to say this about the undead, but Medea has a finer and fuller sense of life than many of the living. Now her gustiness, her impulsiveness, will hinder her.

    It meant going alone, sleeping in sewer closets or crammed cellars, eating rats, cats, and starving poor people, carefully hiding the traces of her meals. To hide from guards and common people, to verify each step. To react to every rustle, to notice the tiniest trace, to consider anything that might be of use. The usual business, only more thorough.

    Such a wonderful perspective.

    * * *

 Chapter 9

    Chapter 9

    * * *

    The ghoul stared intently at the departing men. As was to be expected, Richard again drove the party across the border, this time taking five of them with him. Appetite comes with food, doesn''t it, gentlemen? Medea will lead the party back. Celesta remembered the surprise and understated contentment with which the bandit had listened to the news, and she grimly grinned - the ringleader is frightened of her. Well, let it remain so. Thus, she did not answer his questions, she got off with a phrase about the urgent matters and quickly disappeared into the darkness.

    She had been to the local sewer on one of her last hikes and had marked out some good spots for a day''s rest. Today she wanted to make herself comfortable. Walk a little further and she would find herself at the first houses with inhabitants. The government had wisely planned the placement of its subjects, making good use of all available resources. In the former gardens and parks that once surrounded the duke''s castle, the land was plowed up and peasants were settled there, ordered to grow edible plants. Some of the newborn horticulturists practiced their trade in the small enclaves that encircled the port and provided fresh food mostly for the guards.

    It was rumored that the harvests were not particularly great, but they helped diversify the boring fish table and provided the necessary vitamins. Further afield, the houses became poorer, people''s clothes more often looked like rags, and the local proletariat lived here. The livelihood of the poor came from paying for street clearing and construction work organized by the government, as well as various kinds of wage labor in the port and surrounding neighborhoods. Celesta had not yet made it this far, knew from stories that the artisans and craftsmen settled in the former warehouses, on the far side. If she imagined the port as a semicircle facing east, then the guards'' barracks would be at the ends, the officials'' and officers'' houses would be at the top, the forges and other industries would be in the middle, and the newly emerging slums with their seedy establishments would be at the bottom.

    However, they are called slums for nothing. To the ghouls accustomed to the permissiveness and cruelty of the Pit, this neighborhood seemed relatively respectable. At least the streets were patrolled by guards.

    The most perspective seemed to be the locations of the villages of the poor. A lot of ruins, neglected by the city administration, tired indifferent people, not interested in the problems of others, the general atmosphere of hopelessness allowed to remain unnoticed for a long time. All that was needed was to find a good shelter, preferably underground and with several exits to the surface.

    Getting comfortable in a long pipe and pressing the exit with a heavy piece of stone - a man can''t move it, the ghoul can hardly move it - Andrew shifted his thoughts from tomorrow''s plans to Medea. Will she be able to handle it? Alone her friend can bypass any patrols, she has even more experience than Celeste, but to lead a bunch of people she had not yet. Besides, the porters weren''t very nice, and they might take advantage of a woman''s beauty. If there were perverts who raped the dead, they might as well go for the undead. One hope for Richard and his greed, coupled with a sense of self-preservation: the ringleader must know what kind of hell his life would become if something happened to Medea.

    Celesta''s hopeless assumptions were confirmed, and Medea had removed the veil from her face and was now shining with a white smile. What a splendid thing she had done to feed herself yesterday morning! The blood had not yet been absorbed by her system, and the ghoul looked like a normal human woman, though she looked a little pale. Her fangs didn''t even protrude. Richard seemed completely fascinated by his beautiful companion, as did all his subordinates, who looked at the new guide with a slightly glazed look.

    Medea sighed and extinguished the torch: "Alas, Lord Richard, we must move on. Your men have rested and recovered their strength, and the guards are just leaving their post. Do you see a faint glow that way? That''s the patrollers leaving. The replacements occupy the building opposite, so they can''t see the alley we''re going down. But just in case, I''ll check to see if any of the old patrols are still there. If you''ll excuse me..."

    "Of course, Lady Medea," was all the bandit had time to say after the girl flew away.

    As soon as the girl stepped back, the smile disappeared from her face, giving way to a frown. There was more than enough reason to feel uncomfortable. She was not used to being the center of attention for a long time. And the stares on her were annoying. In the monastery, Medea communicated only with her kind, after the escape her only interlocutor for a long time was Celesta, so a large number of strangers around was unnerving. Besides, they were men, after all... In the time since the disaster, she had learned to fear them. And to use them, of course.

    Her heart gnawed with anxiety for her friend. Celeste always took on the most difficult cases, as if forgetting that Medea was older, more experienced, and, perhaps, stronger. True, the younger one always gets the job done, I''ll give her that. But she was taking a much greater risk today than she had before, even running away from Carlon seemed less dangerous. What if she got spotted? Or no suitable shelter for the day''s sleep? We should have gone together, Richard would have endured a few extra nights. While one searched for prey, the other explored the area, or walked together, looking out for each other.

    No, she needed to be a hero!

    Typical male stubbornness.

    Sometimes from behind the mask of the young girl looked out someone alien, strong, knowledgeable. He had his logic, incomprehensible to Medea, counted only on himself, did not believe in luck, and did not make mistakes. The one she mentally called by the strange name of "Andrew" seldom appeared when a serious decision had to be made. He acted with cold detachment, outside the criteria of cruelty or mercy, based on his notions of good and evil.

    It was frightening and appealing.

    The slender ghoul paused for a moment, looking around. There were no people to be sensed. The sounds are far away in the night, the slight clinking of ammunition is sometimes heard a hundred paces away. No ambushes are completely silent. Men want to move, to straighten their clothes, to scratch themselves. After all, humans need air, and they breathe loudly. It''s easier for the undead in that regard. Local guards got used to being on duty and relaxed, no one dragged the goods through the control perimeter a long time ago, and if they did, they "didn''t notice". Soon the situation would change. Today, Richard gossiped that there were serious people in the city who were ready to play on their own. Minor officials who consider themselves undeservedly disadvantaged by the new power, leaders of small port gangs who want to live a little better than they were allowed. They want to trade with the townships outside Tale��a and are willing to go to great lengths for the chance to make money.

    The girl sat a little longer, listening, and then hurried back confidently. The passageway was clear, she could go. Leading the stumbling bandits, picking out the best parts of the road, flirting nicely with the leader, making him brag about his exploits. To fish out and memorize information to pass on to Celesta later. The smallest details can be an invaluable aid if her friend decides to talk to the other leaders of the gangs. Or, more precisely, when she does. You can''t rely on Richard alone: he''s too slippery, and he might just die by accident.

    "Please follow me," Medea chanted, emerging quietly from the darkness. "I suppose if we hurry, we''ll reach the places you know in an hour, Mr. Richard."

    "That would be nice. I can''t even believe how smoothly things are going," the bandit grinned.

    "Don''t jinx it," the guide superstitiously pinched her fingers together. "It''s not over yet."

    "Excuse me. Although, frankly, it was much harder to walk last time."

    "Yes, Celesta told me about that ridiculous incident with the catcher grass and the new route. You got lucky."

    "Yes..." Richard paused, and then asked cautiously, "I hope I''ll have the pleasure of meeting you again next time? In seven days, say?"

    "I can''t say anything in particular. My friend is supposed to get some information today, maybe talk to some people. Our plans depend on these meetings."

    "Are you helping many people?"

    The answer to this question was prepared in advance, so the ghoul lied confidently: "Mostly, we deliver letters or trade-in confidential information. Sometimes we take it through the Pit or search for a strictly defined object, a book. I can''t give you any names if you''ll excuse me."

    "Who needs books nowadays? Burn them all. If it hadn''t been for the wizards and their damned experiments, none of this," he held his hand over the ruined city, "would have happened. The Duke would never have let them live there. That''s the kind of kin you should stay away from."

    The squad supported the leader with a consonant hum.

    "Nowadays, agronomy books and chemistry textbooks are in demand: magic doesn''t work," Medea dodged out and deftly shifted the conversation. "I used to think the talk about the wizards living in the fortress was just gossip. No one has ever seen them."

    "I saw them, once. I was hired to guard a caravan in one of the villages, where a detachment of guards was rounding up monsters. The mage helped the centurion point out where the lairs were located."

    The story turned out a little crumpled because the interlocutor belonged to the same "monster". But the girl wanted to hear the details: "That''s it? No mighty spells that tear enemies apart, or scorch entire miles to the point of being a glass roller?"

    "Not at all, lady," the bandit grinned contemptuously. "He even uses a torch. The magic is gone."

    It''s hard to tell, Medea thought. The mage could sense monsters. Carlon, the damned bastard, could do something, too. She said nothing out loud and continued on her way. There was no point in being distracted. It would be a shame to run into a patrol near the end of the path.

    At the moment when Medea was peacefully saying goodbye to the bandit, carefully hiding her fangs, Celesta was hanging upside down on the third-floor ledge. It wasn''t from a good life - she''d climbed to the height in an attempt to hide from a group of poor people who had suddenly decided to pay their attention to a well-preserved house. They were looking for wood. The other valuables had been stolen by looters long ago. Last winter they had used everything from wood to smoldering sheets of plastic for fuel, so the chances of finding firewood now were slim. Neither, it seemed, did the men, for they showed no enthusiasm.

    Oddly enough, some useful items were found. After grabbing a few pipes, some murky gray plates dug out of the walls, a roll of roofing felt or similar material, and a few other small things, most of the group left. There was one kid left, stubbornly continuing to search the attic and studiously avoiding the eyes of the other searchers. She wondered why?. She couldn''t see him, but she could hear the noise and muffled cursing, given off by the brittle teenage voice. In Celesta''s opinion, it was a bad time for the guy to show up.

    Aside from the obvious fact that he might have noticed her, his presence greatly irritated her sense of hunger. The ghoul had last hunted the night before last and had been on rats ever since, a substitute that didn''t help much. She was hungrier and hungrier with each passing hour. She''d hoped to be more resilient, planning to hold out until tomorrow night and catch her prey beyond the patrol line with Medea, but she seemed to have overestimated her limits. Tomorrow would be too late.

    After thinking a little more, she concluded: the situation must be taken advantage of. Fate itself gave her a source of information - a stunted, well, you can''t win at everything - and a way to replenish her energy. The boy very well decided to linger, it is only necessary to frame the acquaintance so that the conversation and the subsequent feeding went on the script imposed by the girl. In other words, quietly and without unnecessary traces.

    If she had been in familiar terrain, she would have acted simply by stunning her prey, tying her up, and dragging her to a secluded corner, where she would have asked her questions without fear. Now she would have to "gut" her captive on the spot, listening to the sounds of the night every minute in case any of the adults wanted to return. No suitable place for her interrogation: she wasn''t going to risk the few shelters she had. But the object of interest was fortunate - physically weak, and male. Men are easier to work with, their actions are mostly logical and predictable. A woman, on the other hand, can do anything, so she should be watched more carefully.

    She rolled over deftly, caught her hands on the ledge, pulled herself up, and silently jumped onto the balcony. The building looked rather tall for this place. The formal, fancy style and the furnishings still intact made it look as if it might have been an office or something similar. The boy was now on the fourth, top floor. Celesta steered steadily toward the noise he was making. She didn''t foresee any trouble catching him. The lad was probably unarmed, using some dimly glowing rotting thing instead of a torch, and didn''t look very sturdy either. Like most teenagers, there wasn''t enough to eat.

    It all happened quickly. One, and a dark shadow grows behind the bent boy''s back. Two - an unknown force snatches the stick from him, gripping his throat tightly at the same time. Three - the weakly trembling body is pressed against the wall. Tightly pinned, unable to break free. Caught just now tried to resist, but it is too late. The horrible grinning mouth approached the face, glistening with bloody glare ghoul eyes darted around the victim''s widened eyes. His breath was ragged, his throat tightened by a cold hand, panic choking his will and driving him to hysterics.

    The monster easily ripped the boy off the floor and lightly pressed his back against the wall. It relaxed the hand, let him breathe in precious air, squeezed again, and hissed right into his ear: "If you start to fidget, I''ll kill you. Got it!"

    There was so much power in her voice that the very thought of resistance vanished. The boy sank into submission. Celeste had recently noticed that if you looked a victim in the eye while simultaneously trying to mentally suppress its will, most of the people caught became sluggish and obedient for a while. Sometimes it worked, sometimes not. If it was possible to distress oneself enough, to act confidently, without a drop of doubt, to press the will as a single powerful press, then the attempt was always successful. What accounted for the unexpected skill - accumulated practical experience on the part of psychology or a natural gift - she was still undecided. Absolutely everything could be expected from an undead body, so she did not reject both options.

    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

    "What''s your name? Answer."

    "Laskash."

    "What are you doing here, Laskash?"

    "The headman said to look for useful things. The house will soon be occupied by new neighbors, we need to loot it off before then."

    Celesta looked thoughtfully at the prisoner. The proximity to the food source was irritating, and the hunger insistently suggested that she ignore the information and sink her fangs into the filthy throat. With a habitual effort, she suppressed her irritation and said: "I''m going to release you now. If you try to run away, I''ll break your neck. If you start screaming, I''ll throw you out on the street. They''ll find the body in the morning, and they''ll be glad that loser Luskash fell out the window and one less thing to worry about. If you do as I say, you''ll live. Understand?"

    Teenagers are flattered to hear their thoughts confirmed by others, even if they are unpleasant thoughts voiced by a monster of the night. A sharpened intuition told Celeste about the prisoner''s conflict with the adults: not a great achievement, at fourteen everyone rebels. Whether or not the hunch was correct, and whether or not she could use it, was not clear, but it was worth a try. When you are on the same "wave" as the boy, it is easier to interrogate.

    The boy nodded desperately. The ghoul unclenched her hand and stepped back a couple of steps to get away from the sweet smell. It would be easier for her, too: there would be fewer distractions.

    "Who is the headman? What is his name and who does he manage?"

    "Master Roh, he''s in charge of our community." I could see that the boy wanted to answer, but could not find the words. It was scary and hard to explain the usual concepts. "The families living nearby are united into a community under the head of the headman. We go to work together, we are responsible for the order around the house..."

    "How interesting. Tell me, who does the headman report to?"

    "To the Quartermaster."

    "And the Quartermaster?"

    "To the Prefect of the district. The prefects are commanded by the Count Lash," the boy guessed what he was being asked to do, and he chattered, "...or his assistant, Viscount Squirey. No one else."

    Judging by the prisoner''s words, the management at the grassroots level is organized quite effectively. At least, that was Celeste''s opinion. The common people worked, receiving tasks from their superiors, who, in turn, acted on the instructions of the aristocratic elite. The congregations were a good idea. Several families - the term was used to describing a variety of social arrangements, and it was no surprise to anyone that a woman had three husbands of different ages - were brought together deliberately and forced into a kind of commune, headed by a man with leadership potential who was loyal to the new government. They all lived together in a sturdy building.

    The community members went to work together, receiving penalties for failure to meet standards or rewards for good work. If one community member committed a crime, everyone was punished, and in the case of under-reporting or outright deception, the punishment was much harsher. Involuntarily, people began to spy on their neighbors. The headman wielded great power, primarily through access to food resources. Food, clothing, and other useful items in the government warehouses could only be obtained by him or his designated assistant: an ordinary man simply could not cash a dinar. Except on the black market. It was useless to complain, and cases of headmen''s deaths were always investigated. On the other hand, a system of indirect control still existed: new headmen were appointed to communities with consistently low performance.

    The boy calmed down a bit, and finally realized who was threatening him. The ghoul''s short stature and subtle build gave him a brief glimmer of hope, quickly suppressed by the glint of fangs and the memory of the cold brush''s stiff touch on his throat. The pain in his back also helped sweep the silly thoughts from his mind. Celesta caught the prisoner''s brief hesitation and smiled wider, consciously instilling fear. The Incident was not something she needed.

    "You said more people would move in soon. Where will they come from? There aren''t many fugitives coming to Taleya, and they prefer to be sent to the villages. The population is not growing."

    "They''re moving the community out of the port. I heard they want to move more people to the side of the warehouses, to unite the city."

    It makes sense. The current "enclave" system hardly suited the ruler, and it was easier to defend one settlement than three. Sure, there were well-preserved roads with patrols and permanent shelters between the palace, the port, and the warehouses, but they took away valuable manpower that could be useful elsewhere. Meanwhile, the teenager dared to ask a question:

    "You won''t kill me?"

    "No need." The girl pondered the news and spoke slightly distractedly. "No one will believe you. Everyone knows that the servants of Darkness don''t leave anyone alive. Even if you show my bite mark, it will be an accidental wound, and they will laugh at your fiction. And beat you."

    The boy''s face turned a bit white. I had to calm him down before he made any trouble. Besides, Celesta had an idea - a slightly crazy idea, but useful in the long run.

    "Don''t worry, I won''t take much. It won''t hurt. Just tell me, do you want to make some money?"

    "What?"

    "Make some money." The ghoul waved a piece of paper in front of his nose, immediately attracting the captive''s greedy attention. "Dinirs for vegetables, two."

    "And... what I must do?"

    "Nothing serious. Just listen more carefully and remember what the elders are talking about. Tell me what the bosses are planning, what kind of construction is going on at the port. It seems they''re going to increase the bonuses for slain undead, find out too. I''ll give you the dinir, the advance payment, and the meal payment, and you''ll get another one in a week. How''s that?"

    The glazed look indicated better than any other sign: "The client is not ready yet" and is not capable of constructive dialogue. Meanwhile, the hunger grew stronger and stronger. Well, she would have to force the issue. With a mental crinkle, the girl made a subtle motion of stabbing the boy in the carotid artery, trying not to cause damage. Experience had not failed: the victim felt nothing and did not even have time to be frightened. She pulled up the sleeve of his burned and dirty jacket and, with a hungry purr, pierced a vein at the elbow with her fang and took her first sip.

    Getting comfortable in the dry concrete well, deep underground, Andrew went over today''s events anew. His gut and logic all considered last night a success. A portion of fresh blood gave new strength and allowed to stay in the port an extra couple of days, which can be spent on the intensified search for shelter. Those already found were not suitable: they were either dead ends without additional exits or some overgrown pits, in which there was no desire to live. Doubts were raised by the spontaneous combination with that boy, Laskash, but the pluses still outweighed the risks.

    In the worst-case scenario, the boy would bring the guards. So be it. She''d picked a good spot for the meeting, and set a time so she could survey her surroundings beforehand. She could take Medea along as insurance... But that was unnecessary, for adults were not likely to believe the boy''s word. Dark creatures have not been seen in Duke territory for a long time, and the soldiers dealt with them quickly and efficiently. They say a lot of people died then, but now you can walk around the city without fear. It was. With the arrival of her friends, the situation must change for the worse. They have some time to spare, but rumors of ghouls will inevitably spread, and people will be cautious.

    If Laskash does come, he could be considered the first seed of a future network of agents. He will probably want to continue to get acquainted. The awake boy behaved as expected: at first, he looked frightened at the ghoul, holding his aching head while frantically clutching the wound at his elbow. It looked funny, but Celesta restrained a smile.

    She began to reassure the "donor" in a quiet, calm, reassuring tone, telling him that nothing terrible had happened, that everything was over, that it didn''t hurt at all, that everything was all right... and other babbling in the same vein. Gradually the boy recovered from the shock, the sweet words, the voice, the girl''s face filled with color calmed him down. When he received the dinir, he came to his senses and was glad. Poor people earned little, the amount issued to Laskash was the equivalent of a day''s earnings of a grown man. In addition, the kind ghoul advised how to explain his uncle - the closest relative in whose family he lived - and the headman the appearance of the money. And she promised to give him more in a week if he fulfilled her simple request.

    The friends had enough dinirs: everything earned or taken from the preys went into the pot. So it wasn''t hard to buy off a dozen or two of these boys. Adults, on the other hand, require different amounts of money, more substantial. There aren''t any new customers yet, and there''s no telling when they''ll appear. They''ll have to make do with informants from among the poor, small-time villagers until better times. On the other hand, the storm blows down the trees without damaging the low grass, the servants get less attention...

    Celesta didn''t believe the kid keep the secret. He would spill the beans. To his uncle, to his best friend, to someone else. It didn''t matter. As long as he helped her at first.

    To say that Medea was nervous is to say nothing. The beautiful singer was weary with worry for her friend. Fear of the loss of her only close person securely seized all her thoughts, paralyzing the ability to reason. They had considered various possibilities before Celeste left, including the possibility of an extra day''s stay in the docks. In this case, Medea was to meet the explorer in the closest to the border hideout and then act according to circumstances - to heal, to feed (with their regeneration, these words became synonymous), to help fend off pursuers. So she caught half a dozen rats, not daring to look for a human, and with a calm soul, or whatever undead have, began to wait for Celesta.

    The next night her serenity was shaken. The woman stood motionless at the entrance, listening to the nocturnal rustles and waiting expectantly for the slight tapping of familiar footsteps. Celesta''s former solitary forays had not been so distant and dangerous. She had been delayed on occasion, but then Medea knew for certain that her friend would get out of any situation and return to her. Now the risk was much greater. Time stretched and stretched, Medea waited. If she had stayed alive, she would have long ago thrown a tantrum or run to the border. Unfortunately, that dream of glory girl had died long ago, and the ghoul who had taken her place was more accustomed to the blows of fate and met them cold-blooded. Worried - yes, worried, anxious, but stayed in one place and even managed to hunt for people passing by. What they were doing here in the dead of night didn''t interest her. After sitting at the entrance to the hole that served as a descent to the shelter until almost dawn, she went to settle in for the day with an unpleasant premonition.

    Waking up from her daytime nap, the woman was determined to wait one night and no more. She was exhausted by the uncertainty. There was no particular reason to worry, but the idea of being left alone firmly took hold of her thoughts and caused such a storm of emotions that the ghoul could hardly control herself. To be fair, her anxiety was not merely selfish. Medea became very attached to the stubborn little ghoul with a strange biography. They had been through a lot, starved together, shared their last crumbs of warmth, comforted each other when it became unbearable. Hard trials either unite people or turn them into sworn enemies. In the case of the two friends, it would be more accurate to say that they perceived one another as an extension of their selves.

    During the hunt, they didn''t need words - a slight gesture was enough to indicate their intentions, the subtlest shades of mood could be guessed by subtle signs. Celesta, by the way, was better at sensing; she even managed to answer unasked questions out loud.

    By the time was minutes away from the deadline, and she was about to leave, a faint rustling sound caught her attention. A human wouldn''t have heard a quiet shuffling sound, but the ghoul was immediately alert. She cocked her head and flared her nostrils, sniffing expectantly at the gentle breeze. Though undead could never quite match their sense of smell for a dog, they had the better of humans. Sometimes that ability came in handy. At last, a contented happy smile spread across the woman''s face, and she paced ahead, straining to keep the urge to run: "Your late!"

    "I decided to spend all night last night getting to know the port. You know, I found a very convenient place; there''s even water and a few exits, but it''s wet." Celesta dropped the heavy sack from her shoulders and smiled wryly. And my shoes are completely ruined.

    Medea hugged her friend, sniffing her nose. The remnants of her human reactions were wearing off: she felt the urge to cry once in a while. With tears of red.

    "Well, that''s enough." Celesta wasn''t sentimental. "I''m back, it went well. Are you okay?"

    "Yes. Are you hungry?"

    "I won''t say no. Rats?"

    "What else?"

    People had become difficult to catch lately. They preferred to move not in small groups of two or three, as before, but in groups of five or more, some of them carrying good weapons. Their favorite trick of cracking the man in front of them on the head, robbing and eating while the others weren''t looking, didn''t work anymore. The sentries, always wary of their surroundings, also preferred to work in pairs. If the girls hunted prey with intelligence for a little less time, they''d have a hard time.

    "I don''t have much news, but it''s all interesting." When she had had enough, Celeste began to share her impressions with her friend. Who, by the way, had already dumped on her a heartbreaking story of her terrible suffering, and was now sitting relaxed. "To cut a long story short: I could not meet those people, whose names we got from Richard. They are too cautious, and I do not want to communicate in the presence of guards. At least the first time. This is the only bad news, the rest are better. First, I managed to find a good shelter and also a lie-in. The new house, however, will take a long time to bring to a habitable place, but it is comfortable and safe."

    Medea only sighed in response. In her mind, the concept of "comfort" had little in common with Celesta''s criteria, and if she said that the shelter would have to be scraped away for a very long time, it meant that there was an incredible amount of work to be done. She kept silent because she was primarily interested in the safety of the shelter, and to Celesta, the words "comfort" and "safety" meant more or less the same thing. She described the place with undisguised enthusiasm; she seemed to like it. So that''s where they were going to live. After the renovation.

    "One bad thing is that there is an underground river nearby, and the air is humid. What happens during the rainy season, I can''t even guess. It''s clear right away that it''s no good. I will have to look for tools, material, and sealant. Unreal to get from the locals - I saw how they were fighting over an ordinary board of plastic. We''ll have to buy on the black market or rob warehouses. Duke''s been a big hoarder. His men started gutting stores right after the catastrophe. Let him share."

    I also talked to a boy about twelve years old. I bribed him with money and gave him the task of collecting rumors. I want to get through him to the headman or other officials of low rank, ambitious enough to try to solve their problems with the help of ghouls. It makes no sense to demand much from a teenager - he has nothing useful but ears and eyes, but in our position, it is harmful to be too picky. Let him tell a useful rumor, gossip, give characteristics of adults, and then we can do it ourselves. The main thing is to find the right person with serious problems. We meet this Lascash in five nights.

    "Are you going to go to the port again?" Medea became worried. "So soon?"

    "We''re going, we are. We''ve got shelters, I''ve got convenient places to hunt, so what are we waiting for?"

    "Richard gathers another squad, he asked to lead the party through two nights."

    "Again?!" Celesta shook her head in admiration. "He doesn''t waste any time. Where does he get his goods from... Do you know which of the neighbors he trades with?"

    "As far as I understand, Richard''s main income comes from the Pit. He sells food and weapons, buys clothes, gold, tools, slaves."

    Legally there was no slavery in Taleya, but human beings were traded in great numbers. Two categories of living goods were highly valued: women of childbearing age and artisans. Blacksmiths with their families were the most expensive: they brought a steady income to the owner and rarely tried to escape. Large gangs preferred to keep them, small gangs exchanged them for dinirs at a good rate. Within the government, all captured or ransomed "captives" belonged to the duke personally, though on occasion noblemen were allowed to sell handicrafts in exchange for food and supervision. Andrew believed that the rebirth of serfdom was not far off. After all, the situation of the peasants living in the fortified villages was already very similar to that of state slavery.

    "So we''ll take him there together, and someone else will go back alone," Celesta decided. "We need the money. Robbing the poor makes no sense, attacking the rich is... let''s just say, undesirable. So the only source of dinir remains Richard, which personally pisses me off."

    "We''ll think of something," Medea brushed it off. Now that she was not alone, her confidence and optimism came back to her. "You''d better think about hunting in the city. Or do you intend to stop hiding? Personally, I''m a little afraid to make my presence known in a city full of guards."

    "Me too. If there were any inns nearby, we''d eat there, but in the meantime, we''ll have to give money to the victims. There are a lot of desperate people among the poor: they would trade their blood for a chance to survive and keep their mouths shut."

    "Are you serious about paying donors?" Medea marveled.

    It''s going to take a while.

    * * *

 Chapter 10

    Chapter 10

    * * *

    Richard considered himself a smart man. With good reason. Not only had he survived, but he enjoyed a certain influence among the other leaders. And lately, he had been doing better and better, aided by the organized smuggling trade. There are, of course, some disadvantages - most notably the food cravings of his partners, but there''s nothing he can do about that. They only charge ten dinir per crossing, and bribing the guards would cost considerably more. It''s bad enough that Celesta flatly refuses to transfer slaves across the border, but one can understand her reasoning. A man is not a stack of potatoes; if he yells at the most inopportune moment, what then?

    What the ghoul was doing at the port, she did not say. She generally preferred to remain silent, unlike her friend, who was happy to keep the conversation on any subject. The chief lamented that he had seldom seen Medea lately. He enjoyed the company of a beautiful and sociable woman. Celesta, on the other hand, weighed every word spoken and in most cases asked questions rather than answering them. She never once let slip her plans or the reasons for her interest in this or that subject; she gave out exactly as much information as she wanted and considered necessary. But she could, at extra cost, demand answers to questions that gave good food for thought.

    She must have had good informants. The ghoul had time to think over the news that Richard thought was fresh, and in her conversations with him, she checked some of her conclusions. At least, that was his impression. So now, taking advantage of a brief respite, the cloaked figure nestled in a dark corner and began to question: "Have the Duke''s men made you an offer to join their service? Within the last ten days?"

    "Why should they?" Richard wondered. "They offered to hire me to escort the caravan, as usual. I declined  -it was too great a loss."

    "And no strange hints?"

    "I think not... There are too many guards as it is, and my men will refuse to become artisans."

    "What can I say," the girl murmured. "Taleya''s population is growing, slowly, but surely. Some come by themselves, some are brought in by traders from the Archipelago, and the women dare to give birth. There are problems with food: old stocks of tinned food and cereals are running low, and everyone is tired of eating fish alone. So, it is necessary to develop agriculture. And how to do this, if the mutants and marauders attack the villages almost daily? Only by uniting all available fighters under one hand. The nucleus of the future army is there, the biggest ringleaders are fed, you can gradually start to clean up smaller units like yours."

    Richard didn''t like what he heard. The status quo that had recently been established allowed us to live relatively peacefully, and even to build up a little fat. The sense of uncertainty that had dominated the first two years after the Plague was gone, and new rules and customs had taken shape. The government kept bandits out of its territory, providing them with food and clothing, and the newfound chieftains and "bosses" served as a layer between the city and the many outside threats. Everything is fine, but if the Duke decided to break the balance... It is impossible to oppose him.

    "I wouldn''t want to get in trouble," said the ringleader, summing up his thoughts.

    "It''s up to you to decide. There are strange rumors among the poor in the port, communities being moved from place to place. I''m afraid we won''t be able to get you through the posts with the same frequency."

    That''s the bad news!

    "But why!?"

    "The patrols'' disposition will change." The ghoul glanced briefly at the porters, made sure she wasn''t being overheard, and then continued. "We can sneak in one man, but a whole squad... No."

    "Damn!" Richard cursed involuntarily at full voice. "Right now!"

    "Do you have any obligations?"

    "Something like that. I need to arm five men with something better than rusty swords, or they will be killed in the first skirmish."

    "I''m sorry to hear that. If it''s only a matter of cargo, I can deliver it to your territory."

    "We still have to buy weapons - and for what?"

    Celesta remained silent. She did not believe in Richard''s soft-heartedness. His concern for his men was explained by mercenary interests. The strength of any leader was determined by the number of subordinates. That was why he sought to recruit more fighters to the gang. She saw the situation solely in terms of selfish interests. Do the ghouls need a strong Richard? They do, at least shortly. So she should help the bandit, at the same time strengthening her status as a useful and powerful ally.

    "I think we''ve got about ten days. You''ll have time to make two trips if you''re up to it. Then we''ll have to lay low for a while. Let''s say a month. During that time, the situation will clear up: we''ll sort out our difficulties, and you''ll decide what to do next."

    "I have to." The ringleader''s tone left no doubt of his displeasure. However, he was already thinking about something, making plans for the future. "I think I''ll hire as a guard, take a couple of wagons to the villages. The neighbors were already whispering that my luck was too good for me."

    The girl had instantly discerned his intention. He couldn''t see her face under the mask, but he could have sworn she was grinning: "Try it. Affinity with officials has always been a reliable source of useful gossip. And if the Duke really intends to take control of the neighborhood, it is better to be on good terms with the guards - maybe they''ll give you a tastier slice."

    After a monotonous and uneventful existence, the last week seemed incredibly rich. Life used to be described by a simple algorithm of "hunt - explore the land - sleep," including occasional interruptions for skirmishes with creatures spawned by the old mages'' talents or cleaning the house. The rhythmic cycle was not often broken, and they got used to it (and to regular meals, too). Now there was too much going on.

    Sometimes Celesta wanted to be torn, to be in three places at once. The first would communicate with Richard, the second would watch over the people and the rest would work on cleaning up the underground shelter. Alas, she had to make do with one or the other, either reassigning the rest to Medea or putting off difficult tasks for later. Her friend was slightly put off by the pace, and she opted to take time out, finishing the work alone in the new shelter. At first, without tools, the repairs went slowly, then something was bought, something was stolen, the hardest part was done. What was left was the simple and customary work.

    The former noblewoman surprisingly easily mastered the art of laying stone, puttying walls, and dashing with a hammer, almost without hitting her fingers. She was willing to go to great lengths to fulfill her dream of a comfortable shelter. Celesta, on the other hand, had to scurry around the port, hiding from public view, spend the day in the back corners of the sewers, communicate with agents, and manage to work as a guide at the same time. So the decrease in the number of Richard''s porters made her happy, but the reasons for the decrease were not.

    Celesta was told of the changes being prepared by Holy Fakasius, a type so vile that he evoked involuntary admiration. His name was at the top of the list of "black market kings". As a low-ranking official, His Holiness managed to get his hands into all kinds of shady business, from the unlicensed slave trade to blackmail. In his manners, he resembled a kind uncle, which often deceived people who had carelessly trusted the compassionate older man. He owned several low-class brothels in the city, where a rich client could afford anything he wanted. Which means anything at all.

    The ghoul first heard about him quite a long time ago. After talking to the intimidated prisoner, and since then she carefully collected any information. This business, espionage, turned out to be unexpectedly difficult and even dangerous - there were two ways to get information: from the captured victims or by eavesdropping on conversations. Laskash, as expected, was of little use, the boy was not distinguished by intelligence. He had a good memory, though.

    The observation of His Holiness lasted six months. For the last ten days, Celesta watched him almost every night. Of all the candidates available, he seemed the most promising. For this man, there were no moral constraints. In any case, thought Andrew sarcastically, principles did not play a special role in his life. The fat man was hardly embarrassed by the nature of his partner. A man who feeds the guilty members of his gang to the grass catcher alive would have a job for a ghoul. Though it''s unlikely to be a pleasant job.

    We may have to endure it.

    His Holiness lived on the third floor of an unattractive-looking house, which stood at a distance from the other buildings. The first two floors were occupied by his guards, eight burly foreheads and six girls. They were all listed as a community, the head of which was the object of the ghoul''s interest. Dogs were running in the yard - three of them, which was great of luxury in these times. In short, the old bastard slept peacefully and was greatly surprised when he was awakened by the touch of cold steel on his throat.

    Celesta easily jumped over the wall, playfully bypassed the watchmen, looked at the frightened dogs whimpering with fear, and finally climbed the wall to the window of Fakasia''s bedroom. There she bent the thin iron bars of the bars with difficulty, straining with all her strength - the physical strength of the undead was not infinite, though it was two or three times that of a human - and squeezed herself through the opening that had been created. She was afraid of the dogs, preparing to run away to try again later, but the mutts, who had smelled the undead, dared not raise their voices.

    Not yet old, though very fat the man quickly figured out what was going on.

    "Shall we talk, Holiness?"

    "I''m afraid there must be some mistake, mistress. You have me confused with someone else."

    Fakasius perked up when he heard the young woman''s voice. In the darkness, he could hardly see who was sitting beside him on the bed, but he caught the stranger''s small stature and general frailty. He was not deceived, however, about her innocuousness: If she had managed to get into his bedroom, she must be dangerous. He just didn''t know how dangerous.

    Very interesting - how? It is necessary to change the guards: there is someone bribed among them - otherwise, it will be impossible to get into the house. He will interrogate those who have made a mistake himself - no one can be trusted with such a case. It is unpleasant, of course, he has such a weak heart, but it is necessary, it is necessary...

    "No, I didn''t," the girl grinned. She grabbed the man by the throat with one hand and easily lifted the fat body and moved it to the chair next to the bed. "It''s like this, Holiness. Either you behave like a reasonable businessman, and we peacefully part ways, regardless of the outcome of the conversation. Or you start calling for security, and your fleshy neck is decorated with a deep, unpleasant hole. What do you say?"

    "I''m always ready for a dialogue," the bandit said quickly.

    He held himself not bad. He hid his fear skillfully, assessed the situation correctly Celesta even respected him for his courage. Although a weak man could not command a crowd of cutthroats and would lose his status and his life in an instant.

    "I''m glad to hear it. I apologize for the intrusion, but I wanted to talk to you alone, without company."

    "It''s all right," waved his hands, "it happens. I don''t like extra ears, either. Though I must point out that you needn''t be afraid of my boys; they''re good. I''ve always taught them, ''Do good, and it will return to you a hundredfold,'' and I''ve done the same."

    "Are you helping people?"

    "Of course, of course, what else could it be? Life is hard, we have to stick together. I''ll give my last shirt if anyone asks for it!"

    "That''s great. So why don''t you give the poor ghoul a sip of blood?"

    The man turned slightly pale, glancing toward the door. Celesta grinned, showing her fangs, and then leaned back on the softest of cushions in a relaxed pose. As she did so, she moved slightly away from His Holiness, which made him sigh in relief. There was no reason to frighten the fat man - what if he burst out and started yelling?

    "I can''t remember the last time I''ve had such a soft bed," she ran her hands over the light blanket, "and clean. You''ve made a good home, Fakasius."

    "To the best of my modest ability..." The man licked his parched lips.

    "I''m envious. But, you know, I can understand you. I''m sick and tired of hanging around in basements, I want something stable and cozy. And I immediately thought of you - one good human being will help one good non-human. Not for nothing, of course."

    "With all my heart!" His gut sensed the possible benefits, and Holiness perked up. Fear still lingered, but slowly gave way to lust for profit and thoughts of how to use the new acquaintance. "How not to take care of an orphan girl!"

    Under the ghoul''s heavy stare, he realized he had said something wrong.

    "In short, I need work, and the previous customers recommended you. I''m not sharing the names," the girl cut him off. "I do not like to kill: traces remain, so I charge dearly. I can spy, find the right person, take anyone anywhere. The usual work of a mercenary. I accept payment in dinars, or information, which, by the way, I also sell. Think about it. If you''re up to it, come to the crossroads of the Coppersmiths and Lakta the Giveress tomorrow night, and I''ll be in the area after sunset. Don''t take too many guards - otherwise, I won''t come near."

    The ghoul stood up, seemingly reluctant to leave her luxurious bed. She smiled sweetly: "Sorry about the bars. Your boys are doing a good job, I had to climb through the window."

    Without saying goodbye, she slipped into an opening too narrow for a human.

    Fakasius wiped the sweat from his forehead and cautiously went to the window. He looked out. Seeing no one, he exhaled heavily and rubbed his face with his palms. It had been a hard night. The fat man lay awake all night, tossing and turning in his bed, trying to figure out what to do next. The ghoul seemed a clever girl, only some friends would be more dangerous than enemies. But she could do a lot of good, too...

    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

    First thing in the morning, His Holiness ordered that the bars on the windows be replaced with sturdier ones.

    The acquaintance with Fakasius had both positive and negative consequences. It provided a serious source of truthful information, who was not too eager to share knowledge, but who had a complete and clear picture of what was going on in Taleya. The ghouls finally gained an insight into the powers and factions operating in the city, their relationships, and alliances. Development plans became a particularly valuable acquisition: now the girls knew which areas the authorities intended to renovate in the first place, where they would settle people, where it would be safe to arrange their own home.

    She even managed to get the old sewage plans, which are still relevant today. The first level of the dungeons was covered with rockslides in many places, as a result of which it became very difficult to move through them - we had to come to the surface all the time. However, the second tier - technical passages, old catacombs, underground riverbeds, former pumping stations - is much better preserved.

    It seems that here the builders relied less on magic and used more sturdy materials. It was impossible to tell exactly where one floor ended and another began: they flowed seamlessly into each other, gradually turning into a real labyrinth. Sometimes a narrow passage in a long explored area led to a new network of rooms, in which it was easy to get lost even with ropes and chalk. Before, the girls seldom descended too deeply, preferring to move closer to the surface of the earth and contenting themselves with making temporary hiding places. Now, with a map, they expected to travel the Taleya with less risk.

    But there''s more dirt and stench down there.

    His Holiness paid with information about the blueprints for a small favor - it was only necessary to pass a letter to the leader of a small gang. Quickly. Celeste suspected a trap at first and took Medea along as insurance, but the assignment proved to be no trick. The bandit accepted the package peacefully, signed for it on a slip of paper - the ghoul''s way of formalizing the delivering just in case - and didn''t even try to peek under the edge of the messenger''s mask.

    The next night the girls gave the fat customer a receipt, and in exchange received the address of the custodian of the city archives. The carriers of information, widespread before the disaster, ceased to work after the disappearance of magic, and the paper remained the only source of knowledge. Most of the archives of the city services were lost during the riots, many were stored in the duke''s castle, so Celesta attributed the fact that the stimulated by the large sum of money old keeper managed to find and partly removed, partly copied, due to sheer luck. And also the charm of Medea, who conducted the "negotiations".

    They had money now, and lots of it. Fakasy''s second assignment was to kill an officer who was bothering him in some way. It was a nasty and dangerous case, but she had to do it for fear of losing the most lucrative client. To be perfectly honest, Celesta had long been disgusted by murder: she had often seen - and brought - death, and had grown accustomed to it. She was terrified of the consequences. An officer of the guard is, after all, not an ordinary poor man: his death will certainly be of interest, will begin to be investigated. So she carefully planned the operation, destroyed all traces, and sprinkled a foul-smelling liquid on the floor. As for the execution of the order itself, there was no problem - the man did not live in barracks, but in his own comfortable house, which was guarded by two soldiers. It was easy to slip into the second floor and plunge the knife into the chest of the sleeping victim.

    The action had cost His Holiness three hundred dinirs, and Celesta hoped the greedy fat man would think twice about hiring her next time. She would guarantee results, of course, but there were plenty of cheaper mercenaries out there.

    So far, everything was going well, inevitably a source of apprehension. Fate, generous as it was, had a knack for trickery, presenting it in a moment of intense contentment with herself and life. The girls were engaged in repairing the new house, crawling through the sewers, disgustedly stepping on a thick layer of dirt and waste, twice met with Richard. We did not lose contact with the bandit; he would surely come in handy in the future. So we had to carve out time and bring his unit together once more - purely for the sake of maintaining a good relationship. Just once: then he was hired to guard the caravans for a month, just as he''d planned. The guards did shuffle the patrols like cards, most of the routes would have to be changed. Richard, as they say, "grew up": there were already twenty-seven swords under his command, there were various rumors about his good luck in business. It would be interesting to know what his people say about the two mysterious guides...

    The meetings with Laskash were frequent but much less useful. But that depends on how you look at it. After all, it was from him that the girls heard about the strange people gathering in Illiar''s temple.

    The authorities were well aware of the danger of the existence of groups of religious fanatics in their vicinity, and they fought various kinds of prophets as much as they could. The most intolerant were eliminated, and they did not use kid gloves with their followers either. The more sane ones were tried to be bought out and incorporated into the established structure. The community system also contributed to the erosion of the ranks of the cultists: those who have torn away from the influence of the collective were not eager to return to their cruel and intolerant comrades. However, the struggle went on with varying success - the fanatics created semblances of secret societies, gathered at night, performed their rituals, and, much more importantly, helped each other. By exchanging information, receiving help from fellow believers, and feeling certain chosenness concerning those around them, they became more than just a bunch of stubborn lunatics.

    All the new secret societies known to Celeste were somewhat monotonous. Their ideology was based on similar tenets, with the worship of Morvan or his kind at its core. It was only logical when you think about it: desperate people had reason to believe that the new reality was a kingdom of darkness. The good gods were officially believed in, but somehow sluggishly, without enthusiasm, by inertia. So the news of the cultists gathering in the temple of the Lord of Light interested the ghoul unwittingly. So much so, that she decided to go see what they were up to and took Medea along with her. She had originally intended to encounter a desecrated altar, an ecstatic crowd, or something similar, but life had managed to give her another surprise...

    "The temples of the Lords of Light and Darkness are rare," Medea enlightened her friend. "It''s not customary to build them. It''s much more common to build the shrines of some incarnation, like the Death Reaper or the Master of Disease for Morvan, or the Healer for Illiar. I do not know why. But I''ve heard that temples are built according to a very strict canon, with very ancient rituals - the priests don''t always understand the meaning of the hymns they sing."

    "So the cult is weak?"

    "Strange as it may sound, but yes. People were more likely to sacrifice to an ancestor, a local deity, or a patron of a craft."

    "Was Carlon a priest of Morvan or one of his incarnations?"

    As always, whenever the identity of a former patron was touched upon in conversation, Medea flinched slightly: "He served the Lord of Hell himself."

    "Exclusive, it means."

    The sanctuary of Illiar was a well-preserved small circular building, which reminded Andrew of the minarets of the muezzins of his homeworld. The only difference was that the tall tower at the bottom went smoothly into a fairly wide base, and the first floor had a radius of ten meters at a glance. There was no one in the temple now - the girls had specifically timed it. They intended to look around first, choose a comfortable spot, and wait for the ritual to begin. Though Laskash claimed that the main rituals were performed during the day - which meant that the authorities didn''t pay much attention to the cultists - people were sometimes seen hiding their faces here at night.

    There were two ways into the building, through the front door and the balcony on the second floor. There must have been a manhole downstairs. In any temple of any religion the priests try to arrange a loophole, but I was too lazy to look for it. And what for? It was dark, no one was outside, no one was inside, and one could simply reach out to the massive stone doors with a decorative metal pattern...

    Celesta bounced back with a cry: her fingers were slightly smoky.

    "What''s wrong?!"

    "I don''t know." Celesta cradled the injured hand. Her body ached as if an electric shock had struck the ghoul through her injured arm. "Look."

    On the door glowed dimly, fading slowly, signs the girls had never seen before.

    The priests of the Lords, according to Medea, had always kept apart. Anyone could take the priesthood in the temple of his chosen incarnation, as long as he sincerely believed and aspired to spiritual life. The priests of Morvan and Illiar approached the choice of successors much more strictly. For them, it was not enough just to want to become a priest. A recommendation from an already acting priest was required. But even that was not enough. The young novice was first forced to go through a long period of training, during which his physical and intellectual abilities were examined. Candidates that had withstood the rigors of life were allowed to leave the monastery to make up their minds about their choice. Not all returned after a year: many preferred the secular life.

    As for the others, not much is known about the fate of those who took the service. It was said that they underwent some kind of ritual that resulted in the acquisition of strange abilities - although not beyond what was possible for powerful mages-and a certain detachment from life. The complex training system meant that the number of initiates was at all times modest when compared to the servants of other deities.

    In ancient times, the adepts of the Lords were considered not quite human. Maybe because of the indifference with which they looked at the fate of others, and their own, or for some other reason... As culture and civilization developed, the ancient legends began to seem obsolete and were laughed at. Apparently, in vain.

    "Where can I find a priest?" Celeste drummed her claws on the table thoughtfully. "Where can I find a priest?"

    They now had a table, a sofa, a real bed, dragged in pieces, and other furniture. Doors had been hung over the passage leading to the underground river so that the dampness no longer penetrated the room that had become a cozy dwelling. It did not become cozy at once, though. First, the walls were washed to remove the centuries-old layers of dust and dirt, then the cracks were sealed with a sealant, which took almost all the money Celesta had earned, and they waited two days, allowing the rooms to dry. They covered the remaining passageways with thick curtains, hiding from the draughts. Then they cleaned the rooms again, and only then did they start looking for furniture.

    As a result of the effort, the house took on a lively appearance. A bedroom that comfortably housed both girls, a hallway, and something called a "bathroom," essentially a cage with a large trough. Where the huge tub had been found, and how it had been dragged, was recalled with nervous laughter. There was one problem left, and that was the fire. The ghouls did not much need light, but they could not refuse hot water. For now, they had to make the fire and heat the big buckets by the river, but in time Celesta planned to have the bathtub vented. She didn''t feel there was any danger of being seen: the drains would carry the smoke far away, and besides, there was always something cooking and burning in the port.

    "Maybe talk to the leader of those cultists from the temple?"

    "We might as well go back to Carlon and ask him," Medea objected. "We''re Morvan''s children: the light-worshippers would tear us to pieces."

    "Let''s try to catch it at a good moment."

    "How do you know what the right moment will be? What if this priest hasn''t lost touch with the deity? He will simply burn us."

    "I don''t think he''s strong," Celesta pondered aloud. "Remember our former chief: the slightest... the slightest sorcery was hard for him."

    "Maybe the rebirth changed him too much."

    "I don''t think so. He, figuratively speaking, approached his Master after his death; the connection must have been strengthened."

    "In any case," Medea did not give up, "Illyar''s servant will not help the ghoul."

    "You won''t know until you try it. Laskash says the man he talked to, Poyr, doesn''t look like a fanatic. What if we''re lucky and the others are the same?"

    "What if it doesn''t work?"

    "We''ll force him. We''ll keep him chained in a secluded corner, and the priest will talk."

    "He will curse you to death!"

    Celesta looked intently at her friend. Medea sat nervously through her thick hair, her gaze wandering, resting on anything but the little ghoul''s face. Something was wrong with her. She went from beautiful, confident woman to hysterical, shaking with fear as soon as she spoke of her meeting with the wizards. Her voice was so high, she wanted to cover her ears with her hands in pain.

    "What''s wrong, Medea?"

    Silence, only her shoulders drooped. Celesta sighed - this emotions again - and moved closer, wrapping her arms around the waist of the stubbornly staring beauty: "Well, what''s wrong?"

    "You want to go back, don''t you?" Medea whispered. "Go back to your world?"

    "I want to," Andrew didn''t deny the obvious. "I don''t like it here. I could get killed here at any moment."

    "I''m afraid to be alone. I''m scared."

    Celesta was already contemplating the fate of her friend. It was a shame to leave Medea to her fate. For all her strength, experience, and skill, the former singer and noblewoman remained a domestic being. No, of course, she could be cruel, she could fight and kill, she could survive when necessary, but there was no animalistic readiness to claw at the enemy''s throat and die like that. Considering who she had to deal with on a regular basis, without that inner confidence, the ghoul would be a figurehead. And figures, even the most valuable ones, are sacrificed when necessary.

    "Silly," Celesta ran her hand through the singer''s luxurious mane. "Even if there were a creature left somewhere, a mage capable of bringing my soul back, it wouldn''t take a year or two to find it. Or ten. If Carlon''s right and the undead are immortal, there''s a chance to get back, but if not... Unless some gods intervene."

    "Then why search for it?"

    "Well, miracles do happen," the ghoul shrugged her skinny shoulders. She wasn''t lying, she wasn''t trying to be comforting, she was speaking her mind. It was time to stop turning a blind eye to the bitter truth. "Besides, I''m not just focused on mages. Compare the way we lived at the monastery to the way we are now."

    She confessed that she''d been tormented by the fear of being alone for a long time. Today, she''d just "broke out," because of the strange forces of the Lord of Light''s servants. Medea calmed down a little, then darkened again: "Tell me, if you have a chance to come back right now? Tomorrow we catch the leader, and he knows the right ritual? Would you go?"

    Celesta rolled her eyes in martyrdom. We are responsible for those we have tamed.

    "No, I''ll settle for you first. I''ll find a decent ghoul and marry you off to him."

    "Don''t laugh!"

    "Then don''t ask stupid questions."

    With Medea slightly reassured, Celesta continued to run through the idea of asking around the leader of the cultists. But she made a notation in her memory. Indeed - why not talk to the other undead, look for someone sane among them?

    There were hardly any normal ones among our brethren. Rebirth had a profound effect on the psyche. Those who continued to think soberly preferred to be wary and distant. So did the girls, for fear of encountering a second Carlon. So they strove to keep contact with the unfamiliar undead to a minimum, keeping a low profile for infrequent encounters and trying not to enter other people''s territory.

    Perhaps we should change our habits. One more helper wouldn''t hurt: as the saying goes, it''s easier to beat the boss by the herd.

    No, I still need to talk to the leader. The question is, how to do it? The Laskash doesn''t know his name or appearance, and he won''t be able to find out; the boy is still too young for such assignments. To act through Holiness means to draw unnecessary attention. The fat man, for all his faults, is clever and shrewd - he will certainly try to find out what the head of a common sect interested the ghoul. Fakasius knows how to ask and get answers: he will get the terms quickly. And then what? No, they cannot risk it.

    That leaves Richard. He has some connections in the city - he had done business before he met Celesta, and he often talked to the guards. So he could find out what the praying men were up to. At least by bribing the local police: these individuals were always ready to share information for a fee. But is it worth involving the bandit? He is also a fangy beast, only smaller than Holiness.

    Celesta was still undecided about Richard, deciding to try to act personally first. He had the names of some light-worshippers - what if she could reach the right person through them? But after a long argument with Medea, they outlined what to do soon.

    Beyond the borders of the port, the girls still had many possessions. Books, a small hoard of canned goods highly prized by the men, stashes of looted clothing and armor. The girls, until now, had only sold weapons and other frequently encountered items, saving the rest for the hard days. Besides, trading armor is a dangerous occupation. Swords, knives, various kinds of spears, crossbows, and arrows were quite plentiful, and the likelihood that the weapons would be accidentally recognized by their former owners was considered low.

    Armor belonged to a different category of goods. Armor or helmets, similar to the ammunition Andreq was accustomed to, did not exist in this world. The costs of the magical path of development. The protective function had formerly been performed by amulets, which, of course, ceased to function after the catastrophe and were now reduced to mere decoration. Therefore all armor that existed in the city was strictly divided into two categories: ancient armor stolen from museums and mansions of aristocracy or newly made by local craftsmen. Both looked simply stunning - in a bad way - but were highly prized by the locals. A rusty cuirass, for example, cost twenty dinirs, while a good quality sword cost only ten.

    The ghouls believed the relocation was complete, which meant that the hiding places would gradually be cleared of items. Some should be sold to the Holiness, some should simply be stored in a secluded place for the future. At the same time, they could find out how well things were going with Richard.

    Ask him what the bureaucrats are whispering about.

    * * *

 Chapter 11

    Chapter 11

    * * *

    The standard tactic of laying low somewhere near the person of interest and eavesdropping on his conversations did not work this time. Poyr, the light-worshipper from whom the boy-informer had learned of the sect''s existence, led a daily and disgustingly law-abiding life. That is, he broke the laws, of course, but in small ways: buying food from the black traders, occasionally exchanging surplus produce for useful items rather than depositing them in a warehouse, bribing overzealous guards, and the like. At night, he preferred to sleep peacefully in his own bed, surrounded by his household. He worked as an oiler - processed fish oil (or fish itself, Celeste did not get into the intricacies of the process) into oil and combustible mixture for torches, lamps. Laskash worked part-time for the man by arrangement with the headman.

    The ghouls didn''t like the crafts quarter. For several reasons. Drunkards and the poor were rare there, which meant they had to look elsewhere for prey. Frequent guards walked around, and in addition, the natives led a mostly daytime lifestyle and slept at night, so that the girls moved through the deserted streets in short runs. For reasons unknown, the area had previously been settled by many middle-class citizens with ties to the sea - rich fishermen, clerks, and others who had saved up enough money for a house of their own but could not afford to buy a mansion. As a consequence - small plots with small houses, low fences, great hearing what neighbors say... It is possible to steal a person from here, of course, but there will be a lot of traces.

    In his former life, Andrew''s background in surveillance and espionage was limited to reading detective novels. He had not worked in the police, had no ties to gangsters, and his sluggish attempt to work as a journalist had failed because of his tendency to write the truth. Had he had any experience, perhaps he would have come up with something clever. Alas. The skills he''d acquired in his new body focused more on finding a victim and a brief stab out of the darkness followed by sucking blood - unhelpful in this case.

    While Andrew hesitated, deciding what to do next, there were serious changes in the life of the city. Too serious to ignore. The search for the priest at the head of the sect had to be postponed.

    The long-awaited winter finally arrived. The change of season for the locals was expressed in new clothes. People diligently wore raincoats, hats, and looked for other ways to protect themselves from the ubiquitous moisture. Rain was falling from the sky. At brief intervals throughout the day, drops of water drummed on the roofs of houses, poured into small streams in the streets and accumulated in pits and ditches, gradually forming full-flowing rivers where dust had lain before. Walking around the city became difficult because the drainage systems did not work, and the drains were clogged with garbage and earth. The sewers turned into a continuous stream of roaring water, or just dirty water, or ponds of muddy standing water - in short, it was wet everywhere.

    The girls were not spared the trouble. Although Celesta paid attention to the deposits of mud on the walls, showing the level to which the water had risen, a lot had changed since last year. Collapses, leaky pipes, and corroded equipment had all contributed to the destruction of the city. The ghouls had to urgently caulk the hole leading to the underground river, using the leftover sealant. Using crowbar and swearing, they cleared numerous blockages in the path of the stream, diverting the danger from their homes. The workday began immediately upon awakening and merged into one monotonous and dirty labor, occasionally interrupted by feeding. After sunset, Celesta and Medea circled the nearby corridors, marking those where the water level was too high, then there was hurried patching of holes in the walls of the dwelling. Then one went about working while the other searched for an opportunity to satisfy her hunger.

    Medea finally appreciated the merits of her friend''s proposed method, and even began to find a certain pleasure in paying for the blood of the poor. She, with her incredible good looks, had no trouble convincing men to help a beautiful but miserable woman get by. She did not even leave money in all cases, especially if the victim was a regular donor. Strange as it may seem, more recently there have been such donors. In most cases, they were Morvan-worshippers who had lost their mentors and whose disturbed psyche demanded a new guru to guide them in the right direction. The poor people had completely lost the ability to think for themselves. There was also one pervert who had a crush on the honey-haired, undead beauty. Celesta vowed to unite the people into a cult at the earliest opportunity, but for now, alas, there was no time.

    Oddly enough, she was not going to look for another "apartment". The place turned out to be comfortable, even if it had flaws. There was one flaw that had to be corrected to live in warmth, comfort, and tranquility. According to estimates, it was necessary to clear a few pipes and build a dam in one place, tightly packed with boards and clay corridors to direct the flow in a bypass. Of course, next winter will inevitably bring new problems, but they will be easier, and much less work will be required. Assignment for the hydraulic engineer.

    Celesta thought with grim humor that the existence of a ghoul required not only physical strength but also training in a wide variety of human knowledge. Psychology, anatomy, the basics of commerce, the biology and behavior of local creatures, the ability to move silently and hunt, construction, medicine - to help those too badly injured by fangs - topography, espionage, now hydrology. The list could go on ad infinitum, and experience in the shittiest part of the city, the sewers, would be an important part of it.

    They lacked tools, and their clothes had long since become rags. The friends had one dress each, the ones they wore when they went out into the city to hunt - they had spent their time underground naked long ago. Injuries and scratches would heal instantly, at most after a good portion of blood, but the cloth would tear and never be repaired. Therefore, if an outsider suddenly appeared, attracted to the damp corridors by the sounds of pounding crowbars and shovels, a surprising picture would await him - two naked, covered with a thick layer of dirt girls (one of which looks like an expensive photo model, and the second is nice) are together doing repairs.

    "Real Playboy..."

    "What did you say?"

    "In my world, there was such a magazine for lovers of naked women. They would pay dearly for our pictures."

    Medea looked around at herself and Celesta and suddenly laughed: "Yeah! You know, I did a show for our "Classy Boy" once, but my father destroyed all the prints. He wasn''t a very strong magician, but he had enough power for one newsroom. He got arrested for damaging a public building and got a huge fine."

    They both felt no fatigue, which was a great advantage. The inevitable loss of strength had no effect on performance. The ghouls recovered easily from a few sips of blood. The demon inside each of them demanded a lot, but it also gave a lot.

    "What do you think," Medea smiled slyly, "it might be worth going out hunting like that?"

    "Don''t even dare think about it! There are all sorts of whispers among people, so we don''t need to give any more food for gossip."

    Sooner or later it had to happen - people had to know about the ghouls living near them. Now it didn''t matter if one of the donors had let it slip, or if one of the Richard porters had guessed who their guides were, or if Fakasius'' men had blabbed, the fact remained that the gossip among the poor had not stopped. The guards and artisans were unaffected by the new "horror story," which led Celesta to assume the source of the rumors was some low-level donor or agent. As a matter of fact, she regarded everyone who shared blood regularly, once or twice a decade, as a source of information and treated them accordingly. In other words, possessive. If she got her hands on one who blabbed, she would tear him to pieces for the edification of the others.

    "Well..." Beauty hissed angrily, hitting her foot with the shovel. "Naked girls on the street are much more interesting than some ghouls, whether seen or not. They''ll change the subject in a moment."

    "You just want to have some fun," Hit. "So do I," Hit. "To get away from this boring stuff. Hold the board. Sorry, honey, you''re gonna have to be patient. It won''t be long now, the rains will stop soon."

    "I know!" Medea snorted. "That''s what I told you about the climate!"

    Dinirs were running out, clothes were tattered, and informers needed something to pay them. There was a simple choice: either to sell the goods accumulated for a "rainy day" cheaply, but quickly, or to look for work urgently. One could lead Richard''s caravan - the guards were now sitting quietly, keeping their heads down in the rain-soaked streets. Holiness hinted at something in his way the last time we met. Celesta hadn''t been interested then, but now she might have to take him up on his offer. It''s time to stop being so clean-cut. Or try something else? Rob the port control building: that''s where they always keep large sums of money to pay the soldiers...

    The ghoul mentally began to make a list of things she needed. Four pairs of pants, a shirt, a jacket to replace the tattered one, boots or, at the very least, sandals, a shovel bent, nails needed... The fact that he had to wear women''s clothes annoyed Andrew. Not because they are women''s - compared to the other troubles the appearance was perceived as an absurd trifle - but because of the discomfort. The dress was bad to crawl on walls, it clung to ledges or bushes, constantly torn, in short, interfered with movement. Even Medea preferred to wear pants if she wasn''t going to show her face. According to her stories, the Sylvan girls rarely wore men''s clothes: the religion was rather rigid about the separation of the sexes, although there were exceptions, such as the warrior-girl orders.

    It was worth meeting with Richard at least because of the news he was willing to share. Communicating with those in power was not in vain, and in addition to the purely material dividends, it brought a fair amount of useful information. Guardian officers had indeed recently begun to actively solicit small bands of bandits operating in the Pit. They promised shelter, protection, and sometimes weapons and supplies. Such friendliness had never been seen before. Higher-ranking officials worked with the leaders of large gangs - here the stakes were bigger. Richard, for example, was offered to become a kind of feudal lord, to have an entire village at his fingertips.

    The authorities intended to encircle the existing settlements with another ring of small forts, where they would place detachments of former mercenaries. They would add men, arm them at their own expense, and swear not to interfere in matters on the condition that they would arrange for a steady supply of food to the city. When the bandit tried to deny the idea, citing the sheer number of creatures in the area, the officiant grinningly advised him not to worry. The problem would soon go away, he said.

    Richard promised to think about it.

    "They offer another option," he told the girl next to him. Close, but not too close. "A permanent job, like the guards. A full paycheck from the treasury, living in the city, all the associated privileges."

    He decided to talk to Celesta deliberately. The clever undead would not babble, but she could advise him what was useful. Borak, though loyal to the point of speechlessness, does not shine with intelligence, and that was for the best - less temptation to throw off the ringleader. The ghoul knows a great deal, and most importantly, knows how to apply her knowledge. So let her help her ally! Lucky him, nothing can be said. He was lucky, both when he met Celesta and later when he decided not to kill the undead. When you think about it, he had a lot to gain from the acquaintance.

    Let her continue to drink blood - as long as it helps him.

    "The Duke was determined to take control of the city." The girl sat perfectly still, only a low whisper coming from beneath the handkerchief that hid her face. "I think he''s got his plan all worked out, and that''s what he''s doing. It all goes too smoothly. You don''t have much choice, you either fit into the growing structure, or you''re eliminated when you''re not needed."

    "You mean the village is better?" Richard clarified.

    "It''s up to you to decide. The authorities will control the ex-gangsters. It''s inevitable." Celeste paid no attention to the indignant hiss of her interlocutor, "Surely they will assign an officer with greater authority to assist you or monitor you in other ways. When do they expect an answer?"

    "In a month and a half at the latest."

    "They want to determine by the spring."

    "I don''t know how they intend to clean up the area," Richard pondered. "If you leave the city for twenty-four hours of travel, it''s as if you''re going to hell."

    "Is it really that bad?"

    Tale��a is, after all, a human city, and the creatures are destroyed here. They are not allowed to grow, to unite into packs. Things are much worse from here. Although from one perspective, mutants starve each other to death. The strongest survive. They were bred for the most part to eat human meat, and are not interested in simple beasts. That''s why there aren''t many of them left, but they are more dangerous than the ones in the city.

    Celesta took note of what was said, but nothing more. She was concerned with other matters now - primarily whether the ringleader was going to smuggle contraband back through the line of posts. If he had been made a serious offer, it would be foolish to squander his reputation on trivialities and greed. Richard, however, had no doubts, firmly setting a date for the future crossing. Well, the choice was his.

    The conversation with His Holiness had to be sacrificed to the desire to live in comfort. Celesta was fixing up the repairs, finishing the last drain for the stream, and hoped to be rid of the threat of the flood in about three days. They had to hurry: the newfound "ghouls worshiper" were bothering her more and more. Deprived of their guiding hand, the donors began to seek the sphere of application of their efforts, which could not but disturb the undead, accustomed to secrecy. They urgently needed something to occupy them, preferably with benefits. Medea was restraining the fanatics'' zeal for now, but she wouldn''t last long.

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    There was a possibility: one of the loonies was working as a loader in a harbor tavern. That is, he could give his unscrupulous master an idea about a new supplier. Another morvanite in a former life was an alchemist and knew how to use two herbs and a local mineral to give the beer a "unique, persistent taste" that was inconspicuously addictive. The effects of the mild drug passed quickly, and in earlier years it was even sold freely in some pharmacies. Trouble was, the meager dope market in Taleya was tightly controlled by serious people, and one was afraid to venture into it without preparation. Celesta was going to test the product first, see the results, build a chain of maker-buyers, enlist Fakasy''s support - she''d have to share with the old goat, but what could she do? - and only then produce serious batches. The cultists would find something to do at once: they could combine their service to the Lord of Darkness with replenishing the budget of His earthly messengers.

    In short, it was nearly two months before the ghouls visited the Artisan Quarter again. Once again they were unfortunate: the master of Poyr had an urgent order, for which reason he forced his subordinates to work day and night. The conversation was again postponed. Laskash had mentioned several other names of people serving the Lord of Light, but first, nothing more was known about them, and second, Celesta decided to kill two birds with one stone. Let Morvan''s slaves follow the servants of his brother and enemy, proving their loyalty and usefulness by deed. With special luck, which Celesta dared not hope for, it would be possible to infiltrate her man into the camp of ideological opponents. It is unlikely that among the dull-witted fanatics there was a person with a suitable mindset, quite artistic and, most importantly, loyal, but what if she was lucky? An agent among the light-worshippers is bound to be needed - if not now, then later.

    That''s why we must first get to know the people who voluntarily put their necks to the fangs of ghouls. For what they do it, what makes them do this weird thing, what can be expected of them. How well they were thinking, after all. Celesta fed on three, Medea promised to bring two more, making a total of five. Then she could consider whether to deal with them, whether to bring more people into the cult or to cut them all out mercilessly. Yes, she considered that option, too - because the owner shoots a mad dog.

    It took another week to form a cult. Everyone was checked, and they were especially talkative in Medea''s presence. They were all men, and the beauty of the undead was seen by them as an extra sign of the touch of Darkness. So Celeste preferred to watch the conversation from the sidelines, especially since being an aloof observer allowed her to more accurately profile each cultist. As she regretfully admitted, all of them had mental problems. Not being a specialist in psychiatry, she did not know exactly what is the name of the disease in which a person''s critical thinking fails and he rejects any evidence of his wrongness. The perfect fanatics. It would be very difficult to control them, and there could be no talk of replenishing them. On the other hand, there is also no need to get rid of them: they are good for the role of small informers, cannon fodder, or food reserves.

    Remembering Carlon''s actions, Medea acted out an entire play. A man was brought to an underground cell - a scrubbed technical room in the sewers - and left in front of the Morvan statue in complete darkness. When the client was " ready," an undead came to him. Wrapped in a translucent robe of ex-curtain, her face stained with blood, her fangs gleaming in the dim light, her snow-white skin, and the scarlet streaks in her pupils, she bore a striking resemblance to the one from the underworld. The mere sight of her threw her off balance, and when the woman began to speak... She made wonders with her voice. Celesta had never heard her recordings, but she knew for a fact that the world had lost a great singer.

    She preferred to act differently. To unite with the person in thoughts, to get into his skin, to feel his interests, desires, aspirations - and gradually to direct the conversation in the right direction. Whisper on the verge of hearing, trusting bowed head, smooth hand movements mesmerized the man, clouded the mind to the point that he could not resist the orders of ghouls, and openly blurted out his most secret thoughts. A familiar and relaxed interlocutor was easier to put into a trance, but Celesta had already hunted twice in this way on the streets, erasing the memory of her victims. More blood was needed, though: using the awakened ability took its toll.

    Andrei was not surprised by the capabilities of the ghoul''s body; he did not throw himself against the walls with cries of "Impossible"! In his past life, he had often met hypnotists, psychics of all kinds, so he felt prepared and for bigger miracles. So far, what was happening was within the framework of ordinary - for him ordinary - knowledge, in some ways even evoked nostalgia for bygone times. Hypnosis? A voice that made men go crazy? Yes, half of the gypsy women did it for a living! The barrier in front of Illyar''s temple or Carlon''s magic was another matter: they were phenomena of a different kind.

    As hopeless as the Morvanians were in matters of faith, they did a fine job of surveillance. They managed to find time to follow the devotees of the Lord of Light who were gathering in the temple, and they identified the head, a short, thin man who was called Master Garresh by others. Surveillance of the rank-and-file cultists was no longer necessary: Poyr was lucky. The ghouls were only interested in the preacher, and now that they knew his identity and address, they had to decide how to proceed.

    "I don''t understand why you''re so obsessed with this priest," Medea said frankly. "The sect is small, it stays away from the authorities, and it does no harm. I think we ought to start trading now, save some money, make some connections. I''ve been thinking more and more about having the tavern, with the income from the customers and the safe food from the drunks."

    "All taverns are under someone''s protection," Celesta responded. "It''s not a bad idea, but you''d have to have an outside cover. But you''re wrong about Illyar''s servants. Imagine waking up one night, getting out of bed..."

    "By the way, I''m tired of sleeping on a bare mattress. When the money comes in, we''ll buy sheets."

    "...and you can''t leave the room. How''s that for you?"

    "Why can''t I?" Medea wondered.

    "Because all the passages and exits have scalding barriers, like the one in the temple," she explained melancholy. "Of course, you can break through the floor and find yourself on the lower tier and float away along the stinky river, but that''s not what we''re talking about here. I think it is necessary to find out what and how the remaining magic of Illiar''s priests works, and if there are ways to counteract it."

    "I still think it''s premature for you to kidnap Garresh," Medea tried to insist. She liked to have the last word. "What are we going to ask him? About the entrance to the sanctuary? I''m sure he doesn''t know anything about the barrier; people cross the threshold freely."

    "We will find out in the process of interrogation."

    "He''s kept his connection to God, and it''s not known what he''s capable of."

    "Until you try it, you won''t know."

    "But why do you have to go right in there!" Belle was put off by Celesta''s confident and calm tone. "Let''s try to get into his house first. If he is able to do something, he must have secured the house"

    Andrew pondered the suggestion and admitted its merit. Indeed, the priest''s dwelling was worth seeing. If only for the sake of getting an idea of the character of the person living there.

    "Okay, let''s do that. Where does he live? In the Artisan''s Quarter?" Celesta grimaced unhappily. "I''m starting to hate that place."

    Garresh lived in a true fortress - at least, from the point of view of the not-so-sophisticated ghouls. His house was visible from all directions, a hole in the corner of a tiny garden, and no windows on the first floor. In the past, the building seemed to have been used as a storehouse or barn, or something similar. The narrow windows on the second floor with concreted frame crossovers were in favor of the first version. Despite its austere appearance, the building did not give a gloomy and depressing impression, and the people who lived there seemed content with their home.

    The artisans avoided the division into communities that were usual for the poor. The authorities did not need to keep an extra eye on the artisans, who, for objective reasons, united on their own into a kind of brigades. This made it easier for them to work and fulfill the city''s orders. Those who preferred to work at home could not go anywhere. People were firmly held by their families, where they could get good tools for free or at a low price, store materials, and finished products. There was also a post of Artisan Warden, somewhat similar in function to a headman, but on a much gentler level. The authorities needed artisans, so they pampered them with a carrot in addition to the stick.

    Usually, the leader of the light-worshippers slept at home, but on this night - the third in a row for Celeste, who had followed him - he had gone somewhere with a young man who lived with him. What the relationship was between the couple could not be ascertained. Though she could tell from overheard conversations between neighbors that the men were considered lovers, the ghoul had never seen any sign of it, and they slept in separate beds. The older one was in a room overlooking the road, and the younger one was across the street, his window overlooking the neighboring courtyard. A rather large family lived there, who liked to poke their noses into other people''s business. One had either to go in through the door or try to squeeze through the narrow opening in the window of the priest''s room. A man of normal physique wouldn''t dare hope to slip through the small opening, but Celesta, with her slim figure, might well try. Well, at least there''s some use for a woman''s body.

    There was no need for experimentation: the door closed with a simple lock, which opened with a slight push of curved iron. In their free time, the ghouls unwillingly mastered the weirdest professions. Many of the doors and manholes in the sewers were closed, and the girls learned through experience that it was far easier to learn the craft of burglary than to spend time trying to break open what were still solid rusty obstacles. It was tough at first; then, as her skills grew, it became easier. Now Celesta quickly made her way to the first floor and silently cursed at the sight of the scrubbed floor.

    As usual, it was raining outside, and going underground and staying in an ambush for a long time was not conducive to cleanliness. The water that dripped down her cloak, along with the mud from her boots, had already formed a dark puddle on the floor, jeopardizing Celesta''s plans to keep her visit a secret. The burglar threw off her outer garments, pulled off her clean dress, and began hastily picking up the dirt with her clothes, mentally scolding Medea. Now the laundry would have to be done. She piled the clothes on top of the soiled dress and, spitting on everything, threw the boots on top - six whole dinirs, but they were worth it - she threw the resulting knot behind her back.

    Quietly slapping her bare feet, Celesta went up to the second floor. The first thing she was going to do was to look around Garresh''s private room, hoping to find something interesting in it. Cautiously reaching out, the ghoul touched the wooden door, fearing a painful electric shock. An ordinary door, no pain. Courageously, the girl pushed harder, then more, pushing with the palm of her hand. A short, sharp creak rewarded her: The door flew open. Perfect, she could go in.

    The priest, judging by the furnishings, was an unpretentious man. The usual army cot, issued from the warehouses as a bonus for the best workers, a blanket from old supplies, a light wooden table with drawers and a pile of garbage on the tabletop, an armchair with a plaid thrown over it. In the corner was a duffel cupboard with a meager supply of clothes and - Celesta immediately tensed - shelves of books. On the wall hung a symbol of Illiar, a white cross with a black dot in the middle, its crude workmanship and dull metallic luster coupled with scratches suggestive of antiquity. It looked odd on a plain white wall; it would have looked more like a museum window display case or the massive robes of some fantasy paladin from a church story.

    As Celesta stepped over the threshold, she feel it. Her body refused to obey and fell to the floor like a puppet with strings cut off. The pain didn''t come - just bewilderment and a strange heaviness in her ears, her thoughts jumbled, making it impossible to focus on any one thing. She didn''t know how long it took before the ghoul recovered from the unexplored effects. But she did know that the faint smell of burnt flesh did not bode well. She''d better get out of here and fast.

    The attempt to rise was not successful: the undead woman felt as if she were pressed to the ground by a multi-ton press. Her arms were still inactive, her head rested on the floor like a dead weight, her eyes staring blankly at the bookshelf. Without knowing why Celesta began to read the inscriptions. Judging by the visible covers, the priest hadn''t read anything forbidden - just the usual technical literature and a few entertaining novels. There were also a few philosophical works, judging by the titles, that had nothing to do with magic, that was all. The ghoul could move her left leg a little, and the rest of her body stubbornly refused to pick up her mind''s signals. Why this was so, Celesta did not understand, and she did not think much about the oddity. Maybe it was because her foot had not crossed the threshold of the room or some other reason.

    She was slowly pulling herself by her toes, and she mentally cursed the idea of contacting a priest. She didn''t have a good relationship with the servants of the gods, dark or light. Slowly, very slowly, one millimeter at a time, her body slid over the threshold. She wondered how long it would be before dawn. Suddenly thin needles pierced the tips of the fingers, and then there was a detached sensation of pain in the back of the neck. The sensation was returning. But it took Celesta at least half an hour before she was able to pull herself up and crawl back to the stairs, staggering with her hands. She had never felt so bad.

    The weakness was gradually gone, replaced by hunger. It was as if an unknown force had drained the undead of all her energy. A little more, and the phantom of madness would grin viciously from behind the ghoul''s shoulder. She would have been foolish to leave Medea to go off on her own. Celesta rose wearily, stood, overcoming her fear, then finally gained her resolve and closed the door to Garresh''s room. If there was any trace left inside, there was nothing she could do about it.

    Slowly, shifting her legs like an ancient grandma, the girl went downstairs.

    "And I knew it wouldn''t end well!"

    As soon as the shaking Celesta arrived home, Medea became very active. She put a tub of water on the fire, bit her own vein, and made her friend drink some blood, then ran off, telling her not to go anywhere. She came back just in time to fill the tub, satiated, and brought a couple of rats with her. While Celesta satisfied her hunger, she filled a large trough with boiling water and sat the slightly flushed burglar in it.

    The hot water wasn''t invigorating, but it was still good for the bodies of the rebels, so they liked to bask in the warmth. And now Celesta felt better, Medea''s care and the blood she''d been drinking. She knew she wouldn''t be fully recovered until tomorrow, after the hunt, but she felt the difference very well in comparison to her recent state. Her hands were no longer shaking.

    "Tell me," Medea demanded.

    The ghoul crouched beside her, frozen in stony immobility. The living, when they were nervous, began to run and fuss; the undead did the opposite. The woman listened carefully, not interrupting or commenting on the story as usual. Only the flaring red dots in her pupils betrayed her tension.

    "So you didn''t feel anything until you stepped over the threshold?" She asked, seeing that Celesta had finished speaking.

    "I didn''t feel anything in the room, either. I just passed out - thoughts separate, everything else separate. "

    "Nothing at all? Last time we felt some kind of barrier before entering."

    "No, no sign of a trap," Celesta shook her head. "Unless, of course, it was a trap."

    "What else could it be?"

    "Perhaps the consequences of the ritual, or the priest is simply used to protecting his personal space. He has no reason to fear the servants of Darkness, and for humans, Illiar''s power is not dangerous. At any rate," the injured woman corrected herself, "we''ve heard of no such thing, and the alive enter the temple unhindered."

    "I honestly don''t care why you almost died," Medea said firmly. "I won''t let you go near the priest again. You can say what you want, but I won''t let you hunt him."

    "I just need to observe for a longer time, gather information more thoroughly..."

    "Forget it," she hissed like a snake. "This prey is not for us."

    Celesta closed her eyes tiredly. The water was cooling, and dawn was breaking over the land in a glowing shaft. There was no time or energy left to argue, and there would be no argument. Medea stubbornly refused to listen to any argument. But she had a point: the priest had indeed managed to surprise her. She should have known that a servant of the Light with arcane knowledge was different from an ordinary man, and she should have prepared herself better. Ghoul had acted alone, recklessly refusing backup, tramping around the house, gathering insufficient information about the victim. The first pancake was a mess. She would wait, consider the lesson learned, gather rumor and gossip-perhaps catch and interrogate a rank-and-file member of the community... She would by no means forget the sect, but she would wait with serpentine patience for the right moment for the one good shot. Not now, later.

    Next time she won''t make any mistakes.

    * * *

 Chapter 12

    Chapter 12

    * * *

    Two days had passed since the unsuccessful attempt to examine the house of the leader of the light-worshippers. Having recovered from her injury, Celesta felt ready for new achievements. In other words, she was about to carry out her plan to set up an underground laboratory. She had no qualms about it - she had long ago decided that all was good for survival, so she acted vigorously. Of course, if she had her way, she would have preferred to sell something safer than drugs - Andrew had seen what a junkie could do for a dose - but the legal ways of making money were still closed to her. Decent people didn''t want anything to do with ghouls. The remnants of conscience resented the decision, but they were quickly overwhelmed by the excuse that dope was relatively safe for health.

    A room for production was found quickly, and a morvanite alchemist named Stasz managed to produce a test batch. The "stuff" presented to Fakasius passed the quality test, and the fat "mafioso" agreed to take care of the sale for measly three-quarters of the price.

    "Don''t kid me, Holiness." The ghoul''s face didn''t let the shadow of a smile slip across it. "One does cost the whole dinar. Every tenth dose goes to the dealer, half to the wholesaler, and the price of four stays with the manufacturer. What are you talking about?"

    Celesta, as always, wanted to be on the safe side. She did a little market research beforehand on the potential business.

    "It''s dangerous," said Fakasius with a wave of his hands. "Ignar was selling dope - and where is Ignar now? He feeds fish in the sea. Salty went into business - now he''s shoveling in the village. Lisny, a poor man, only wanted to earn a little money, and what happened to him? The poor guy got his legs bitten off!"

    "And we both know by whose orders," the girl replied. "I admire you; the effect has been amazing."

    "How could I! Do you really blame me for the tragedy that happened!" The fat man gasped with indignation.

    "Well, no, so no. Let''s get back to the money. Now there are two laboratories in town, and they deliver the goods steadily and at high prices. The clients of your brothels are wealthy bastards, they pay, and they don''t pucker up. And they''ll keep on paying, they''re not going anywhere."

    The list of drugs sold in Taleya did not shine with variety. The old supplies had long ago expired, and the raw materials were in short supply, so the recipe was simple and primitive in its technology. Almost all of the drugs were versions of "pea" - those who took it were sent to the afterlife rather quickly because of the mass of side effects, or "whitewater" - transparent water, which induced a slight euphoria for a short time, usually added to alcohol. The local craftsmen have not yet been able to produce anything else of principle due to the lack of qualified personnel and suitable material. And the drug was becoming more expensive every month because of the decreasing supply of raw materials. A funny situation: people who wanted to kill their health agreed to pay a lot of money, the authorities, in principle, did not interfere with production, but the total amount of stuff was decreasing. The criminal circles were constantly striving to find new recipes, even experimenting with mutant animals, but so far they had no success.

    The ghouls were lucky to have an alchemist. Stash was a local, and he knew where the purchased mineral used to make the drug was kept. It used to be used to make lemonade, but clever heads quickly figured out that adding this ingredient to a solution of salt and the juice of a garden shrub had a rather interesting effect. Stash traded in this very mineral and had a license to do so. Immediately after the catastrophe began, he prudently stashed away the last batch he had bought, swearing that the good storage conditions had not affected the quality of the raw materials at all. It would appear so since the tests of the resulting product passed successfully. The mineral was not much, and there were plenty of sacks in the secret warehouse, so Celesta counted on a good and long-term business.

    "I don''t intend to argue about those points, my dear," Fakasius said bashfully. "There''s just one more thing. The Spiders look after all the laboratories, they have a small share of their own. Why do they need a competitor?"

    Celesta thought for a moment, glaring at her interlocutor. She doesn''t think he was lying about the Spiders. So not only did the Duke''s security service work more closely with the city''s bandits than it wanted to show, but they also had complete control over all of Taleya''s drug business. That''s interesting news.

    "You know, if the Spiders find out that I''m not only buying from them, they may be offended and upset," His Holiness continued. "The frustration of the gentlemen from these structures sometimes takes fatal forms. Very, very rude people, real savages. No, I''m not saying no, but understand me: the standard prices are inappropriate here."

    "I''ll think about it."

    Little was known about the security service. The people whispered that there was one, and tried hard to frighten each other with fantastic slanders. Those more knowledgeable knew little more about Spiders - a spider weaving a web was the symbol of the service from the old days: the names of the management and a couple or three agents, for instance. Fakasius, in an uncharacteristic fit of candor, told me that there was at least one snitch in every hundred guards or department of officials. The bandit had been receiving advice that sounded like orders through a petty port official like himself, and he was diligently carrying out the instructions - he was aware of the fate of those who ignored the "advice".

    "So the deal was off?" Medea contemplated her long, strong fingernails, wondering whether they should be trimmed. She''d suggested from the start that they sell the raw materials they''d found and not go through the trouble of making stuff themselves.

    "Why should I? It''s just an extra factor that complicates things a bit, that''s all. I''ll see what I can get out of the fat man."

    "Then we''d better get going." The woman slid off the bed and pulled out her leather pants with apparent reluctance. There was no reason to wear a dress in weather like this.

    Tonight the ghouls intended to take the equipment they had ordered from the blacksmith, who was making money on the side. The blacksmith was charging a fortune, taking advantage of his monopoly position and the customers'' desire to remain incognito. Cauldrons, serpentines, strange scales, and other alchemical tools cost a hundred dinars. Celesta was ready to kill the man - he was saved by a willingness to barter. The smith didn''t ask how the girls had obtained a pile of high-quality armor, but the ghouls sold their loot for a decent price and got a promise to buy more if they turned up.

    The workshop was in a very unusual place for a craftsman''s neighborhood. The blacksmith had come to Taleya on some business of his own just before the catastrophe, along with his family, and he stayed. What made him drag nearly two dozen people into town, he didn''t say; as a matter of fact, no one asked him. In the same way, it was not customary to ask how the man survived the next two years, what he did for a living. Suffice it to say that Master Tarrasch made and sold armor and weapons for all the neighborhood bandits until the moment when the Duke ended his voluntary isolation and began to restore order in the city. The blacksmith and his household were unharmed in the short but bloody war that followed: the new authorities promised him protection and privileged food and other benefits, in return for providing work, work, and more work. If the guards were aware of his connections with criminals, they looked the other way - minor violations of the law were forgiven to valuable workers.

    Why Tarrasch, who has a stable income and a sufficiently weighty position in society, would risk it all for a dubious opportunity to earn extra dinir, Celesta did not understand. Apparently, he had his own reasons. Or maybe he was just greedy.

    "It''s not a house, it''s a fortress," Medea said.

    The master settled in a fenced three-story house, the former homestead of some eccentric rich man. People lived in the main building and a small outbuilding in the backyard, and several other buildings were used as warehouses and storerooms. Although the work had been done here infrequently in recent days, the neighbors could barely hear the clanging and other accompanying noises. The rulers of the city moved the main production close to the barracks: it was easier to keep track of the finished product, and it was considered safe to walk through the streets. Previously, before the Duke''s arrival, a few hundred paces away from home risked one''s life, but now guards patrolled the streets constantly.

    "Fakasius is better guarded," Celesta shrugged.

    "By the way, when are you going to introduce me to him? I''m tired of listening to the ramblings of fanatics, I want to talk to an intelligent man."

    "This intelligent man wouldn''t hesitate to place you in one of his brothels if he could find a way to capture you. It''s so exotic. A ghoul whore, the local perverts will lay out any money."

    "But he doesn''t touch you," Medea sulked.

    "Because he''s not sure if he can handle me. And he knows for sure that the first attempt will be the last. Besides, we have common affairs and he appreciates my services. Last time he asked me to steal the paper from Count Lash''s office: the man would have failed the task for sure." Andrew thought for a moment. Fakasius must have had a lot of money on that document - they say the Count was furious and put a huge bounty on the thief''s head. The theft drew unnecessary attention. On the other hand, the order was well paid, it added to his reputation... "And don''t forget about appearance. There are enough girls with my figure and face - I am pretty, at best just nice. You make men go crazy just by one look."

    Medea smiled flatteringly and remarked: "Now I believe you have the soul of a man. A woman would never say that."

    "It depends on what kind of woman."

    "You said bad things about Richard, too, but no trouble came from him."

    "He''s used to us. Don''t doubt, at the first opportunity the bandit will sell us out."

    At the last meeting two weeks ago, the gang leader had successfully bargained for a place in the guard, extracting more and more promises from the officials. In the future, he hoped to gain possession of the land, which had yet to be cleared of any trash, and permission to own a merchant ship. Right now he did not have enough money to build one, but Richard seriously hoped to earn a lot of money. He had his reasons: plans for the summer campaign were being openly discussed in officer circles. Large and medium-sized gangs would either join Duke Dinir''s ranks or be wiped out, the pariahs living in the Pit would be added to the number of settlers. Smart people were in a hurry to tie their fate to the victors beforehand.

    "We''ll see," Medea smiled slyly. "I think he''s got a serious crush on me. You should have heard the compliments he said the last time we met!"

    "Compliments?"

    "Oh, yes! "Mistress of the night," "eyes like stars," that sort of thing. By the way, he was trying to find out what we were up to."

    "Is that it? Why this interest?"

    "It''s ambition, I suppose. Richard hopes to become something more than a mere nobleman in the service of a ruler or a vassal in the retinue of an aristocrat. I think he hopes one day to have a title. Our help in court intrigue could be useful to him."

    "I''d call his chances slim." Celesta was skeptical. "Mash, with his hundred blades, could expect to get an appropriate allotment in exchange for his oath, but not the leader of a medium-sized gang."

    The system of ranks was confusing and had a huge number of contradictory laws, and not every specialist could make sense of them. And each rank had its duties and privileges, on ceremonial occasions wore clothes of a certain cut and color, ate from the appropriate dishes, and exhibited exactly the number of soldiers at the request of the lord, which was clearly fixed by the customs.

    The strangest thing is that these archaisms did not affect the quality of the functioning of the state and government: the system worked. Perhaps because the nobility was divided into three unequal categories: the ordinary nobility, who had nothing but a string of ancestors, the titled nobility, and the so-called "blessed" - the higher aristocracy. To become blessed is impossible: they must be born. History has recorded no more than a dozen cases where a person was accepted into the highest caste, always for exceptional merit and with the direct blessing of the gods - in other words, had tremendous magical powers. To get a title seemed to be a difficult act, but real: at one time personal titles were given quite often. More difficult was the situation with the rights that could be inherited, which were necessarily accompanied by large land grants. Much depended on one''s mercy in ascending the caste pyramid.

    Dinir, like all descendants of Derkana the Changeling, was entitled to four families of first rank servants (counts) and sixteen families of second rank servants (barons), no more. Also, he could award clothes of dark blue color, enter the names of distinguished soldiers in a special register and assign honorary nicknames, which gave people or their families various benefits. A clan whose members received such distinctions for several generations in a row automatically raised their hereditary status. It must be said that the Duke was distinguished by conservatism and was in no hurry to give out baronial hats even to old associates, so the hopes of Richard would be more correct to call it a dream.

    A knock on the gate was answered at once. At first, a gloomy face appeared in the small window, peering intently at the figures who had come out of the shadows on purpose. Celesta was recognized, or the two girls did not seem dangerous to the observer, but no questions followed. The door swung open hospitably, and the ghouls quickly slipped inside, trying to ignore the rattle of the massive deadbolt behind them.

    "You''ve got the wrong porter with you," the bear-like smith muttered, staring at Medea with obvious pleasure.

    He met the customers in person, accompanied by two big guys who looked like relatives. Each one would have held at least three Celestas.

    "Are you going to check the armor? That''s the leftovers, no more yet."

    "Show me," the master nodded, shuffling toward the forge. "You might as well check the work too."

    There was nothing to check: Tarrasch vouched for the quality with his head. His wares were renowned. So the ghoul simply checked the completeness of the order, packed the things, and habitually froze, glancing sideways at the men flattering her friend. No problems were foreseen, Medea confidently fooled her admirers. The blacksmith snorted unhappily as he examined the armor, but did not nag.

    Celesta didn''t immediately understand what caused her tension. It was as if small goosebumps ran down the back of her neck, signaling the appearance of an intruder. They were indeed being watched: the girls could see the crossbowmen lying on the roof (the blacksmith had decided to be on the safe side), but something else was felt... The ghoul slowly glanced around the courtyard. Five people, a cat on the window, a faint snake scent emanating from Medea. For what reason the undead smelled like reptiles, she didn''t understand: too little data for a reliable guess. Stop.

    Medea smells different.

    Celesta inhaled greedily, bitterly regretting that her sense of smell was little better than a human''s. The smell was everywhere: the courtyard was saturated with it. So her kindred must have been coming here often and for a long time. She wonders why what does it want.

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    And there he was, coming around the corner. The sight of the unsure figure stopping in front of the big house made the ghoul''s fangs grin reflexively. She almost immediately forced her face into a normal expression, but she was sure the grimace had been noticed. Celesta had learned from previous encounters with strange rebels the need for a show of strength. Now it was up to the unfamiliar fellow: how would he react? Being in his territory, among friendly people who surely knew of his presence and showed no hostility, he might attack the girls. Celesta cast a hard look at Medea, urging caution.

    Probably have to give up shopping and run away. If the attempt to negotiate fails, of course. The kinsman has lived among people for a long time, does not give the impression of a madman, it is necessary to find a common ground with him.

    The ghoul took a few steps forward and stopped. The people still couldn''t see him; to their eyes, the darkness, slightly diffused by the light of the lantern, remained impenetrable. But Celesta could clearly see the youthful figure, the huge, slightly frightened eyes, the frozen expression on his unnaturally pale face. At the time of his death, the kinsman was no more than eighteen years old. He was well-developed for his age, tall, and of a similar build to Tarrasch, suggestive of common blood. No one but the ghoul had noticed his appearance yet.

    Celesta hurriedly approached the master and stood beside him, trying to at least partially shield herself from the crossbowmen with her powerful carcass. She wasn''t afraid of the blacksmith''s brute strength, counting on her strength and speed if necessary, but an arrow was a different matter. She did not want to end up pinned to the fence like a butterfly. An undead man in combat would be wary of an armed man: you can''t fight an undead with your bare hands.

    "Don''t you want to introduce me to your relative, Master?"

    "What relative?" Tarrasch grumbled grudgingly. The brat was recommended by serious clients, and if it weren''t for their vouchsafe he wouldn''t have helped her.

    "That young..." Celeste paused deliberately, "man who''s looking at us now. Not the one on the roof, but outside the house. Dark hair, a head taller than me, eyes with a reddish glow... Introduce him."

    Tarrasch shuddered at the power embedded in the order. The customer''s voice did not rise in the slightest, but there was such power in it that the blacksmith had no time to think how he jumped up from his seat and led the girl after him. Only after taking a few steps did he come to his senses and begin to turn on his overzealous guest. Who, by the way, still skillfully covered her body from the gunmen on the roof.

    The unfamiliar ghoul also took a few steps forward, stepping into the light. From behind came a curious Medea, standing behind Celesta, covering her behind. On the other side, the blacksmith''s assistants held their ground. Now the important thing was not to let people do anything foolish: see how they were frightened by the unexpected turn of an ordinary seemingly ordinary deal.

    "We come with peace, and we don''t hunt on your territory," Celesta began the conversation. "My name is Celesta, and my friend''s name is Medea. What is your name? How long have you been up?"

    The unfamiliar ghoul looked at Tarrasch, who was only now beginning to understand who he was dealing with and said uncertainly: "Hustin... My name is Hustin."

    "Excellent. Master Tarrasch!" The short ghoul had to raise her head to face the man. "I think we should talk. The four of us."

    The master remained silent, rubbing his short beard thoughtfully. He stared at his interlocutor. Finally, after a lingering pause, he pressed his lips together and nodded, sending his assistants away with a wave of his hand. The lads tried to protest and were instantly slapped in the face. They looked back with angry glances at Celesta, and longing glances at a demurely downcast Medea, they strode reluctantly toward the house. Tarrasch ignored the younger''s dissatisfaction, as the Smith sat down on a roughly hewn bench and stared expectantly at the girls. He had no intention of removing the shooter from the roof.

    "We came into port almost five months ago and didn''t know anyone else was here."

    "All yours," Tarrasch emphasized the last word in his voice, "were either slaughtered or driven to the Pit. The guards rampaged through the winter until they cleared the port and warehouses."

    "You shouldn''t identify us with those lunatics." Celesta looked coldly at the blacksmith. "We''re certainly no saints, but we don''t stoop to the bestial level. Or have you heard about the corpses in the streets, the people disappearing?"

    "Who knows you," said the man grimly. "Maybe you''re hiding it well."

    "When necessary, we hide, and do it well," agreed the ghoul. "Master, a corpse, or a missing person is a trail. We don''t want trails. We want to live our lives in comfort, to be able to deal with our new condition in peace. We don''t need to draw any unnecessary attention to ourselves."

    Tarrasch was silent, looking thoughtfully at the girls. Celesta had heard of his tendency to look at a situation from all sides before making a decision. Because of that, he was considered a slow-witted man. At the same time, the man had managed to keep his family intact after the disaster, while others, more agile and quick-witted, had laid down their heads in skirmishes or starved to death.

    "So how long ago did you rise up?"

    "It''s been a month." Hustin shrugged awkwardly. "It was stupid: I wanted to make some extra money, made a dozen bolts to sell. Went to a customer at night and ran into someone''s knife. Woke up covered in blood, in some ditch. Nothing to do went home. I had already started to wash when I realized that I had become... like this."

    "On the first night, the uprising is not thinking clearly," Medea voiced.

    "Yes... I went to my father to confess... I thought he would kill me."

    In response to the stares directed at him, Tarrasch shook his head slightly and said nothing.

    "I''ve been living like that ever since. Not all my relatives know that I became a ghoul. They think I got a night job, so I sleep rough during the day. In the basement."

    "How do you hunt?" Seeing the misunderstanding in the boy''s eyes, Celesta explained, "How do you drink blood? Do you go to the slums or something?"

    "No..." Hustin shrugged. "My father and my brothers give me blood."

    Andrew''s amazement was so great that for a moment he lost touch with reality. Medea''s cry, the disbelieving questions posed by her friend, Tarrasch''s confused grunt passed over his consciousness. More than once he had heard - and seen with his own eyes - how mothers sold their children for a dirty piece of bread, how fathers rented out their daughters for "rent," how the son who killed his parents roasted still warm human flesh on fire. It was the other way around: mothers sold themselves into slavery for a better share for their children. But never in his memory had a father agreed to feed his blood to a son who had risen from the dead.

    "And the brothers, too?"

    "What?"

    Handled with surprise, Celesta clarified: "Do your brothers feed you, too?"

    "Yes. There are six of us. If you take a little bit every night, it won''t be noticeable."

    One feeling mirrored on the girls'' faces: envy. If only they had someone who could just accept, no matter what, soothe them in their first moments of awakening! Celesta felt an unbearable urge to claw at that clean-cut face. She even took a step back.

    "Okay. Time out." The ghoul shook her head and nudged a motionless Medea. "We''re leaving. Master Tarrasch! It''s nearly dawn, we must get home in time. Thank you for a job well done. I promise we''ll be sure to visit you again soon. Hustin, see you soon."

    Without listening to the words of farewell, hurriedly grabbing the prepared things, the girls rushed out of the courtyard.

    Their departure was more like a hasty flight.

    Medea let her emotions run wild at home, underground. A short trip through the filthy, stinking sewers broke the restraints. Compared to the Tarrasch farmstead where Hustin lived, the ghouls'' shelter was indeed a great loss on all counts. The strain of the unexpected encounter, the short conversation, and the shocking revelation lay on the accumulated fatigue. Well, the girls had become unaccustomed to ordinary human kindness! They forgot that you can give without demanding anything in return.

    The reminder had too much effect.

    "Did you see that?!" Medea rushed around the room, knocking things over. "No, did you see?! He''s just living off of everything! He doesn''t even have to hunt!"

    "I saw it."

    Celesta sat gloomily, rolling a small coin across the table. Could it be that the choice she''d made was wrong? Once trapped in another world, the lonely outsider, stripped of everything, even the body, desperately wished to survive. At any cost. He broke his usual principles, robbed, killed, swore, and cheated on the living and the undead to please his decision. He constantly lived on the edge, not allowing himself to look back on his past and question his decision. He thought he had achieved something. The ghouls had settled among humans, they had permanent housing, some hint of comfort, no need for nightly hunting. Now they had servants, ready to set their veins to the fangs of their masters.

    Now there is some confidence in the future.

    But what are their successes worth compared to one hour among loved ones? Those who trust you unconditionally? Those who are willing to share the last not out of necessity, but out of ordinary love?

    Which is better? An easy and quick death or a prolonged bloody hell? Whatever life awaits her, it will certainly not be easy and simple. She would still have to lie, twist, deceive, fight in the dark corners of the dilapidated city. Dealing with scum like Fakasius.

    "Have you ever thought about getting it over with?"

    "What?" Medea froze, as if she had run into an invisible wall.

    "I thought about it a lot at the time." Celesta looked at the claws with a melancholy expression. "What if I could step out into the sun and be returned to my old body? It would only take ten minutes to wake up in my world. I could be in the hospital: just to be rid of this nightmare."

    "Celesta," her friend said worriedly, "don''t say that. Don''t even think about it, you hear! You''ll just die, silly!"

    "Maybe yes, maybe no. There is hope, right,"

    Medea crouched beside her and grasped the blond girl''s hand tightly. Her face seemed to glow white, her fangs involuntarily appearing and disappearing from her fidgeting lips. The sight, to the common man''s eyes, was horrible.

    "You said yourself that everything will be all right! We just have to wait for a bit, be patient. You''ll see, we''ll live in a nice house, and we''ll invite the best musicians to play for us, and..."

    "I''m not arguing," Celesta interrupted the frightened woman. "It will be. But why? To go out night after night to hunt, to drink people''s blood? We''re like parasites, we only take without giving."

    "You''re the one who doesn''t give anything?!" Medea laughed hysterically. "If it weren''t for you, I would have continued to serve Carlon, and no one knows how many people would have died from my fangs!"

    "If it weren''t for me, there''s no idea how many people would still be alive," Celesta sighed. "Well, relax a bit, and that''s enough. Don''t be afraid. I''m not going anywhere. It''s too soon to give up, especially since things are going well."

    Looking warily at her friend, Medea nodded. She still clung to the small, cold hand, as if she feared her friend would suddenly disappear.

    "What do you think of that guy, Hustin?"

    "I don''t know. I didn''t like him."

    "You''re just jealous."

    "Isn''t there a reason?"

    "There is," Celesta smiled crookedly. "Of course there is. But we don''t have the right to be jealous. You know how some people are lucky and some aren''t, some more than others. Hustin is lucky. The end."

    "So, should I bring him here, give him a room?" The beautiful singer was indignant. "Maybe you should just put him in my bed?"

    "No, it''s too early for him to know about this housing. But we shouldn''t lose our ties, either."

    Put your emotions aside, and you''ll see that the acquaintance is profitable. Here, of course, a year count as a three, you can''t call Hustin a boy, but he''s still a child. He can''t hunt, he can''t hide well in the shadows, and he can''t climb chimneys like us. In general, he doesn''t know much about the inside of life in Taleya: he''s been cherished. He''s bound to want to know more about himself - no one to ask but us. He can''t listen to silly gossip. If we help him, we will have the gratitude of Master Tarrasch, much more pleasant to deal with than Richard or His Holiness, and a place where they''d be the last place to look for ghouls. We''ll hide there, too, in the worst-case scenario.

    The boy might prove useful. He almost certainly will be. It''s very rare to find a ghoul who''s still thinking normally, who''s not a crazy ghoul. The last time we met one, we were escaping from the monastery. Pity, he did not want to communicate, drove him from his land. Hustin doesn''t look like a madman, so it''s worth taking a closer look at him. You know, it''s easier with the three of us. There''s not much we can do now, and when the lab starts working, there won''t be any time left.

    "Do you have an idea of how much work it would take?"

    "We will teach him. You will teach him: remember the way he looked at you. And you''ll charm his family, too." She was silent, her eyes hardening. "Well, I''ll take care of the shit. I guess that''s my destiny."

    Medea said nothing, just put her arms around the skinny girl''s shoulders and held her tightly to her chest. Celesta mumbled: "Come on, it''s okay. We''ll fight. Ha!" She threw her head up sharply and smiled predatorily. "I think I know what to demand from Fakasy!"

    His Holiness did not want a repeat visit of the ghoul to his luxurious bedroom, so he preferred to meet somewhere outside the mansion. Celeste, for her part, was not eager to visit other people''s territory. Her carefully nurtured paranoia demanded a safer place. So traditionally they would socialize in a small, dilapidated cottage at the edge of the slum. There were no prying eyes or ears, but plenty of the beloved sewer manholes. They usually met on Tuesdays and Fridays, but if an urgent order came up, the fat man would leave word at the arranged spot.

    "Honey, there is news you must hear. As soon as old Facasius heard what the people were saying, he immediately thought of his friends! The holy ascetics teach us to do good, so that after a death we may stand before the great judges with dignity, and to the best of my humble strength, I follow the advice of the wise elders. What could be nobler than helping a friend, beautiful Celesta?"

    "I am well aware of your unselfishness, Holiness," Celesta said with a poker face.

    "Truly so! How kind are your words! But my virtues are not comparable to yours, for seldom in my life have I met a creature so rich in talents. Truly, the gods themselves have favored our meeting!"

    "I''m not going to argue."

    Facasius shuddered involuntarily. The hint of Morvan''s meddling, and at night, made even such a hardened cynic feel uncomfortable.

    "Yes... Tell me, you remember the Duke''s plans to strengthen the legitimate power, don''t you?"

    "If you''re talking about the massacre scheduled for this summer, yes, I remember."

    "The Lord of Taleya, concerned for the welfare of his subjects, of course, decided to move the deadline slightly." The fat man grimaced. Something about the authorities'' change of plans was bothering him. "The cleanup of the bandits on the outskirts of the city would begin in the spring, in two months."

    "Why the rush? He didn''t seem to intend to act too quickly."

    "The warehouses are emptying and there is a food crisis. Dinir wishes this year to clear the surroundings of the villages of evil and plow as much land as possible. Circumstances are favorable: almost all the ringleaders have been sensible enough to agree to serve, and the guards plan to deal with the Pit within a week. This is the perfect chance to strike at the creatures while they are weakened by winter. "Fakasius was a little confused. "I hope you don''t take my words personally, precious."

    "Not at all. I don''t classify myself as a foul creature. As a matter of fact, it''s hard to confuse me with a regular ghoul, isn''t it?"

    "Absolutely, Celesta, absolutely! But... however... what should I call you? I wouldn''t want to make the mistake and insult you."

    Andrew''s memory prompted an idea: "Call me a vampire. The difference between a vampire and a ghoul is small but significant: with the first, you can negotiate, with the second - no."

    "Truly you are right! During the Great Hunt, I will try to avoid encounters with the latter. That''s the courtiers'' nickname for the spring operation: The Great Hunt. Young warriors hope to prove themselves to their superiors, to earn glory, to receive rewards from the hands of the Duke himself. None of this is for fat old Fakasius. I will stay here, with a prayer to the gods for the happy return of those whose lives are still just beginning, not tending to end like mine."

    "A very wise thing to do. I''m going to stay in port, too, and I''m counting on your help with a little thing."

    "Which one?"

    "Directly related to our recent conversation about selling merchandise you know." The man nodded, and his squinted eyes gleamed keenly. "I could agree to your terms, but with a little "extra. I need the tavern."

    His Holiness raised his eyebrows in surprise: "A tavern? But why? And, excuse me, please, how do you intend to run it?"

    "Rest assured, I''ll find a manager," Celesta smiled coldly. "What for? It''s a very convenient cover. People drink, fall asleep, and are dragged off to the back rooms, where I or my fellows could satisfy their hunger without a problem. In the morning, the drunks wake up with a slight headache and go to work quietly, trying to stay out of sight of the guards. Agree, for me the latter point is especially relevant."

    "I see," he nodded. He wasn''t at all impressed by her stated goals. On the contrary, he appreciated the elegance of the idea. "But, Celesta, you want too much. Each establishment brings me a good income, which you can hardly compensate for. Don''t forget your reputation: you might get noticed, and then I''d be torn apart!"

    "The establishment, as you say, I will build a new one, with my own money. Your profits won''t be affected. All you have to do is declare the place to be under your protection and help a little with the suppliers and the license. That''s it. With your connections, it''ll only take a minute. If we get caught, you can honestly say that you didn''t interfere in the management process, just helped to fend off scum."

    "The licenses will probably be canceled," said His Holiness absent-mindedly. "The authorities intend to let go of the reins a bit: there''s nowhere to run anyway."

    "Even more so."

    "Suppose I agree. How much would you be willing to pay for help in resolving conflicts?"

    "None." Andrew was strongly tempted to show his left arm bent at the elbow. The gesture was universal and well known in Taleya. "I''ll deal with the thugs myself. When the "product" is over, then you''ll start getting money for the name."

    The short and bitter bargaining that followed resulted in Celesta''s unqualified victory. Fakasius benefited from her offer. He was getting the drug at an obscenely low price, and in exchange, he was making a promise that either would have to be kept or not. Setting up a good hangout place was a costly affair, and whether the girl could find the right amount was a big question. Maybe he''ll lend her some money for interest. If the bloodsucker gets away with it on her own, then later she will inevitably have to pay for protection from small gangs.

    Celesta, too, was pleased. Food, a place to meet, a source of regular income, and the potential for legalization - whichever way she looked at it, the tavern promised to be a useful acquisition. She was already making construction plans. Tarrasch could be approached for metalwork - with the right approach, he would give a discount. Some of the Morvanite cultists would serve as servants; they were incapable of more than that anyway, and this way they''d be both useful and well looked after. The hardest problem was the steward, or rather the lack of one. Celesta didn''t even have any suitable candidates in mind.

    Despite the difficulty with the innkeeper''s personality, the girl had no doubts about her decision. As they say, the main thing in any business is to start. Sooner or later everything is bound to work out.

    * * *

 Chapter 13

    Chapter 13

    * * *

    "Father, more metal has been brought in. Where should we put it?"

    "It''s up to you," Tarrasch grumbled. "You''re not little kids anymore."

    The assistants tried to avoid the foreman today, as did the other workers of the forge. They knew that when the foreman was silent and burdening others with work, it was better not to disturb him. Otherwise, you might get a slap on the wrist. Tarrasch is tough, strict, but he doesn''t let his people get hurt.

    The mighty and not yet old man wondered what to do. Before, he had always had a clear goal of keeping his family together. Clan. The northerners still lived in clans, unlike the fussy and irascible Salves. They were considered barbarians and savages by some for their adherence to their grandfathers'' customs, but few dared to speak hurtful words to their faces. In the North, they preferred their own food to imported ones, made many things for the house themselves, and did not buy milk in stores, but took it from domestic goats. One wonders how it is now. The family arrived in Taleya just before the Plague - to celebrate the enrollment of their youngest son in the most prestigious University, and stayed for good. Tarrasch, after the magic had ceased to work and the railroad trains became motionless carcasses, decided not to embark on the distant and perilous journey. His family found a more comfortable place and settled in the city if the gods so wished.

    The first two years they lived on a starvation diet, fighting off the neighborhood gangs and the magical creations that proliferated every day. Only four of their kin died. Then the Duke came and put things in order. Everything seemed to calm down, and life slowly began to go back to normal. Until one-day Hustin disappeared. They searched for him for three days, questioned everyone, visited both guards and bandits, but found nothing. On the third night, the son came back himself. Dirty, tired, covered in blood... Not alive.

    The youngest did not lose his mind, he quickly understood what was happening to him and told his father. They began to think about how to proceed. The blacksmith did not wish to kill his son. Ghoul or no Ghoul, he was kin to him all the same. Blood of his own, what can you say. He could not stay in the house long: sooner or later someone would spill the beans or nosy neighbors would spy on him and inform the guards. It is doubly dangerous: first of all, no one knows how long Hustin can keep himself, whether he will not attack his family. Secondly, the servants of the Darkness, people were afraid and the connection with them could cut out the whole family mercilessly. He had to go to the Pit, whether he wanted to or not, so he wouldn''t have to expose the others.

    Soon there will be no more the Pit. They''ll clean it up.

    It''s about time the ghouls came. Too timely. Maybe it was timing on purpose. Knew who they would meet? Master grudgingly looked at another workpiece, put it aside, rubbed his face tiredly. He couldn''t decide what to expect from the unexpected visitors, good or bad, he couldn''t guess. From all indications, the meeting was useful: let them tell Hustin about their lives, help them get settled, teach them everything. Clan will pay, if necessary. The girls - though what kind of girls they are, probably more people have been killed than he had ever seen corpses in his life - are connected with important people, they buy equipment for some reason, which means they have their own business. Looks like they''ve managed to get a foothold in the city.

    There are rumors of ghouls, but just rumors. None of Tarrasch''s acquaintances in the city had seen an undead since the winter before last. No bodies had been found with their throats torn out, either - so Celesta wasn''t lying, trying not to get too much blood on herself. What was it she said: "hunting"? We''ve seen hunters like that before. The master scratched the scar on his collarbone and grinned wryly: he wasn''t frightened of ghouls.

    Tarrasch decided that next time he would let the girls in. There is a lot to talk about.

    Richard lovingly stroked the badge of a half-soldier on his sleeve. Not in vain, oh not in vain, he made gifts to staff officers! The other leaders who had agreed to transfer to the Duke''s service were accepted as junior commanders at best, with many having some of their men transferred to someone else''s command. The exception was the damned Black Mash, who was at once appointed centurion and "in charge of relations with the independent groups". Simply put, the bandits who did not fit into the expanded structure of the guards intended to be used as scouts, voyageurs, temporary guards for prisoners. In any army, there would be dirty work that needed to be done, but it was not worth assigning to ordinary units. Mash will have to keep an eye on all these volunteers - he will serve as an intermediary between the most savage units and the officers'' top ranks.

    A rich position.

    All right, I''ll get lucky, thought the former ringleader. They''ve given me a rank, they''ve given me an allowance, and they''re promising me a nice piece of land for the estate. It should be sweetened so that they do not forget. Say, Viscount So is collecting paintings. I have one, we''ll present it.

    The borders of the government-owned territory had imperceptibly widened recently, so Richard was smuggling without the help of ghouls. Why use them when most of the posts had moved to the suburbs, and a third of the guards had moved there? Those who remained were on duty by inertia, all of them expecting the Great Hunt to begin soon. The inhabitants of Pit also sensed the change in their fortunes and shuddered to hide in plain sight. They seldom ventured out, except to trade what they could find for food, and some sought shelter in the villages surrounding the city. Their situation was not much different from that of slaves.

    In short, Richard had many reasons to rejoice and only one to grieve. The commander of the hundred and his immediate superior despised the former bandits who fell into his subordination and did not hesitate to express his attitude. He was particularly irritated by the nobles, forced by circumstances to deviate slightly from the rigid code of honor. Where the duke dug it from, Richard did not know: such living relics of past eras were rare. The chieftain had no intention of enduring the taunts of a man who had sat cowardly behind the high walls of the palace citadel for a year, and he informed them of this in as refined a manner as possible. The feud had taken an open form, with only discipline preventing the duel from taking place. All that remained was to endure the nagging and wait for the right moment to get rid of the arrogant bastard once and for all. The centurion had enough enemies, so he wouldn''t have to wait long.

    Richard remembered the undead acquaintances and the old conversation about the abandoned monastery. He had long wondered what lurked in the old sanctuary, why Celesta had persisted in inquiring about the state of the temple. Perhaps she was telling the truth and dangerous creatures of the same breed did dwell there. But Richard was willing to bet his hand that there was some other reason for questioning the ghoul. It would be a good idea to rummage through the cellars to see what things the current owners had stashed away for their needs. The ghouls sleep during the day, so there''s no threat.

    The leader made a notation in his memory, promising to visit the monastery the first chance he got.

    Celesta felt the stares Medea cast against her skin, and she wished she could visit Hustin that night. But, gritting her teeth, she went about her current business. She preferred to put the tit in its cage before trying to catch the crane. The equipment had to be hauled, Stash had to help organize the laboratory, Laskash had to be visited, and the names of people whose plight would make them agree to work as an innkeeper in the establishment to be organized. Exactly draw him out: the boy gave out information willingly, but haphazardly.

    Celesta intended to look for the "front face" of the tavern among the poor. She wanted a middle-aged man, moderately active, rude, cruel, desperate. Definitely with family, for extra leverage. The slums were filled with all kinds of people - there were bound to be some suitable candidates. People continued to make their way to Taleya, though the main flow of refugees had long since ebbed. There were some very curious individuals among them. Most of them settled among the lower strata of urban society, eventually becoming "state serfs. The most active, however, had the opportunity to become someone higher up. Artisans, former fishermen were doing well, and peasants and agronomists could also rise to prominence. Celesta hoped to find someone who wasn''t too shifty and cunning: she needed a reliable and faithful contractor.

    The Morvanite lunatics were understandably out of the picture.

    "Maybe we should look among the refugees?" Medea tentatively suggested.

    "All the refugees are in the villages, strengthening the country''s agriculture," Celesta joked grimly. "It''s a lot of work to ransom them. No, we need a simple man. Stash!"

    "Yes, Dark Mistress," the alchemist ran up and bowed.

    "What happens to people who have just arrived in Taleya? Here they came to the patrol, rejoiced, rested a bit... What is their further fate?"

    "Mostly they agree to accept full allegiance and become servants of the Duke," the Morvanite answered eagerly. "Former subjects of the Duchy of Taleya are said to continue to serve Dinir. The oath of allegiance has not been revoked. Those who refuse are sent to the villages. Those who remain in the city are assigned to their communities; if one has a useful skill, one is assigned to a craftsman."

    "I''m interested in ordinary people. Is there someplace, some kind of filter, where they wait for the authorities to decide?"

    "No, mistress," Stash shook his head after a little thought. "The system is fine-tuned, the injunctions are issued very quickly."

    "That''s a shame. It looks like it''s going to take longer than I expected. When will the first batch be ready?"

    "With the Lord''s help, the fermentation process will be complete within four days," the alchemist smiled. "If Mistress will allow me, I dare to suggest some additives, making the consequences of taking the product more severe for the human body. It will be harder to quit the drug..."

    "Not now, Stash. First we''ll sell the first batch, then we''ll experiment. But I appreciate your zeal, you serve our Lord faithfully."

    "Glory to Morvan!"

    "Glory!"

    Not a single conversation with the Morvanites was without such dialogues. The fanatics had to be constantly praised and supervised, so that they would not do anything with rabid enthusiasm.

    "I''ll go talk to the people in the poor quarters," Medea stood up. She had more contact with informants and could get the right name more quickly.

    "Yes, go ahead. You don''t have to hurry: it''s better to take your time and choose a more reliable contractor. We still have to look for money to set up."

    It sounds idiotic, but money was in short supply again. We were out. The last pennies had gone to pay for the drug-distilling equipment she''d bought. Celesta expected to use the proceeds to build and furnish the joint. But first, it might not be enough, and second, she had to live on something. To buy clothes, to which Medea was a great lover, to pay informants, to support the Morvanites. The cultists wanted money, too: their loyalty must be backed by gifts.

    Fate itself compels me to bow to Fakasius for a new order. The ghoul squinted slightly, showing no further displeasure. She considered His Holiness the last person worth knowing about her problems. He''s like a shark. When he smells blood, he tends to tear into weakened prey.

    In an effort to get the job done as soon as possible and to get the promised payment, the girl entered the brothel. They didn''t pay any attention to her at first - well, she made a mistake, she would leave as she came. The guard who stepped in the way smiled broadly, running his experienced gaze over the figure hidden by a deaf cloak: "Come to work, girl?"

    "Yeah. Lead me to His Holiness, he''s supposed to be here today."

    The broad-shouldered man became instantly alert: "What the Holiness? There are no such people here!"

    "Soon you won''t be here," the strange visitor snickered. "LEAD."

    The power in the stranger''s voice made the man recoil in fright. As if drunk and staggering, he staggered into the back of the place, pointing the way. They walked down a long, richly furnished corridor with many doors - some of them making noises and smells - before the effects of the psychic shock passed. The man, however, continued on his way, judging rightly that his elders knew best. If the wench had come to this place in vain, right now she would regret her impudence. The cellar they came to had a bad reputation with the workers.

    The guard at the entrance also became wary of Celesta. He did not know who the girl was, what her business was with the owner. He had only seen them meet a few times. And Fakasius showed respect and even some fear of the short brat, flattering himself in front of her as if she were an important figure of the nobility. But the fighter had no intention of letting her inside either. The reason why Holiness was in the brothel today was not that it was uncommon, just that outsiders were not supposed to see it.

    "Forgive me, mistress." The guard prudently bowed, gesturing the escort away beforehand. "The master is a little busy at the moment. Would you mind waiting?"

    From behind the tightly closed door, inaudible to the human ear, came voices. The first one, loud and shrill, said something unhappily. The fat man''s answering voice murmured a familiar, smooth, shorthand. There was a vibe of pain and agitation and despair, and the smell of blood and sweat and human semen was strong in the air. Celesta snorted slightly: "Yeah, I don''t feel like going inside. I''ll wait here," she nodded to another door closer to the exit. "When this lowlife is gone, get Fakasius in here."

    "Mistress, here..."

    The man''s warning was belated, Celesta had already opened the door.

    "...is not worth going in."

    She flared her nostrils predatorily, inhaling the familiar but no less desirable smell of blood. According to the objects and implements along the walls, the room had been used as a torture chamber. More recently, it had been used. The scent of fear permeated the atmosphere, and the demon inside the ghoul instinctively reached out. The only source of food nearby was a man nervously writhing behind her. Celesta covered her eyes, calming herself with an effort of will.

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    "Well, I expected something like that." Looking around the camera again, she noticed a naked body sprawled out on the bench. "Who''s that?"

    "Ahem... employee."

    Pulling a rag mask over her face, the girl approached the tortured victim. Her cruel life had prepared her for all sorts of spectacles, but this... The nails on the right arm were torn off, the skin burned and wrinkled. Her back was lacerated, covered in a crust of caked blood. The deepest wounds were to her buttocks. The wounded man was male, though she couldn''t be sure. The groin was concealed by her thighs, soiled with blood and shit. No, a man, after all. His face was the worst of all: the unknown executioner had done a good job on it. Fragments of teeth protruded from his swollen lips, his broken nose was a crumpled pancake, his eyes... There were no eyes.

    "What happened here?"

    The man, who towered two heads above the girl, suddenly felt a trickle of sweat running down his back.

    "The client gets carried away," he licked his parched lips. "Misstres."

    Celesta was silent, squashing her rage. You can''t. Nothing could be done.

    "Leave me alone. Fast."

    The guard thought it best to carry out the order immediately.

    The ghoul crouched beside the body. Strangely enough, the heart was still beating, and a sobbing breath came from the slightly open mouth from time to time. A half-forgotten feeling stirred in her chest: pity. And these people think people like her are monsters? Yes, she did want to cling to the bleeding wounds and quench her thirst, her instincts demanding. But never, even on her worst days, had she so cruelly dealt with her prey!

    What to do? What can be done now, anyway? Without eyes the boy is not survivable: cripples are rarely taken care of nowadays. A young body can still cope with the wounds, the painful shock, a small chance to pull out he has. But is it worth it? Life in hell, existence on a miserable handout and continuous, constant pain - that''s his fate.

    Celesta brushed her claw across the wrist, tearing off the tight bandage, and hurried to the door. She would not feed on this young man. He will die without regaining consciousness, and that is the greatest mercy she can bestow upon him. Then, trying to ignore the clatter of thick burgundy droplets falling from her hand to the floor, she moved closer to the door.

    The man who argued with Fakasius must have been that client.

    She wanted to remember his smell. Remember his voice.

    Evil must have its limits.

    If there is a god, or gods, or any higher justice, they will meet for sure. There''s nothing she can do now, but then... Who knows?

    It was another ten minutes before the creak of the swinging door was heard and a disgruntled falsetto shouted: "Don''t count on anything more, Holiness! Do you hear me? Don''t get your hopes up!"

    Then the man passed quickly, almost running toward the exit, Celesta looked out and caught sight of the back in the luxurious camisole. She would recognize him. It would be good to find out his name, too.

    "I''m sorry, dear Celesta, for this ugly scene." The fat man wiped his forehead breathlessly. "Sometimes things happen in our business. I try to keep the incidents to a minimum, of course, but sometimes they just go off the chain."

    The ghoul turned away from the empty corridor and looked coldly at Fakasius: "Your slave died."

    "Ay-yi-yi-yi!" The pimp shook his hands. "Such a grief! Such a promising boy! And there''s no one to replace him: quite an exclusive stuff! Poor thing, he was so young!"

    "I hope you got enough compensation from the culprit. By the way, what''s his name?"

    "Enough?! Totally insufficient! A paltry, insignificant, utter nonsense compared to the damage done!"

    "Demand more. Or is he not going to come again?"

    His Holiness shook his hands regretfully: "This gentleman has caused me a great deal of damage. I have to deny him access to my establishments. It''s a pity, a great pity, but from tonight the Baron will have to do without our services."

    "Did you say "baron"?"

    "Yes, he belongs to the Duke''s retinue. Unfortunately, I cannot say more - anonymity above all!"

    Celesta did not insist. She knew enough, there are not many nobles with titles, so it is possible to find out the sadist if you want. Fakasius, on the other hand, would keep quiet to the last. His business, dirty and bloody, exists as long as he does not try to violate the unwritten hard rules. Pimps who blackmail clients do not live long.

    And what, from the point of view of the authorities, did this baron do? Just killed a slave. He overdid it a bit, it happens. The guards are bound to come to their senses. At worst, the reputation would suffer a little - after all, such amusements are considered unnatural, but it all depends on the Duke''s position. If the nobleman is useful to him, the nobleman will be acquitted.

    Holiness will not cause a scandal, much less revenge. He will simply find a new employee, a young, handsome, gentle young man, writing off the old one as a "loss". That''s all.

    "Do you think they''re expecting us very much?"

    "Very much so. They need us." Celesta looked around the street for latecomers. When she saw no one, she once again envied the advantageous location of Tarrasch''s farmhouse. No strangers approached the back door: the place was inconvenient. "The head of the family must get rid of the ghoul in the house, no matter how much he loved him. Come."

    At the knock at the lattice window, the face of one of the guys from the day before yesterday appeared - this time he did not look at the visitors for long. The sound of the bolt being pulled back was heard almost at once. The janitor was a bit shy and looked at the girls warily, apparently having been made aware of who they were. Medea threw a warning glance at her friend and faced a similar response, they both noted the chain mail under his shirt and the long sword on his belt.

    The man carefully locked the door with a huge iron-bar bolt and led the guests to the nearest building. Not to the main house, where most of the family lived, but to a small building that used to be a barn or something similar. A dim light shone through the shuttered windows, and people''s voices sounded within. There were no crossbowmen on the roof this time. Would Celesta have paid dearly to know where they were, lurking in ambush, waiting for the signal, or sleeping peacefully with their families? She didn''t know which option to prefer. The confidence of the head of the clan in the coming negotiations meant a great deal, but the ghoul was wary of overly complacent partners.

    As she followed her escort, she took one look at the gathering. The room they were in was long, about eight meters long and three wide, clean and sparsely furnished. At the far end was a door, near which stood a tall cupboard with some crockery; the rest of the space was powerfully occupied by a huge table of expensive-looking wood. Next to this masterpiece of cabinetmaking art, two simple benches of some plastic-like material looked quite inappropriate; not much better was the massive leather chair at the head of the table, in which Tarrasch was seated.

    The master frowned at the cloaked ghouls, staring unashamedly at his family. In addition to Hustin, who sat closest to the exit, there were four other men at the table, in order of precedence. All were no young men, armed and skilled with weapons, judging by their manners. All looked wary, distasteful - and ready to fight. So, not counting the gatekeeper who came out, six experienced warriors against two undead.

    Celesta hummed and pulled off her hood, revealing her face: "I apologize for not informing you about the visit in advance." She sat down on the bench to the right, facing the windows, without asking. Medea stood in the corner as a modest shadow. "But I see you were expecting us."

    "Yesterday," grumbled master grudgingly.

    "Business, it can''t be helped. We have obligations to fulfill."

    "Really? What kind of business could a dead one have?"

    "Different. We try to fit into human society."

    "You said it last time. Only words are words, in serious matters, it is better to see with your own eyes."

    "I have far less reason to trust you, Master, than you have to trust me." The girl shook her head, her lips curled slightly. "You''re in your own ground, among your own kin... I''d say you''re in an entirely advantageous position. But I wouldn''t say that - you need us, not the other way round. Don''t you?"

    "Why should that be?" The blacksmith grudgingly scowled, his posture mirrored by the rest of the men. "We''ve lived with our wits so far, we seem to manage. What can you do for us, little brat?"

    "You''ve been living with your mind for a month and haven''t thought of anything. There''s an undead in your house who poses a serious danger to an average person. I don''t know what room Hustin sleeps in, but if someone accidentally disturbs his sleep, he risks being sucked dry." Celesta spoke in a low voice, smiling profusely at the angry men. "By day we are, you know, incapable of controlling our instincts. There''s bigger trouble, though. Neighbors, customers, random guests... Sooner or later your son will be identified as a ghoul. Knowing people, I assume that in such a case they will kill everyone."

    There was silence in the air. Tarrasch was rolling his cheekbones in displeasure, and the man to his right was clenching his fists tightly until they crunched, staring with hatred at the insolent wickedness. At last, he could not stand it:

    "Cut off their heads, and that''s it."

    Judging by the expression on the faces of the others, the idea was popular. A quiet murmur of approval rose over the table, and the men huddled like they were about to jump. The slightest nod from the owner at the end of the table was enough to make them pounce on the ghouls. Medea hesitated, her hands hiding in her broad sleeves, gripping her throwing knives comfortably.

    Celesta did not react to the remark; now and here only the opinion of the head of the clan mattered. She waited for Tarrasch''s answer, frozen like a stone statue.

    "What can you suggest?"

    The ghoul was glad that her undead body allowed her to hide her wild joy. She had seriously prepared herself for a fight. The tension was still there, but it was slightly diminished: immediate execution was delayed.

    "We are ready to give Hustin shelter and teach him how to survive. How to hunt properly, how to eat properly, how to move around the city, how to deceive the guards. In return," she looked directly at him for the first time, "you must promise me two things: to obey me unconditionally, and not to tell anyone about what you''ve seen. If you want to go, go, but don''t you dare talk."

    "And that''s it?"

    "Well, yes. Your business with the clan is none of my concern, unless it threatens our peace."

    "You are too generous," said Tarrasch incredulously.

    "Not at all. First of all, we could use a sidekick. Second, let them look for ghouls in the Pit, not in the port. I don''t want the Great Hunt to begin with the search for an internal enemy."

    Celesta was silent on the fact that she expected a long collaboration. The northerners would remember the good they had done and try to repay the "debt". They could sell their loot at a decent price, learn rumors that circulated among the artisans, assign them tasks, small ones at first, then more serious ones. Not for free, of course: any relationship must be built on a mutually beneficial basis. For example, the girls can tell you what goods will soon rise or fall in price, or provide dirt on the hostile clan official, and more to help. Having a whole clan as allies is a useful thing.

    If they turn out to be ungrateful pigs, there is always an opportunity for blackmail. There he sits, thinking, twinkling his eyes. He looks like a human now, too - it''s almost impossible to guess that Hustin is a ghoul at first glance. Then the observer will notice the unnaturally pale skin, the too smooth movements, and the habit of smiling without parting his lips. The undead'' appearance attracts the eye involuntarily: there is something mesmerizing, sensual, and deadly in it.

    "My son," the blacksmith emphasized the last word subtly, insensitively to the human ear, "really can''t stay. But I''m afraid to let him go, too. In the first year we lived in the city, almost everyone rose as a ghoul. We fought back with difficulty. I don''t want Hustin to turn into someone like those things. They were killing everyone...."

    The patriarch staggered back in his chair and looked around at the other kinsmen. Under his gaze, one by one they lowered their heads, not daring to question authority.

    "As long as Hustin is with us, he may be dead, but he''s human. Do you think he will remain the same among you?"

    "No." Suddenly Medea spoke, and at the first sound of her melodious voice, the people flinched in surprise. "Already he is not the boy you raised. He doesn''t see the world as a human, he sees it differently, and the differences deepen with time."

    "I can promise you that your son will not become a mad killer." Celesta rested her chin on her clasped hands and looked coldly at Hustin: the next phrase was meant for him. "I would sooner blow my kinsman''s head off myself than have such a dangerous creature in my vicinity. You may not believe my word, however, for no one knows what the Undead will become in time. We can only hope to keep the rest of our souls intact."

    "That''s smooth talk."

    Tarrasch frowned even more. Then he snorted irritably, looking more like a mighty, angry bear than ever:

    "Okay. We don''t have much choice, Hustin has to go. It''s no good for the dead to walk among the living." Celesta hid a grin. "But look! If I find out you''re spoiling the boy, I''ll kill you with my own hands."

    The threat looked real. He could kill a ghoul with those hands, even if they didn''t need air. The girl nodded gravely: "It''s a deal." She turned to a motionless and somehow lost Hustin. "Say goodbye to your family today, pack any things you want to take with you. One of us will pick you up tomorrow."

    "Did you notice they wouldn''t let us go out first?" Medea spoke as soon as the girls got away from the "hospitable" house.

    "Probably crossbowmen. They hid the ambush well, had time to learn the capabilities of the undead. Hustin must have tipped them off."

    "I hope you''re not suggesting we bring him home?"

    Belle looked intently at Celesta. She valued the cozy shelter and had no intention of opening it to a stranger. If Celesta had offered to give Hustin a room, a scandal would have broken out, the friends might have had their first serious quarrel.

    "No, not yet. We don''t know him well enough to trust him yet." The little girl grinned crookedly. "To be more exact, we don''t know each other at all - nothing but names and, shall we say, current condition. We''ll set him up in one of the temporary beds, to begin with, take a closer look gradually, and start introducing him to things. Keep in mind that we''ll take turns teaching him, but you''ll take the brunt of it."

    "As if there were no other things to do!"

    "There is nothing more important than that. And don''t you dare try to bully the boy! We city undead are supposed to stick together, not quarrel. He''s a bit of a mope without your teasing. His fate has been discussed and he hasn''t said a word!"

    "That''s normal: the Northerners are like that," Medea grinned. "At least, the ones from the Blue Mountains. They still have patriarchy, and they''re a wild bunch."

    "Lucky. In our time, the tribal system is sort of the most practical."

    They walked on in silence. Medea wondered how the appearance of a man, the third member of the gang, would affect their lives. Or should she say community? It was more like this: the undead had little in common with ordinary outlaws. The boy Hustin is good-looking, but whether he will be useful is not known and in general ... The woman honestly admitted to herself that she continues to envy the young ghoul. She knew nothing at all about her relatives. She must think, her parents died, as most noblemen. Nor did she like her friend''s desire to immediately approach the unfamiliar young man. Too strong a desire, she thought. Medea was used to dividing the world into two unequal categories: there''s her and Celesta, there''s the rest of the world. And these parts are at best in a state of neutrality, though more often feuding. Now, seeing someone else intending to join them, she was jealous in advance.

    On the other hand, what else are men for if not to make a woman''s life easier?

    Celesta pondered whether she could trust Tarrasch. A hard life had accustomed her to seize the slightest chance, to get into every narrow crevice. She had long understood that the Great Hunt was not only a springboard for the careers of soldiers and officials: those outsiders who had been involved in organizing the event could also make a fortune, gain influence. Fakasius, for example, provided his associates with contracts for the construction of new villages, and his men made tacit arrangements for the purchase of captured slaves in the Pit. Blacksmiths received good bonuses for making armor and weapons. Richard planned to get rich by searching the surviving ruins of the ruined city, his new powers and the five dozen men under him (plus an equal number of members of his former gang not included in the list) allowed him to assemble a good team for excavation and the subsequent removal of valuable items. The duke graciously gave the captured trophies to his servants.

    The ghouls, during their life in the monastery, had managed to study the surroundings quite well, especially Medea. The looters hadn''t collected everything. The girls immediately remembered a couple of dozen places where there were expensive and useful finds, ranging from stocks of canned food to warehouses of cloth. There was still a carefully assembled library left in the Pit - there was no way to take it during the escape - other hiding places with belongings. Couldn''t they be taken out?

    The current underground dwelling, despite some shortcomings, seemed to be a reliable shelter. And there were others. The laboratory, for instance. Perhaps it makes sense to offer Tarrasch an exchange: the ghouls point people to places with goods - in return they give part of the cost in money and help to transport the necessary items to the girls. Hustin''s family will be able to get to the treasure first, without searching, and they will become rich and strengthen their status and influence. If the rumors are true, and the authorities intend to "let go of the reins," and trade will soon develop, the negligent man will be able to increase his start-up capital. With the money, the northerners can buy a piece of land for their ancestral use - an illegal transaction, but who cares about such trivialities? - Thereby climbing a step higher in the Taleya society. They will become de facto noblemen so that with time, they can formalize their transition to a higher class legally.

    It makes sense to perform a complicated operation if Hustin fits her and Medea. Maybe he''s a worse maniac than Carlon, just pretending to be good. There are only two months left until the day when the guards will start a general roundup of mutants, ragamuffins from the Pit, ghouls, and anyone else who doesn''t fit into the current system. Suppose some marauders themselves would be glad to be among the Duke''s subjects, even if in a capacity little different from that of an animal. Their lives will not get worse - rather, on the contrary. In the time remaining, the girls will have to answer an incredibly difficult question: is Hustin trustworthy? Will he join the team, or will he have to get rid of him one way or another?

    Celesta had a premonition that the week ahead would be a very difficult one.

    * * *

 Chapter 14

    Chapter 14

    * * *

    "...How old were you?"

    "Sixteen."

    Medea snorted incredulously: "You''re lying to me. Even the descendants of the high aristocracy were admitted to the university at nineteen, everyone knows that."

    Hustin did not react to the accusation of lying. He calmly began to explain: "I have a talent for magic... had. The quality of interaction with Sources is almost comparable to the true ones. In our family were often born healers, all the Blue Mountains came to my great-grandmother for treatment. But it''s a tradition: the eldest son stays in the village, while the younger ones try their luck down in the valleys. My third cousin became a chief engineer at the metallurgical plant of Vashy in his time, but he never lost contact with his family and came often. He noticed my abilities, began to give me textbooks, and encouraged my father all the time: he said that the boy should not waste his time in the countryside, let him study. Of course, his father was at one with him, it was flattering for anyone to have a wizard in his family. When I was sixteen, they brought me to Taleya and sent me to take my exams with a fake high school diploma."

    "Why were the documents faked?"

    "I''m a commoner," he shrugged. "It''s rare for anyone to enter the University without a noble rank unless the rich tradesmen used to send their children to school. My uncle had a good friend who taught here, and he promised to help me get in if I passed my exams. But he was going to go to Belar next year for five years, so we were in a hurry."

    "Did you enroll?"

    "Mm-hmm. I don''t know how my uncle''s friend pulled it off. The papers were considered anonymously. My test score came in the first place." Hustin sighed. "Then it was revealed that if I had any divine blood in my veins, it was only the size of a cat''s little finger, and I was moved to the bottom of the list. But they didn''t dare kick me out altogether, though; they accepted me into the general training department."

    "I think you''re lying," Medea said firmly.

    "No one believes me," the newbie explained phlegmatically. "I''m used to it."

    The woman felt an acute urge to claw at her companion''s face. The men around her always tried to brag about their accomplishments - she was used to hearing admirers brag profusely about imaginary and real victories. Her new companion and apprentice behaved very differently. And yet he liked Medea, a lot, she felt! The boy could not hide his feelings at all and clearly sympathized with the beautiful mentor.

    However, his awkward compliments made her want to cry more often than to laugh.

    Medea frankly admitted to herself that she was not entirely unprejudiced concerning Hustin. So what if the human - or former human - had a right to his "points"? In the old days, she would have easily justified her dislike, and the boy would have been guilty, too. Now it was the prolonged communication with Celesta that got in the way. Her friend had always soberly assessed the situation, carefully weighed the facts of her life, forming a clear and accurate picture of her surroundings. Medea had inevitably learned from her the ability to remain honest with herself.

    Celesta kept her promise: she really did dump the newcomer''s training on Medea. Both yesterday, refusing to escort Hustin to his designated hiding place, and today, personally engaged in communication with the poor informants. She stopped by once, handed out a pack of dinirs with a brief admonition to buy blood, along with advice to study the main passages in the sewers, and that was it. There was logic in her actions. Celesta had no intention of introducing the young man to either the Morvanites or the most valuable agents. It was all the more too early for him to know about the existence of common business with Richard or Holiness. So while Medea chatted with Hustin, trying to get as much information out of him as she could and just hoping to determine what to expect from the boy, the short undead shook up the beggarly quarters. Celesta began to look for a suitable candidate for the role of innkeeper.

    "Then the Plague broke out, and transportation stopped," the young man reminded us after a short silence. "We tried to get home, but it was no use. It was a long walk. There are madmen all around, mages are being killed, beasts have broken free and mutated, the dead are rising... Well, my father thought a little, consulted with the elders, and decided to fortify in the city. There was food and shelter nearby, and if things got really bad, he could steal a boat from the port and sail to the islands. Of course, life there was not easy, but it was better than death. It was hard at first: we fought with bandits and desperados every day, then we got hold of a weapon, fortified ourselves, and the surrounding gangs stopped bothering us. It seemed to get better. Nine months later the first cholera epidemic broke out, three of our children died. I recalled everything I knew from my grandmother - I saved the grown-ups, but I couldn''t save the little ones. They were too weak."

    He was silent, reliving an old failure. Medea, too, was silent. She remembered the epidemic by the death of her patron, a middle-ranking gang leader, and the long line of men who wanted the former ringleader''s inheritance. His woman served as a sort of "transferable prize". Each new chieftain would rape her first, sometimes giving her to his closest associates to use. She was suffering for three months, and then she was lucky enough to be killed.

    "Well, when the Duke began to restore order, we supported him. Not at once, of course: he abandoned people in a difficult time. We thought for a long time. After all, we decided - better bad power than no power at all. Besides, the Duke was put on his post by the gods - whom to follow if not him? His reputation was tarnished, but maybe there was no other way to act. In short, we came under his hand. My father was now head of the blacksmiths, Karva''s uncle was a foreman in the guard, and my older brother was in charge of a crew of workers in the port. So that''s how it is."

    Medea grinned dryly. Thanks to the powerful support of the clan, the boy didn''t realize how lucky he was. His family was settling in just fine now - three men in positions to employ the others, to support and protect the women, the children. She had to stop to deal with the rage that came over her. Why, why did she have to go on that damned tour?!

    "Mistress Medea." Hustin rubbed his neck hesitantly. The young undead uses the gestures they''ve become accustomed to from their past lives, the stinginess of movement and emotion comes later. "What are we waiting for?"

    The ghoul looked at her companion: "Are you hungry?"

    "Well... yeah. I didn''t ask anyone for blood yesterday, so..."

    "That''s fine. So, what are we doing here?" Medea waved her hand gracefully around, her voice deep with the melodious intonations of a storyteller: "Always and everywhere there are strong and weak, high and low, noblemen and commoners. It is also true that there are the strong among the weak and the weak among the strong. Here, in this wasteland, live the lowest of human society - the weakest of the weak! Even slaves are better protected than these wretches, for for the death of a slave the murderer would have to answer to the Duke. The locals, on the other hand, are deprived of everything. Cripples, drunkards, desperate weaklings, just unfortunate losers who have found no place in the new life, but do not dare to end it." The woman glanced at the stunned companion, then finished in a casual tone: "Many of them would sell their blood to a hungry ghoul for a little slumber."

    She pulled a bottle of murky, translucent liquid from the folds of her hoodie, which Hustin could scarcely identify as "whitewash". His family disapproved of the use of drugs, even the lightest ones, and they only drank beer on holidays. The young man hesitated. As he saw it, blood given willingly had to be paid for in kind, and drugs did not qualify as "kindness". At the same time, the local beggars did not belong to his clan - there was nothing to worry about.

    "Why not with money?"

    "They''ll drink it up. But before they drank it up, they were bound to blab about the source of their income. We used to feed in the nicer quarters and pay in dinars, but we couldn''t keep it a secret for long: the rumors would spread anyway. We had to find replacements. The beggars themselves were careful to stay out of sight of the authorities, socializing in their small circle, ready to sell their souls for drugs - they were just perfect. Moreover, no one looks after them, they are not included in any communities, and if one or two of them are missing, no one will notice. Of course, we still have connections among the poor in the community, but they are much fewer, and it is more correct to call them agents than donors."

    The meeting place, by the tacit agreement of both parties, had been a vacant lot not far from the hiding-place of the poor. There were several exits to the sewers and enough piles of garbage for the ghouls to escape, and the beggars were attracted by the short distance to the house. Initially, the girls themselves fished out customers in the neighborhood, intimidated them, gave them a taste of a diluted drink, and promised them more for an appropriate fee. Gradually the need for an "advertising campaign" disappeared, and today Medea was sure that they would meet at least one sufferer. Drug addicts would sometimes stand guard on the vacant lot 24 hours a day.

    "Let''s go, there''s the first one sitting there."

    The ragamuffin was a disgusting sight, even by Taleja''s liberal standards. A certain seal of doom lay across the city''s inhabitants, and few were able to escape it. Most preferred to walk with their backs bowed. That smaller stratum of active people who continued to fight for existence and did not fall into despair gradually worked their way into the new elite. Tarrasch, Fakasius, Richard worked hard, looking for ways to enrich themselves, rather than sitting around bitterly whining about their broken lives. That''s why they lived relatively well. Here, in the wasteland, the elements were just the opposite. Desperate people who lacked something to continue their struggle for existence - some merit.

    Rottentooth Rho was one of the first to trade some of his blood for a bottle of cheap vodka. In the old days he wouldn''t have picked it up, but now... All the money he occasionally earned was spent on booze. Food could be found - stealing a piece of fish in the port, rummaging through the dregs at the back of taverns, sometimes managing to moonlight or steal. Not much, of course, but it was enough to live on. Booze, on the other hand, was almost impossible to come by. Before, the beggars tried to brew their weak brew and ended up fighting. In short, when a ghoul named Celeste frightened him half to death and offered a trade, Rottentooth didn''t hesitate long.

    "Hello, Rottentooth," Medea smiled sweetly as she approached.

    "Greetings, Mistress, greetings," the drunkard lingered, squinting warily at her companion. However, it was the girl who got most of the attention. Ever since he had drunkenly suggested that the beautiful girl should "fool around together," Rho had been wary of her. "I see you didn''t come alone tonight, did you?"

    "It''s Hustin, he''ll come by once in a while. Did you wash your hand?"

    "Of course! Everything as it should be - we know the customs!"

    Rottentooth nimbly pulled back the sleeve of a woman''s robe over the other rags and revealed his left arm. The scrubbed area at the bend of the elbow stood out sharply against the dirt and stench of the rest of the skin. The undead, especially the hungry ones, rarely paid attention to the cleanliness of their victims, but they couldn''t ignore the stench of the slum dwellers. The girls didn''t want to sink their fangs into "such things".

    "Excellent. Hustin, please."

    "Uh... what do you mean?"

    "Simple. You fix the hand so you don''t accidentally tear a vein, and drink until you''re full." Medea turned to the ragamuffin and explained, "Young, recently risen. Tell the others that there will be three of us coming in now."

    "Well, why don''t you pay extra for the risk?" Rotten Tooth grinned ingratiatingly. "He''s a big man - he''ll take a lot at once."

    "Let''s see. Hustin?"

    The young ghoul stared at the scene with eyes round with amazement. In his mind, the living dead must pounce from the shadows on lonely passersby, greedily sucking the last drops of blood from their stunned victims. More than once he had seen and buried the consequences of such attacks, and later, when he grew stronger, he fought off the attacks of the city''s ghouls along with the other men of his clan. He and all his acquaintances had two feelings at the sight of the living dead: fear and hatred. People either fled or defended themselves. What they didn''t do was dance around in impatience: "Hurry up, sir! I''m thirsty!"

    There was a contemptuous grimace on Medea''s face. She was irritated by Rottentooth''s drunkenness, by Hustin''s inexplicably slow pace, by Celesta''s assignment, and, in the end, by the hunger that was rising from within her. She hadn''t had time to refuel yesterday, so today her thirst was slowly beginning to cloud her mind. What is he waiting for?

    "Hurry up, Hustin."

    The boy shook his head dumbfoundedly, hesitated, and with a swift movement bit into the quivering Rho''s vein. There was silence for a while, interrupted occasionally by squelching noises. Medea stepped aside for fear of succumbing to temptation. The man paled little by little, but showed no excitement - it was not the first time he had shared blood. Finally, with visible regret, Hustin broke away from his arm, which the ragamuffin immediately nimbly pulled over with a filthy rag. Medea, who had returned, handed him the bottle: "Take it."

    "Thank you very much, mistress." Rottentooth sat up without trying to get up and bowed. "How about a bonus?"

    The woman reluctantly took a coarse tortilla wrapped in a cloth from her shoulder sack and handed it to the beggar, who was bursting with gratitude. Then, disregarding the rapturous expressions of delight, she turned to Hustin: "You took very little."

    "He''s weak, I''m afraid to kill him."

    "They''re a survivable breed," Medea''s perfectly shaped lips quirked. "He''ll outlive us. But that''s up to you. But be warned, we won''t be back here tomorrow, so you''ll be on your own to cope with your hunger."

    If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    "I can do it," the guy said.

    "As you wish. Now stay here and try not to be seen by anyone, I''ll be back soon."

    She walked lightly, confidently, toward the human silhouette that appeared in the distance. She was hungry, too.

    Celesta listened to Laskash and little by little realized what incredible luck she owed to meeting the boy. Lately, the girls had been concentrating on working with other agents, so the very first knot of the weaving network of informants had fallen out of their sight. Laskash did not possess the information they needed. He was a bit dull, could not hold a conversation, did not understand what his employer wanted from him ... In short, his value in the eyes of Celesta was not high. If it were not for one "but".

    The kid was lucky. As soon as he was given the right direction, successful events began to happen with frightening frequency. People say that the gods themselves help them. Andrew, incidentally, does not exclude this possibility - all sorts of strange things seen, his current form alone is worth. The locals believed in the gods with a frightening fanaticism, and they had enough reason to believe. The alien''s rational mind still resisted the pressure of his surroundings, but how long would the introduced skepticism last?

    The Laskash, as Celesta had originally assumed, had blabbed about his encounter with the ghoul. They didn''t believe him, and then, offended by a hail of ridicule, the boy banned himself from talking to outsiders about an interesting and slightly creepy subject. In other words, it worked out well. Now he shared the gossip he had gathered quite regularly, managing sometimes to bring back real treasures, the value of which he did not understand at all.

    "So why was he released from jail?"

    "They''re pity him," the boy shrugged. "He has two kids to feed, after all."

    Varek, a former fisherman from the village of Three Brides, came to town two years ago. With his wife, brother, and three children. At first, he got a good job on one of the duke''s schooners and quickly became the captain''s right-hand man, respected for his skill and steadfast character. It was his proud and unyielding temper that served him poorly when the simple fisherman dared to object to the high port authority in the person of Count Lash himself. Apparently, the Count ordered to use the vessel for something very heavy, or there was another reason, but Varek got out of a good place at once. More is more, trouble does not come alone. An outbreak of cholera killed the fisherman''s wife and eldest son, his brother was stabbed to death in a drunken brawl, and no one would hire the insolent brazen fellow. The man had to take odd jobs and consider joining a community. He would not be welcome among the commoners, either, but the children would be sheltered and fed.

    Recently Varek got into trouble again for trying to work on the black market. He got off with a fine, even though he was usually sent to the settlements or executed for a similar offense - the modern courts did not accept other punishments. It seems that now the man was in a very bad situation and did not know how to go on.

    We should take him up on that.

    "Did you find out anything else interesting?"

    "I don''t know," Laskash fidgeted uncertainly under the ghoul''s gaze. "I don''t think so. The community will be moved closer to Pit in a month, we''ll live there."

    "What will you do? Are you still going to take out the garbage?"

    "Mm-hmm. They say we''ll dismantle the houses, useful materials in one pile, trash and rubble in another. Everything''s falling apart, it''s scary to walk down some of the streets on the outskirts," the teenager added solidly.

    The newly established authorities were not without foresight. It was with the arrival of the new order that piles of rotting food were removed from basements, bodies of the dead and piles of garbage disappeared from the streets, and some of the rapidly deteriorating buildings were destroyed. As a result of the measures taken, the epidemic had been suppressed, leaving only the invariable cold and some childhood illnesses. Medicines were in short supply, so were doctors, and formerly harmless diseases regularly killed people.

    "And how many communities are relocating?"

    "Yes, almost all the neighbors I talked to. Though, to different places."

    "The city is expanding. There is not enough space."

    "Well, sort of," Laskash didn''t catch the mockery in her voice. "There are a lot of people, indeed. But they say we''ll move again later, they''ll settle us along the roads to the big villages."

    "Perhaps."

    It is indeed possible. The Duke intends to control his territory, which means, at first, he will settle people in strategic nodes. In other words, in the mines, at crossroads, he will turn the present Pit into an urban suburb. He will begin to re-develop the lands that belonged to his ancestors for centuries.

    Celesta leaned back slightly, pondering the words she had just heard. But she couldn''t concentrate, because she was thirsty. She suddenly found herself staring at the boy''s neck, thinking that she was going to bite it. It took her some effort to curb her instincts. Drinking from the Laskash is not allowed, since sometimes the girls began to make a clear division of people into agents and "cows," the latter included Morvanites, perverts of all sorts. A man must want to obey, want to feel like a victim. Only then is there a guarantee of their loyalty and silence.

    Before, they were in no position to be picky. But now, having the opportunity to choose... There are people who are ready to obey always and everywhere. The led, consciously try to shift the weight of responsibility for their destinies on the shoulders of the leaders. They were few in number, these born slaves, but it was they who were of the greatest value to the undead. Celesta carefully sought out who would be among their future servants, the layer between the ghouls and human society. She watched, picking out the right qualities, paying attention to who liked the touch of her cold hands and who didn''t, whether they willingly put their throats or hands to the fangs of the undead.

    The "cows" were driven by two feelings: physiological desire and vanity. They liked the feel of ice-cold lips against their skin, but they liked the feeling of being a part of a mystery even more. It was so intoxicating to consider oneself a little above the rest! At least in something. To know that the creepy, undead servants of Morvan, of whom everyone whispered tales at night, were willing to talk, to protect you, and even to depend a little on your servility.

    "Here," she handed the dinir to the excited boy. "If you hear anything else of interest, come back."

    Hustin was temporarily lodged in a cozy little den near his former home. But it was an hour''s walk at a leisurely pace. The ghouls had taken care to create temporary shelters in advance, picking two dozen nooks around the city. Nearly half were flooded from the last rainy winter, and they had to be abandoned, but the rest looked good. There was no furniture for them, though, and there was a thick layer of dust on the walls. The main dirt was removed in the autumn when they studied the dungeon, but they were not going to make any cosmetic repairs, and there was always a shortage of time. Anyway, people didn''t know about Hustin''s hiding place, it was relatively clean, dry, safe - what more could they want?

    Celesta intercepted Medea and her "apprentice" not far from their own home. She emerged like a ghost behind the backs of her congeners, pleased to note that her friend had not noticed her appearance. Hustin is still young, it is too early to demand the necessary sensitivity, Medea is a different matter: it is much harder to deceive her. They sometimes amused themselves with such "hide-and-seek", and the score was equal.

    "Have you met the ragamuffins?"

    The beauty froze for a moment, then turned smoothly, bowing her head slightly, acknowledging her loss. The sly glint in her eyes said, "You''re lucky now, but later..." The young man reacted more violently. He bounced back against the wall, turning around, his long knife sharply ripping through the air at throat level. Good reaction, the right one.

    "We had the dubious good fortune of communicating with Rotten Tooth."

    "Is he still alive? I thought he didn''t have long to live."

    Both girls were careful not to pay any attention to the embarrassed Hustin. They were amused by his scowl. The trio headed toward the newcomer''s "apartment," discussing the night before and making plans for the next. They could have gone down into the sewers, but patrols had been less frequent lately: the majority of the soldiers had already moved to the outskirts. So they walked down the street, occasionally avoiding the occasional human passerby. Celesta pleased her friend: "I''m going with Hustin tomorrow. You are to learn all you can about a certain Varek of the Three Brides." She gave the name of a potential helper in front of the newcomer after a short hesitation. "Talk to the informers, they are out of your hands ready and answer more readily."

    "Who is he?"

    "Former fisherman, recently released from prison. Now he lives with his kids in the barracks on Line 7, which you also called "a bedbug den."

    "It''s a disgusting place with disgusting inhabitants," Medea sulked unhappily. "Why don''t you talk to them yourself? You can mess with their heads the way you know how."

    "No. Do it yourself," the shorter ghoul suppressed her attempt at rebellion. "Hustin, have you been robbing caravans in your mountains? Or sold weapons, stolen goods?"

    "No," replied the boy, surprised.

    "Maybe you smuggled, pimped, sold drugs on the streets? Also no? Well, nothing, we''ll teach you," Celesta sneeringly reassured him. "We''ll start with the process of drug production under the guidance of our esteemed alchemist, Stash."

    "Especially since the basics of alchemy are studied in the first year of university," Medea interjected. "You''re just continuing your education."

    "What do you mean?" Celesta didn''t understand.

    "Hastin claims to have been enrolled in Taleya University of a Thousand Flows when he was sixteen years old. Unbelievable chutzpah!"

    "But it''s true!"

    The leader of the small group stopped and cocked her head to look at the lad once more. He towered over her by a good head and a half, if not more, the spread of his shoulders and powerful arms suggesting long hours of heavy lifting. Even Medea seemed small and weak beside him. A simple, open face with blond hair and slightly naive gray eyes also did not suit the intellectual. He didn''t look stupid, but that''s all.

    "You don''t look like a wunderkind," Celesta concluded.

    "Like who?"

    "Never mind. So what about the university?"

    Hustin began to tell his story again, more emotionally than before. Medea''s words seemed to have hurt him after all. He was used to being mistrusted by people who''d first heard of his appearance at Taleya, but the direct accusation of lying outraged him. Especially from an incredibly attractive woman. He had stopped spreading his past with strangers for some time, and now only changed the habit because he perceived the ghouls as a potential new clan. It was the custom in his country for a man about to marry to spend some time in the bride''s village and, on occasion, stay there for good. That is, the woman did not join her husband''s family, but vice versa. Rarely, of course, but it happened. Then the groom was also looked at for a long time, checked, not in a hurry to reveal their secrets.

    If, however, it was later discovered that the man had withheld something very important, had not been frank enough with his future kin, shame fell on the heads of both families. The bloody consequences of such strife lasted for centuries. No, it was better, to tell the truth from the beginning, the whole truth.

    "Stop!" Celesta stopped, caught off guard by some thought. Hustin was suddenly surprised to note that her expression had subtly changed: it was as if another person was looking at him now. It was as if she were the twin of a familiar blond girl. He wouldn''t have been able to articulate exactly what the difference was, but he did not doubt that it was there. "If you went to university, you must know at least a little bit about magic. Do you?"

    "Not much at all. I didn''t have time to start..."

    "That''s understandable. The question is, do you know anything about the causes of the catastrophe? Why did the magic disappear?"

    "Well, there''s a lot I don''t know..." the young man answered thoroughly. He even put his hands behind his back in an old habit to concentrate better. He used to scratch the back of his head on such occasions, but not anymore. "Though a couple of the professors at the university said the problem was coherence. The Primary Forces suddenly stopped answering the call, so the spells lost their power."

    "Medea nodded understandingly, but the smaller ghoul demanded a more detailed explanation. Hustin began to explain, carefully choosing simpler words."

    "Any magical action, otherwise called a "spell", has a three-component nature. Formulation of a task, appeal to elements, and control of the result. The first stage can carry out only a magician - it is an innate skill, which, however, is developed and strengthened by long training. The second component, "appeal", is available and ordinary people, in fact, there is no difference between prayer and the call of the elemental forces. By control is understood as a preliminary check on the integrity of the structure of the spell, simply fail, if something goes wrong - the magician spells "reset" without activating."

    "Before the catastrophe, the elements helped people. They gave a part of themselves in response to a request, served as an inexhaustible source of energy. Now the situation has changed: our pleas always remain unanswered. In principle, an incredibly strong mage, the True, can enchant at the expense of their own energy, but the true few. It turns out that the main part of mages, possessing knowledge, is deprived of the opportunity to use their knowledge. For the same reason household artifacts designed for ordinary people stop working - the control circuit put into them when they were created may be preserved, but there is no inflow of power to activate them."

    "What was the initial impetus? Why did access to energy disappear?"

    "I don''t know," Hustin said. "The priests say the humans have angered the gods, and they have turned their backs on mortals."

    Celesta smiled back coldly. She indicated to follow her and moved steadily down the road, thinking aloud at the same time: "If they have turned away, then not from everyone. We have more than once encountered the manifestation of supernatural forces already as undead. What do you know of the cults of Morvan and Illyar? I speak of the original faces, not of individual aspects."

    "Only that it''s better not to mess with them," the boy answered firmly. "We do not speak the names of these gods in the mountains."

    "We saw how the priest of the Master of Hell summoned some dark fire that killed a man. The undead has no access to the temple of Illiar: there is a burning veil on the door."

    Seeing Hustin''s undisguised curiosity, Celesta went on to elaborate. Medea, who was walking beside her, inserted occasional sarcastic remarks, recalling her friend''s stupidity. She refused to talk about Carlon, but she described in great detail the way Celesta had looked after her attempt to break into the house of the light sect leader. In her opinion, nothing good could come out of a desire to deal with the will of the formidable deities. Despite her origins, the beauty was rather poorly versed in mystical teachings: all her life she had perfected the art of dancing and singing. Instead of poring over ancient manuscripts, she spent her time at parties, surrounded by numerous admirers.

    After the short narration, there was silence, broken by the faint sound of the undead''s footsteps on the stone pavement of the street. From time to time nocturnal birds would call out, and from time to time the sounds of human life would be heard from the houses.

    "I don''t know," Hustin muttered grimly. He was shocked and saddened by what he heard. "I thought there was no magic at all, but it turns out..."

    "I suspect that Garresh, the leader of the Illyar worshippers, is more aware of the situation," Celesta remarked grudgingly, turning mostly to Medea. "But I''m not ready to mess with him. Now. Maybe later, but not now. As for our former chieftain... Well, let''s hope he gets his head kicked in this Hunt. Richard, for example, was very interested in the location and plans of the monastery."

    "I beg you, Morvan," Medea piously covered her eyes with the palm of her hand, "take your servant to your kingdom quickly."

    "You hope for nothing. They have too close and trusting a relationship to involve someone third."

    Hustin stared at the blasphemer in horror. The tall ghoul, accustomed to her disrespectful friend''s remarks, confined herself to a demonstrative sigh. Having once witnessed Celesta''s uncharacteristic outburst of rage, and having listened to many coarse words against the higher powers of this particular world, she paid no attention to trivialities.

    "Let''s split up," the little slender girl with the reddish glow in her pupils stopped smiling, "there''s a lot of work tomorrow. Hustin, go see your family. Ask your father if there are any plans to move the forges out of the port. If they''re going to relocate the artisans to other areas. If the rumors are true, what will be placed in their place? I also wonder if he''ll be able to help us move some things out of Pit. In exchange, we will point out the location of three warehouses with useful materials, canned goods, and clothing. Medea, you owe me information on Varek. Find out everything you can about him. Meet at the shelter under the crossroads of Crooked Owl."

    Celeste intended to talk to the Morvanites. The fanatics had to be seen regularly; otherwise, without a visible symbol of their faith, they would start fooling around. Moreover, the lunatics were very sensitive to the desires of the leadership: the information they gathered was very accurate. However, the Dark One''s servants evaluated the received news according to their own scale, poorly coinciding with the true goals of the ghouls. Communicating with them was difficult, constantly having to keep a wary eye out for mistakes. Were it not for the apparent favor of the Master of Hell, which was how the Morvanites perceived the condition of the undead, there was no telling how long they would have continued to believe the new priestesses. Now they did not allow themselves to doubt, but how long would that faith last? Celeste had long considered getting rid of the dangerous, domestic lion-like helpers - it was her unwillingness to lose an accessible source of blood that kept her away. They regarded the ghoul''s bite as a kind of communion, awaited it, and were proud of it.

    She decided for herself: as soon as it was no longer necessary to get rid of the Morvanites.

    * * *

 Chapter 15

    Chapter 15

    * * *

    Holiness looked the same - fat, smiling, with a pious expression on his face. He was habitually seated on a half-ruined couch, his arms folded over his chubby tummy. The old house where Celesta had previously met Fakasius was about to be demolished, and they had found another place to negotiate. The two predators, the living and the undead had no intention of bringing a rival to their lair, so they chose a room equally convenient for both. The second floor of the former store, which stood at the crossroads of two roads and was now completely ransacked, was an example of comfortable asceticism. In other words, there was almost no furniture, but the roof did not leak. Holiness was attracted by the possibility of placing guards on the first floor, without which he avoided appearing anywhere: secret and obvious enemies he had plenty of. The ghoul had appreciated the number of sewer manholes in the area and the small distance to the next building: a bit far for a human, but an undead, especially if he ran, would fly from window to window like a swallow.

    "Darling! I am extremely embarrassed to remind you of our agreement, but with a heavy stone on my heart I have to remind you of the deadline." The crime boss was still smiling, but his eyes looked unexpectedly sharp. "When is the promised shipment coming?"

    "Why are you in such a hurry? I didn''t take an advance from you, and I warned you about the need to simplify the process." The girl looked coldly at the "dear friend". "Or you''re not interested in the quality of the product?"

    "That''s right, sweetie, that''s right ... Only I trusted you, reduced the number of purchases, waiting for the promised products. But it''s still not there! It''s purely out of a friendship that I complain: the stock in the establishments will soon run out, there''s nothing to trade with. The employees are asking, they''re worried!"

    "Tomorrow you''ll get a liter of concentrate," Celesta promised. "No more is ready yet. Technical difficulties."

    In fact, Stasch had been working nonstop in the lab, and six litters bottles of the undiluted final product had already been carefully wrapped up in the warehouse. Only Fakasius shouldn''t know about the stockpile. A steady supply of goods will begin a little later when the idea of building their tavern takes final shape. For now, the location had not been decided, there was no preliminary estimate of costs, and it was not known when exactly the establishment should open. The impending Great Hunt has messed up all plans. If the spring expansion goes well and quickly, then the authorities will soon weaken the strict rules of trade and people will have free money. Especially the soldiers, who expect to profit from the poorly explored territories.

    It was necessary to carefully determine the place where the tavern would be opened. The rebels hoped to attract a certain kind of clientele. It would be more correct to say that they planned to open a brothel. A place where people in trouble with the law gathered, always ready to fight and drink their last money. The tavern-keeper and employees can also buy up stolen goods, collect information, and hire performers to carry out the ghouls'' tasks. The masterminds in any business make better money than the doers, so Celesta aspired to become something more than a mere mercenary. In all areas. Quite naturally, it was better not to locate a thief''s den next to the guards'' apartments. That was the problem - there was no telling how living conditions in different parts of the city would change after the resettlement was prepared by the authorities. I wouldn''t want to close down a brand-new establishment because of money losses or too much attention from neighbors.

    Finances were a problem, too. Dinirs were slipping through her fingers like water, her income was almost nonexistent, and she constantly had to look for ways to make money. Celesta was so angry about having to save money that she seriously considered robbing the house of some important official. If it weren''t for fear of attracting too much attention from the spiders who are bound to investigate incidents of this nature, she would have broken into someone''s coffers long ago.

    At least one issue was resolved: Varek agreed yesterday to serve the undead.

    The man gave a mixed impression. Not yet old, covered with scars, wearing a dirty shirt and greasy pants, he sat, arms folded and hunched over, on the doorstep of the community house. His whole posture was one of weariness. The kind people here had agreed to shelter his children for a while while he tried unsuccessfully once again to find work. I might have mistaken him for a completely desperate man if I hadn''t watched him the previous week. This man did not break down. Give him a chance and he will cling to it, flounder as hard as he can, but not let it go. And he would do anything to get out of the misery of his family''s situation. Even make a deal with a vampire.

    He didn''t even flinch when I got in front of his face-just raised his head: "What do you want, girl?"

    I smiled at him, showing my fangs. The man immediately pulled himself together, a wary expression on his face. I followed his gaze and calmed him down: "Nothing happened to your kids, don''t worry."

    "What do you want, ghoul?"

    "Talk, Varek. Just talk."

    "What do you and I have to talk about? If you want blood, take it, there''s nothing I can do. But don''t touch mine."

    His admission of weakness was doom-and-gloom: he knew he was powerless to resist.

    "Varek, a fisherman of the Three Brides, lost his parents during the plague but managed to transport the rest of his family to Serpent Island, where he waited out the most dangerous time. Then he came to Taleya and entered the Duke''s service. All went well at first, but then you quarreled with Lash, lost your job, and your wife, brother, and son died. For the last year, you''ve been surviving on odd jobs and the children are starving. Is that right?"

    The man remained silent.

    "Do you want me to tell you what awaits you? You won''t get a job: the officials are afraid of the Count''s wrath and try to please him. You could, of course, try to go as an underling to the shady bosses, but I doubt you''ll be accepted. The character''s not right. You tried, didn''t you? And you got ratted out. Next time they catch you, you won''t get away with it. You''ll go with your children to the villages or to the mine to work with a pickaxe. How long do you think you''ll live at the mine? Or would you like me to tell you about the way the wardens screw up the stubborn... Is that unpleasant to hear?"

    The man parted his parched lips: "Why are you telling me all this?"

    "You''re good for me. I have a job for you."

    Varek grinned: "What, leading people into an ambush? Sorry, I''m not a murderer."

    "No, I need a manager."

    He hadn''t expected to hear that from a ghoul. I was sure he''d never have been more impressed with an offer to share blood, or a mere bite in the neck. I started to explain: "It''s very simple. I need someone to oversee business in my absence, and you seem suitable for this role. There are no complications with the distribution of duties either - I set tasks, leaving it to you to decide how to accomplish them. Money, stability, freedom, independence from authority. Agree to serve me and you won''t have to worry about your daughters. Otherwise, their future is unenviable."

    If he refuses now, I will have to leave, having suffered a serious defeat. I have no second choice. The undead cannot exist outside human society, nor can he be inside it: it is his destiny to glide along the border. In other words, it is not enough to rob passersby in dark alleys in order to live a normal life. We need a steady source of income and a link to the world of the living, so we need someone who can become our "face" in the eyes of ordinary people. I was counting on Varek. He was shallow, moderately honest, and hard-working, and he seemed like a suitable candidate.

    "What would I have to do?"

    A stone fell from my shoulders. A whole mountain. Varek hasn''t definitively agreed yet: he''s hesitant but willing to listen. There was only a little bit of pressure left.

    "As I said, I need a manager. You will be the official face of the inn, practically the owner, I will not control how you do business, just pay a certain amount of money a month. Besides, from time to time we intend to eat at your inn. Oh, don''t be frightened, no one''s going to chase the customers around with glowing eyes. All it takes is a little blood from a sleeping man, and those drunks won''t even notice. It''s not in the interest of our kind to attract attention. You also have to collect rumors, gossip on topics of interest to us. Perhaps hire some people on your behalf."

    "What makes you think I won''t report it?"

    "Because then you would lose everything. You will not be forgiven for associating with a monster."

    "Don''t worry, Holiness, you won''t be without product." Celesta turned her attention back to the conversation. "Have I ever let you down?"

    "No, no, I wouldn''t think of it" waved his hands Fakasius. "I only wish it were quicker. What''s the use of upsetting the people? They''re all for the cause, aren''t they?"

    The undead almost blurted out, "Not every cause is worth caring for". She kept silent. No need to quarrel with the fat man - his help was indispensable soon. Instead, she promised again:

    "You''ll get the stuff as quickly as possible. I''ll bring it myself."

    "Oh, why bother! Send one of your friends, I''ve wanted to see them for a long time! They say your friend, Medea, is a real flower, and the new guy, what''s his name... I don''t remember..."

    Under the ghoul''s motionless, bone-crushing gaze, Facasius shrank, his voice becoming quieter and quieter. He should have screamed for help from the guards, but his throat was too tight with fear. He''d had time to wean himself off it, to get used to it, to forget why people were afraid of the living dead, to relax into the calmness that radiated from his partner. No, of course, Holiness feared Celesta, but for some time now he had regarded her as an ordinary person, albeit an incredibly cruel, cold-blooded one. He had stopped seeing her as a supernatural being, deceived by the joint affairs and the rational approach.

    Now the trembling man faced the Darkness itself, indifferently and mercilessly. The girl''s snow-white face, with its clearly defined cheekbones, was frighteningly beautiful, her bright scarlet eyes overwhelming at the very thought of resistance. Long fangs protruded from her slightly open mouth. For the first time in many, many years, Fakasius felt the urge to fall to his knees and beg, truly, unpretentiously, for mercy. There was a pungent smell of urine, but neither of them paid any attention to the smell.

    Andrew was deciding what to do next. His instincts demanded, screaming at the top of their voices, insisting that he kill Holiness, who had allowed himself too much. He shouldn''t have known the names and numbers of the other undead, moreover, he shouldn''t even have suspected of their existence. Well, what he''d heard about Medea was no surprise: she''s a very conspicuous girl, sometimes Celesta is not even noticed next to her. But he mentioned Hustin, who had only recently joined. So he''s watching. How much more did his spies find out? If they merely collected rumors, talked to the poor, shook information out of them, not so much. It was different if they''d managed to recruit a Morvanite. The Dark One''s worshippers have visited several hideouts, they are aware of many plans, they know the location of the lab, and most importantly, they have kept tabs on a sect of Illiar''s servants. Which have knowledge that could be a real weapon against the undead.

    "How did your people know about Hustin?"

    A barely audible whisper made the man shudder and winch: "Trash said, Trash. He said the ghouls used to come one or two at a time, but now they always bring a guy. Big one, takes a lot of blood, like a pump. Says it''s been a while..."

    "Enough."

    Fakasius shut up instantly, even stopped breathing. The rage and the desire to kill him slowly faded, followed by the consciousness of the stranger, displaced by the personality of Celesta. Killing the fat bastard was impossible - too much was tied to him. He was useful. Let him live a little longer. All the more so because he was so frightened, he wouldn''t dare use the information. He will not dare to meddle in the affairs of his allies from the beyond. We only need to consolidate the result, because types like Holiness have very selective memory - they remember only what they want to remember.

    "Perhaps you are right, Fakasius." The ghoul lowered her eyelids, at last, releasing the mortal from her gaze. The inhuman mask was fading from her face. "Indeed, you don''t know any of my kind."

    The man swallowed convulsively, clearing his throat, and nodded vigorously.

    "Perhaps I should really introduce you?"

    "Yes, Mistress. I certainly do not insist, Mistress."

    "I''m glad to hear it. Especially since there''s a Holiday coming up. Do you remember which one?"

    The bandit, who was beginning to come to his senses, went white as a sheet. He wished he could forget about the feast, but he couldn''t. A Sacrifice to the Lord of Darkness, after all. In the old days, in the springtime, criminals from all over the realm would gather who had done more evil than any other human: infanticide, maniacs, altar-blasphemers - anyone who had been sentenced to death by the courts. From among them, thirteen of the worst scoundrels were selected. The would-be victims were subjected to months of ritual torture that inflicted no physical damage but turned them into bloodthirsty madmen. Then the crazed humans were released into the arena, where they tore each other to pieces with their bare hands in a fit of rage. If by some miracle, one survived the massacre, he was declared forgiven - and, after a course of rehabilitation, released on his merry way. In theory, he was, for there had been no survivors in the last five hundred years.

    The ritual was performed once a year, on the day when the sun for the first time cast its rays on the stone in the temple of Darkness. It was believed that Morvan was going to cede power to his brother and rival, so he cleans up the accumulated "tails" of the past turn of the planet. He took with him those who had nothing to do on earth, whose sins could not be atoned for.

    For His Holiness, the hint was more than transparent: "But I, Mistress... am not ready! The honor is too great! I''d rather do it with my friends, modestly..."

    "Well, suit yourself, Facasius. Or come if you change your mind. Then I''ll introduce you to my kindred."

    "I dare not disturb you with my intrusive presence. And business, business... This Great Hunt."

    "Yes, so do we. So, Fakasius, try not to mention my friends too often. Every business and everything has its time, and nothing happens except in time. If necessary, they will find you."

    They stayed silent. Holiness was wiping his face with his sleeve, forgetting his handkerchief and wondering what to do with his wet pants. Showing oneself to the guards like that was a little uncomfortable. Celesta wondered how their relationship would change after tonight. Without deciding anything, she mentally waved her hand. It was unlikely that Fakasius would try to eliminate her or report her to the authorities - the rest was not that important. In the worst case, she could live without the fat man. Tarrasch, with the right approach, would be just as useful.

    "See you soon, Holiness. See you."

    Fakasius did not have time to answer. A dark, swift shadow, not listening to the parting words, the ghoul jumped out the window.

    After a brief meeting with Medea, the idea of organizing a ritual appeared in a new light. Indeed, why not sacrifice? The fanatics should be regularly tossed bones with meat, and a feast in honor of the Dark God, albeit in a truncated version, should serve as a good confirmation of the ghouls'' sacred supremacy. If it''s properly organized, you can do it without special effects.

    Initially, the role of "lamb to the slaughter" had been intended for the chatty Trash, but on reflection, this candidate was rejected. No one would have believed that a well-known drunkard would be a worthy gift to Morvan. The Dark Lord valued strong, violent men, those who actively tried to bring chaos to the world and spat on any prohibitions. So it was necessary to look for a replacement, involving in the case of definitions of the cultists, happy with the trust of their superiors. As a result, the lunatics almost fought among themselves for the right to name the best candidate.

    Celesta had to intervene. She assigned an old absentee acquaintance named Osilti as the sacrifice, and no one was willing to argue with her. The choice was considered impeccable. The man had once led a band of desperate thugs but had defected to the Duke''s side in time. He was now, according to some reports, running errands for Count Maulvlar, or rather, serving him as a traveling executioner. Maulvlar was in charge of the settlements outside the city line, most of whose inhabitants were serfs. Riots often broke out there, and if the local guards could not cope with it, the Count sent Osilti. There was a very bloody trail behind the bandit.

    The undeniable virtue of her choice Celesta considered the huge number of enemies that the former outlaw had made. So many people wanted to kill him that the investigation was bound to confuse the versions. True, due to the aforementioned circumstance, Osilti slept in the house with a strong guard, but the ghoul, after a preliminary study of the building, considered kidnapping quite possible. Especially if a friend helped. Plus - as several informants mentioned at once - the bandit kept a large sum of money in the house, but only he alone knew the location of the stash and the code to it. And the undead was in dire need of money because of the expenditures to be made.

    Hustin, though superior to ordinary people in the ability to move silently, still did not learn to hide on a par with the girls. So Celesta went inside with Medea, leaving the young man to watch the surroundings of the house. The first obstacle was a heavy, massive door. There was no other way to reach the first floor. The windows of the second floor were kept shut in wintertime, and some of them had bars on them. Though the neighboring houses were relatively far away, the noise was avoided.

    From the very beginning, the ghouls understood that no living witnesses should be left behind. Whoever they met in the house - the hosts, the guests, or the prisoners - would all be killed. Medea cautiously helped the little girl to the ledge, where she bent a piece of badly nailed plywood and slipped into the gap. The room was empty, just as they had anticipated. From the sound of it, they could hear two guards awake below, and the sound of sleepers breathing faintly in the adjoining rooms. The bandit himself slept in the corner room, even the glass in the windows intact, while his men were content with less comfortable conditions. Celesta, treading slowly, stepped out into the short, dark corridor and gently opened the door to the first victim.

    The man slept on a bed made of a layer of what looked like styrofoam and covered with a mattress. He had not moved in the time that the undead had sneaked up to the bed. Nevertheless, it acted with incredible care: humans, who had survived the nightmare of a three-year war of all against all, were unwilling to become sensitive and dangerous beasts. The slightest sound was enough to make them jump up, blindly swing away from the threat, and only then open their eyes. The killer didn''t hesitate; she hadn''t needed to adjust to the proper stabbing in a long time. The only thing she feared was a sudden awakening or a loud sound that might alert the other sleepers. She used to it, though. As she habitually plunged the blade into the hollow of the neck, she simultaneously placed her palm over the guard''s mouth, plucked the knife almost immediately, and stabbed at his heart. She waited a few moments, staring at the dead man before he twitched and listened in the darkness, then quietly moved on. The smell of blood didn''t disturb her - she''d been feeding on purpose today.

    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    The first difficulty arose in the third room: the guard who lived there did not sleep alone. Who the naked girl sleeping next to the massive figure of the warrior was, Celesta did not know and did not want to know. Maybe a prisoner, a lover, or a daughter bought for one night from her poor parents - what difference did it make? She was unlucky: she shouldn''t have gotten in the way of the undead. The man lay with his head comfortably turned on his side, the thin stiletto sliding easily into his temple, not even having to hold his body up. His woman died a moment later.

    Here, on the second floor, was Osilti''s "retinue," his old associates in the bandit trade. Their women and children lived separately in a nearby outhouse, coming in only occasionally to clean up, fetch food, or serve as bedfellows. Such a way of life served the ghouls well, sparing them the dirty work. Celesta, however, would have chosen a different candidate for sacrifice had she known she would have to kill children. Her principles were few and far between, but she held on tightly to what was left.

    After leaving seven bodies in the rooms, she returned, poked her head out the window, and whistled softly. Immediately a rope flew up from below, and Medea climbed up. Hastin remained immobile: he was strictly forbidden to interfere with what was going on. Now came the hardest part - dealing with the ringleader. Brute beast, he from the inside locked the massive door to his room, sneaking to him in silence would not be possible. She had to rely on speed and the inherent strength of the undead. But first, to be safe, the guards had to be disposed of. Dragging two mattresses and covering the door with them - if the fight dragged on, the sound would penetrate anyway, but at least some insulation - the partners snuck up the creaky stairs to the first floor. Fortunately, they were out of sight: the guards were too busy playing cards. And who was there to be afraid of? The only door to the street was bolted shut, there were no windows, and no strangers could gain access to the house. They would even take a nap if they weren''t afraid of the ringleader.

    The two strong men died quickly. The two blurry shadows that had inexplicably skirted the mat that covered the doorway rushed into the den, leaving them no chance. The mortals didn''t have time to do anything, their weapons still lying nearby on the table. The ghouls looked at each other, and hungry Medea rumbled and snuggled into the still-warm throat of the corpse. While her friend satiated, Celesta hastily searched the other victim, took all the valuables, and glanced around the room. Then she made a sign to leave. They''d have time to get serious later after they''d caught their main target.

    Pulling back the mattresses that covered the door, they stood listening for a moment. Inside they breathed smoothly, slowly, the way deep sleepers breathe. The girls didn''t seem to be noticed. For some reason, there were three people inside, with only one snoring. Did Osilti want to have fun with two?

    After a moment''s hesitation, Celesta looked at the sturdy oak barrier and changed her mind. There was no particular reason to hide, but brute physical strength was very much needed. Hustin, for all his imperfections, would take out the door with a first strike, at least the hinges would certainly loosen. It would be a good start to work with a crowbar, but the bandit is a brute, he would wake up at the slightest noise. It''s a miracle he''s still asleep. The important thing now is to twist the ringleader quickly, not to let him grab his weapon. The ghouls never learned how to fence.

    The guy called up from the street ducked and shot his body out, his shoulder crashing into the thick wooden plate. The house trembled. The door crunched and cracked, but it held, and Hustin flew back, grabbing for the dislocated shoulder. Celesta practically jumped over him, pushing off the floor and clumping together into a single lump, hitting the barrier. The door collapsed with a terrible rumble. It took Celesta a moment to come to her senses, and before she could even lift her head, her legs straightened and carried her toward the bed. She was late. A lean man with a scarred chest and blind, sleep-crazed eyes fumbled with his hand, fumbling for the hilt of a sword that lay in the headboard.

    Medea was ahead of them all. Hustin was still lying in the hallway, Celesta was just beginning to rise, and the honey-haired beauty had already sprung to the huge bed. Osilti had no time to reach for his weapon when a terrible blow knocked him unconscious. The next to suffer was the girl closest to Medea - she, like the second mistress of the ringleader, did not understand anything and tried to scream. Screaming was not part of the plan of the attackers: the second was immediately pacified by a blow to the forehead. She was in a bit of a hurry, so she didn''t know what she was doing and the girl''s neck snapped. The first one seemed to have fainted.

    The ghouls froze, listening. Silence - nothing and no one could be heard. There had been groans and cries and pleas for help from this house before, and the neighbors were used to it. The tension was slowly released, the three undead realized: the initial, the most difficult part of the plan had been successful.

    They can relax a little bit.

    A brief glance and Medea drags both girls into the corner. Whether they were alive or dead, they would be in the way now. Hustin had to explain in words: "Look outside, make sure everything is quiet."

    A short nod in response.

    Celesta herself, meanwhile, was tying the ringleader to the bed. They had never before interrogated people in such comfortable conditions. A tattered sheet was wrapped around his arms and legs, and a mouth-covering scarf with a small hole in front of his mouth was thrown over his face. A Band-Aid would have been better, of course, but Band-Aids have long since disappeared from use. In any case, the man will not be able to scream. Now they must wait for a while, and not to waste the time they had, they must take a cursory search of the corpses.

    Hustin, who had returned, was not surprised by the girls'' "dishonorable" occupation; on the contrary, he joined in the looting with vigor. Looting was considered a sin only by aristocrats who were a little out of touch with life; ordinary people had a more practical approach to survival. They collected only money, the best armor - the armor they expected to carry on their haunches, and other light and low-volume valuables on a spread-out blanket. They wouldn''t be able to sell them anytime soon, the spiders would probably shake down the dealers of stolen goods, but it was worth stashing away for the future.

    Finally, having finished their search, the ghouls gathered in Osilti''s bedroom. The chief had not yet regained consciousness, and the girl, unconscious from Medea''s blow, was unconscious as well. Time was short before dawn: another hour and the first rays of sunlight would pierce the sky over the city. And in an hour and a half, the undead bodies would fall into a dead stupor.

    "Come on," Celesta commanded, focusing.

    Hustin stared at the strange scene in amazement. Medea patted his cheeks lightly and stretched out on his right side, her whole body pressed against the man, whispering something in his ear in a soft purring voice. Her hand slid gently over the man''s chest, arms, and head. The man, though unconscious, reacted more than obvious to the caresses - a lump grew on his groin, covered by the sheet. Osilti tried to turn around and wrap his arms around the woman, but his intention was thwarted by the ropes.

    Celeste immediately intervened. She hovered over the bound man on the other side, and when he opened his eyes with a groan, she brought her face sharply close to him. She bore the little resemblance of humanity now. She looked as if she were a demoness of prey who had come for the soul of a sinner, to devour the wretched soul. The distorted features struck him as grim and cruel, a kind of jagged beauty, her gaze seeming to stare right through Osilti. The mortal lay relaxed, which could not be said of his... opponent? Yes, what was going on was more like some kind of twisted duel.

    "Can you hear me?" Celesta hissed rather than whispered. "Answer me."

    "I hear."

    "What''s your name?"

    "Ruk."

    Ruk the Fluffy. A ridiculous name, not at all appropriate for a violent bandit leader. The other is Osilti, the Fang.

    "You want to help us, don''t you, Ruk? Do you?"

    "Yes..."

    "Help us, Ruk. Help us," Celesta repeated persistently, persuasively.

    "Okay..."

    "Are you a wealthy man?"

    "Yes..."

    "Do you keep your money in this house?"

    "Yes..."

    Celesta hesitated a little, leaning lower.

    "Do you keep money in a stash?"

    "Yes..."

    "Is it in this room?"

    "Yes..."

    "Where?"

    The man twitched and frowned slightly. Medea immediately moved even closer and stroked him with her other hand.

    "You have to press on the peacock''s eyes."

    Celesta, without taking her eyes off the prisoner, waved vigorously at Hustin. The boy looked around. There were no peacocks in the room - no statues, no images. Only in the far corner on a shelf was a statue of what looked like a bird. Hastin looked closely and rushed to it - the statuette had a broken tail. Pressing his eyes hastily on it, he heard a mechanism somewhere in the wall turn with a creak. The bandit was taking a risk. A little more, and the rusted gears would not have been able to open and close the hiding place. How had it survived, what had the former owner of the house been doing, how had the bandit known about the cache? No one wouldn''t know now, and who cares.

    "Yes!" cried the young man cheerfully, and immediately there was a sharp sigh from the bed. Turning around, Hustin managed to see a sharp and precise blow struck by Medea on the captive''s head. Celesta tiredly covered her face with her hand.

    "Be careful," the beauty remarked venomously.

    In the cache was a large bundle of money, five hundred dinirs at first glance. There was also a tiny, fabulously priced crossbow and some letters neatly tied with braid. Without examining it, Hustin put all the loot into the canvas bag he had brought with him. Then he knotted the blankets, packed the loot, and looked around uncertainly. The girls, he thought, would take care of the transport of the prisoner.

    "Don''t rush."

    The pallor was gone from Celesta''s face, but she looked as if she''d eaten her last meal three days ago. And she felt the same way. Thirst reared its ugly head, she wanted to claw at the man''s throat and drain him of every last drop of blood. She had to pull away, crawl off the bed so she wouldn''t be tempted. The stench of blood, of pain, of murder, wafted through the house, and she sensed that she was about to lose control of her waking demon. She leaped toward the girl in the corner, growling muffled, violently yanking at the rug she''d been wrapped in, and jabbing at her throat. The victim, who had regained consciousness from the pain, cried out and fluttered helplessly in the embrace that gripped her. Hustin stared nervously at the gruesome meal.

    "You''re in luck." Medea, as she continued to bind the prisoner''s hands, looked at the novice mockingly and with mild contempt. "You''ve never known what real hunger is. Watch closely. Sooner or later you too will go through it."

    "Why is she... like this?"

    "Using our abilities takes a lot of effort. The darkness generously bestows its servants with gifts, but it also demands high fees. Very high. In time, you, too, will discover something in you, a certain vocation, a gift, whatever you want to call it."

    "Is it magic?"

    "No." Medea began to wrap the man in the rug. She would have to carry Osilti alone, it seemed. Celesta needed to rest after her wild exertion: blood alone was not enough to recover her, and Hastin would carry the rest of her prey. She''ll manage somehow, as long as her prisoner doesn''t get in the way. "Magic is the use of external forces to achieve the caster''s desired result. Do you forget the definition, student? That''s not how we do it: we use our energy. We''ll talk later. Let''s go."

    Celesta walked like a somnambulist, Medea always having to keep an eye on her. Medea looked anxiously at her friend; she had looked much better before after the interrogations. However, and faced with such stubborn resistance of the victim they had not before: the people they captured from the beginning willingly shared the information in exchange for life and freedom. The ringleader, on the other hand, resisted as best he could, knowing that he would not be left alive.

    "Set fire to..."

    Before she left, Celesta stopped and looked at her companions with a hazy look. Hustin, who was about to check to see if anyone was outside, nodded back: "Now."

    He did run out the door briefly, looked around without seeing anyone, and only then called for Medea. The girls hurried to the nearby entrance to the sewers. The route had been decided beforehand, in view of the possibility of failure. Everything seemed to be accounted for - the frequency of guard patrols, rumors of spider dogs being used, even an estimate of how to escape if wounded. Hustin stayed in the house. He ran quickly through the floors, navigating the smells.

    The scent of blood in the air disturbed his thoughts, but he managed to find liquids that smelled like alcohol in the guards'' room on the first floor and the rooms of several of the bandits. It was true that most of the bottles contained some kind of bad stuff with weak degrees, and only two bottles were suitable for the novice arsonist. After spraying the second floor, paying particular attention to Osilti''s room, he struck sparks with a pocket-sized incense on a soaked rag and threw it on the floor. Then, without looking back, he ran out the door, picked up his bundle of belongings, and hurried after the girls, who had long since disappeared underground.

    The Morvanites who entered the underground chamber looked childishly happy. For the first time in a long time, they felt needed, they felt a sense of belonging to true power - the power over hearts and souls. They had long been forbidden to take active steps to glorify their god, but today they were convinced that their expectations had not been in vain.

    The city was buzzing. Last night''s daring murder of a dozen men who were among the entourage of an aristocrat close to the duke himself had caused an avalanche of gossip. It was said that Count Lash had taken revenge on an overly fortunate rival and that the favorites would finally have a fight. It was whispered that the executioner had been punished by a miraculously surviving slave who had escaped from the mines and had been on guard for a week. Morvan himself was said to have sent a demon to punish the sinner who had angered him. The latter rumor was more true than any other, and, dressed in the ceremonial robes Celesta had issued for the occasion, the cultists knew the truth better than most.

    Osilti lay on the altar, chained. He spent the day in a deep, cold tunnel, covered by a heavy wooden circle, then he was extracted, washed, and led into the hall. The underground temple looked unfamiliarly solemn and austere. Medea long repaired it, decorated it, with the help of fanatics searched for and found valuable objects of cult, placing them in one understandable order, until she achieved a sense of dark, gloomy harmony. With great difficulty, a dark cross, brought from the surface, seemed to draw the eye, setting the tone for the whole atmosphere of the superiority and power of the sanctuary''s master. The small room seemed to converge on the base of the cross, the black slab on which the naked man now lay.

    Since sundown, Hustin had been busy applying sacred signs to the body and the altar. Medea, though a noblewoman, had the vaguest notion of temple mysteries, so the task was assigned to Hustin, who knew little more than she did. He tried his best. Unfortunately, he had little time to learn, which is why he used mostly symbols borrowed from his late great-grandmother. The old witch was notorious for being almost openly accused of association with the Dark One. The lad had forgotten much and had seen little of it, but he could scrape together at least the outward trappings from memory. After he''d drawn a chalice full of blood from the honorable fanatics, he painstakingly painted first the altar, then the victim, leaving some of the salty-smelling water in the bowl for the ritual. It was a shame to pour it out, and Celesta would surely find some use for it.

    The prisoner looked dazed and, judging by his wandering eyes, was suffering from a concussion. Having spent the day in the cold, at fifty meters depth, he had caught a cold. He was covered with a blanket, but it was not for humanity''s sake - Medea hated to be disturbed during her performances, and the coughing, sneezing, and gurgling of snot in the victim''s nose were not conducive to the concentration of the ritual. So Osilti was even lightly treated with hot wine and spices, which caused the hungry and weakened man to fall into prostration.

    "Praise our Lord, children of mine!"

    A white robe without a single pattern or symbol was traditionally worn by priests of the highest initiation. The protocol called for a headdress like a crown, but they couldn''t find one, so Celesta appeared before the audience with her hair down and a large jewel glued to her forehead. Medea deliberately made her lie still for ten minutes, waiting for the compound to set. The result was worth it, though. Barefoot, in a snow-white dress, openly displaying her thin fangs and scarlet eyes, the frail wit-girl did seem a partaker of some higher power in the unlit torchlight. Her inhuman essence, usually carefully concealed, was now visible from behind the mask she wore.

    In unison, the cultists fell to their knees.

    Celesta sang, and the rest of the ghouls echoed, followed by the rest of the Morvanitess. Medea, hidden in the shadows, led the party - her voice sounded as if it were beside everyone present. Hustin had no time to memorize the text, so he taped a torn page from the book to his side of the altar, and now he was very afraid to get lost. After yesterday''s events, he''d gotten an idea of Celesta''s capabilities and knew for a fact that he didn''t want to incur her wrath. If he had previously looked down on the girls, though he didn''t show it, considering them to be weak and helpless creatures, he had no illusions now.

    "The Chalice of patience is overflowing, and the gods have turned their backs on people who have fallen into sin," Celesta said with enthusiasm. She composed her sermon using excerpts from Carlon''s speeches and recollections of the services of the orthodox priests. "The power-hungry stopped caring about those who trusted them and lost power. The greedy and avaricious weep, for their luxury, have turned to ashes. Those who lusted after carnal pleasures now live in filth and corruption. The envious weep when they see their desires fulfilled. The haughty are cast down, and afterward, they procure their food, toiling on an equal footing with those whom they formerly despised. The mortals have fallen into despondency."

    "The Dark Age has come, my children! For three hundred years Morvan, Lord of Darkness, will rule the world, three hundred years his reign will last! The weak will die, the strong will be broken, iniquity and evil will overwhelm the land of Talea. This is the test. The LORD is cruel but just, he sees everyone. He will see who follows His will and who rejects it. Reject the old laws that have become unnecessary, rise above the crowd, forget that there is morality, justice and mercy! This is the will of our God! All that is done for the good of the Lord of Hell must be declared good; call evil all that contradicts the truths He has spoken! A thousand chains wrap around each of you the Law, it pulls you to the ground, binds man to home, family, and friends, makes you serve your superiors and gives you the illusion of happiness. Only a fool believes in prosperity! Life is death, cruelty is inevitable. A mouse kills a blade of grass for its sustenance, only to be killed by a cat in a moment. Pain and fear accompany man from birth to death..."

    The speech was a bit muddled, but the medicine poured into the flames of the torches made the people ecstatic. Medea, who silently echoed every word of the sermon, made it seem as if Celesta were merely amplifying a voice for the neophytes that came from nowhere. It certainly looked serious. After that, the Morvanites would revere the ghouls for a long time to come, and follow every order they received without question.

    According to the ritual, Osilti should have first ripped open his chest with a blade, pulled out his heart, fed it to the dog, and then offered the sacrificial blood to everyone present. But Celesta decided with peace of mind that the ritual needed some adjustments. First, there were few dogs in the city - domestic dogs, for even mutants preferred not to mess with packs of wild ones - and there was nowhere for the undead to keep them. Second, most of the blood would go to waste if the canon were strictly followed, and that waste made the ghoul twitch nervously. So she made a sign to Hustin and Medea to come closer. They knelt on either side of the motionless, slightly snoring body. Each held onto the victim''s arm, preparing to sink their fangs into the invitingly throbbing vein at the bend of the elbow.

    "Hear us, Morvan!" The priestess at the top of the altar cried out. "Accept our sacrifice, and bestow your power upon our faithful servants!"

    The short, broad blade went into the chest, cracking the ribs.

    At the same time, Medea and Hastin both bite the hands.

    The wound widened, and a pillar of Darkness came pouring out of it.

    The sensation was gone. There were no arms or legs, only consciousness, resting in the boundless ocean of Darkness. The bottomless emptiness without a single glimmer of light stretched around, indifferently ignoring stupid human fictions - such as space, time, matter... Absolute darkness surrounded Andrew, thoughtlessly threatening to consume him, to crush a tiny bug that dared to touch the forces too great for it. One could spend eternity here without noticing it.

    The dazed mind did not immediately realize how heterogeneous the place in which he incongruously found himself. Numerous shadows surrounded him, approaching, floating away, touching him with transparent tentacles. He could neither see nor feel them, but from somewhere he knew for sure that they were there. It was as if the heavy gaze of an enormous giant never let him go for a moment. Mighty beings on the other side of good and evil, life and death, had turned their attention to the intruder and were now deciding his fate. The superiority they radiated - not contempt, if the emotions of mortals are appropriate-they pressed physically, they could destroy Andrew''s too feeble consciousness and not notice his demise. The state of uncertainty lasted a single moment, but even the brief moment was enough to silently groan in the pain that followed and to remember for decades the animal horror of the detached curiosity of the Dark Ones.

    Then one of the shadows rushed toward him...

    The sensations returned suddenly, abruptly. Smells, muffled sounds, the sensation of someone else''s body touching the back, and the pain of someone else''s slaps on the cheeks. Strangely enough, there was no weakness: the body was overflowing with strength. She wanted to move, to run, to wave her arms, to laugh for no reason. Celesta opened her eyes and looked around.

    Medea was sitting in front of her with a frightened expression; it appeared that she was the one who had slapped her friend. She was, therefore, supported from behind by Hustin. The undead was still in the hall of the underground temple, but the room now looked more like a morgue. The Morvanites lay in a semicircle, looking as if a giant pump had drained the life out of them. Completely white, their bodies without a single blood vessel, not the slightest wound, and the feeling of cold coming from them. Osilti''s corpse was still on the stone slab of the altar, completely covered in black, dripping blood. At the sight of the victim, Celesta felt herself shudder - something ancient and wise inside her wanted to flee from the man who had served as a conduit to hell.

    "What happened?" Celesta''s own voice seemed unusually loud.

    "We don''t know, we woke up recently ourselves. God seems to have responded." Medea looked at her with rapt and frightened eyes. "When you stabbed the prisoner through the heart, we felt someone''s presence at the same time, and we stopped drinking blood. Then the torches went out at once, and out of the wound arose... Once I''ve seen a spirit summoned: here came something similar, only different. Dark, terrifying. I don''t know how to explain it. It touched everyone, but somehow it spared us, the undead. The Morvanites died."

    "I think we accidentally performed a rite of summoning," Hustin said quietly.

    "Bullshit. The caster must believe in the success of the ritual, and we were, you know, playing a show."

    "So the faith of mortals was enough for all."

    Celesta jumped easily to her feet, and with dancing gait circled the room. She kicked the bodies of the fanatics, respectfully ran her finger over the blade of the ritual knife thrown into the far corner, tucked it behind her belt. From afar, she admired the creepy grimace on the bandit''s face, gingerly felt the air above the altar with the gesture of a blind man. She noticed how strange the dead Morvanites looked, whose faces in death expressed a strange mixture of pain, suffering, and happiness. They seemed to have united with their god after all...

    Undead stared at the leader with a look of surprise and understanding. They were caught too, but Celesta got the most of the dark energy.

    "I think," Hustin said, "there are still mages in the castle, aren''t there? They must have sensed the moment of sacrifice."

    My habitual caution spoke up and broke through the euphoria in my mind. We really mustn''t relax. The barefoot girl in the white dress stopped moving aimlessly around the temple and walked quickly toward the exit: "Let''s get out of here."

    * * *

 Chapter 16

    Chapter 16

    * * *

    On a ten-point scale of failure, Celesta rated last night a nine. If she''d anticipated the consequences of trying to brainwash the fanatics, she''d have given up on the problem in a heartbeat. Her rational worldview, shaken a good deal over the past year, had made her forget just how real the supernatural forces were here. That was entirely her fault. It''s a pity, but the past cannot be changed - all that remains is to find a way to correct the stupidity that has been committed. And henceforth to be more critical in assessing the ideas arising in the subconscious.

    The first item on the loss column was the death of all Morvanites. Of course, sooner or later they would have to be disposed of, but at this particular moment, the disappearance of their most loyal adherents was a great hindrance to the rebels. Celesta had counted on the cultists for help in building the inn, had hoped to use them for some operations in Pit - the plans were in their infancy and would now have to be abandoned entirely - and simply valued a convenient, free, and loyal source of food. Where to get a replacement for them was unclear. Only a madman could trust the alcoholics from the wasteland, it was irrational to create a new cult from scratch, and it would take a long time to gather desperate loners like Varek. She was going to have an assistant spy for the latter, but after last night she had no suitable candidates left.

    Much more unnerving was the attention to the incident on the part of the authorities. It was as if Hustin had foreseen, saying that the palace mages would sense a surge of power. When the next night the undead arrived at the site of the ritual, they found the palace guard in full force. The duke''s elite warriors cordoned off the block and systematically searched it, and they didn''t miss the sewers. It is not known whether or not they have discovered the hall, which had been turned into a temple, but if they haven''t, it won''t stay hidden for long. When the investigators see the bodies of the Morvanites, they will immediately have confirmation of the magicians'' words. What do they know now and what will they know later? A sect of Dark God worshippers successfully existed in a city seemingly cleansed to the ground by the efforts of the spiders. Yesterday, on a day dedicated to their Lord, the Morvanites had performed a failed ritual that had ended in the deaths of the sect''s rank and file. The investigators couldn''t find the priests'' bodies, so they''d consider the leader a survivor.

    They don''t know what ritual it was yet. Maybe it was the first, maybe not...

    If Celesta had been a security guard, she would have taken it as a spit in the face. In a territory that they thought was completely under their control, and indeed it is, they suddenly find an active group of people successfully practicing magic. All right, even if not successfully, they definitely possess some knowledge. And the sect is skillfully concealed, otherwise, it would have long fallen into the field of view of the relevant services. The Duke, to put it mildly, will be dissatisfied with the actions of his subordinates, who have allowed as many as two failures in a matter of two days: the murder of the underling of one of his favorites and the appearance of an unknown factor in political life. The local intriguers take any magical exertions more than seriously, and they have their reasons. Especially after a catastrophe where the tiniest crumbs of working spells are literally worth their weight in gold. More precious than gold: the bulk of the population is absolutely certain of magic''s disappearance. So do most of the undead.

    The only way to deflect the superiors'' wrath is to present the perpetrators of both events to their illustrious eyes as soon as possible.

    Having searched her memory and imagining herself in the place of the investigators, Celesta decided that the first thing the spiders would try to do would be to identify the dead. Faces of the fanatics were preserved, the artist in the security service was for sure, so it would take about twenty-four hours to find out the names. Another day would be spent on checking possible connections, questioning acquaintances and friends, and unsuccessfully trying to identify other cult members in their social circles. At the same time, they would comb Osilti''s home for evidence for a second time and question neighbors to see if they had seen anything suspicious. Hustin set fire to the house, the fire should destroy all traces, but if something was left? Or is there an attentive sufferer suffering from insomnia? Good questions.

    What else will they do... They''ll pick up all the rumors and gossip, shake down the agents looking for any leads. They hadn''t paid attention to reports of ghouls operating in Talea before, but now they''ll pick up the thread and start pulling it out. First, they''ll go out to the homeless people in the vacant lot and beat the information out of them, which would take... an hour. Two hours, given the sluggishness of the bureaucracy. So, henceforth it must be assumed that one must not show his face among the homeless: there would be an ambush waiting for him. Most likely, the other agents would be found out very soon. It is comforting that the girls recruited quite a lot of informants, all of whom acted autonomously, reporting only to the ghouls, and did not suspect the existence of each other. The investigation will not be able to catch all of them: at least a couple of them will be at large. We should warn them to lay low, then the losses would be minimized.

    That leaves Fakasius. He knows an incredible amount about Celesta, and not only about her. If the guards nailed him, he''d give up his partners to the bad guys in exchange for his skin. But if they don''t press him too hard, he''ll keep quiet, again out of self-interest - the ghouls will also have something to say about his affairs. Let''s hope Holiness does not keep snitches among his inner circle.

    As disgusting as it is, they must leave. Avoid the familiar neighborhoods and temporarily relocate to the local slums. Probably escape to Pit for a week and a half. I would ask Hastin''s relatives to stay on as a reserve, the last chance. Get Varek on the line and get him to start building immediately. No matter how events turn in the future, it is obvious that the former methods of hunting will become known and they will have to be abandoned. So today Celesta would give him half the money she had, nearly five hundred dinars - the funds she considered the only positive outcome of the whole operation - and order him to hire laborers. The money would be more than enough.

    But time is running out.

    "Hastin!" Having made a decision, she acted immediately. "Go to your family - explain what our situation is. On the way, stop by Varek and give him the money, telling him to start immediately. If there''s a problem, tell him to go to Holiness, and I''ll coordinate with him today. If you make it, come to the shelter under the third pier for the day, if not, sleep at your place. Medea, you carry the agents. You round up the most valuable and tell them to lay low: we''re leaving town before the Great Hunt begins. We''ll be back when it''s over."

    "Leaving Talea?" Medea repeated in amazement.

    The undead gathered in one of the sewer passages to discuss their plans. More precisely, to listen to Celesta and get instructions from her. The other two had not yet realized how complicated their relatively peaceful existence had become and hoped for the best.

    "That''s what they must think. Be careful: informers may be followed. So if you think, even a shadow of suspicion, that there''s an ambush nearby, run immediately. Well, I''ve got Fakasius on me."

    "Maybe it''ll be all right."

    "It won''t work," Celesta interrupted her friend sharply. "The spiders will shake the city from top to bottom, if we don''t lay low, we''re dead. We''ll have to hunt for sailors in the slums for a while, until the raids pass. That''s it, meet me under pier three."

    Oddly enough, they made it. Celesta even had time to return home, carefully lock the doors, and grab two bottles of drug concentrate for Fakasius. The sweating crime boss had the good fortune of waking up a second time in the company of a ghoul, and this time the bars in his room were intact: the girl had entered the house through the attic window. His Holiness had already been questioned about Osilti, but he swore that he knew nothing. They''d asked about the ghouls, too, and got the same answer. Celesta was completely satisfied with her business partner''s position. She had no doubt: Fakasius would remain silent as long as his fear of the authorities did not outweigh his fear of the undead.

    Medea, of course, could not go around everyone, but she left notes in the hiding places she had agreed upon. Trying to communicate with the eighth agent, she noticed some unfamiliar men, suspiciously comfortable around the meeting place, and immediately hid in the shadows. Once again her night vision served her well: the woman was not detected. The guards couldn''t possibly track them all down, and no one would allow them to conduct total interrogation. The most talkative ones, like Laskash, would suffer, while the experienced and clever ones would be spared the trouble. In short, the ghouls considered the network of informants torn, but not destroyed, and hoped to create a new one on its basis in time.

    Hustin was the first to take care of things, taking on the honorable mission of putting the shelter in order. Only the gods know how long they''d be here, so it was at least worth dusting and making the bedding arrangements. The next night he was joined by Medea, who had brought a couple of blankets with her - she''d slept in a nearby hiding place halfway through the day-sleep had knocked her out - later came the remarkably energetic Celesta. Yesterday she''d talked to Fakasius, and she''d also run through the poor neighborhood, and she''d seen a few of the people who''d been doing the girls some favors. She advised them to watch out for strangers in the neighborhood, and also warned them of a possible raid. As soon as she saw Hustin, a thought that had been tingling in her head lately finally took shape: "Can the school be identified by your signs?"

    "What?" The guy didn''t understand the question.

    "You said you copied the designs on the altar and the victim''s body from the ones you spied at Granny''s," Celesta explained patiently. "Can an expert tell by the runes which system the caster belongs to?"

    "Actually, maybe," Hustin nodded slowly. The Ghoul question made him uneasy, but then, remembering something, he relaxed a bit. "But there was so much blood, I doubt the palace mages could have made any sense of it. The bandit had been stripped completely of his skin, and there was a puddle of it on the floor. Well," the boy was a little embarrassed, "I was a little scared. As soon as I woke up, I erased the circle, and there weren''t any signs left."

    "You did the right thing. But just in case, warn your father in case they ask about you."

    "What''s asking? Why?"

    "The runes are northern, and there''s only one clan of northerners in town. Who do you think they will come to?"

    Hustin hurriedly took off, Celesta stopped him: "Calm down, it''s not that bad. He reported the disappearance of his youngest son two weeks ago, didn''t he? So there shouldn''t be any questions about your family. Besides, Tarrasch is a valuable specialist, the head of the whole workshop, they won''t interrogate him on the basis of shaky suspicions. But if they do come... They might say you longed for magic, but you were hiding it. Do you understand?"

    "Uh-huh. But why?"

    "Then the investigators will think that you were lured into some kind of cult, and the family has nothing to do with it."

    After Hustings left, Celesta sat down next to Medea, sprawled out on the blankets. She was lying on the floor, poring over the contents of a small box she''d been keeping lately. There she kept cosmetics and all kinds of useful little things that had fallen into her hands by mysterious means. The woman took the next blow of fate with remarkable calmness and after a short mild hysteria actively started to rearrange the nest.

    "You don''t seem too upset."

    "I''m surprised it took them so long to notice us," Medea responded. "We''ve been in contact with a lot of people, after all. In a way, we could even consider such a spectacular statement about ourselves a success."

    "Why is that?" Celeste wondered.

    It seems to me that now, before the spring offensive, the spiders are busy. Many new people have joined the army: they need to be checked, evaluated, and at the same time continue to monitor the intrigues of the Duke''s cronies. They have no time to check the gossip circulating among the poor. But sooner or later the guards will have urgent business to attend to, or they will simply be interested in too persistent a rumor. Who knows, we might not have to wake up one dreary morning in our cells and find that we have been watched for more than twenty-four hours...

    The little ghoul shook her head. She didn''t see the situation that way. Though she thought her friend''s optimism was farfetched, she didn''t want to spoil the mood. She wanted to see the bright side of what had happened, fine. Celesta had something else in mind: "What worries me is the strange rush of strength after the sacrifice."

    "Why should it? On the contrary, you should be happy."

    "I do not understand its nature and, therefore, cannot predict the consequences."

    "I don''t see anything unusual about this situation," Medea smiled. "That''s how all the undead exists. We''re dead, but we keep on living - isn''t that strange? Be glad that the Darkness has granted us a reprieve and is not demanding further sacrifices. You don''t feel hungry either, do you?"

    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

    "It is very weak."

    "Exactly. We have time to settle in, to wait out the spiders'' attention span, to keep an eye on Varek. In fact, why not visit the Pit?" Medea hesitated but continued. "You know, I.... am still afraid of the priest. I''d like to know for sure that he''s dead."

    The girls called Carlon the priest. The older one, out of some childish superstition, avoided mentioning his name as if she feared being overheard, Celesta tried not to frighten her friend unnecessarily. When she heard the suggestion, the small undead was frankly surprised: "Are you suggesting we go back to the monastery and kill everyone there?"

    "No, no! It''s just that one of Hustin''s relatives is in the guard. What if you told him about the monastery? He could take soldiers, go there during the day, and slaughter all the ghouls while they sleep soundlessly."

    "Even Artak?"

    Medea sighed, reluctantly shrugging: "If he meets me, he will kill me. In his eyes, I am a traitor and a heretic."

    There was a silence, which was interrupted by Celesta: "The lieutenant is too small a position, he doesn''t decide anything. I intended to talk to Richard about it, he has more freedom of maneuver. It is dangerous to contact Tarrasch now, though it is a pity. The idea of dragging the books hidden in the Pit with his help seems more appealing by the day."

    "Do you really think that Hastin''s family would be suspected?"

    "I don''t exclude this possibility. We know absolutely nothing about magic and the mages living in the palace, their knowledge, and abilities."

    "If I had known what fate the gods had prepared for me before, I would have studied better," the former singer smiled sadly. "But I had always dreamed of singing, not charming. To perform in front of kings, to participate in temple mysteries, to receive invitations to the most famous salons..."

    Celesta had already learned that art in this world was strictly regulated into two unequal categories. The first, publicly available, was in the realm of entertainment, a kind of pop music. Musicians gathered gigantic stadiums of fans, received huge royalties, were written about them in newspapers, and shown on television. They did not, however, enjoy influence and were not allowed into "the best houses" except as an exception. Their singing was considered entertainment for the crowd, for the lower classes.

    The noble descendants of Firiza the Windy were treated differently. Mages, whose skills were often realized through sound, could both heal and kill with their voice. Their abilities were considered a gift from the gods, and the priests specifically sought out children from among the noble families who, after long training, were allowed to sing religious hymns. Temple singing was truly divine, weaving together the inordinate skill of the performers and the manifestation of the talent of the sorcerers. Making money from it was considered blasphemy, a crime. Therefore, singers like Medea had various restrictions on the demonstration of their art. For example, the number of listeners could not exceed a certain number of people, differently on different days, with servants entering the hall only during breaks. Singers were obliged to keep fasts, lived periodically at the shrines, and could not marry or be married until a certain age. There were other restrictions as well.

    The nights passed monotonously as the undead continued to hide in the dungeons. They gave up the idea of walking to Pit. It was unwise to move through an area teeming with troops without a good reason. All the more so since the march had already begun. Except it didn''t look like marches in columns of shining armor, but rather the slow trickle of small groups of ten to fifteen men. They explored the ruins, suppressing the weak resistance of local gangs and destroying small monsters, but if they met serious resistance, they rolled back to wait for the main force to arrive.

    The scouts were followed by heavily armed regular squads. They finally cleared the land, using a variety of methods - from massive round-ups with dogs to real sieges with the use of heavy equipment. Blacksmiths had built two ballistae a year ago, though they''d never been needed until now. Dens and lairs of mutants were filled with combustible material, poison baits were scattered in the streets - in short, each commander acted in a variety of ways.

    On special occasions, the duke''s guards came to the aid of ordinary troops. Rumor had it that the surviving sorcerers had become adept at pinpointing the presence of the creatures of darkness, and were even somehow capable of destroying them. In the wake of recent events, Celesta had been paying close attention to such rumors. She had discovered a lovely spot in the sewers that allowed her to eavesdrop on the conversations of visitors to one of the taverns, and she spent most of her time near the cracked brick wall. People rarely talked about mages, almost always in whispers and curses. They also learned that the dastardly murder of his lordship''s loyal servant Count Maulvlar had been found and that the criminals had been executed by beheading in the central square of the port. A milestone event: before, the government had punished without theatrical effects.

    The undead doesn''t care who was sentenced in their place.

    Thus, both the security service and the wizards temporarily can not be afraid. They are busy with other things. However, Celesta decided to play it safe and wait until her establishment was finished. Varek worked like the damned man, happy to have an opportunity to escape the pestering poverty, the main repairs finished in just a week. The required papers were drawn up by Fakasius, who received another bottle of concentrate for his labors, all that remained was to finish minor details and hire people. By the way, things were going quite well with the manufacturing of the drug. Hustin remembered Stash''s explanations and managed to repeat the process.

    Hunting in the slums proved easy. Either Celesta or Medea lured tipsy fishermen into a dark corner, stunned them, ate, and robbed them, mimicking a robbery. This could not last long: the people began to fear the elusive gang, so the ration of ghouls was diluted with long-forgotten rats. Hustin had the hardest time, but after a couple of days of starvation, the guy began to look at sucking the vital juices out of the filthy bodies of the rodents in a completely different way. More pragmatic.

    Of the three of them, idleness was the easiest for him to bear. He had the alchemist''s legacy to sort out, so Hustin spent most of his time in the primitive laboratory, studying the few remaining literature. Once in port, the ghouls continued to gather whatever books they could, though they had much less success compared to their monastic days. Most people continued to blame the wizards for the catastrophe, and they strenuously destroyed their knowledge, except for sacred texts and innocuous children''s books. The authorities, however, were also concerned with the preservation of knowledge: the city archives contained a good selection of materials. It was purely of practical nature - the undead did not see much use in it. In fact, why would a ghoul need to know the subtleties of growing cabbage?

    Medea was impatient to return to the familiar neighborhood and find out how the informers who were left unattended were doing. Celesta held her back: "Don''t be so hasty. It''s not much time passed yet."

    "But we have to let people know that we remember them! Otherwise, we risk losing them all! They will move to new places how to find them."

    "They''re not going anywhere. And in general, we should change the way of working. It''s not good that we have to talk to every agent personally: it''s troublesome and time-consuming."

    "But it reduces the risk of failure."

    "Wrong," She began to spell out the obvious truths. "It''s enough to expose one informer, and they''ll come after us. I don''t like feeling under the radar. We need to introduce an intermediate link between the leadership, which is us, and the executors. And the work would be easier."

    Medea snapped her fingers: "Like those bandits... Well, you told me!"

    "Caporegime".

    "That''s it."

    "Maybe we should call them otherwise," Celesta grinned. "We''ll keep an eye on the old informers for a month, make sure they''re not being followed, and then we''ll start to form a new network. We''ll think of something to occupy them. Now they come in, pouring out a lot of information, and we have to fish out of the pile of garbage useful crumbs. It is better to let them earn money - for themselves and their masters!"

    "How that?"

    "I don''t know yet. But I have some ideas."

    There were certain ideas. Only now Celesta was thinking mostly about other events. Phenomena, to be precise. She was worried about the changes that had happened to her since the ritual. Her earlier ambivalence was gone, her mood swings and change in her ways of thinking no longer bothered her. She should be glad because she was no longer in danger of suffering from multiple personalities or going insane. But it was embarrassing. She used to know exactly who she was: Andrew, an alien from another world, accidentally trapped in the body of a ghoul and looking for a way to return home. "Celesta" was just a mask, worn for ease of communication, nothing more. Then gradually the mask began to grow as if enveloping the main core. The dead body was independent of hormones, the conventions of human society, and the roles it dictated had no effect on the consciousness of the newly created being. However, memory stubbornly resisted the imposed image, inevitably provoking an internal conflict.

    Now the ambivalence is gone.

    Feeling herself a kind of sexless homunculus, undead felt a certain embarrassment and a slight sadness. If she''d been attracted to Medea or Hustin, it would have been easier for her to make up her mind. But it was extremely rare for ghouls to feel carnal attraction. Yes, Medea did have sex, already in Talea she sometimes seduced men, but not so much out of love for the process as out of a sense of self-gratification. She liked to seduce, to realize her attractiveness, the woman used her beauty as a weapon. The bed itself, in fact, she did not need. Moreover, she was wary of men, remembering the last days of her life.

    Celesta attributed the change to the recent ritual and the sensations she had experienced. The touch of the demons had changed her mind. She wondered if the messenger of Darkness had left something else behind. Other gifts would manifest themselves at some unknown moment. So she carefully monitored herself, her behavior, looking for atypical reactions and with fear and hope not to notice the emergence of strangeness. The best way out of the situation of uncertainty would be to talk to an expert, but the two priests she knew who could give advice were not fit for the role of confessor. Carlon would kill her without talking - Garresh was serving a hostile force. There were still palace mages, but Celesta had no idea how to reach them.

    There were only books and experiments of her own, the thought of which sent shivers down her spine. No, she should know as much as possible about the undead forces that spawned them, but she had to act with the utmost caution and rely on at least some basis. Otherwise, the next ritual might end up with much worse results: luck is a fickle thing. So Celesta saw no choice but to wait, to gather information, and to hope that, in time, the ghouls would have a chance to gain the knowledge they needed.

    Richard listened to the servant''s story, gradually filling up with a tight, hot rage.

    "So the noble mister bastard orders me - me! - to take my men away from the stadium?"

    "Yes, master," the faithful Borak nodded somberly. "He says he''ll finish the cleanup himself."

    "Bitch! He wants to get his hands on my booty!"

    Richard cursed for about five minutes, kicking everything around in a rage.

    "We''ve torn down the lair slaughtered the strongest monsters, and he comes here and gets it all for nothing?!"

    "He is an officer, master..."

    "I know it!"

    "Yesterday, Zatik of the Sixth Squad was executed for insubordination."

    "Shut up!"

    Richard needed money. He needed it badly. Very much. Gifts to the staff patrons were expensive, but the benefits were insignificant. He had already been promised a warm position as captain of the second-line fort. The first line, called "Jasper Line," consisted entirely of villages and settlements spread among the duke''s loyal vassals. It was the richest and, more importantly, the safest of all, so Dinar''s cronies fought tooth and nail to gain a piece of land a day''s journey from the city. After the Hunt, there would be no monsters left, except for the most fearsome - humans.

    Further ahead were the few remaining fortifications of the Jade Line, which was scheduled to be cleared of mutants by the end of the year so that after the following winter they could begin systematic settlement of the desolate lands. These lands were not highly valued - it was not known how successful the army would be in establishing a foothold here soon. However, the holdings were given in large chunks, and each fort had a couple of villages attached to it. In fact, the fort''s captain was given enormous power, making him a small autocratic feudal lord. And the authorities made it clear in advance that the officer''s position would be inherited, unless, of course, the new baron failed in his service.

    With this approach, no one was surprised by the distribution of posts. Naturally, the Duke''s closest entourage got the Jasper lands - those who had originally been waiting out the catastrophe in the palace. Counts Lash, Molvlar, and other minions whose loyalty Dinir had no doubt. The Jade Line went to the retinue of the most powerful vassals and promoted officers - the closer they got to Talea, the more valuable the land was. The fact that Richard had managed to get in was his greatest achievement, and he was absolutely right. After all, usually, junior officers, especially those like him, former gang leaders, were offered places like guardians of the forts of the third, Turquoise Line. And life there was sure to be hard. Constant skirmishes, no opportunity to advance at court and get rich, stupid and spiteful exiled settlers, world-hating jackal soldiers...

    The fortifications of the Turquoise Line were not meant to be used against monsters alone. Small towns, once abundantly scattered across the fertile lands of Salvatia, were mostly abandoned after the disaster, their populations either dead or migrating to more livable places like Talea. However, some settlements survived, with strong, strong-willed leaders who united the people around them. Gradually they adapted to the new world, learned to fight hostile creatures and bands of marauders, and organized warrior detachments on the model of feudal vigilantes. Some of the newly minted "rulers" led up to two hundred swordsmen. Of course, it would be foolish to compare the training and arming of these soldiers to even the duke''s regular army, but they could do a lot of damage.

    "What else does he want?"

    "The centurion orders us to clear out some monastery. There are bad rumors about it among the locals, so I brought a hundred arrows with silver-plated tips."

    Silver still had a poison-like effect on dark creatures, making it more expensive than gold. Even more expensive than dinirs. Silver-tipped arrows and silver spearheads were handed out for a receipt, and accounting was rigorous, but they were still often "lost". That is why the smiths quickly switched to silvering - it was the only way the army could save valuable metal.

    "What monastery?! A nest of monsters again?!" Suddenly it was as if something moved in his memory. "Wait a minute... What monastery did you say? Wasn''t it the Judges''?"

    "That''s right, master," Borak nodded. He turned around and looked around carefully. Only when he was sure they weren''t being overheard did he continue in a whisper: "The one the old ghoul was talking about."

    "Interesting..." stretched out Richard. "Very interesting."

    "That''s not a good place, master."

    "Every place here is a bad place. Better think what a bitch our noble centurion is. He knows that half of my men are wounded and the other half are exhausted, and he sends me where even ghouls don''t dare to go! Well, you bastard, I''ll remember everything..."

    "So what to do, master?"

    "We''ll sleep here tonight, we''ll rest, get some sleep. We''ll go to the monastery tomorrow afternoon, while the bloodsuckers are asleep. We''ll slaughter the dead men in their beds!"

    "What if there''s someone else there?"

    "I don''t think so, Celeste didn''t tell me about anything like that. And we have enough men in armor. No, we''ll clear the monastery in no time, and we''ll even make a profit-- think of all the valuables the ghouls have dragged up there! Don''t worry, Borak, tomorrow will be a good day."

    Richard had no doubts about success: he had never met a mutant in his life that would survive a good sword blow. Dead or undead, what the hell difference did it make? That''s not what pissed him off. The commander must have known about the big dead colony, the intelligence gave the officers some good maps, but he didn''t see fit to warn his subordinate. Did he think Richard could be treated as a common peasant? That a man who had survived a three-year nightmare would allow himself to be ignored, despised with impunity?

    Okey.

    It''s fine.

    It''s time to put an end to the arrogant bastard.

    * * *

 Chapter 17

    Chapter 17

    * * *

    Celesta looked at the body lying on the floor with an uncharacteristically soft and relaxed expression on her face. Hustin could have sworn she was smiling in a way that had never happened before in his memory. She looked like a young girl just entering adulthood, the undead never let mercy or pity override sober calculation, she was always focused on the goal at hand. So when she saw something adorable, like a puppy or a small child, Celesta thought first of all whether and how she could use it.

    She was not cruel. She just didn''t think she had the right to be kind.

    The more surprising it is to see the always collected leader displaying some positive emotion. Directed at an absolutely disgusting object. The filthy, smelly, deadly drunken man, drunk to the point of complete insanity, was not, by any standards, a beauty queen. He would not have been allowed, not even into decent society - not any jail would agree to shelter such a subject.

    And yet Celesta was smiling.

    Slowly, clearly stretching her pleasure, she rolled up the sleeve of her wine-stained shirt, pierced a vein with a long, sharp claw, and sipped her drink with pleasure. Then, reluctantly, she broke away, offered the still snoring man''s hand to Medea, and stepped aside.

    "Are you surprised at my behavior, Hustin?"

    If the boy had remained human, he would have flinched. It wasn''t the first time Celesta had guessed his thoughts, striking him with supernatural insight.

    "No surprise there." The girl smiled ironically and affectionately at the same time. "You and I see different things. You see the drunk on the floor, and I see the opportunity in front of me. Now we don''t have to lurk in alleys, attacking passersby in danger. From now on, we can not only work but live!"

    "The money will be there, the agents will show up, and the spiders won''t find us," Medea broke away from her meal. "The only thing left to do is to find a decent place to live."

    "Remember when you didn''t believe me?"

    "So you promised completely crazy things!"

    Hustin looked from one girl to the other perplexed, not understanding why they were laughing. He happily escaped the overwhelming loneliness, the drying thirst, and the eternal fear of not waking up with the next sunset. On his darkest days, he was surrounded by his family, ready, no matter what, to share with the young man the last and protect him. So the reasons for his friends'' good mood he did not understand.

    "Come on, let''s not stay here," Celesta waved her hand. "We''ll have to be careful until we find Varek a helper."

    The tavern turned out, in the ghouls'' eyes, to be perfect. Varek bought an entire entryway in a former three-story high apartment building and enthusiastically set about remodeling it. Apartments on the first floor have turned into a kitchen and a cheap hall with drinks, the floor above will place a class cafe - work in it has not yet ended, had to decorate the room - under the roof made room for administration and suites. Fakasius had promised to supply waitresses and bed girls for a modest fee so that by local standards the place was in some ways even respectable. True, instead of the original five hundred it cost seven hundred dinars, but the undead spared no expense.

    In the basement, Varek set up a "sobering-up room" - simply put, the workers covered the walls and floor with thick boards. This was supposed to be used to put drunk or unconscious brawlers in the basement, to wait until they were sober, and to charge them for the damage they had done. The tavern-keeper was the only one who knew what the room was for. Through a secret passage disguised with wood that led to the sewers, the ghouls would come and feed on the hapless sufferers. There is, of course, a risk that an unauthorized person might inadvertently peek into the cellar, but for this case, there were inconspicuous hinges on the inside of the sturdy door and a peephole in the hatch leading to the underground. Though the undead had excellent hearing, the extra precaution wouldn''t hurt.

    The euphoria was gone, replaced by the usual suspects. Holiness knows too much about the life of the ghouls - you might say, they depend on him. Now there is parity: the undead supply the bandit with drugs, help him solve small problems, and in return, he provides the tavern cover and tosses money. It seems simple enough. However, in the long run, the situation looks very bleak. Fakasius can give the undead a lot of trouble, all he has to do is rat out the guards and organize an ambush. Even if the soldiers manage to fight off and get away lay low, they will lose almost all their sources of income. Without money, the spy network would collapse. The late Morvanites were good because they worked with pure enthusiasm, while ordinary people need to be paid.

    Perhaps we should find some more fanatics. The Dark One is worshipped by many.

    We can start by talking to Tarrasch, recalling the old idea about transporting the contents of the caches. Especially since there is a cover-up. The authorities have allowed northerners to choose their own place to build a new home, highly regarded blacksmiths. A great privilege. By all appearances, in the near future people will be in high demand: villages have to be populated. That is why the process of enslavement is now actively going on; the community members are forced to agree to move. And they don''t say where they will be moved to. In Talea, it seems, only artisans will remain: the Duke wants to have control over the means of production - vegetable growers, fishermen, and other people will be relocated. But at the same time, there was a relaxation, allowing officials above the third rank and their households to choose their place of residence within the city as they saw fit. Also, trade over-the-counter goods was allowed, the market was legalized, and license tags for certain kinds of activities were introduced. In short, life was slowly getting better, though not for everyone.

    So, Tarrasch intends to open his own blacksmith shop. A big one; he already has a small one. He wants to settle down away from the port, closer to the new settlements and the mine, where there''s sure be work. He intends to marry off his two daughters to his apprentices and leave the house to his eldest son, while he and most of his family will move to a new one. He''s got the papers he needs - all that''s left is to find a suitable place.

    We should have a talk with the head of the family: we can be useful to each other.

    "Hustin, when are you going to see your family?"

    "Tomorrow. My third cousin has a Patron''s Day, so I want to present him with a gift."

    Celesta almost stumbled. The Highlanders continued to amaze her.

    "Do you think it''s a good idea?"

    "Why not?" There was a look of amazement in the guy''s eyes.

    "You''re a sort of dead now," the girl hinted. "Gifts are supposed to come from the living."

    "With you southerners, maybe so. But in the North, our ancestors look after the family until forty years after death."

    Celesta could not find an answer to this argument. So she went back to the topic she was going to talk about first: "I''ll go with you: I must have a word with Tarrasch."

    "About moving?

    "Not only that. We''ve got some stuff stashed away in the Pit, and I think it''s time to get it back. By the way, there''s a lot of literature on magic and the occult: a whole room full of books."

    "Wow! So maybe I should go, too? I''ll look what to pick up first.''

    The ghoul was skeptical of the suggestion. Despite his success in alchemy and, as far as she could tell, a decent education in other fields, Hustin still caused her doubts as an expert magician. So she responded in a streamlined manner: "I don''t think so. You got a lot of dope to cook, and it''s hard to feed two ghouls in a small group at once. And by the way, would the men be willing to feed me or Medea? Or are they only willing to share blood with their relatives?"

    "What the father orders, they will do. But it will be hard to convince the father."

    "It''s okay, I have my arguments."

    She wondered if she should go on her own. Medea knew the territory of Pit better, easier to navigate the labyrinths of the ruined quarters, had established a good relationship with the male part of Hustin''s kin. Of those who knew of his posthumous status. A beautiful woman is forgiven many weaknesses, even if she is undead. On the negative side was the panicked fear of Carlon, whose sanctuary would be literally a stone''s throw away. Fear was natural. Hell, Celesta herself felt sick at the thought of the mad priest! The dilemma...

    Tarrasch greeted his son and his guest with mild wariness. He knew from experience that the little ghoul wouldn''t just drop in - she must be up to something again. Ever since Hustin had brought word of the failed - or overly successful, as the case might be - ritual, he had been in a constant state of doubt. Had he made a mistake in trusting Celesta? What a foolish thing to do, to try to play a trick on the gods! And with the Dark One himself! But they had survived, the demon had taken only the living... And then the son, after the sacrifice, looked almost alive, red-faced, happy, moving often and with pleasure. So Morvan accepted the sacrifice?

    And they don''t keep an eye on the house.

    A worm of uncertainty remained, even though the ghouls seemed to be doing well. So the master grunted incredulously at the sight of Celesta: "It''s been a long time since you''ve been here. You must have done something wrong again."

    "Look, Tarrasch, do you want money?" The girl inquired instead of an answer.

    "It depends on what kind. If it''s something bloody, I''ll be careful."

    "There are still cellars with goods in the Pit, which can be taken out and sold. The food, of course, mostly rotted away, but clothes, tools, construction materials are stored for a long time. Not all warehouses were looted after the plague, some survived and are still closed. They are willing to show you for a percentage."

    "It''s all gone, I guess."

    "I doubt it. The marauders were after a few other categories of things, and there were mutants in a lot of places, and they''d been cleared out recently. Medea and I stashed a lot of things away: if not searched carefully, the soldiers wouldn''t find them."

    "I have to think about it," Tarrasch scratched his head. "It''s not something you can solve right away. What will you ask for in return?"

    "Out of respect for you a fifth, plus you''ll help move some items to the port. It''s mostly literature."

    "Books?! No, you carry them yourself! If people find out we keep books, no guards will protect us."

    "You don''t need to store anything, you just take the cargo to the nearest checkpoints. Your brother is a corporal - let him organize an escort so that they don''t search you. You can help us stack the boxes in the warehouse, and then we''ll haul it ourselves."

    "It''s still dangerous," the Elder insisted. "And my brother''s busy right now, they won''t let him out of the squad."

    "Give the centurion some money," Celesta shrugged indifferently. "Is this your first time? There''s a risk, of course, but isn''t a single ride worth the chance to earn thousands of dinirs? With that kind of money an estate could be built. Think about it, I''m not rushing your answer."

    The ghoul rose from the bench, about to say goodbye. The meeting took place in the familiar outhouse, but this time Tarrasch had no "support group" in the form of his male relatives. But there were merry voices coming from the main house, and the smell of freshly baked goods and stew. For what reasons did the northerners get the insanely expensive flour Celesta didn''t ask. She knew from talking to Hustin. The boy had sworn not to talk to children, and he didn''t see many adults either, but he couldn''t miss out on the festivities.

    It seems that the habit of not putting all the eggs in one basket was gradually transformed into an instinct. Celesta felt the discomfort of the only source of income and food - or, more accurately, the lack of alternatives to the tavern. Outwardly things were going well: Varek was working, she and Medea were expanding the number of hideouts, gradually finding sheltered corners in the sewers, going deeper and deeper, and Hustin was gradually mastering the alchemical laboratory. However, Celesta realized with dismay that all of their money channels were tied to Fakasius. If he wanted to betray... No, there''s Tarrasch and his family, of course, but some vague feeling forced to keep him out of business. Their relationship was odd: both wished to see each other as a strong, steady partner, but studiously avoided too strong a friendship. They fulfilled petty requests, rendered one-time services, and were wary of long-term projects.

    Therefore, Celesta did not doubt that Tarrasch would agree to help with the transportation. Just as she was sure that if she offered to build another tavern together on the most favorable terms, the master would refuse. And he would be right not to endanger his kind.

    So we have to find other ways. Preferably away from crime: no need to attract the attention of the authorities, though... Holiness was impressed by the kidnapping of Osilti from his own home - he offered crazy money for the elimination of his rivals. So crazy, in fact, that Celesta wouldn''t hesitate to agree if someone else were the client. She would be willing to take out one or two, but no more. Working as a hitman regularly is too dangerous, the craft gives unnecessary popularity. What can one do, anyway? Now that the authorities have allowed trade and craft, there will be a choice. Stores of goods would spring up, merchants would gradually move between settlements, private boats would go to sea. With the initial capital, it would have been possible to seize part of the market from the very beginning, if they had not been ghouls. The same problem: the undead must act with the hands of their loyalists...

    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

    We will have to urgently restore the destroyed network of informants, to recruit new ones, from the well-proven mortals to make assistants in the business. This is not a day''s work, and it should be started immediately - right now. Before active relocation to new places of residence, it is necessary to find out which of the old agents have remained unnoticed by spiders. Remind those who survived, order to send word when their fate is finally decided, tossing some money at the beginning. Then pick out the most intelligent ones, have them recruit people themselves. Celesta estimated the time and money it would take and stifled the urge to swear. She consoled herself with the adage: "The journey of a thousand leagues begins with a single step," and she began her work little by little.

    If Tarrasch is tempted by the opportunity to get a lucrative score, Medea will go with him. I''d like to go myself, of course, but there are several reasons for entrusting the case to a friend. And it''s not even because Medea knows the Pit with all its dangers very well. First of all, her stunning good looks and excellent acting talents will easily allow her to manipulate the men accompanying her - they will still argue about who will be the first to give her blood. In other words, there will be no problem with feeding. Second, she needs to be assured of Carlon''s death. Rumors are good, of course, but it is much better to see for yourself, to stand happily over a pile of ashes, to be sure that vague hopes are fulfilled. Third, the sooner Celesta met the recruits, the better chance she had of catching them in the act. The authorities were too eager to relocate: troops had not yet completely cleared the suburbs, and carts of communes were already streaming up the roads. If they left, where would they be found?

    Such considerations led the elder ghoul to her old place of residence a day later, to the cozy house that she had become accustomed to and thanks to her persistent efforts. The dungeon greeted Celesta with the familiar sound of water, stale air, and the squeaks of the rats that had multiplied. The rodents had grown bolder during the time the undead had spent in the safe house, but they fled at the sight of the beast of prey, clever creatures remembering who had butchered their numbers. Before going in, the girl carefully searched the area around the den for signs of an intruder''s presence. Some soot stains on the ceiling, boot prints, and scratches on the walls lingered along the floor. Still, after circling the dungeon, Celesta was relieved to see that no one had gone too deep. Their house had gone unnoticed.

    The door looked untouched, and nothing had changed inside, either. The loaded crossbow still aimed menacingly at the uninvited visitor''s stomach, the few hairs tossed on the floor lay in the same order. A satisfied smile slid across the ghoul''s lips. She seemed to be in luck - today she''d be in a familiar hideout, and tomorrow she''d start quietly tracking down the right people.

    "What am I supposed to do with you?"

    Celesta wasn''t in the habit of thinking out loud, but the situation was appropriate. Like a piano, with her fingers, she let go of the prisoner''s throat, letting him breathe, and then squeezed hard, not letting him call for help. She had no guarantee that the captured spy was watching alone.

    "What do you think?" She loosened the pressure a little. "Any suggestions?"

    "Let go," the man wheezed. "I won''t tell anyone."

    Celesta grumbled irritably. Over the past two days, she had checked in with almost all her former agents, met and talked to some, left signs for some, and failed to contact many. The re-establishment of acquaintances went successfully up to the last informant who brought the "tail" to the meeting. The spy proved skilled and experienced enough to follow the agent to the meeting place and get close to the ghoul, but not enough to go unnoticed. He was understandable: It was pitch black, and a mortal could not have seen from afar who his ward was communicating with. But when he tried to get closer, he was immediately confronted by Celesta.

    Who now didn''t know what to do.

    "What do you mean you wouldn''t tell?" The undead woman pretended to be surprised. "Do you really intend to disregard your spy duty and conceal from your superiors the fact of meeting the desired object? No, I can''t in good conscience push you to violate your oath."

    After thinking for a while, she jumped down into the sewer manhole, walked lightly down the tunnel, and released her prisoner, tossing him into a small nook. She took away his weapon, and fighting her with her bare hands was useless. But she wouldn''t let him go, either, and kept her hands on his wrists.

    "Who else are you following? Besides that guy who just left here?"

    "I was just passing by..."

    He didn''t have time to finish the sentence, howling in pain. The ghoul held on a bit longer and loosened her grip.

    "When a man lies, his scent changes and his pulse quickens. Of course, you''re very frightened and excited, and your heart is beating like crazy, but I can tell the truth from a lie. Don''t try to deceive me - it''s useless."

    In reality, things were much more limited than that. Despite their extensive interrogation experience, the rebels were still poorly versed in such subtle areas of physiology. It would be impossible for Celesta to tell whether a captive was lying or just nervous, based on his pulse rate. But she had a clear idea of the situation she found herself in and what to expect from the captive. Besides, she did sense a lie - instinctively. After the ill-fated ritual, her ability to sense people had grown by leaps and bounds.

    "Well, I''m waiting."

    The man breathed heavily, looking at his tormentor with fear and hatred. He did not attempt to break free.

    "You''re going to get caught anyway!" he suddenly exploded with a scream.

    "Unconstructive." The girl squeezed his wrists lightly, making the prisoner shudder. "Think how to get through the night. Answer the question: who else are you following?"

    "I don''t know. No, I really don''t know! I''m just a performer, how would I know!?"

    "Should I break your arm?"

    "No!"

    "Then tell the truth. At least something, at the level of rumors, but you know. So?"

    "There''s another man," the spy finally surrendered. "He''s keeping an eye on Red Almoke."

    "And?"

    "I don''t know! There aren''t many people, it''s easier to order the headman to watch a person from his community than to assign a separate observer."

    Celesta decided the guy wasn''t lying. If she were the spider chief, she wouldn''t waste resources by unnecessary surveillance on every agent she identified, either, but would simply try to recruit someone from the inner circle. So she should not trust any of her informants? Every one of them could be "under the radar"?

    Unpleasant news. We''ll have to start all over again.

    "Are we under orders to be caught or killed?"

    "Observe," the man answered grimly. "Do not take any action upon encounter, limit yourself to observation and inform your superiors. That''s all."

    It was obvious that he really wasn''t going to say anything else. A rank-and-file performer has only the information he needs to have, and the one he caught was no exception. However, Celeste managed to get something out of him. She listened with great attention to his story about the internal kitchen of the spiders, the names of supervisors, methods of work. However, words settle down captive chose with great care and nothing really valuable said, his story abounded with gaps. At last, the ghoul had made up her mind:

    "I''m not going to kill you." Spy shuddered at the sudden change of subject. His heart was beating wildly again as he realized the girl''s words. "You tell your superiors we''re leaving. Of course, you will not take off the surveillance, but that''s your business, - I cut off the old contacts. And now it''s time for you to go to bed..."

    She stunned the prisoner a little, then, after feeding on him, she staggered away. Well, as they say, a negative result is also a result. At least she found out about the activities of the security guards in time. She wouldn''t be able to determine who the spider agents were among her informants'' entourage, so she''d find others. She won''t tear up old connections. She''ll lie low and not come back for at least a year when this story is forgotten. Or not come back at all, depending on the circumstances. Her people would probably not be harmed by the scouts - no one has been arrested so far. Strange, in fact: at least a couple of them should have been arrested and questioned. Why didn''t they do that?

    Celeste paused, pondering the thought. Could the guards have turned someone over? They could; there were plenty of ways to apply pressure. But then, why bother assigning spies?

    In any case, it is necessary to lay low and look for new mortal helpers. Right now she has three channels left: Holiness, Richard, and Tarrasch. None of them inspires absolute confidence. Tarrash will not betray her, but he will not help, and Fakasius, who is always ready to betray, knows about Varek. We must find someone else. Of course, it makes sense to interrupt contacts with the three mentioned, but, firstly, they are all kinds of sources of income, which can not be lost. Secondly, these people occupy a relatively influential position in society, they have no ties to the poor people caught by security. This means that they will not be inspected too thoroughly.

    When Medea returned, they would deal with the human resources issue. They formed a good tandem. Where logic and equanimity were required, Celesta communicated, and her friend successfully pressed the feelings and emotions with her beauty. Gradually they would begin to involve Hustin in the case: let him help, not all of him sit in the laboratory. Until the return of Medea, who should now accompany people to Pit. Celesta would gather rumors and select possible candidates for recruitment. The tavern provided excellent opportunities to study the clientele.

    <hr>

    The woman shifted her pose slightly, noting with latent pleasure the eager glances cast on her. She was still flattered by men''s attention, despite the misery she''d suffered at the hands of men. Medea, however, knew better than most what kind of beast lurked in her companions, and she did not allow herself to relax for a moment.

    By mutual agreement, the troop walked at night. The men preferred daylight, but the ghoul could not move in the sunlight; it was too difficult to walk alone and catch up with a small wagon train. A lone woman would attract anyone''s attention, lurking was a loss of momentum, and time would have to be wasted on the hunt. The head of the detachment, the same corporal Karva, had stuttered about taking Medea in the daytime in the cart, but the woman rejected the proposal without hesitation. First, she did not trust people enough to entrust them to guard her body, and secondly, to approach a sleeping undead was dangerous: his instincts would make it claw at his prey.

    The city, cleaned and occupied by troops, differed from Medea''s familiar Pit mainly in its safety. How long had they walked then, during their flight? Seven days, twelve? Now it took two days to the monastery, and there were patrols all along the way all the time. Some came up, looked at the papers the officials had drawn up and asked about the purpose of the journey. They honestly answered that they were going to move, for which they were looking for a suitable place. On such occasions Medea hid her face and sat quietly, trying not to be seen by the soldiers.

    She already knew all four of the companions Tarrasch had sent to fulfill the agreement with Celesta. Not just their names: she had learned their habits, their character, their little weaknesses. In short, all the things that allow a weak woman to survive and to turn rough and strong men. On the first night, she talked to each one, figured out what to expect, who was more dangerous, who was less. She smiled, she joked, she twirled seductively in front of a tiny shard of mirror. She had always been predicted a bright acting future, and her natural talents had bailed her out this time. Soon people began to think of her as a poor sufferer, the gods had put her in a difficult situation, began to pity her, and the idea of feeding the ghoul with blood was accepted without rejection. No, they had known they would have to do it before, but now their resentment was gone. They had somehow forgotten that Medea was easily able to kill a man with her bare hands and had been hunting that way for almost three years.

    "This is where we hid the path."

    Karwa looked doubtfully at the ruins of what had once been a longhouse. The ruins looked like ruins, and they had been set on fire for the last time. Medea grinned:

    "There used to be an underground store here that sold clothes. After the Plague, it was looted and burned, but part of the store survived. Then the mutants settled nearby, and thanks to their proximity, looters avoided what had become a dangerous place. Celesta and I found the hole by chance, and just in case, we hid it - covered it with planks and earth. Let''s hope no water got in."

    "The main thing is that there are no monsters," the man said optimistically, clearly not understanding the ambiguity of his statement. The undead woman standing nearby smiled involuntarily. "It can not all rot away, at least something left. If we find at least two dozen factory-wrapped pants, we''ll consider the trip paid off."

    "Let''s see. There''s another hiding place not far away; at worst, we''ll drop this one and go dig up a new one. The night is long."

    Luckily for Medea, they didn''t have to go anywhere. Time and floods had not spared the things stacked in the basement, but even what survived would have turned the finder into a wealthy man by Taleya standards. Clothes of varying quality and style, for men and women, for all seasons - people who came to the place had their eyes scattered as they looked at the riches on the shelves. Grown men rejoiced like boys. Only Karwa, who had kept his head, was wondering how to transport the merchandise he had found back home to the clan''s homestead.

    The ghoul touched him lightly on the shoulder.

    "I have to go away, not far."

    "Should I send someone? It''s not safe to be alone."

    "No need. I hope that place has been cleaned out by the army." She was quiet for a while and then added with a frown. "If not, I can''t save an ordinary man. I don''t know if I can escape myself."

    "So why do you go? Tell me where to look, and I''ll talk to the patrolmen in the morning."

    Medea shook her head.

    "Thank you. It''s really more reliable, but... I have to see for myself. Make sure. It''s a small risk, and I don''t have the strength to take it anymore."

    Not listening to objection, the woman slipped into the shadows. She was a little wry when she said she was in a hurry to see the monastery. Medea was afraid. Her resolve to ascertain Carlon''s death and the demise of the place that had been somehow home for two years was fading with each passing second. She feared that the next night she might not have the courage to walk under the familiar archway to the small courtyard paved with carved slabs. Nor did she want to suffer the uncertainty.

    So today she left humans and went to a monastery.

    Alone.

    The first step was incredibly difficult: my eyes searched by themselves for the guard on duty. Gunn, Paltin, Tick, Artak... No one, the rock that had served as a seat of sorts was empty. The walls were covered in soot, and there were traces of unkempt surroundings. Cheered up, Medea stepped more confidently into the temple building, noting the marks of the battle that had taken place here. If Carlon were alive, the first thing he would do would be to tidy up the sanctuary.

    The soldiers dared not desecrate Morvan''s symbol: a black cross with a white dot in the middle stood untouched. The rest of the room looked utterly trashed, and the ghoul''s sensitive nose picked up smells of blood soaked into the floor. The skirmish had been fierce. And it ended in victory for the humans.

    The woman stared at the scorched silhouette on the floor in front of the altar. It was the usual place for a scorch mark to remain where a ghoul had died when it failed to hide from the sun. Why the mark was there, in total darkness, she did not wonder, having grown accustomed to considering the priest capable of any miracle. Medea sat down, ran her fingertips across the dark marble floor, picking up dust, dirt, ashes, and something else intangible that remains after the death of any kinsman, gently touched the collected with her tongue. Yes, some ghoul had died here. She stood up, nervously wiping her hands on her dress, timidly taking a few steps back. She wanted to run, but she wasn''t done yet.

    After bowing to the altar and hurriedly muttering a prayer that had been hard-won, the woman ran out into the courtyard. It was here that the smell of burning was strongest. The huge fire that had recently burned out on sacred ground had served as the final resting place for the rest of the ghouls of the little colony. They must have been killed in their sleep. Carlon, a faithful servant of the Dark God, was able to stand up and resist the soldiers who had come in the afternoon, but the others lay weakened before the men, enraged, fearful, and hateful. How strong the ghouls were at night, so defenseless were they by day. To be sure of her hunch, Medea looked into all the cells, one by one. Empty, only the ashes of burnt things lying on the floor. The victors did not take the property of the damned, not wanting such trophies.

    After circling the monastery, Medea returned to the temple and sat down wearily on the miraculously preserved pew. She had not expected the turmoil that the sight of the ruined abode would cause in her mind. Relief mingled with pain at the sight of the chipped frescoes, washed with her own hands more than once, joy at the death of her brethren mixed with a longing for the days when they had lived together. Even Carlon, still terrifying, now seemed less cruel and ruthless than he really was. After all, it had once been the priest who had picked up the frightened, newly risen ghoul, brought her to safety, taught her how to hunt...

    Sometimes even evil leaves behind a good memory.

    * * *

 Chapter 18

    Chapter 18

    * * *

    The bundle of dinir handed by Medea looked moderately thick. Exactly what Celesta had expected to get from her first trip. She was much more interested in her friend''s account of Carlon''s death and in the books the looters had brought with them.

    "Karwa went to the nearest army camp after the excavation and asked about the monastery. The soldiers still avoided it, even though it was almost completely burned down. They consider it a cursed place." Medea thoughtfully pored over the knives on the table. Her weapon of choice was a fine pair of stiletto knives or a short, throwing blade on a simple hilt. "They say Carlon managed to put down nearly two dozen guards before he died."

    "They must be lying."

    "Maybe. But there is a strong smell of blood in the temple."

    "Did the library burn down?"

    "Yes, all of it, along with the secret vault. I don''t know how they found it. Everything I brought with me was taken out of our hiding place."

    Sitting in the corner, next to the books on the floor, Hustin looked up: "Is that all, or is there more left?"

    "We didn''t haul a tenth of it. Your uncle promised to get a wagon later and bring the rest of what Celesta and I had stashed away in one go. Where shall we set up storage?"

    "In the lab," Celesta replied. "There''s a cubicle over there, and we''ll clean it up, put some shelves in it, put a door on it. It''ll fit right in. Did Karwa say when they''d go again?"

    Soon. There was an unexpectedly large amount of loot: the northerners were even dumbfounded by the sight of the loot. I don''t think they''ll rest until they''re all gone. I showed them the hiding places - they''re going to clear them one by one. We agreed that they would roughly assess the goods on the spot, give us our share, and pay us the final price after we sell them.

    "So it went well," concluded the leader.

    "It''s even amazing."

    Celesta nodded, looked thoughtfully at Hustin, who was fully immersed in the study of a puffy volume with the toothy title "Features of differential calculus of force flows as applied to the construction of third-order spells. Then she began to pour out her news, bad news: "The old network is completely compromised. Absolutely all of the old agents should be considered compromised until proven otherwise. We''ll have to start recruiting new ones immediately, so you''ve got a good deal on the money."

    "So we''re starting all over again?"

    "Yes," the little ghoul grimaced, "considering the mistakes we''ve made. We''ll start tomorrow. I''ve made a rough list of people to work with, four names so far. Look through the records and see who you can cross off, who you can look at more closely. In the second half of the night, we can go and see them for ourselves."

    "Why not right after waking up?"

    "Richard left a note asking to meet."

    Communication with the former bandit leader was carried out through caches, where he left papers with the appointment of the place and time of the meeting. It wasn''t the best system, but Celesta wasn''t going to give Richard Fakasius''s address, much less Varek''s. The officer hadn''t been in town for a long time, so his desire to talk seemed natural - apparently, he wanted to offer something. There was a lull on the front if you could call that the rapidly expanding ring of government troops, and many of the guards had been given leave to arrange their personal affairs. I wonder what adventure the former bandit is up to?

    "I''d rather go with you," Medea said. "I''ll go over the papers today, and it never hurts for a girl from a decent family to see a handsome officer. H��stin''s folks almost drove me to suicide with their manners."

    "They talk as they are able to," said the boy speaking up for his own people. "We are simple people, not trained in politeness. But if we don''t like someone, we tell him right away, not like your noblemen: if he smiles in the face, he spits on the back."

    "Don''t you dare speak badly of the descendants of the gods!"

    "I''m descended from Zvet the Hunter myself!"

    "Okay." The disputants were momentarily silent as if crushed by Celesta''s brief word. "I''m afraid to leave you alone, so, Medea, come with me. Hustin, start setting up the library. And one more thing. We have access to the city archives: at one time we bribed the curator. See if there''s anything in there we could use, like books on a certain subject or tools."

    "It''s not just papers that are kept in the archives?" Medea wondered.

    "Yes, they recently created a department for all sorts of technologies. Objects and their description, which cannot be created now, but which may come in handy in the future. A very far-sighted decision, which almost caused a riot among the townspeople. The Duke''s descendants will not have to reinvent anything - it will be enough to send a request to the repository."

    Richard was usually the first to arrive. Today Celesta felt a kind of vague uneasiness: both her partner''s tardiness and a large number of armed men in the vicinity alarmed her. Though the soldiers had been moved to the new barracks two blocks away, their presence unnerved the ghoul. Nor was she at ease with an inspection of the sewers, scheduled for this summer, but now underway for some reason. Finally, on instinct, she ordered her friend to climb to the roof of the house and look around to see if there were too many men roaming the neighboring streets. Celesta herself lurked in the back of the room, motionless in the shadows, absorbing the sounds through the broken window.

    The crunch of pebbles under the boots of the four men was a confirmation of her fears. She heard Richard''s voice from a distance, and now she was thinking feverishly about how to proceed. Medea jumped down from above: "There are two archers on the roof of the neighboring house, and there are men standing down the street. They are dressed in the uniform of the Guardsmen."

    "Damn!"

    Worst case scenario. The Duke''s Guards were considered an elite unit: escaping from them would be difficult. Medea nodded grimly: "Some of the sewer manholes are blocked - it looks like they''re waiting for us in the underground too. What are we going to do?"

    Celesta didn''t have time to answer. Richard''s voice rang out from below, shouting with fake amusement: "Lady Celesta! I''ve brought some friends to see you, and they really want to talk to you!"

    "We''ll have to leave by the rooftops," Celesta decided. "That''s not what they expect. Stand behind the breach in the wall - if a fight breaks out, don''t engage in close combat."

    "You don''t want to run right away?!"

    "We have no choice. I feel they''ve put us in a tight spot, so we should at least try to solve the case peacefully."

    Medea slipped out of the room, leaving Celesta alone. She hurriedly turned the table around, put it between herself and the door, and moved the chair away from the window. Now the people who entered the room would be at a disadvantage - to reach her they would have to go around or jump over a small but insignificant obstacle. An extra moment that would allow the ghoul to escape. She prepared a small "lady''s" crossbow and called out: "I''m right here. If I see a drawn weapon, I shoot immediately."

    The door creaked open, and Richard was the first to enter, his empty hands out in front of him: "There''s no need to worry, lady. They just want to talk to you."

    The guardsman slipped in after him, in an unmistakable way. His slow, soft movements made Celesta cringe; this fighter, with his indifferent gaze, was head and shoulders above any she''d ever encountered before. If a fight broke out, there was no point in trying to kill him. Only to flee. The man did not draw his weapon, merely placed it on his hilt, but Ghoul had no illusions of safety. She knew the master swordsman could draw his blade, strike, and return it to its sheath in a heartbeat. They must have sent their best to meet her.

    The aristocrat was the second to enter. Dressed in simple, minimal ornamentation, though made of very expensive material, the man exuded the scent of power and superiority. Remarkable self-control. If from the other men came the smell of tension, anxiety, and - from Richard - fear, the nobleman felt absolute self-confidence and even a certain relaxation. His face, adorned with a short beard, expressed benevolence, though his eyes looked too sharp. For herself Celesta identified him as the most dangerous of the entrants: it is he who gives the orders to the others. So she aimed the crossbow at him.

    The last guardsman, who looked like a copy of the first, carefully closed the door behind him. There was a suspicious silence in the room. Celeste imagined what they were seeing: a short woman, almost a girl, with short blond hair tied into a knot and regular features. Not beautiful, but pretty, definitely of noble birth - you can see some sort of breed in her. As long as she is in control, no fangs are visible, no reddish light is reflected in her eyes, and her milky white skin seems to be the usual sign of a noblewoman. Except that her clothes are a bit off, obviously off someone else''s shoulder. A dark dress with slits down the sides revealed leather men''s pants and sturdy boots, more suited to a child. A pair of long knives dangling from her belt, and a few shorter ones were on her chest strap.

    Finding the right size shoe was the most difficult task Celesta had ever faced.

    The pause dragged on, and Richard became more and more nervous. Of all those present, only the aristocrat and the girl remained cool - the others were preparing for a fight. No, fighting was not part of the ghoul''s plan. Celesta raised an eyebrow slightly: "You''re into cheap tricks, aren''t you, Lord? Whoever talks first loses?"

    "Not at all, lady," the man smiled slightly. After some hesitation, he pulled back the second and last chair in the room and sat directly across from the undead. The guardsmen stood behind him. "I''m just confused. It''s funny to look for a meeting for so long and not know how to start a conversation."

    "You could start by introducing yourself. You know my name."

    "I beg your pardon. My name is Irkuban Tarkavel, Baron Kardeh"

    "I am flattered." The crossbow in the ghoul''s hand didn''t flinch. "The Head of Security of His Most Serene Majesty, Lord Taleya Dinir the Second, and may his days be long, has taken an interest in me. I thought you had more important things to do than look for a few rebels. Especially lately."

    "What could be more important!" The smile slipped off the Baron''s face. "In the city, which we thought to be completely under control, studied up and down, suddenly announced a successfully operating network. And with unknown objectives, goals, and opportunities."

    "Is that the ritual you''re talking about?"

    "Among other things. Imagine my surprise when the agents reported that ghouls were suspected in the organization of the biggest actions of the last three months, and they even provided evidence!"

    "The Risen. Or vampires. Don''t put us on the same level as that monster."

    "I''ll keep that in mind. In short, Lady Celesta, I have taken a great interest in the matter. You have been the breath of fresh air that has pulled me out of the dull mire of palace intrigue, the ambitions of petty nobles or their more learned patrons, the plans of high officers, and the habitual embezzlement of officials. In addition, my noble lord has expressed, shall we say, some concern about the rite of summoning the Dark One to his land. Can you tell me why you would take such a risk?"

    The ghoul stared at the man without blinking. To answer him was to compromise - just a little, but to comply. Trouble was, they both knew whose side had the power now. So far, the man was willing to give out information, willing to make contact, but he shouldn''t be angry.

    "Accident. No one wanted to summon a demon. Our human servants took an overly responsible approach to organize the ritual."

    "The eternal problem with performers," the man nodded understandingly. "It''s hard to find a good assistant. But serious cases should be trusted only to the best..."

    "I''m a little limited on the staff issue."

    "Yes. I have a lot more options."

    There was silence in the room again. Baron''s last words sounded an unpleasant hint, not too covert threat, and at the same time a proposal for a serious conversation. The interlocutors had sufficiently looked at each other and considered the foreplay over.

    "You won''t leave us alone." Celesta didn''t ask, she stated the fact.

    "Naturally. Even if you weren''t... risen, right? Well, even so, we must suppress illegal activities. Or to control it when it can''t be stopped. Though some have suggested you be sentenced for your mere existence, it cost me some effort to persuade my lord to consent to this conversation."

    "Why such an honor?"

    "A personnel matter," Kardeh smiled dryly. "You seemed reasonable to me, and releasing my man reinforced that opinion. Besides, I can''t help but admire a woman who can keep the Holiness in check!"

    If Celesta had stayed alive, she would have done something stupid. She would have pulled the trigger, jumped up, leaped to the breach, and tried to run... The undead expresses their emotions differently. The baron involuntarily recoiled when the girl''s face in front of him instantly turned into a chalk mask with bloodshot eyes and fangs in her mouth. But he threw up his hand almost immediately, stopping the guards.

    The blow was strong. The ghoul could not have guessed that the spiders were aware of all her dealings. It didn''t really matter how they knew about Fakasius, what he''d told his patrons. Most likely, he was pinned down and spilled everything from the moment he met her to Varek. That leaves Tarrasch as the only possible ally. But is he safe?

    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

    "Do me a favor, Lord Kardeh. Enlighten me, how did your service get in touch with Richard? We have had no contact with him lately."

    "Mr. Richard made the mistake of killing his immediate commander," the man answered immediately. He looked at the traitor with mild contempt. "We quickly identified the culprit. In exchange for forgiveness, he promised to share useful information, and, as you can see, he kept his promise."

    So, Richard bought his freedom. She was right not to trust him: he always remained a cynical bastard. Good. A former bandit, a former officer, and a partner are in the past, now we need to think about the future. What does the chief of security want? He must have appreciated the undead''s ability to infiltrate protected premises, to survive, to find the right people. Well, he has enough experts in the search for information as it is - he intends a different fate for the undead. Most likely, the executors of the death penalty. After all, it is much more convenient to kill someone who disturbs the duke by blaming the murder on the ghouls, and then organize a showdown and maybe even find someone. They would keep them on a short leash, tightly controlling every action, occasionally throwing in handouts in the form of a small piece of freedom.

    If they flatly refuse to cooperate - to be more precise, voluntary slavery - they will not be allowed to live. They will be killed. In the best-case scenario, they will have to hide in the sewers, occasionally venturing out to hunt, leaving behind the hope of a peaceful existence. Periodic raids, gradual degradation, and an eternal sense of hunger would become an everyday occurrence. An unpleasant prospect.

    We can bargain, can''t we? The Baron persuaded his overbearing lord not to destroy them outright, so he has some plans with them. He made a bet in the game and will not want to just give it up. Just to hold on, not to appear too brazen, to convince that people will be able to control her.

    "I have a rough idea of the choices you intend to offer me," Celeste said. Kardeh nodded. They understood each other perfectly. "And I am ready to say yes. But I have a few conditions."

    "It''s not in your position," the man replied softly, "to make conditions."

    The girl grinned dryly, glinting her fang tips.

    "The beauty of my situation is that it can''t get any worse. Accepting means constant risk and danger, refusing would lead to a rather unpleasant life, too." The Baron smiled and tried to speak, but Celesta interrupted him. "I know the house is surrounded. However, you have placed too few archers on the rooftops, I have a good chance of escaping."

    The man shrugged philosophically and made a slight sign with his hand, suggesting continuation. If the ghoul escaped today, he would find her later. But then there would be no negotiating: the guardsmen would simply kill the living dead.

    "So, what I ask. First, we will live separately. Naturally, you will be made aware of the location of our house, but I ask you to limit the circle of knowledge. This is to your advantage because it will allow us to hide our connection and give us peace of mind. The undead in the daytime is defenseless."

    "I have some other information."

    "Your information is not entirely accurate. The late Carlon was an initiated priest of Morvan, and his abilities are beyond our comprehension. We''re talking about the incident at the monastery, aren''t we?" The cautious Baron nodded as he seemed eager to know more. He would have to pay for them. "A separate residence, then, not a cage. We accept the rules of the game, so don''t force us to break them."

    Kardeh thought for a while and nodded: "I think we can discuss this request. We''ll discuss the specifics later. What''s next?"

    "We must meet with the wizards. The best wizards of the castle."

    "What for?"

    "Just wanting to know more about myself," Celesta shrugged slightly. "Why do people rise from the dead, why do they drink blood? Who better to ask than wizards?"

    "Good. They themselves expressed a desire to meet the organizers of that crazy ritual, so your interest is mutual. Is that it?"

    "Almost." The ghoul put her crossbow on the table without hesitation, showing her peaceful intentions. "What do you intend to do now?"

    The head of the spiders leaned back in his rickety chair and looked at his interlocutor with an appraising look: "In principle, I''m ready to rely on your discretion and offer to meet later. Do you know where the Security Department is located?" Celesta looked at Kardeh as if she doubted his intelligence. The man looked a bit embarrassed. "I beg your pardon. Come there the night after tomorrow, all together. I hope your, uh... uh..."

    "Kindred."

    "Your kindred will not object to our agreement?"

    "I can persuade them. Now do the lady the courtesy of ordering the guards not to interfere."

    Without hurrying, but also without delay Celesta got up from the table, walked around it, and came close to Richard. He was unarmed, so the only hope for the bandit was the spider, now looking curiously at the show unfolding in the room. The former leader of the gang, a former officer and always a cold-blooded scoundrel, was now afraid. Not with panic fear, when thoughts disappear and the only desire to escape from danger remains in his mind. He was feverishly calculating the options that would allow him to get out with the least losses. The traitor did not have time to call for help. As soon as he opened his mouth, the ghoul slapped him across the face with a stealthy movement of her hand. Richard fell to the floor, hissing in pain and clawing at his torn face.

    "There are places where treachery is appreciated, but traitors are not loved anywhere," Celesta said with a grim smile. "Call off the marksmen, Baron. It is time for me to leave."

    I wonder what Medea will do to Richard after she leaves?

    <hr>

    Kardeh''s office was not much of a place for an official of his rank. The small room could barely accommodate a large group of creatures, now warily peering at one another. The Security Office was among the many port administration buildings, and differed from the others only in the presence of a blank fence and a small booth at the entrance, with guards inside. The three-story structure did not look large enough to house an organization with such a sinister reputation as the "spiders'' nest". The unremarkable man who greeted the rebels at the entrance, now seated on the left hand of the baron sitting at the head of the table, grinned in response to a question. And said that their employees did not need much space.

    In addition to the usual guards, two men in guard uniform, there were five people who came to meet the ghouls. The baron himself, the aforementioned assistant, and three other people. The first, an elderly man with a short beard and piercing blue eyes, wore a dark velvet robe and a thick carved staff. Celesta immediately noted his commanding demeanor and the superiority with which he looked at those around him. He was the only one who paid little attention to Medea who entered, his eyes fixed on Hustin. Pointing a hooked finger at the boy, he called out his full name - the old man was the former Rector of Taleya University and remembered the talented student well.

    Next to him sat a woman in a blue dress, about forty years old. Judging by the number of strange objects on her belt, she, too, had something to do with magic. Now she was waving a circular fan irritably.

    In those rare moments when Celesta had the opportunity to distract herself from her daily cares, she carefully considered the information she had gathered about the wizards. Strangely enough, the wizards who lived in the palace were spared the Plague - almost all of them survived. Hidden behind thick walls, the ruling clan, their vassals, and servants suffered little in the first, most violent year after the catastrophe. They had enough food supplies, a small herd of cows and other animals was miraculously found on the territory of the complex, and a fine library had been preserved. There were stocks of high-quality cold steel weapons and armor, clearly made with the use of advanced technology. If you recall that the duke descended from Derkana, among other titles called the Patroness of the Pre-Cogs,

    If she said her assumptions aloud, no one''s intercession would save the undead.

    Across from Celesta in a comfortable chair sat a man in the uniform of a lieutenant of the Guard - young, with neatly trimmed short hair and piercing green eyes. Even a broken nose and a short scar on his right cheek did not mar his handsome face. Considering that the guard was commanded by an officer with the rank of captain, the lieutenant must have a lot of power. A confidant of the Duke? Most likely. No one else in the room, one would assume. A representative of higher authority, the two mages Celesta had insisted on seeing, and the spider leadership, the future bosses. Plus the guards, whose ability to remain silent the Baron did not seem to doubt. In the light of the security service''s desire to keep the fact that ghouls were recruited into the service secret, the fates of Richard and Fakasius seemed unenviable. Although the latter, most likely, will get out: the likes of him know how to survive.

    As the door opened, people''s eyes met Medea''s entry. The beauty had spent the previous night choosing a suitable dress and searching for makeup: she wanted to present herself at her best. She got what she wanted - the effect of her appearance exceeded all expectations. The former actress bet on her own beauty since she can not compete with the ladies of the court, which for some reason she hoped to meet, in the luxury of dresses. And she was right. When Celesta came in after her, she was pleased to note that even the guards didn''t notice her, attracted by Medea''s enchanting appearance.

    Keep looking at her.

    "Please, ladies and gentlemen." The baron kindly pointed to the chairs but did not bother to stand up. He immediately indicated his supremacy. "May I present the blessed Tairan and the blessed Vifella of Mornwar, who are true Wizards by blood. Please also welcome Lieutenant Runneck, Baron Se, and my associate Taraki of Soldova."

    "My kin, the noble Medea and Hustin," Celesta briefly introduced her friends as she sat down first. "For obvious reasons, it is not customary in our midst to name a clan. Thank you, blessed ones, I didn''t expect to see you so soon."

    Tairan impatiently moved: "Let''s leave the ceremonies aside. How did you summon the demon?"

    Vifella grinned slightly and turned to Celeste in an apologetic tone, pointedly ignoring the others. First of all, Medea: "I apologize for my hasty relative. But we are really extremely interested in how you managed to perform the ritual."

    "We would like to know that ourselves. Hustin will write down the details after the meeting; he was directly involved in the preparation of the ritual by the late Morvanites. However, we have questions, too." Celesta raised her hand, defiantly releasing her long claws, ran her hand along her wrist, showing the wound that had healed in front of her eyes. "What do you know of the undead? Is there any chance of getting us back to our normal lives?"

    The baron twitched an eyebrow but remained silent. The conversation was not going according to his script, having begun abruptly and unexpectedly. However, Kardeh was interested in the answer to the question, as well as everyone else present. So he pardoned the ghoul''s slight breach of etiquette. The spellcasters looked at each other. Tiran turned to the half-dead men, waiting tensely for an answer, and then spoke, choosing his words carefully. He leaned on the stick as if he were talking out loud:

    "To understand the phenomenon of the appearance of undead beings, it is necessary to remember that their existence is directly related to the changed magical constants. Plague, loss of direct access to elemental energy, and rising from the dead are links of the same chain. Therefore, before answering your question, my dear lady, I will briefly outline the causes of the catastrophe that occurred three years ago.

    In simple terms, human greed is to blame. Since ancient times, people were able to draw energy from the planet''s mother field, using it to create spells. Wizards had both lofty and the lowest, everyday goals. Up to a certain point, there were not too many wizards, and there was enough power for everyone. Gradually, the blessed more often began to take wives, or simply sleep with ordinary women. Half-breeds were born, and the layer of people who could enchant only with the help of external sources increased.

    But about three hundred years ago, what the history books call the "Revolution of Progress" happened - one talented self-taught man found a way to mass-produce artifacts designed for ordinary people. And immediately there appeared lamps that did not require oil, self-propelled carts ran through the streets, seeds in the fields sprouted, irradiated by the flow of pure energy of life. The equilibrium was out of balance, nature could not cope with human demands and gradually began to devour itself. The first sign of trouble was the desolation of Scully, the once beautiful valley turned into a desert for no apparent reason. Then a wave of mutations swept over the planet, with perfectly healthy animals bearing horrible, biologically monstrous offspring.

    The magicians warned of the imminent threat, but they were not wanted to be heard. And when the rulers did listen to the visionaries, it was too late. The mind of the world had recognized humanity as dangerous to its existence. We had turned from a useful organ into a cancerous cell that needed to be either healed or cut out. The solution was simple and elegant - to cut off the channels through which energy flows out of the planet. It wasn''t even a punishment: just a grown-up father blocking the bathroom faucet, unknowingly opened by his young son. Yes, a lot of water came out, but now the pipe doesn''t leak and the neighbors don''t suffer. I''m sorry for the inappropriate analogy - it''s hard for me to find another one.

    Mankind was deprived of magic.

    But the trouble is, the world still needs energy. The planet''s circulatory system is empty, and energy is needed immediately, right now. Available sources are exhausted, so we are left to feed where the supplies are greatest, i.e., the human race. Each of us can be seen as a receiver of energy received from the cosmos, but rarely do we consider that all received energy is not so difficult to take away. At the same time, it reduces the load on the biosphere by destroying most of the individuals and bringing the biocoenosis into balance. Plagues, epidemics, outbreaks of violence, climatic disasters have thinned out the population well, by our time one person in a hundred has survived. However, the force was still lacking. Death, sacrifice give a temporary effect, now require a constant steady boost. That''s when the first ghouls appeared.

    I do not know the reasons why some people rise after death, while others are simply turned into a piece of rotting flesh. But I can tell you that every risen man transmits to the world a portion of the power he receives with the blood of living beings. Pain, fear, other negative emotions... Yes, it''s a rough, heavy force, but it''s exactly what the earth needs right now. You three in front of me are essentially the mouth with which the world''s organism consumes the food it finds!"

    "My dear brother, spare me your analogies," Vifella grimaced. "This way you''re comparing me to a cow or a sheep. I''d rather you tell me if it''s possible to return the undead to their... original state."

    "Perhaps," shrugged the slightly bewildered mage. "Why not? If I have the proper energy resources, two hundred years of experiments, and the right tools, I''ll take on the task."

    "You might as well promise to pluck a star from the sky!"

    "Well, in the old days..."

    Celesta put her hand on Medea''s wrist, stroking her fingers comfortingly. She could feel her friend''s pain. Medea had never come to terms with the fate of the night huntress, and now the mask of a happy and contented woman was about to crack. You can''t relax, not now. You''ll cry later.

    People took the mage''s impromptu lecture in different ways. Some listened attentively - Tairan was an excellent storyteller, some curved their lips in a skeptical sneer. Hustin was the only one who seemed to have questions, but he decided to ask them later, considering today''s meeting was not the last.

    "If magic is gone, why haven''t Morvan''s rituals lost their power?"

    "The magic of the Overlords is the oldest in the world, and it is built on principles different from those generally accepted. Little is known of it!" the mage exclaimed in frustration. He did not consider it necessary to conceal his feelings. "Priests are too good at keeping their secrets. We have suspected that the source of their power lies beyond our reality, but we have been unable to find out anything specific."

    "I am grateful for the explanations, Blessed Tairan," Kardeh interjected respectfully but firmly, "but we are not here to discuss metaphysical problems. The organization I head is more concerned with down-to-earth matters. So, gentlemen and ladies, please take your minds off the subject you are so passionate about."

    The Baron ignored the elder''s menacing gaze - he had a lot of power himself. Celesta put her hands on the armrests of the chair, feeling the involuntary tightening of the skin on her cheekbones. She restrained the urge to show her fangs. There was no reason at all to show nervousness; their fate was being decided now. Kardeh intends to announce the terms on which the small group of risen will be allowed to live.

    "One bright head," the man looked ironically at his assistant, "recently suggested the introduction of a so-called Special Department into the security structure. With special, so to speak, employees. The idea is original, though not feasible. Officially, the authorities can not be associated with the undead, remember that. Consequently, our cooperation will be unofficial. You will show us your hideouts. Give us the names of the informants, all of them, the entire database. Immediately hand over the laboratory and the raw materials for making "whitewash". Recruitment of new agents is forbidden, no actions should be carried out without the consent of my appointed supervisor. Orders received must be carried out accurately, the slightest deviation from instructions will be severely punished. Hunting is permitted only in slums and lower-class people, and without dead bodies. Lady Celesta, do we understand each other?"

    "Sure." The conditions are hard, but it is possible to live. Gradually, piece by piece, she will reclaim her freedom. "I have a few... suggestions."

    "What kind?"

    "Word of mouth greatly exaggerates the abilities of the undead. Aside from better reactions, survivability, and the ability to see in the dark, we have no particular advantage over humans. It seems to me that it makes sense to give us instructors to teach us the right skills."

    "I think I''ll agree," he thought and looked at the lieutenant and nodded. "What next?"

    "Allow Hustin to visit the library or get the literature he needs. We still hope, in time, if not to become alive, at least to lessen our addiction to human blood."

    "Blessed Tairan?"

    "Let him study," the mage waved his hand benignly, "under my supervision. I wonder if he still has his talent, and if so, in what direction it has mutated."

    "In that case, I don''t mind. Is that all?"

    "We''ll discuss the rest later. Now there''s just one more thing. Tell me, is your basement sturdy?"

    "No one has ever escaped," Kardeh smiled a little wary.

    "It''s nearly dawn, and we have no daytime shelters nearby," Celesta grinned back. "I''m afraid we''ll have to count on your hospitality. Choose a cell with stronger doors: disturbing a sleeping undead is dangerous."

    * * *

 Epilogue

    Epilogue

    * * *

    Deep beneath the ground, by the fireplace, built by the hands of a hired craftsman, sat two women. The first, a slender beauty with thick golden hair, wrapped in a sheet, was nestled right by the fire with a sturdy comb and was now laboriously combing her luxurious mane. The other, more like a teenage girl, had her feet up in a massive leather armchair and was reading some kind of book. The darkness did not disturb her.

    The carpets hung on the walls, worn in some places, covered the rough masonry of the stone walls and made the small dwelling cozy. A large bearskin lay on the floor, weapons hung in a dull glow, and the firelight reflected in the candlesticks polished to a shine. The room had two doors, or should I say two passages, which led to separate rooms, also furnished. The risen now had no need for money and provided themselves with as much comfort as they could. True, Hustin''s bedroom was almost always empty: he spent most of his time in the castle, in the chambers of his mentor. The blessed Tairan was influential enough to bring the talented apprentice out from under the power of the spiders.

    The security service watched over them tightly, but its capabilities were not limitless. It didn''t get to Tarrasch and his family. The blacksmith''s kinship with one of the risen could not be concealed at all, but the spiders were persuaded that Hustin had no contact with his former family. Likewise, the risen defended the inn, although Varek had to hire three informants and report regularly to the guards. Celeste, however, sincerely thought they got off easy - originally Kardeh was going to appoint a new manager. He agreed only in a fit of good mood after the first task was completed by the new subordinates. Successfully completed.

    To be fair, they rarely killed. More often they stole or planted documents, eavesdropped on secret conversations, sometimes intimidated people during interrogations. The presence of a ghoul loosened tongues faster than the skill of the most fierce executioner. Relationships with colleagues were bad: aware of their essence, the living stayed away from dangerous predatory monsters. Only a strong person can ignore instilled with childhood attitudes and prohibitions, suppress instinctive animal fear, and in the mass of safeguards special emotional qualities were not different. They were smart, well educated, and trained, but nothing more.

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    Celesta considered the most unpleasant part of the service to be the duty to destroy, or, as they now said, to put to rest the insane relatives. The baron rightly believed that it was easier for his subordinates to deal with the newly risen undead than with humans: even trained groups of fighters were in serious danger when they hunted the undead. For the most part, they were, but Celesta dreaded the moment when she would face not an insane bloodsucker, but an ex-human like herself, a man who simply wanted to survive. Whether Kardeh would allow such a man to be spared, she did not know.

    "Remember when you intended to go home?" Medea put the comb aside suddenly. The next night she was going to pay a visit to an official who had caught Kardeh''s interest, and so she wanted to look like a living ideal. How the woman would get the information she needed was of no concern to the Baron, he needed the result. He would even turn a blind eye if the rebel slightly feeds his lover - as long as he did not notice anything. Medea had long asserted that blood, seasoned with passion, had a special power.

    "That''s strange. Why did you bring that up?"

    "I just thought you''d been quiet about your past for a long time."

    "Maybe because the alien who wanted to escape is long gone, dissolved," Celesta shrugged. "There''s no longer a man named Andrew, only vague memories of him. Seriously, I consulted the mages in the castle. Careful - a word there, a question there. They can''t help, they don''t have the necessary knowledge."

    "Is that so?" Medea moved closer to her friend, cautiously asked: "What if they knew a way? Would you have left?"

    The deceptively fragile risen woman tore herself away from the book. She looked around the room. She closed her eyes and remembered the fury of the hunt and the taste of blood on her lips, the drying constant hunger, the filth and stench of unwashed bodies, the pain of the touch of silver weapons, and the terror in people''s eyes. The minute-by-minute struggle with the approaching madness, when the will alone makes you see not food but reasonable individuals as living. The days in the sewers, the squeamishness of the spider officers, the hatred of the victims. She shifted her gaze to Medea clutched at her feet and answered firmly: "No!"

    * * *

 Book 2: Mistress of Taleya. Prologue

    Prologue

    * * *

    The room, submerged in silence, seemed to hold the echo of the voice that had just been heard. The crystal tones of the whisper seemed forever frozen in the eternal darkness, barely dispersed by the dancing dance of the fireplace''s flame. The place had not known sunlight for a long time. Since the ancient builders had finished their work and left, people rarely came down here, and if they did, it was only for a short time. Then it was no longer needed, and the room was forgotten, leaving it at the mercy of rats and woodlice for many years to come.

    Until the new owners came underground. They repaired the rooms, installed air ducts, drove out in a hard struggle the dampness and the former tailed tenants, laid carpets, brought furniture from the surface...

    In front of the fireplace, where the wood was crackling merrily and cozily, sat two women. The first one, the golden-haired beauty, had just finished speaking, and now she waited tensely for her friend''s decision. An older friend, as she had decided long ago. She revolved in high society and knew many people with real power, able to play on the delicate strings of emotions of noble ladies and manipulated the harsh militant men, for the sake of her benevolent smile, young men did crazy things, and poets have dedicated poems to "the beautiful maiden of the night with blue eyes like the sky". But any plans, the strongest vows were broken at the word of the other. The owner of a magnificent figure and charming, enchanting voice once and for all agreed to the second role, never regretting her choice.

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    The small, frail teenage girl possessed a steely will and a cold, impassioned mind, made almost no mistakes, and always got her infatuated friend out of the many troubles she was a great handyman for. One knew how to desire. The other knew how to get desired.

    They complimented each other well - feelings and reason, a whirlwind of passion and rational calculation.

    "To tell you the truth, it''s a good moment."

    Darkness did not react to the consent. Unlike the tense, waiting beauty, whose face blossomed with a joyful smile after hearing the words. She happily leaned back, arching her back, stretched softly, and without fear of wrinkling the rich dress, climbed into an armchair with her feet, finally getting a resemblance to a cat in contentment with itself and the world. Her companion watched with mild irony the spectacle, which was as natural as it was unconscious.

    "The question is," the girl continued, "whether we can keep the prize and what we''re going to do with it."

    "Is that a problem?" Sincere surprise in the voice.

    "More than that. Some pieces are hard not to choke on." A slight smile, and then the angular teenager''s face stiffened into stony stillness again. Only in the depths of the pupils is an occasional reddish glow. Perhaps the flames, perhaps not. "I fear the consequences."

    "So you have doubts?"

    The creature with the appearance of a teenager and old eyes slowly shook its head.

    "No. It''s just that the game will be harder, the stakes will be higher, and there will be more blood. But," she smiled grimly, revealing long, snow-white fangs, "we''re used to that, aren''t we?"

    * * *

 Chapter 1

    Chapter 1

    * * *

    Not many people travel at night. Horses cannot see the road beneath their feet, they are frightened by the cries of night birds, a rider may not see a branch reaching out and hit his head, a wild animal will attack... You never know. Experienced merchants and carters, even for a lot of money, will refuse to go somewhere in the dark. They''ll ring the wagons, feed the horses, surround the camp with their grandfather''s incantation, which comes from old times, and spend the whole night half-asleep with their weapons by their side. Even here, in what is considered the safe central lands of Taleya.

    Taleya became a kingdom under the grandfather of the current ruler. Soon after it subjugated the last piece of land that had previously belonged to the kingdom of Salvatia. Arfan the First decided that the ruler of the largest state in the region could not be called simply "Grand Duke" and, so to speak, brought his legal status into line with reality. He also established a new system of feudal ties. Now his vassals of the first rank were not only the four former counts who received the title of sovereign princes but also the princes of blood - the ruler''s brothers. True, in common speech, the former were called dukes, and the latter were called feudal lords. Relatives of blood vassals had a slightly higher status but were trusted much less. Although almost all large and wealthy cities with more than ten thousand inhabitants belonged to the ruling family.

    The only exception was Lascaris. The possession of the dukes of Lash was originally a fortress built to prevent raids from the steppe, but thanks to its convenient location and the growth of trade, it became something more and now claims to be the third capital of the country.

    Under Arphanus, the previously unstoppable expansion of the country to the west and north slowed down, and the southern borders were finally formed. There were objective reasons for this, both external and internal. The Plague had ravaged the world three hundred years ago, the initial period of general devastation was over, and full-fledged states began to form on the shores of the vast Good Sea. Some consisted of just one city and the surrounding countryside, while others included quite large territories.

    Thanks to the wisdom, foresight, and cruelty of the late Duke Dinira, Taleya immediately emerged as a leader in the region. There had not been a power to rival her for a long time. A well-armed and trained army, a large supply of food and materials, the preserved cadre of officials, and the only Academy in existence allowed the ruler to establish a firm grip on a fairly vast expanse. The lands were cleansed of bandits and undead, the population grew steadily, allowing, in turn, to recruit more warriors for new wars and conquests.

    However, gradually the initial collapse came to an end, and a slow, if slow, renaissance began. In the neighborhood, several powers emerged capable of competing with Taleya, if not alone, then in alliance with their neighbors. In the north, the Duchy of Lanaka united several human settlements under its rule, and its troops successfully resisted the Taleya in a series of skirmishes. At sea, the Archipelago of Dragons gradually gained strength, with ships under the flag of the Lord Captain even reaching the straits into the oceans. The southern borders reached the great river Cress and halted, stopping at the coastal forts of the Azar Sultanate. To the west, the Rin Mountains and the steppe behind them served as a natural barrier to further advancement, successfully protecting the free cities of the Seven Rivers from the encroachments of the descendants of Dinir. Two hundred years ago, the nomads had tested the strength of the then young Taleyan state and were cruelly beaten, and since then the western borders were considered peaceful.

    The existence of a stable power benefited trade. Merchant galleys carried spices and cloth, bread and oil, leather, and weapons across the Good Sea. From the northern mountains, metal and precious stones were brought to the capital, and in exchange, the local nobility bought luxury goods and food. From the west came furs and textiles, wine and incense, bronze ware and wool, and back came caravans of blacksmiths, mages, and weavers.

    The first pilgrims appeared. Most of them visited only those holy places that could be reached in a day or two, but some made long journeys even beyond the borders of the kingdom.

    Thus, the main tracts of the state were never empty. Large and small groups of people, singles, merchants'' carts, feudal units, monks, mercenaries, wagons of itinerant traders, or circus performers were constantly moving along them. They spread out through the villages like small streams, flowed like rivers into large cities, turned into lakes at fairs and markets, dried up in the hot summer harvest season, and almost disappeared in winter.

    Few paid attention to the small detachment that left the capital and headed northeast. Noblemen often leave the city - some to their estates, some on other business. The waybill is in order, and fine. The lazy guards didn''t even bother to look at the two coats of arms carriages and the heavily laden cart followed by a dozen armed riders. The patrols of feudal lords met along the way did the same, preferring to kick bribes out of merchants or check the documents of ragamuffins, possible runaway slaves. Thus, in six days, the travelers encountered nothing worth mentioning.

    On the seventh squad turned onto a slightly overgrown country road and took a break.

    Celesta was an ardent supporter of authority, in all its guises. As an undead, she preferred to know exactly from which side she might be threatened. Guardians, mercenary warriors of feudal lords, criminal rivals, and the sporadic interest of "associates" from the Secret Guard - that''s the shortlist of problems a vampire might encounter in peacetime. If you create a dense enough network of informants and are not impudent to hunt, leaving behind corpses, then you can exist with sufficient comfort. In war, it is more difficult, even if it seems to be the opposite.

    The number of people with guns, and ready to use them, increases exponentially; the imposition of curfews forces civilians not to party in the streets or cozy taverns, but to sit behind tightly locked doors in their homes; poor people seek shelter in such abandoned corners where a normal person would never have thought to look before. That is, in places convenient for lying down. No amount of easily accessible blood can compensate for the constant risk of losing one''s head or waking up with a stake in one''s heart.

    With a certain amount of cynicism, the network of risen communities that enmeshed Taleya and some neighboring states could be considered a criminal clan, a powerful structure with connections in almost all sectors of society, engaged in illegal activities, and often ignoring the law. As the head of such a clan, Celesta also liked stability. Yes, troubled times provide plenty of enrichment opportunities, but enrichment was never the Night Mistress'' goal - she was interested in survival. Her own and those of her loved ones. From her point of view, it is much more convenient to deal with one firmly nailed to the official, from whom you can not expect betrayal, than with dozens of successive novices, completely unpredictable and therefore dangerous. More precisely, betrayal is always to be expected, but this inevitable risk can and should be minimized.

    Finally, as a civil servant, Celesta again preferred a steady hand. The steadily running bureaucratic machine afforded her plenty of opportunities. Some issues related to the education of newcomers or the conduct of various kinds of delicate operations were not solved or were solved at great expense. But a lot of doors were opened by the presentation of a corresponding order stamped and signed by, say, the Second Advisor to the Minister of the Left Wing of Palace. Unfortunately, during the weakening of the central government such papers were stamped for nothing, and did not have the same power and influence.

    Like now, for example.

    Absolute monarchy as a form of government has too many disadvantages. First of all, it is entirely oriented toward the personality of the ruler. If a genius sits on the throne, things are fine, but when the Mirror and the Sword are taken by someone like our Irrhan... I would not have been sent here under his father!

    The anger she felt did not prevent the vampiress from gliding silently through the village. Thoughts and emotions had long since receded into the background, leaving an emptiness in their place. The men who had taught Celesta the proper way to hold a weapon had told her time and again that full concentration was always necessary for battle, and over the past three hundred years, she had been convinced they were right. Carelessness leads to the grave, and the enemy is never harmless.

    Especially if he also belongs to the undead.

    The Bonedigers got their name for their appearance and underground way of life. Swift, agile, and quite intelligent, they preferred to prey on children or lonely travelers caught at night far from settlements. They reminded Celesta of gutted snakes with their heads hacked off and their skin peeled off. Once the victim was caught between the "ribs," the predator burrowed into the ground, where it digested its prey for about three or four days, simultaneously forming the embryo of another Bonediger. The more humans - though animals were not disdainful - the undead ate, the more offspring they spawned, and the stronger, faster, more experienced they became.

    The local feudal lords preferred to spend their time in the Capital, having fun with their peers and caring little about the lives of the peasants. They dumped their duties on the steward, who was not too hard-working either. Therefore, it is difficult to say how much of the Bonedigers hunted on the adjoining road. From time to time regular detachments of guards or merchant guards destroyed the juveniles, as evidenced by the records of rewards issued in the Viceroy''s office, but how long the uterus lived in the local area, was impossible to find out. Maybe thirty years, maybe more. Be that as it may, merchants and commoners had recently preferred to use the trade route to the south, and the amount of food available had sharply decreased. The undead was forced to seek new sources of food. They had been hesitant to come near the village before, aware of the threat from the settlement with their small minds, but hunger had made them less cautious.

    After the second man went missing, the peasants informed the steward. The steward ignored the paper. After the fourth man disappeared, they turned to the local chief of guards, who sent a small detachment to comb the neighborhood. A week later, the villagers spotted a young Bonedigers while hunting and stabbed her with a pitchfork, increasing the list of victims to seven, but reassured about their future. After the uterus carried off the ninth man, the village was deserted.

    At the departure of the serfs, the steward reacted quickly. The first thing he did was to give the names of the fugitives to the guards, whose duty was to check the waybills and search for all kinds of criminals - including peasants who had left their master. Next, the steward penned a tearful letter to his lord, complaining of starvation, punishment by the gods, and the viceroy of the Son of the Sea in the province not properly performing his duties, with the result that the undead had multiplied beyond all measure and reason. On receiving this message, the nobleman in the capital went to his friend, the same lout, only the son of the Minister of the Red Hats, and asked to contribute to the solution of the problem. The son got excited and, since the village is relatively close, offered to go hunting.

    The idea was greeted with enthusiasm by the established company of "golden youth," but daddy found out about it at the wrong time and took appropriate measures - the overgrown goofball was locked up at home, and reported the incident to his good friends from the Secret Service. Naturally, the words of an official of this level were given special attention. And they sent their most perfect, most reliable tool that was guaranteed to fix the problem: Celest��.

    It''s not me we need here, but a good hunting party, the vampiress thought with mild irritation as she surveyed another yard. With nets, traps, decoys, mooks, and other hunting tools. Although the first thing to do would have been to transfer the village to the government, to send the guards to the frontier, and to investigate the steward. Shall I write a denunciation? What''s the point?

    After taking a few more steps, Celesta stopped. The Bonediger was spatially oriented, sensing the vibrations of the ground, and the Academy''s researchers rated its sensitivity very high. The night huntress moved easily, much more quietly than the best-trained human, but she could not attack the undead unexpectedly, no matter how much she wished. Nor would the Bonediger have no chance of getting close to the old vampire. From the first minute of their new existence, the Risen surpassed mortals in strength, dexterity, and hearing, and their abilities increased with time. In proportion to the neophyte''s frequency of use and determination. Celesta had sought to improve herself from the earliest days of her post-life, studying the warrior craft and the few remaining magics, gleaning information about her new abilities piece by piece, tenderly cherishing every bit of knowledge she gained- and was now considered the strongest. And she preferred to improve herself in such a difficult area as the human soul...

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    The ability to sense the presence of all living and not-so-living creatures was a nice bonus to the chosen specialization. A side branch that the only thing that prevented me from paying the most attention to was the eternal lack of time.

    Right now the vampiress could feel the creature lurking ten meters ahead. The earth could not hide the tattered aura of the undead, nor could it completely hide the sweet smell of rot emanating from the body. The problem was that it was difficult to penetrate the half-meter layer of caked soil, and if the first blow was weak, the creature would go deep. The tunnels it had dug had permeated the village like an industrious spider''s web, a place to hide. If Celesta had remained a warm-blooded human, she might have baited the Bonediger, but she would not react to the undead, and at best she would try to hide. The creature would not engage in a knowingly losing fight.

    A sword or a spear is not an option; that leaves magic. Celesta squinted slightly, not daring to show more displeasure - the blood magic available to the risen required a great deal of energy. She would have to make up for the waste from one of her escorts left in the bivouac after the battle, though she expected not to drink from anyone today. She could not give in to her thirst. It was not to be. She closed her eyes, concentrated, and went about her usual work.

    Consciousness expanded, becoming too large and light for the material body, moving to another level of perception of the world and the energies permeating it. Celesta now seemed to herself to be standing in the middle of thick gray fog, the only colored spots in which were the auras of numerous living beings. The black and scarlet with greenish patches of decay caught her eye at once, standing out sharply against the faint green of the insects and plants. Undead reached for it with thin strands of mental probes, involuntarily recalling her first attempts at mind control. How little she knew then... The simplest hypnosis seemed the pinnacle of skill, and her first switch to twilight vision nearly ended in madness. She would never have guessed that she would someday be able to subdue the stupid minds of the damned creatures and place them at her service. Or would she simply order them to crawl to the surface and freeze?

    Failure. The creature didn''t want to leave its cozy hole and come to the surface. Her body was nearly ripe with another embryo, so the undead didn''t want to move, but simply waited for prey. Celesta increased the pressure, pouring more power into the call. The undead became nervous, twitching, but continued to lie still. The risen felt her irritation, built up over the task, and she cried out mentally, ordering her prey to come. The energy put into the call caused space to ripple, accepting the release of its lavishly spent power, but the goal was achieved as the fire lizard slowly climbed out, exposing its ugly body to the starlight.

    Celeste, careful not to let her bad mood affect her actions, began to cast a spell on the creature. Though the word "spell" wasn''t quite the right word in this case - it was more a small interference with an energy body, designed to disorient someone in space and slow their movements. She fought back frantically. She didn''t have many brains (to be more exact, she didn''t have any at all. What she was thinking, the researchers have not figured out), but a well-developed instinct and life experience insistently advised to run and hide. Undead sorceress twice threw shackles on the mind of Bonediger to then safely come and cut it but was successful only the third attempt, and that''s only partially. She was unable to paralyze the undead completely, but it moved its legs and tried to go back to its hole.

    Didn''t make it in time.

    Barely returning to her normal worldview, habitually ignoring the mild shock, Celesta leaped forward. In a blurry motion, imperceptible to the human eye, she covered the distance between her and her prey and began to cut, trying to deny the undead any mobility. It''s impossible to destroy a bone digger with a single blow, not even with silver. But it is possible to hack off limbs, cut off valuable ingredients that are worth two times their weight in gold, prick at certain points to suspend regeneration, and only then throw the carcass on the prepared fire. If you don''t burn the undead body completely, it will have a chance to be reborn - albeit in a less threatening form.

    At last, having finally turned her opponent into a stump bleeding with thick, stinking fluids, the undead woman stopped. The short and unspectacular duel had exhausted her, from the outside. She thought of calling the servants to finish the butchery, but Celesta gave it up. Poisonous fumes are dangerous to humans, and the madness that sets in when she''s away from warm-blooded people is easier to control. Magic took a lot of her strength, and hunger stirred promisingly somewhere in the back of her mind, hinting insistently at the possibility of an onset.

    The servants, of course, will not object and will quietly give their mistress''s throat, but... You can''t feed on the same people too often. She doesn''t need junkies in her retinue.

    From a bag prepared in advance came jars, immediately placed under the largest wounds, vials for bile, and containers for valuable organs. The loot was considerable, which made Celesta feel a little more reconciled to the inconvenience. Some will have to pass - and alchemists "spiders" and the Academy need ingredients, but the remaining in the personal possession of the products will go to the manufacture of precious elixirs or much more useful amulets. Hustin will be happy. The undead was old, abundantly fed for at least fifty years, such are now rare. In the old days, there had been far more impressive creatures in lands considered habitable. It is now, through the efforts of numerous units of feudal lords, armies, monastic orders, guardsmen, and other entities, that one can traverse a state from end to end without even being exposed to many risks. The risen who served the throne also did their part in the fight against the Darkness, as Celesta never tired of reminding them. It''s nice to be considered useful.

    If she is right in her assumptions, soon the services of undead hunters and those who live by the sword will be required more and more often.

    Slowly, the creature''s body stopped twitching, its flasks and containers filled up. The immobility of the creature did not mean death - rather, the process of moving to a lower level of existence. The undead looked around at the work of its hands, glanced up at the sky. It was still three hours before dawn. She concentrated and summoned those of her entourage whom she did not intend to take on the journey. Soon the muffled clatter of hooves was heard, and Latham emerged as a silent, reproachful shadow nearby. The bodyguard came without asking, as always.

    "Mistress?"

    "I''m here, Vital."

    The riders drew nearer and dismounted. Vital, the eldest of her mortal servants, had served her for three decades and was trustworthy. With a slight nod and no unnecessary questions, he ordered his subordinate to pack up the loot. The second guard, meanwhile, was busy with the remains of the creature, covering them with wood and pouring oil on them.

    "The trophies will be given to master Hustin - let him decide what he needs," Celesta gave her final orders. "If there are any difficulties, send a messenger immediately to Bardi. I won''t be out of town for at least a month. And... bend over."

    Years of control had kept the demon tightly bound, but the presence of warm-blooded creatures near made her whole body tense. A hint of pain, if not fed to the eternally hungry, insatiable entity. She had spent too much energy today, after all. The man obediently got down on one knee, so that his neck was just at the level of the miniature risen''s lips, and tossed his hair aside. His eyes gleamed expectantly. Celesta inadvertently put her donors into a mildly pleasant trance, causing many to yearn for a drug-like kiss again and again and consider themselves in some way blessed by the Night. Most of the servants, however, were in awe in the presence of all the risen - even among those who didn''t think it necessary to play with their minds.

    When she''d had enough, the undead let go of the man and waited until his eyes made sense. She took one last look at the scene of the fight, then turned and headed for the waiting carriage with blinds. She did not look behind her. One more night, one more battle, one more brief moment of what might be eternal unlife.

    Now Bardi was waiting for her.

    "Latham, when you sulk, you become like a resentful child."

    The bodyguard, who was walking behind her, pressed his lips together irritably. Messena is in a good mood, Messena makes jokes. He was well aware that Celesta was stronger than him, older, more experienced, and more dangerous, but his childhood upbringing and his own notions of honor made the former aristocrat disapprove of shenanigans such as this. A woman should not take up arms!

    Celesta thought otherwise. Even leaving aside the question of the undead''s gender - the risen are notoriously incapable of procreation, and the difference between the former men and women is purely external - the ability to defend oneself is necessary. Their long lifespan provides a sufficiently large number of threats, which cannot be dealt with without constant training. And the training does not always save you. In addition, people preferred to get rid of the undead, from which they did not see the benefit. It''s easier now but in the old days...

    It was hard for the first hundred years. Very hard. The backbone of the Security Service then consisted of officers who had no mystical fear of the ghoul, but who never missed an excuse to humiliate and jab her in any way. In their eyes, when they turned on Celeste or the other undead, you could detect disgust, squeamishness, as if you saw something smelly sticking to your shoe, or mild contempt - but no fear. The old spells, cast on the living before the Plague, were partly still in action, and most of the "spiders" were of ungenerous nobility. They lived long lives. Magic was commonplace for them, so they did not surround the risen with a mystical aura. But they had an incredible experience in intrigue, were well versed in psychology, and exhibited a prohibitive sense of danger.

    Kardeh, who insistently "invited" Celesta into the service, and his successors kept the undead on a short leash. No outside sources of income, regular reports on contacts with mortals, records of all places where they lay during the day... Independence had to be fought back literally in bits and pieces, pushing the limits of what was allowed a hair at a time. The existence of various sects of Dark One worshippers was a great help in this - the secret service needed someone capable of controlling the Morvanites, and vampires were ideally suited for the role of shepherds.

    Gradually, the Taleya risen community began to enjoy more freedom than it had originally enjoyed. Under the pretext of tracking the city''s gangs, they forged mutually beneficial ties with smugglers and secretly invested in the businesses of more respectable merchants. The authorities recognized the undead''s existence as useful, and Celesta was allowed to establish small colonies in other cities in the kingdom. Formerly, intelligent the living dead were either sent to the capital or, more often, simply killed. The cultists eventually made up the future servants, who were loyal and reasonable enough not to let themselves slip into a completely rabid fanaticism. Little by little, some families had served the Darkness and its undead incarnations for generations and sought no other fate.

    However, there were still plenty of reasons for discontent and reasons to be extremely cautious. Without the permission of the "spiders," the communities could not admit new members, were obliged to report any moves in the Morvanite sects, and never, ever, under pain of being exposed to the sunlight, develop aristocrats on their own. Only those whom the hand of superiors will point out, and even then with extreme caution. In practice, the bored "golden youth" often dabbled in forbidden magic, drugs, or other ways of violating morality - they could not avoid the attention of Celesta''s informers, but they still had to behave with the utmost caution.

    The Risen, come to think of it, had no need for proximity to authority. Their interests centered on two areas - the exploration of their own nature and the security of their existence, but in both, they constantly encountered human obstacles. They were not allowed to study or develop their postmortem abilities, believing it dangerous to put too much power in the hands of ghouls. Even Hustin had no opportunity to research his kindred, having to limit himself to the Academy-approved topics.

    At the same time, for ideological or other reasons, many people wanted to destroy the undead, forcing them to unite and be proactive. That is, to send spies to the most radical temples, to monitor the political situation, to intrigue against dignitaries hostile to the undead, and to use other methods that allowed a small group to survive - if only that word was appropriate here - in a dangerous and cruel world. And any activity required resources, and not necessarily monetary ones...

    Celesta desperately needed helpers. More accurately, comrades, that is, those who shared her goals and morals. With people rising less and less frequently every decade, and with community numbers growing slowly, if at all, the most influential undead Taleya had to feed her staff hunger on the outside. She spread her influence not only through the lands of the kingdom but everywhere she could reach, establishing new communities, which in turn needed leaders loyal to her personally and at the same time sufficiently independent. A vicious circle that could not be broken.

    And it is not clear how to live further. Any intelligent creature needs some kind of goal, a reference point, to which it will strive and to which its actions are subordinated. Celesta, quite frankly, has achieved everything she wanted. Three hundred years ago she promised Medea that in time they would have a home, influence, the ability to live alongside people without hiding, and now they have it all.

    With reservations, but they live in safety and comfort. At any rate, compared to any palace dignitary who daily risks getting a silk suicide cord from his "beloved master" or a portion of poison from numerous jealousies. And then what? Intrigue, aspire to become a gray cardinal of the dynasty? Power for power''s sake never appealed to her. Continue to expand her influence in the undead world? No point, her word is already the law for miles around. Besides, if the undead really does stop coming back after death, they will soon become extinct species thanks to the efforts of humans. I mean, they will remain only in legends and tales.

    What was lacking was independence. Especially lately, when the level of stupid or unenforceable orders has exceeded the conventional norm by an order of magnitude.

    The signs of the coming storm were clear, and a worried Celesta decided to take some rather risky steps. She didn''t want to die - she hadn''t lost interest in life, despite her age. If a serious quarrel between high aristocrats really did break out in Taleya, it would be better to wait it out in a safe place. At any rate, a safe haven abroad wouldn''t hurt. So she put aside her other affairs and, taking advantage of a good excuse, left the capital. The village with the monster in it lay just down the road toward the northern principalities, which had suddenly become extremely attractive from the point of view of the worried Mistress.

    * * *

 Chapter 2

    Chapter 2

    * * *

    Everyone in power does not like fanatics, and at the same time uses them. It persecutes them in its own country, executes or imprisons them on various pretexts, allocates funds for ideological propaganda, and directs some of its intelligence services to counter them. Exactly the opposite is the case with hostile states. It provides money, arms, literature to the self-appointed prophets and their adherents, helps them to establish ties with the top of the opposition, warns them about possible raids by the guards or fellow-security agents. At the same time, the danger posed by extremists should not be forgotten. Fanatics were, are, and will be a disposable weapon, and they must be disposed of as soon as they are no longer needed.

    Irhaem the Unholy, or, according to supporters, Irhaem the Blessed, was not like most of the other "teachers" who called for the worship of the darker aspects of Morvan the Destroyer to achieve earthly goods. He was intelligent, came from a noble family, was well educated, had studied magic under experienced mentors at the Academy, and could have made a good career in public service regardless of his chosen path - whether military or civilian. But he ignored the prospect of becoming a naval commander or a high-ranking official, and chose to fall into mysticism, consorted with the city''s Morvan worshippers, and in time gained a reputation as one of their most insidious and cruel leaders. Of course, he knew Celesta. The Night Mistress of Taleya regarded the cultists as something of personal property, used them as needed, and certainly kept a close eye on the leaders'' actions. She supported the obedient ones, got rid of the recalcitrant ones in various ways.

    Irhaim seemed at first to be a very valuable asset. In addition to his personal qualities, courage, and charisma, he had a wide circle of acquaintances among the "golden youth," and his high background provided him with open doors in the houses of the nobility. With his help, free or accidental, the risen created several convenient channels through which they obtained a variety of valuable information about both the enemies and the plans of their immediate superiors. Unfortunately, the idyll did not last long. The proud servant of darkness lost his sense of proportion, committed a number of improper acts, and, eventually, drew too much attention of the Security Service by his actions. It was one thing for bored youths to tickle the nerves with a little forbidden sorcery or soft drugs, but the reaction was quite different when that same group of young fools robbed a noblewoman of her innocence on Morvan''s altar and killed her inadvertently as well. The scandal broke out big and it could not be hushed up completely.

    As a result, gray heads went flying, fathers paid for their children''s antics with their careers and high positions. Few were arrested, but a wave of accidents swept through the families involved, some were assigned to remote places and went to distant borders with their relatives. Irhaim, however, managed to escape. He was indeed clever and had a good grasp of the political realities of life. In Bardi, a neighboring principality to Taleya, the feudal lords were fighting each other to the death, tearing apart not the weakest country, and a man with a cruel and cynical view of the world could easily find a patron here. Especially if he brought to the attention of the right people in advance that he understood, realized, repented, and was ready to prove his loyalty by any available means.

    The "spiders" that received the message did not pin much hope on the fugitive, but they called off the hunt - what if he really brought something valuable? As a result, Irhaim found himself in foreign territory, without money, with few loyal associates, and pursued by the mercenaries of noble clans, who were still eager to see his head in the mud in the cattle yard. The fact that in a short time he was able to gain the trust of several powerful men is evidence of real talent. Shamelessly flattering and using his knowledge of magic, the servant of Morvan skillfully maneuvered between the warring factions, building up his sect and gaining influence in the process.

    It is not known to what extent he would have been able to subdue the local worshippers of the Darkness had it not been for Celesta''s intervention. An intervention coming in a few minutes, to be more definite. Not very pleasant, but necessary.

    A leader shouldn''t do anything with his hands at all. He should analyze the situation, make decisions and give orders, not wave his sword. He has servants for that. And the fact that I have to personally carry out some of the operations shows my weakness. Being involved in demonstration actions means that I have few strong and faithful servants, for one. And it also means that I have to constantly demonstrate my strength to all sorts of rats, who otherwise would certainly try to get rid of my tutelage and throw off my power. That is, to destroy everything I have built up over three hundred years. Never. Should I write a Code of Laws? Like a Constitution and a penal code under one cover?

    The leader of the Risen wanted to finish off the over-active preacher for several reasons. First, he had betrayed her. Before he fled, he gave up some very valuable contacts to the "spiders" and told them about a couple of stocks that people weren''t supposed to know about. Because of this scoundrel''s initiative, she endured extremely unpleasant minutes in the office of the current head of the Security Service and was forced to give up the bounty she had received. Great fortune, Celesta thought again, that the Spiders are now headed by a wretch Laar. No one else would be paid off with the money. The deceased Kardeh would have taken the whole network, and punished the undead who disobeyed his orders in an atrocious way. Still, some valuable agents were lost, some operations had to be shut down, and the risen themselves were under the close supervision of security for six months.

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    The second reason the priest had to die was ideological. Celesta worked hard to make sure that fanatics of all stripes knew for sure: the vampires were the first of Morvan''s earthly servants. The undead makes the final decision on any matter relating to the performance of rituals, the admission of newcomers to the sect, the timing and type of sacrifice, and in general everything related to the worship of a dark deity. Irhaim considered himself sufficiently privy to the mysteries of Darkness to attempt to break the vampires'' monopoly on spiritual power. Since he was indeed an extraordinary individual, his attempt might succeed as his authority grew. Celesta could not allow that to happen.

    She was aware that sooner or later the risen and the Morvan worshippers would part ways. Keeping the willful fanatics in check required a lot of effort, and one day most of their sects would have to be let go to "free sailing". So if Irhaim had escaped not to the northern principalities, but the opposite shore of the sea, for example, she would not have pursued him. Why? She had no personal hatred for him, and the fugitive could not interfere with her plans from afar. However, for a new place of residence, he chose the principality, twenty years ago, in the orbit of the interests of the Night Mistress of Taleya, and that decided his fate.

    The local risen did not yet accept Celesta''s authority, but in the near future, she planned to change the situation she was dissatisfied with. The emergence of an intelligent, ambitious, and independent player was not what she needed. Bardi was not the largest state of the conglomerate of mountain principalities, but it was considered key due to its strategic position and the presence of iron mines. The others - Desio, Gondi, Kiji, and others - were either economically or geographically dependent on this natural center of the region. If the undead Bardi were to submit to Celesta, the surrounding communities would also have to recognize her authority sooner or later.

    And the last reason was the desire to impress the local undead. It was for that reason that the mistress now stood in the center of the small crowd, wrapped in her cloak, preparing to intervene in the smoothly unfolding worship service. Sneaking into the gathering was quite easy. Latham and Hatsu, the most authoritative of the Bardi risen, stood motionless beside her. The former was here in case of possible excesses, Hatsu she had invited out of a desire to demonstrate her power and abilities. The Bardi vampires had almost no magic or connections in high places, which had already set their teeth on the new Morvanite leader. If Celeste could destroy the sorcerer - of which she did not doubt at all - and bring the sect into submission, her plans for increasing her holdings would be greatly simplified. In addition, the resources of the Security Service would allow her to put pressure on the aristocrats who patronized Irheim and soften their reaction. Also a weighty argument for the locals...

    It''s time, she decided.

    "Oh, Lord!" cried Irhaim, lifting the dark cross. "Hear your servant! We bring you..."

    Like a gust of cold wind whipped through the crowd, the living recoiled from the hooded undead. Celesta smiled grimly and promisingly at the pale sorcerer: "I don''t think our Lord needs your gifts, Irhaim."

    Smoothly and swiftly she ascended the altar, cast a brief glance at the people. Perfect. They''re still reeling from the induced fear, they''re confused and frightened. It''s about time for a small spectacle.

    "You have greatly disappointed him with what you have done." Celesta caught the mortal''s gaze and mentally pressed. "He doesn''t like to see his servants betrayed. He doesn''t like to see them in the cellars of the "spiders" or on the executioner''s scaffold. Our father is very, very unhappy with you..."

    She had almost literally just been fed by two people at once and was not lacking in power. Besides, she was older, had been perfecting her skills for longer, and felt no fear or confusion, unlike her enemy. Therefore, she won the duel of will without much difficulty. Irhaim was a talented mage... But not talented enough to deal with the old undead.

    "But you can still undo the mistakes you''ve made, Irhaim," Celesta continued in a tender, mesmerizing voice, without taking her eyes off the trance-laden mortal. "You can regain Morvan''s favor. Isn''t that what you want?"

    The crowd below listened intently, afraid to miss the slightest detail of what was happening. Though the risen concentrated on suppressing the mage, those around her suffered as well, both from the mental echoes and simply from the enchanting, properly modulated sounds. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the fanatics'' mouths open and their eyes no longer blinking.

    "Yes..."

    The crowd exhaled in unison and moved closer, close to the dais.

    "Are you willing to make a great sacrifice to him?"

    "Yes..."

    "Take the knife, Irhaim. You have been bestowed a great honor!"

    The main thing now is not to lose contact. Everything was going fine until that moment, but it is extremely difficult to fight the instinct of self-preservation. You cannot, for example, suggest that a person kill himself, there are a thousand other little things that must also be taken into account. Even with preparation, timing, pre-selected keys to the enemy''s amulets, and the support of the subordinate crowd, dealing with a wizard is no easy matter.

    "Take hold of the handle with both hands and point it away from you, Irhaim. That''s good. Now pull it toward you, hard." The fanatics made a sound that sounded a lot like a moan of ecstasy, but Celesta wasn''t finished. "Take the heart out of the incision... Take the great gift to our Lord! That''s it, well done..."

    The mortal stood with his heart in his outstretched hand. Stupefied men raged below, eagerly placing their hands, and the lucky few, their mouths, under the drips of blood that flowed from the dais. The risen retreated slightly, trying to distance herself from the tantalizing scent. The brief confrontation had exhausted her more than the hours-long battle with an armed adversary. Unfortunately, she needed to consolidate her success.

    "Behold, servants of the great Lord!" She snatched the heart and threw it down; there was an immediate crush in the crowd. Irhaim fell, but she was no longer interested in him. "The faithful servant had redeemed himself! Blessed are you henceforth by Morvan, and enveloped in his affection!"

    That''s it. All she had to do was introduce Hatsu as the new leader of the sect, and she could leave quietly. Her recent feeling of power was gone, her hunger growing stronger and stronger by the second. She needed blood urgently, and if she didn''t feed... She had to hold on.

    She must!

    * * *

 Chapter 3

    Chapter 3

    * * *

    For both Celeste and Latham, the next two weeks passed in a frantic routine of monotonous activities. To identify the most influential figures among the factions struggling for power, to compile a dossier on them, to determine the range of interests. To attract the attention, using their dual position of the leaders of the risen and the officers of the Taleya intelligence. Set a time to meet, negotiate, find common ground, promise support with money, information, or weapons. Cumbersome, boring, necessary. The number of human reactions is limited: with at least half a century of experience behind you, it''s easy to know what your opponent is really after.

    The picture was quite simple and optimistic. The Bardi nobles (though what nobles are they? The descendants of fortunate chieftains, at best related by blood to the middle classes of the nobility of neighboring Taleya: no decent education, no ancestral gift, no decent manners) were not yet at war with each other, but they were already actively recruiting mercenaries. The final battle was prevented by the presence of a formal ruler. The old childless Prince Foch, though he had lost much of his health and influence, still possessed no small amount of military resources.

    He could, if necessary, cause a lot of trouble to over-active subjects, if only by proclaiming an official heir. So far, however, he had not done so, thereby maintaining a semblance of peace and forcing the pretenders to the crown to seek allies in a variety of places. Celesta has already met with one and has been pleased with the negotiations. If Messe fulfills at least half of the commitments he has made, the risen'' position in the country will be greatly strengthened, and a normal, full-fledged community can be established here. This Hatsu looks like a promising candidate for the role of its head, but he should appoint someone of their own to assist him...

    At the same time, logic demanded not to put all the eggs in one basket. Count Messe was certainly a charismatic leader and talented ruler, but the other candidates for the throne also had a good chance of winning. At least two should have been counted as potential winners. One was too tightly bound to the Fire Temple, but the other had never shown much religious fervor, and he must be contacted. Just talk to him, for starters. Some actions in this direction have been taken, but so far the retinue is not very eager to make contact.

    Risen''s musings were interrupted by a familiar feeling, like a light touch on the back of her head. At least, that''s how she always perceived other people''s calls. Celesta became slightly alarmed. As she rose from her chair, she involuntarily thought that Medea - and she recognized her friend''s inherent pattern of thought - would not try to talk to her without an absolute necessity. Magic allowed communication over long distances, but rituals required a great expenditure of power, making it far easier, cheaper, and more reliable to send a pigeon or a messenger with a letter. The conversation through mirrors was resorted to in special, urgent cases.

    In fact, a mirror was not necessary to convey thoughts. Just a smooth, shiny surface made it easier to focus, tune in, concentrate on the right course of action. That was why even Celesta, who justifiably considered herself one of the best in the field of work with consciousness, preferred to use tools to make her life easier. All the more so now, after the showy massacre of Irhaim, which had cost her a great deal of effort. After all, the late mage was extremely gifted. It was a pity...

    The undead took a small mirror from the chest, insanely expensive by today''s standards, put it on the table, looked into the eyes of her reflection, and relaxed. At the same moment, the message Medea sent from Taleya entered her consciousness. There was no talking, no greetings, no apologies for untimely disturbance - just the bare, pure information that made Celesta freeze in dead stillness. It took her ten minutes to appreciate the unpleasant news. Then the vampiress put the mirror away and leaned back in her chair.

    "Latham." The faithful assistant and bodyguard appeared almost immediately. He was sitting on the first floor, but he reacted instantly to his mistress'' voice. "Go to Hatsu, apologize on my behalf, and tell him we have to leave. To Lascaris. I''ve had word from there that some outsiders have come into the city, killed Zarah, and seriously wounded Sattar. There seem to be three strangers. We can''t stay."

    Latham pondered, assessing the news.

    "Perhaps Hatsu shouldn''t know the details?"

    "No. Let him see that I am ready to protect my servants."

    What bad timing. Her mission in the mountains is far from over, the goals of the trip have not been achieved. But nothing can be done - it is impossible not to go. If this information is correct, then the outsiders from the steppe are too strong and practically terrorize the fourth largest city in the kingdom. They must be stopped before fear and panic spread throughout the country.

    The danger of an all-out raid hadn''t disturbed the risen for a long time, but now some would gladly seize the opportunity to rock the situation. Besides, there are a dozen potential risen among the undead who want to get rid of the overly rigid grip of Mistress Taleya. Idiots. They do not understand that people are not so much afraid of them as they are tolerant, and if they decide to destroy them, they will destroy them. Hiding, sitting in the dungeons is not an option. Therefore she must constantly prove her power, assert her right to power and look for an opportunity to get rid of proud blind men one by one, gently and without attracting attention. Unfortunately, it is not possible to solve the problem all at once and cardinally.

    So, I''ll have to visit Messe tomorrow, tell him about the change of plans and assure him once again of my support. It''s easier with Hatsu - he''s impressed enough by the death of the blacksmith who interfered with him and is dealing with the "gifted" fanatics. His loyalty is already at a sufficient level. I wish, of course, he had more, but alas. I''ll have to make do with what I have.

    The journey to the border of Lascaris will take about a week. Perhaps the vampires that attacked the city will be destroyed during that time, though much depends on luck and the quickness of people''s reactions. There are no great temples that specialize in the extermination of the undead in Lascaris, there are few good mages, and there is an extensive network of caves nearby that are easy to hide from the sun. Outsiders have a chance. Celesta would prefer to eliminate the threat herself, thus proving that she is in control and still the strongest. In times like these, one must seize every opportunity to strengthen one''s position. Besides, her servant had been killed. That should not be tolerated.

    Bardi stood at the crossroads of three important roads and therefore controlled them. The first road, from Taleya to Shaar, was an old structure passing through three mountain principalities and attracted the particular attention of military thinkers. For it allowed, in addition to controlling the states of the Farisian Range, to penetrate into the western regions of the principality of Lanak, which had recently been rapidly becoming the second power of the region. The second road led to the Desio mines and allowed us to decide which country would have no problem with the availability of silver. Considering that the metal was ideally suited to killing the beasts that proliferated everywhere, and thus was considered a strategic resource - and in practice, it was - any reasonable ruler was eager to have it at their disposal. Finally, merchants from Lascaris, one of the few gateways to the west for a hundred years, came regularly to Bardi.

    The clan of Lash managed to benefit from the unexpected gift of Irrhan the First. Lascaris was originally built as a frontier fortress, but thanks to the wisdom and insight of its lords, it became a real jewel of the kingdom. Traders made hundreds of deals every day here, exchanging goods brought from the Good Sea coast for horses brought from the steppe, or exchanging swords for rare and therefore valuable Seven Rivers carpets for ones forged in Desio. From here, the handicrafts of numerous artisans were spread all over the world, bringing fame and money to their creators, and duties, influence, and power to the rulers of the city. A strong garrison monitored the safety of the trade, aided in no small measure by a commission of overseers, in effect the duke''s internal intelligence service. Priests of various cults built temples to their gods here, mercenaries and mere adventurers flocked here, and books on forbidden magic and mind-altering herbs were sold under the table in the markets.

    It took Celesta six days to reach Lascaris. Normally the journey would take much longer, but this time the Mistress ordered no mercy on the horses and ruthlessly drove several pairs of animals, changing the lives of beautiful and loyal creatures for precious time. Horses that do not fear the undead are difficult to raise, but she did not regret her decision: her senses told her she had done the right thing.

    The city was shrouded in fear. As she drove by, Celesta could taste the acrid fumes of humans, hear the pounding of people''s hearts as they hurried home, see their frightened thoughts. The guards at the gate looked depressed, despite the sunny day, and looked longingly after the departing wagons.

    What had happened here? How could just three ghouls scare so many people? Usually, the authorities paid little attention to the corpses of the urban poor, beggars, members of small neighborhood gangs, and another rabble, believing that since ghouls did the work of the guards, they were even useful in some ways. Problems arose when the number of victims became unjustifiably large, or when someone influential died. A rich merchant, a nobleman''s daughter from the duke''s retinue... That''s when the repressive apparatus deployed its full force.

    She pulled aside the heavy curtains, looking out the window. The thick, dark veil should protect her from the searing sun, but even if a few rays slipped through, it wouldn''t be too bad. She can survive a sun kiss or two. The strength of a risen is directly related to age; the oldest undead of Taleya was capable of more than their younger counterparts. Unlike Latham, now lying in a cloaked box beneath her feet, Celesta could move about during the day without much strain and retained her sane mind. However, everything had to be paid for, and in the evening she was sure to go out hunting.

    "Gracious," she called out with a snap of her fingers to the poorly dressed citizen standing against the wall. "This is my first time in your city. Where can I stay here?"

    "There''s no inn better than the Bowl and Mirror, my lady," said the ragamuffin. "Go straight down the street, when you get to the second square, there you will see it."

    "Here," Celesta tossed in a small coin.

    The check-in of a noblewoman from a poor but ancient family, and her entourage to the best hotel in the city passed without fuss. They arrived, chose their rooms, brought their luggage - including Latham''s box - ordered the bathtub to be filled, and got a little fussy. Celesta played the part of a young girl on her way to visit relatives, intent on staying in the big city for three days out of curiosity. The role was familiar, long studied, and had always worked. And now the maid, who had been assigned to help her, was chatting away, taking advantage of the opportunity to tell the provincial girl the eerie news:

    "Every night someone gets killed. The priests have performed rituals, the guards have searched the city, even wizards have conjured up something, but to no avail. There were a lot of mercenaries in the city - horrible! The ghouls have been raging ever since those merchants were slaughtered."

    "What merchants?"

    "Well, the ones who brought the ghouls," the maid looked round-eyed. "The guards heard something and came to search the caravan. They began to open the wagons, and in three of them - the coffins are hidden! And in them lie ghouls. They killed the soldiers, ripped their heads off, and hid in the caves. Now they come out every night and drink people''s blood."

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    The last phrase the girl uttered quietly and with real, unadulterated fear. Her emotions were dominated by fright and mild doom, and Celesta even felt pity for the mortal, and, after drinking her blood, went beyond the usual mental clouding. A little suggestion, backed by a coin, and the maid left contentedly, not worrying about how to survive tonight. Once she was alone, the undead wrapped herself in her warm robe and laid out her ammunition, waiting for the night to fall. An invitation to visit the palace, if any, she decided to ignore. Priorities were different now. One person she would not refuse to talk to was the representative of the Secret Guard, who was responsible for organizing the raid. The picture was clear in general terms, but no intruders could be caught without details.

    There are three of them. Each is old and strong enough to walk in the daytime and endure the sunrays for as long as it takes to find shelter. The combined efforts of the mages and priests to find the ghouls have yielded no results, and that is already frightening. Sattar did the right thing when he ordered the three younger risen, who belonged to his - after Zar''s death - community, to leave for other cities. They were no adversaries to outsiders, and Celesta did not like to send her own to certain death. Though she had to in three hundred years.

    The young noblewoman, who had settled in the hotel, was very active. Before nightfall, she was visited by a tailor, a shoemaker, a jewelry merchant, several servants in the livery of various noble families, a priest, and a small official from the town government. The presence of the latter was explained by the lady''s desire to obtain some documents on the land litigation conducted by her parents. Such activity, undoubtedly, was admired by the staff of "Bowl and Mirror", but did not surprise anybody - heirs of noble families were accustomed to family matters early.

    Thus, by the evening Celesta had managed to talk to the messengers of the local branch of the Secret Guard and a couple of representatives of the city''s significant factions. Not counting her informants, of course. The picture was a strange one. The risen did not see the purpose of the actions - she honestly did not understand the behavior of the "visitors". Why act so demonstratively violent? Do they want to intimidate the townspeople? The rich and noble elite live in homes blessed by the signs, which is not easy to penetrate without preparation. Massacres in poorer quarters make little sense. Already the city is awash with bands of temple guards, mercenary undead hunters, Academy bloodhounds, and armed vassals of aristocrats. And every day there are more of them.

    Sooner or later the aliens will be caught in the densely woven web, their capture a matter of time and money. Against them plays the system, already faced with ghouls rebels against the established order, and the factor of alien territory, which deprived them of the support of mortals. No amount of experience or vampire strength will save them. One wonders how old they are. Zar was an old fighter, his assassins at least equal to him. At least two centuries, then.

    The information received speaks of three men. Three old risen, who, with unclear motives, had come to a foreign land, attacked Celesta''s servants and set their ways in motion. She made a mental note to find out what drove them from their homes. The fate of the strangers was sealed, but the causes and circumstances of the incident had to be determined.

    Celesta, in addition to the resources provided by the Secret Guards, had her own network at her disposal, which provided fairly accurate information about the latest attacks. As might be expected, most of the attacks had been in the northern quarters, though in the past three nights bodies had been found in the northwest as well. Are the local thugs masking their gang warfare? It is unlikely: the investigators are professional enough, and a human being cannot tear off the head of a kinsman. Consequently, we must look there, trying if possible not to clash with the detachments of guards and other hunters. She, along with Latham and Sattar, was not afraid of a fight. Though there was no reason to relax.

    As night fell, the nobles'' quarters came alive: even the rampages of the ghouls hadn''t forced the aristocrats to change their way of life. It was just that now the stretcher-bearers were accompanied not by three or five etiquette warriors, but by whole squads armed with silver-plated weapons. Visiting hours began around nine o''clock, with guests not returning until just before morning. A young noblewoman who had only just arrived in town today also left. Apparently, she was in a hurry because she did not want to rest from the road and immediately went to her acquaintances. She didn''t take many warriors with her...

    Celesta could have taken no warriors at all, but she chose to be on the safe side. She had a general idea of the area of the next attack, and she wanted to get there safely. Two travelers, a man, and a woman could be checked by any patrol. Palanquins with a coat of arms and a horse escort are rarely stopped. So he and Latham drove comfortably to the place where they planned to begin their search. There the undead let her mortal servants go and waited.

    The taste of fear is not a beautiful poetic metaphor. It is more than real. The smell of adrenaline released into the bloodstream, the smell of acrid sweat soaking the clothes. The hunters who live in the night feel it very well, it attracts them from afar, calls them to feast...

    Now that smell was disturbing.

    Celesta thought irritably that the people in their shacks could have been less fearful. No one was stopping them from leaving town for a while, or from making sure they fortified their homes against the undead beforehand. But, as always, they only got worried when trouble loomed large on their doorstep. As a result, the prices of the temple priests and healers skyrocketed, the few amulets of the Academy masters were swept from the shelves, and their place was taken by various articles of numerous charlatans. The cheaters had reaped a bountiful harvest in the past month.

    She grinned contemptuously at the signs scrawled on the wall, supposedly intended to protect the inhabitants from the coming of evil. It''s hard to tell if they have a positive effect. There are definitely negative ones. Headaches, bad dreams, sour milk, and other minor nuisances this combination of runes will certainly provide. Magic in the modern world has almost lost its former power, but this does not mean that it has disappeared altogether. And in the experienced hands, it was a formidable weapon. That''s right - in the experienced hands!

    Another squad of guards strode past. Celesta stepped out of the shadows, sniffed the air, trying to detect the distinctive sour smell of her kin, and checked her amulets. The search net, spread out by local wizards, had shown no sign of outsiders so far, which was unsettling. At the very least, background marks should show up. The top Taleyan risen could hide from the search completely, and even the younger ones could cover, but first, they had access to the Academy materials, and second, even they needed time to prepare the ritual. At least a couple of nights. Or did the intruders have an artifact like the one Hustin had invented? Which he still had not managed to produce, despite a fully elaborated theory.

    At least they have the hunting area figured out. It remains to patrol it and hope for luck.

    There was a muffled rumbling in the distance to where Latham was walking. Celesta listened more closely, wondering if she should come closer. The bodyguard would be able to call her for help, and there was no shortage of loud noises at night. Let him see if he should first... The next second Celesta found herself running.

    Her instinct for danger, which had never failed her before, snapped again before the signal from Latham informed her of the threat. No exchange of thoughts, just a blob of emotion, a call for help. Her servant, one of the kingdom''s strongest risen had come upon someone he couldn''t handle on his own. Celesta had no doubt - they had found the target.

    The risen'' fights are short-lived, as they always are if the professionals are fighting. The men in a beerhouse can maul each other for half an hour, but the experienced do not make unnecessary movements and do not waste time. Exceptions are rare and in most cases are caused by external reasons. A desire to show off in front of a lady, or to mock the enemy, for example. Latham''s prowess was nurtured by the best masters during his human lifetime, honed in duels of honor and on the battlefield, and perfected after becoming undead. But even his brilliant abilities succumbed to the combined might of three older, more experienced undead. He was saved by the curiosity of the outsiders and their desire to find out where this dangerous new enemy had come from.

    Celesta was glad in passing that she didn''t have to be careful. At least one of the attackers she would be able to capture, and relatively intact, that is, fit for interrogation. So there was no need to be coy.

    Barely twenty seconds had passed since instinct had driven her to the aid of her bodyguard. The fight was in a small square, more like a three-street intersection, and Latham was still alive. The vampiress had just a moment to assess the situation. Closer to her stood a short, stout ghoul, watching his two brethren play and controlling the situation at the same time. He sensed Celesta''s appearance, swung to the side in time to avoid the blow, but he could no longer warn his comrades-in-arms. There was not enough time. Mistress of Taleya sped past, snarling with anger and frustration at herself, and she lunged forward again, not wanting to interrupt the attack. This time the plan succeeded. The next foe was not as nimble, or simply less experienced. His blade was still coming up when the girl glided down, chopping his leg - and up again, slashing her second short sword across the neck. The stranger''s head hung on a few flaps of skin, but the body was still standing, unable to comprehend the arrival of the second, final death.

    With a single easy, almost dancing movement, Celesta found herself next to a third opponent. This one was waiting to attack. The stranger had abandoned the wounded Latham - she could see that his right hand was missing and his right eye was bloodshot - to face the real threat. And there was still the first one behind her, perfectly intact and about to attack. The risen stepped forward, delivering an oblique blow from the right to the top, expectantly meeting resistance and pulling the sword slightly toward her, preventing her from jamming it into a vise. At the same time, she spun on her left leg, cutting across her torso with the blade in her left hand through inertia. The man had no time to react, and Celesta felt with triumph the faint resistance of the cut flesh. Continuing to move, she crouched slightly and delivered a precise jab to the knee, expecting to shatter the bone and repeat the successful blow with the second opponent.

    The trained body suddenly jerked to the side, rolling away from the attack. An attack of magic, unanticipated. A blob of dark cherry flame sprayed out from where the risen had been a moment ago. It seemed that Latham would have to flee on his own. She sprang to her feet, glancing out of the corner of her eye at the fighters, who were dancing in a beautiful, horrific dance. All her attention was now focused on the talented runt. To use fire in combat... Against the undead would be fine. How is he not afraid?

    "What do you say, beauty?" A stream of fire slid between the enemy''s hands. "Who are you?"

    He spoke with a Western accent, a bit of a mart. The blob of flame suddenly lunged forward, forcing Celesta to take a step to the right. Her face burned with heat. A warm lump in her stomach reacted to the threat, involuntarily sending a faint current of power. The risen flipped her sword to her left hand.

    "You shouldn''t have come here." She shook her hand, kneading her fingers. A silly habit, pointless. "There are different laws here."

    "It''s not for me!"

    The short man lunged forward, literally pushing the ball of fire, which had grown to a meter in diameter, in front of him. This time the vampiress didn''t back down. She drew an intricate pattern sharply and quickly with her free hand, at the same time stepping slightly toward him. Her adversary stood up, pressing against an invisible barrier, forcefully trying to squeeze through the suddenly thickened air. His face was covered in tiny dots of blood, his fangs elongated.

    "Not bad," Celesta admitted. The confrontation wasn''t easy for her either, the flames at arm''s length sucked her strength out. "You are able to do something. But not enough against me!"

    She concentrated, reinforced her improvised shield, and with her bare will, she pressed down on her opponent. The flame user flew backward as if he''d received a tremendous jolt. The house whose back hit the wall shuddered, plaster and thatch from the roof crumbled to the ground. But the risen''s spine was not broken, he did not lose consciousness, and therefore, if Celesta had let him, he could have stood up and continued the fight.

    She didn''t.

    Obedient to the short strokes of the vampire''s hand, the invisible blades sliced through the runt''s body three times. Cutting off his legs and both arms. The final touch was a light poke to the forehead that rendered the stranger unconscious. Only then did Celesta relax a little and look around.

    Latham stood, leaning on his sword. He didn''t look too good, but he was still standing. She did not doubt his victory, but nevertheless, she felt it necessary to approach him and assess how badly his bodyguard was wounded.

    As she approached, the former aristocrat straightened up and hid the stump of his arm behind his back.

    "I''m sorry, Messena. He turned out to be too strong."

    Celesta looked in passing at the chopped-up corpse of the last enemy.

    "Worries not. We have their leader." She listened to the stomping feet of the guards running toward the noise, the anxious whistles of the patrols. "The sooner we get out of here, the better."

    Tonight had been a stormy night, and they''d spent a lot of energy. Ignoring the frightened sniffles of the mortals behind the flimsy walls of the houses was becoming more and more difficult as the demon insisted on quenching its thirst. Celesta was surprised to find herself staggering. A little more and she and Latham would not be able to restrain their hunger. They must go.

    * * *

 Chapter 4

    Chapter 4

    * * *

    The undead, who plan to survive for any length of time, are forced to acquire some useful habits. Leave no trace, be friends with the authorities, and have as many hideouts as possible. Sattar was no exception in this respect. His "lairs" were in different parts of the city, not badly hidden, and, Celesta was sure, even she did not know the whereabouts of all of them. She wasn''t too worried about that, though: Sattar had never bothered her before. He was a man of rare prudence, and even now he had done the right thing hiding and waiting for help. He was firmly hidden in the cellar of his servant family''s house and did not show his face.

    The last of the Lascaris risen still looked weak. By his admission, he had survived the battle with the outsiders purely by miracle, and the wounds inflicted by steel and magic had not yet healed. If Sattar had not managed to escape to a rich mansion, whose keys to the protection he had picked up beforehand, and not to sit out the dangerous time, then he would be permanently dead. He was seriously wounded. To heal, the risen had already drained eight people and still felt unwell. Hunger constantly tormented him, forcing him to minimize contact with people - Sattar was afraid to break. Even with his faithful servants, he communicated through the bars.

    "Did the town magician examine you?"

    "No, Mistress," Sattar grinned wryly. "He says he has more important things to do."

    Celesta made a mental note to look into the reasons for the sorcerer''s behavior. Usually, the undead had a mutually beneficial, if not friendly, relationship with the members of the Mages'' Guild, an organization that practiced permitted sorcery. To refuse to help, especially in this situation, seemed strange, to say the least. Of course, keeping a search grid over an entire city is difficult, but still strange.

    "Wounds of magical nature are hard to heal. Stop killing people - their blood won''t help you. Tomorrow I will curse mine and send a vial."

    Sattar was grateful. The blood of the old risen, especially that which had passed through the ritual of defilement, was powerful medicine. No one could tell exactly why, but in practice, the property was actively used.

    "I have everything ready, Messena," called Latham. The absence of one hand did not prevent him from preparing the captured stranger for interrogation. Rather, it stimulated ingenuity. At any other time, Celesta would have ordered the wounded aide to go to rest, but now any hint of weakness Latam would have taken as an insult. He prided himself on his military prowess, and today''s defeat threw him into a silent, silent rage.

    "Then start."

    There was no interrogation room in the basement, but there was a laboratory with a fireplace and a long, heavy table, which not every undead could break. At any rate, the prisoner certainly didn''t have the strength. Celesta intended to interrogate the runt before her beloved Service, in the form of the Regional Captain, got their hands on him. The Academy, the Temples, and the Duke of Lash might also demand information. Well, the first two categories have no chance, at least not through official channels, but the blessed Yuinariq is worth the effort. His already stable position at court has recently strengthened even more - he''s worth having as a friend.

    Although there were no humans in the basement, the stranger was not thinking clearly. His body demanded blood, from whatever source, and the presence of three creatures around him triggered a strictly defined reaction. Exactly what was needed. As long as the runt didn''t regenerate, all his strength would go to his treatment, which meant it would be harder for him to resist interrogation. Celesta would have preferred to postpone the interrogation until the next night when her strength was fully recovered, but time was working against her. The organizers of the raid knew how to count. Having found the bodies of two strangers and not finding a third, they were sure to come at her with questions that might not be worth answering. So it was better to find out the details first.

    She walked over to her chain-laden kin, examined the restraints, and nodded contentedly. It wasn''t that she didn''t trust Latham; she''d just had an unpleasant experience in the past. The prisoner lunged forward and growled longingly; as she approached, his hacked-off limbs tensed as if eager to seize her prey. Celesta leaned over, peering into the eyes that clouded with madness.

    "Let me in," the vampiress asked soulfully. She was far from Medea''s talent for mesmerizing people with her voice in a heartbeat, but she''d learned a thing or two. And now she was making full use of it, saving the energy she''d lost in the battle. "I want to help you. Ease your pain. Answer my questions and you''ll feel better. Can you hear me?"

    After a short silence, a quiet "Yes" came from the prisoner''s lips. Celesta was relieved that the hardest part was over. She had managed to break through the veil of madness. People are easier to work with: they are in most cases less resistant than the undead, sometimes even able to pull entire images from their minds. The risen are tougher.

    "Tell me your name. Please. I''m asking you, I''m begging you, tell me your name."

    "Yun."

    Another small victory. The name is an anchor to control the mind of the interrogator more firmly. No matter how much danger he feels through the induced daze, no matter how much his subconscious mind beats the alarm, he will respond to his name.

    "Tell me about yourself, Yun."

    The little man spoke, and Celesta relaxed a bit. Now she just had to listen and memorize. They would analyze it later.

    The three risen listened in complete silence to the story of Yun''s life and the afterlife. A small town, the ruins of houses left from a previous civilization; the impoverished, battered inhabitants; the raids of nomads from the steppe; the arbitrariness of leaders; the pathetic attempts of self-taught mages to withstand the coming of the night of the living dead. On the western edge of the Steppe, the risen did not hide like the inhabitants of Taleya but were much more at ease. Sometimes not even hiding from the living. They had no one to fear - the society had fallen back to tribalism, and there was no one left to fight the undead effectively. I was a little bit like a leader or a hero who killed risen, but the situation did not change in general.

    Risen surrounded themselves with a human "herd" that served as food and supplied them with slaves. The size of this hereditary retinue depended on the age, intelligence, and strength of the master, influenced his status in the eyes of his peers and helped him in his struggle for power. There were no undead communities in the towns, but the elite people always knew who was tacitly ruling in this or that area, who to go to for sorting out a disputed situation. Who was responsible for establishing balance and maintaining traditions.

    Yun, like everyone else, was struggling for power. He was considered second in his city, but he incredibly wanted to be first. Unfortunately, the ruler in his way was fifty years older, immeasurably more experienced, and influential among his neighbors. Just killing him was impossible. So Yun began to seek power. He spoke to sorcerers, learned to read, tried to resurrect ancient meditative practices. He had a lot of persistence. And it bore fruit - one day, obeying a mental order, the candle on his table flashed brightly.

    It took another twenty years before he considered himself ready to challenge the master of that area.

    However, after the death of the former head, it suddenly became clear that not everyone is ready to accept the supremacy of Uyun. And not only among humans but also among their kindred. The mortal rulers wanted to use the opportunity to get rid of the predatory creatures around them. The risen considered the runt insufficiently strong and preferred to seek other leaders. Most of all, they were all terrified of his magic. The legacy of the Plague...

    The enemies united with each other. Yun would have been able to defeat each one individually - neither the poorly armed human units nor the undead leaders of the neighboring towns would have been able to withstand him in equal combat. But they would outnumber him if they joined forces. The wizard didn''t wait for the combined army to arrive, gathered his remaining loyal servants, hired nomads to guard him, and headed east. Rumor had it that many people lived there and that there were large cities that did not know the night ruler.

    "Why did you kill every night?" Celesta hurried a little. She was tired of "holding" the prisoner and wanted to finish quickly.

    "I was wrong," Yun complained. ?There are too many mages here. Even the children of the night obey them! We need blood to hide."

    The last word made him jerk, throwing off the grip of another''s will on his body and mind. Undead nodded her thoughts. Witchcraft requires energy, and blood and murder give energy. Finding the corpses of murdered men forces the authorities to intensify their search, forcing them to hide from hostile sorcery again and again. A vicious circle.

    Great power - and given to a fool.

    She should have continued the interrogation, gotten the details out of the prisoner, but Celesta was too tired. The long road without a full day''s sleep, the hard night''s fighting, the complicated sorcery had sapped her strength. Rest is needed. She still has to communicate with the so-called superiors from the local branch of the Guard, prepare medicine for the servants, contact Hustin and inform him about the caught "colleague". However, the first priority is to immediately meet with the ruler of Lascaris, or at least to please him with news of his victory.

    "At dawn, send a trusted man to Duke Lash," she ordered Sattar as she turned and left the dungeon. "Have him inform the blessed one of my arrival. Tell him that the danger has been removed and the strangers are dead, one captured. If the duke agrees, I will visit him tomorrow, just after sundown - I would like to discuss a few things with him.

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    "Messena, is it reasonable?" Latham intervened. "He will be in his territory, under the protection of the ancestral walls."

    Mistress nodded slightly, accepting her concern. Lash had not previously shown ardent hostility toward her or her subjects, nor had he supported the temple parties, and Medea spoke well of him. But that meant nothing. If the duke saw fit or was simply besotted with rage, it would be fatal for a risen to be in his castle. They were lucky enough that the locals hadn''t had time to eliminate the outsiders before Celesta arrived, and now she could make herself look like a savior.

    "Let''s hope the good news improves his mood."

    The Lascaris rulers received the title "blessed" along with the title of duke (literally translated as "sovereign prince who gives advice to the one who wears royal robes") and were more proud of it than any other acquisition. Now their position in society, previously extremely stable, was elevated to an inaccessible height, second in status only to the ruler''s family. Officially, the family of Lash was able to move from the aristocracy to the "nearest descendants of the gods" because of their loyal service to the Taleyan rulers, their wealth, and their marital ties with the descendants of Dinir. Among the Lash - it was not mentioned out loud, but they attached great importance to the fact - magicians were often born, so, according to the ancient canons, the priests saw no special obstacles to ascension.

    Thus, the Dukes of Lascaris was not just the elite - they belonged to the elite of the elite. And they behaved accordingly.

    Celesta, however, was not in awe of the dignity of her vis-a-vis. Although she had never met Yuinariq before, she knew his father well, and together with his intriguer grandfather had once pulled off mutually profitable schemes. And Medea, who had moved in high places, had told her a great deal about the duke, and some of the stories were savory enough to strip their hero of any halo of grandeur.

    Especially since the meeting took place in the best traditions of the "cloak and dagger" novels - a trip down an underground passage, a cloaked guide, secret negotiations in a semi-darkened office. In such a setting, grandeur was hard to press, especially on a creature who had been familiar with the art of intrigue for far longer. Celesta was frustrated by something else. The Dukes of Lash''s castle had originally been built according to ancient canons, and the foundation stones had been laid according to rituals whose meaning had been long forgotten, but continue to act. Signs carved in the foundations and walls reacted sensitively to risen or other undead, not allowing entry without the master''s permission and ready to unleash their murderous power on their enemies at his command. Even the strongest of the undead were immune to the houses of old families who were true to tradition.

    "Messena Celesta," the Duke rose from his throne to pay his respects to his guest. - I am honored to host the savior of the city. Thank you for accepting my invitation and making it possible to visit my humble abode on such short notice.

    "Not at all, blessed Yuinariq! You are too kind. Another night or two and the intruders would surely have been caught without my involvement. It is I who should thank you for this audience."

    Besides Lash and his guest, there were two others in the room - the duke''s confidant, Vatar, the head of his "answer-givers," and one man behind a light curtain. Judging by the latter''s iron odor and rapid breathing, he was an elixir-infused bodyguard. The usual precaution.

    While the host and his guest exchanged pleasantries, which took about ten minutes, the chief of security was silent. Only when the undead, comfortably seated in a low-backed armchair, drank the first bowl of light wine did Vatar dare to cough slightly, drawing attention to himself.

    "Ah, yes," Lash ostensibly recalled the vassal at his side. "Just before you came, Messena, we were arguing about whether you''d destroyed all the enemies or whether one had escaped. Tell me, which of us was right?"

    Well, this is the beginning of a serious conversation. It is only gratifying that of all the possible forms of the highest language in which the nobility speaks to each other, the blessed one has chosen the mildest, demonstrating friendliness to the interlocutor.

    "Neither." The vampiress smiled slightly, flashed her fangs for a moment, and made the bodyguard jerk involuntarily. "I took the leader prisoner."

    She gave a rather detailed yet brief account of the hunt that had taken place yesterday and how it had ended. After a little hesitation, she spoke of Latham''s wounds and Sattar''s grave condition. She did not wish to show weakness, but she wanted to show what a formidable foe the Undead had faced in Lascaris. She was listened to with extreme attention.

    "... Now he''s lying in Sattar''s cellar, wrapped in chains," Celesta finished her story. "I''m afraid to keep the undead in such a state for long, and I''m afraid to give too much power to a mage, even a weak one. The unwise woman asks the blessed one for advice: what should she do with her prisoner?"

    "Even an enemy who will never be a friend can be useful," said the Duke philosophically. "Give him to me. A showdown in the central square will calm the city. The mobs are nervous and too many mercenaries do not add to the quiet."

    The leader of the undead lowered her eyes, examining the pattern on the light brown, thick carpet. The room was divided into two parts: the general, with little furniture, and the throne dais, separated by a low threshold, on which only the master of the house had the right to be. Thus, the bodyguard and Vatar stood, though in front, to the right and left of the guest. The duke and the undead sat face to face.

    "I''m not sure I have the right to make such a decision." She deliberately shifted from the elegant language of the aristocracy to the coarser common vernacular. "Just before I left the house, I received a letter from the coordinator of the Secret Guard ordering me to hand the prisoner over to the monks of Ang. I must confess I was surprised..."

    Yuinariq leaned back slightly, pondering this information. He knew as well as she did about power and the situation inside the spider''s nest. The once-mighty service had lost much of its power and influence. People with no experience in operational work, but loyal to patrons from the power groups of the court, were appointed to command positions. So, the senior "spider" Lascaris closely associated with the Chancellor''s clique... Not news, in general, but before he did not try to bypass the Duke, to undermine the power of Lash in his native domain.

    Celesta wanted to ignore the order from her superiors, and for several reasons at once. Not just personal, though she was offended by the coordinator''s reluctance to meet and discuss the planned hunt or the manner of giving ill-conceived orders. What she needed was an alliance with Yuinariq. Having a close bond with the blessed one, who until now had stood defiantly aloof from the faction battle, would increase her freedom of maneuver and make it easier to defend the interests of the undead. Again, resources. Lascaris is rich - with his support and channels behind him, a lot can be achieved.

    So the vampiress intended to give the stranger to the Duke in any case. Her superiors would be unhappy, so be it - there was no one to replace her. But she hoped that Lash, irritated by the impotence of the Guards, the intrigues of the temple hierarchs, and guided by gratitude to her, Celesta, would not limit himself to a letter to the chancellor. She needed more serious support.

    "My status allows me to ignore the demands of almost any officer of the Guard..."

    "Leave it to me to communicate with your superiors, Messena Celesta," the Duke responded instantly. "I am sure Laar will heed my words."

    "Perfect," the undead bowed slightly. "Your intervention will save me a lot of complications. However, I would like to draw the blessed one''s attention to another point. It will be about the behavior of the local representative of the Academy."

    "What''s wrong with him?"

    Vatar was silent, but Celesta could tell by the subtle change in his posture that he was tense. Worried.

    "I will not consider Master Ryder''s stubborn unwillingness to meet with me in person or, say, to assist in the treatment of my injured servant. Perhaps his behavior is for religious reasons. This is about the tracking net the venerable wizard has installed."

    "You will recall that from the moment the outsiders appeared in Lascaris, the venerable master took an active part in the search for them. He performed a series of elaborate rituals to reveal the whereabouts of all the undead in the city, put all his scouts out on the streets, and even enlisted the Academy''s helpers who were skilled in tracking them down. The master, however, was unsuccessful."

    "His failure in itself is strange but understandable. Old vampires are capable of hiding their presence from mages. However, as I found out, the only alien mage specialized in fire, with little knowledge of the other arts. Though he used all of his skill, he couldn''t fool the net - some of the ranges remained uncovered."

    "At first I didn''t notice the discrepancy, but then... Is it true that Chancellor Rakawa suggested reinforcing the garrison with a regiment of swordsmen?"

    Celesta paused, inviting her companions to speculate on the rest. For intriguers of their level, it should not be difficult to fill in the gaps in the place of the untold. Ryder comes from the family of the Barons of Tesso, known for their loyalty to the all-powerful Chancellor. Rakawa is extremely unhappy with Duke Lash''s independent stance, but at the same time is wary of pushing him too hard. The disturbances in Lascaris could be the very occasion that would allow the Taleyan authorities to bring troops into the city and, without formally removing Yunariq, remove him from power in practice. Or at least weaken his influence. A simple and effective chain.

    No wonder they searched so haphazardly for strangers and could never catch them.

    "The silly woman would be glad if the blessed one dispelled her suspicions," the risen reverted to high style again. "She holds Master Tairan''s friendship in extremely high regard and would not wish to doubt his subordinates."

    The men looked at each other.

    "Unfortunately, Messena Celesta, our relations with Master Ryder leave much to be desired, too," Vatar spoke up for the first time. "There has been an unfortunate misunderstanding between us lately. We even tried to ask the Chancellor to replace the City Wizard, but the Honorable Tairanus refused the request. According to him, Master Ryder has the highest approval of his position."

    In other words, they were quarreling almost to death. Otherwise, they wouldn''t have asked to be replaced. It seems that the situation in Lascaris is much cooler than it looks from the outside.

    "I had no choice but to bow to the will of the Son of the Sea," the duke intervened, stopping the talkative subordinate. "And so it will be from now on. But I am most grateful to you, Messena Celesta, for your concern, and I deeply regret that we did not meet sooner. I should have made more effort to pay you my respects. Perhaps there is some way I can redeem myself? Now or later?"

    Diplomat! The risen had to admire Yuinariq restraint. In a short speech he managed to say that he was in control of the situation, he would deal with it on his own, no help was needed, but thank you anyway. And yes, I have nothing against the alliance. It used to be impossible, but now the circumstances have changed. The play with the meaning of the phrases made it clear that we should not count on too sharp a rapprochement, and that the partners would definitely not be equal.

    Celesta was satisfied with the offer: it was what she was coming here for.

    "The blessed one is merciful, born-at-night does not deserve his participation. Yet she is too weak to resist taking advantage of such a generous offer." Upon hearing the passage about weakness, the men bloomed identical skeptical grins. "The community of my servants in Lascaris is in a difficult position. Its head is dead, its second in strength severely wounded, and the rest have been forced to choose between death and flight. Is there no way to ease their plight? I ask for little - to allow the new head of the community, Sattar, to seek the advice of a wise ruler in difficult situations."

    "Certainly, Messena," the Duke instantly oriented himself. "I will gladly help your servant. Especially since he suffered in defense of my subjects, which means that he can count on my gratitude."

    All present were aware that they were, in fact, violating centuries of tradition. Never before had the risen made any treaties with the aristocracy without informing the Secret Guard. All sorts of things have happened, of course, but never without the involvement of a third party in negotiations or agreements. Now Celesta acted solely on her behalf. The Duke didn''t just let the head of the city''s vampires address him directly either - he gave a channel of communication that bypassed the "spiders." Yes, of course, he would cover the community from temple raids, help with difficulties with the city guards, and fulfill various, petty for him, requests. But first and foremost he agreed to exchange information, that is, the most valuable thing in the world.

    * * *

 Chapter 5-6

    Chapter 5

    * * *

    Negotiations, despite the friendliness of the host, were not easy. The pressure of the magical signs carved on the castle walls was draining; she had to watch her every word so as not to ruin the first favorable impression. The fatigue of yesterday''s fight and the interrogation that had followed was an additional backdrop, not so much physical as mental.

    On top of all that, there may be more to explain to the regional captain about the prisoner given away. And to treat Sattar.

    An underground passage led her to a house not far from the walls of the Upper Town. Furnished like a medium-sized merchant''s house, it served the duke as a sort of antechamber for invited but secret guests. No one wanted to draw attention to this place, so the mistress was accompanied here by only Latham. He met her at the exit.

    "I think you''ll have to stay in town for a while," Celesta spoke when they were far enough away from the Duke''s men. "We will hand the prisoner over to Lash for a show execution. We will be interacting frequently with the Duke''s entourage shortly, and Sattar, for all his positive qualities, is not an expert in the nuances of etiquette."

    "The Secret Service will not be pleased."

    "Of course. They can express their dissatisfaction to the sovereign if they dare, and I will give them the opportunity to do so. Let them fight, and I''ll see whose forehead is stronger."

    "Does Messena intend to return to Bardi?"

    "No," Celesta shook her head negatively after a little thought. "Lascaris is more promising. Relations with the Duke must be developed, he must see our usefulness... Surely he would be interested in the latest information from Taleya."

    From there they walked in silence. Not wishing to draw attention to her nocturnal wanderings, Celesta moved out of the inn, choosing as her new residence the mansion that belonged to the deceased Zar. The official owner was a merchant among the living servants of the risen. It was also a problem to ensure that the transfer of power went smoothly and without incident. Only four remain in the Lascaris community after recent events, but there may well be young risen from Taleya to be transferred here soon. The fugitives must be provided with shelter and resources beforehand.

    There wasn''t much time before dawn; midnight was long gone. Witchcraft would not be appropriate now, but Sattar looked disgusting, and Celesta made her way to the basement. Here, the hidden deep underground was the small temple of Morvan, used by the risen for the few magical rituals they knew. Ordinary cultists also came here to worship the deity, but only the undead knew how to curse their enemies or turn their blood into powerful medicine. It was rumored that a vampire who had fallen asleep in the temple was sometimes visited by visions, but whether that was true or not, Celesta did not know.

    Personally, she used the room for purely utilitarian purposes.

    The eternally young girl froze in front of the altar, concentrating. She should have cleared her mind of all extraneous things before she began her work. And what was there to worry about? Now she would prepare a potion for Sattar and send it to the sick vampire. The day and the next night would be spent resting unless the "spiders" had a desire to reassert their importance and scheduled a meeting. In any case, the day after tomorrow she would leave for Taleya, leaving Lascaris to her assistants. She''s been gone too long as it is.

    It is in the Capital where the threads of the twisting intrigue come together.

    It is in Taleya that she will be at home.

    * * *

    Chapter 6

    * * *

    Historically, all risen found in the kingdom''s territory tended to be transported to the capital in the first year of their non-life. Not immediately, of course. A vampire couldn''t travel too far from his birthplace for two or three months after the transition; at first, the undead''s energy depended heavily on the land that resurrected him. No, under special circumstances the young were taken to other cities, away from the population that was disturbed by the succession of exsanguinated corpses, but such travelers had to be fed with fresh blood almost constantly. And they had to be watched closely to see if they went mad.

    It is only natural, therefore, that the Taleyan community was the largest and strongest in the country. It was home to both the oldest and the youngest of the risen. Newcomers were welcomed, trained, attached to mentors, taught to survive and the basics of existence in the realm of the Night for about fifty years, and then sent to other cities. To a new place of residence, a new place of service. This allowed, on the one hand, to evaluate the new members of the community, to understand what to expect from them and how much can be depended on them, and, on the other hand, to instill in the newcomers a more or less similar worldview. To prevent them from going to extremes, to give them a moral basis for their continued existence, to explain the dangers of uncontrolled thirst.

    Celesta was not always happy with the results, but in general, the chicks that left her nest were firmly on their wings.

    Not everyone went to the provinces, though. The most talented stayed in Taleya, joining the established management structures, developing their sections, and forming a kind of "personnel reserve". Everyone benefited the community. By intrigue, by finding money, by controlling particularly frisky fanatics or tribute-paying human gangs, by destroying particularly dangerous creatures throughout the country... The oldest, most experienced, and capable were among what Celesta called Advisors. They were the close associates who led the various activities.

    The vampiress had arrived in town a week ago. She was in no hurry, and she decided, given the opportunity, to take a tour of the grounds. To inspect her subjects, who, far from her mistress''s watchful eye, were not always properly managing their newfound autonomy. Some of the heads of the communities were beginning to feel that their leader''s policy of subordination to the human authorities was not in keeping with current realities and was expressing dissatisfaction in various ways. Celesta, in principle, was also tired of being the tame monsters of the Secret Guard, so there was little reprisal. No one tried to rebel against her authority or her established laws, there were no fools among the elders, and minor transgressions could be forgiven or limited to a reprimand in private. Most of the risen were well aware of their position on the fringes of human society and did not want to attract attention with silly flashy brutal antics. So she was happy with the outcome of the trip. This time there was no bloodshed.

    Despite the training, education, careful selection, and control, vampires sometimes lashed out. They killed indiscriminately, ignored their mistresses'' orders, and openly fought with local lords or temples. It wasn''t a good thing for them, as the zealous elders were quickly cut off. Sometimes on the head. Celesta tried to punish justly but mercilessly. In her position, mercy was synonymous with weakness. She could not afford weakness.

    Her subjects lived in a cruel world, and she ruled them as best she could. That is, in full accordance with the covenant of Machiavelli, unknown here: "A ruler does good wherever possible, and evil where necessary. The proportion remained unknown. But, judging from the fact that the vampire clan was doing well compared to neighboring countries, Celesta was doing well. Both undead and humans regarded her as ruler of all the undead of Taleya - humans, incidentally, were the first to use the term "subjects" in reference to the risen who served her, which sometimes made her think of coronation with grim humor. Until now, the title of Night Mistress, invented by an unknown cultist, had sufficed, but circumstances might soon change...

    In fact, it was about these very circumstances that she was going to talk to the Council.

    Her inner circle had for many years consisted of the same individuals. The old, strong, loyal, and talented risen who had firmly held the reins of the communities and successfully fought off the attacks of the outside world. All of them were now seated at the table, preparing to hear Celesta and, in turn, to report on their assigned areas of work.

    A rather squinting Medea settled gracefully in the nearest chair on her right arm. She was always there. Regardless of the vicissitudes of fate, the beauty and schemer served as faithful support for her cold friend, providing her with support in all circumstances and helping her to deal with various crises. It is fair to say that some of these crises arose thanks to Medea.

    Circling in court circles, she never denied herself the pleasure of tickling her own and others'' nerves with an affair with a disgraced courtier or a resident of Lanakian intelligence. In the unconscious urge to walk on the edge of a precipice, enjoying the thrill of danger and the sense of life about to be cut short, she sometimes drove Celesta to a state of uncontrollable rage. A couple of times Medea was even forced to flee the capital - not so much from angry aristocrats as from an angry friend. People, mostly men, she could turn as she wished, but Celesta''s anger was better to wait it out. At the same time in serious situations, the beauty acted quickly and decisively, without delay, fulfilling the most strange of orders. In general, the main thing was not to let her get bored.

    In truth, there had been very little foolishness on her part lately. Medea was the link between the vampires and the high nobility of the state, the channel that allowed her to directly influence the decisions of the authorities, bypassing the superiors of the Secret Guard. Her looks, manners, and artistry allowed her to easily find keys to the hearts of influential nobles, who had fallen in love with the beautiful servant of the Night for generations. Her true nature was known at court. However, they did not perceive her as a predatory undead, but as a kind of a dumb and a bit careless lover of dance, poetry, and other arts, just a bit immortal and with ambiguous acquaintances. That''s what the right image means.

    Next to Medea sat one of the few vampires who had risen in old age. Normally, mortals killed in their younger years returned to non-life, which gave rise to thoughts of a second chance given to the Dark Ones. Though the statistics gathered, known only to their own, corrected this opinion. Old men don''t rise up less often - they retain their sanity less often. The psyche does not withstand, the habit of thinking in patterns, common to any adult, which prevents them from accepting the changed reality.

    Celeste considered the Gardoman one of her most valuable possessions, if I may say so about a free individual. The old man was a shrewd salesman and a born entrepreneur, able to make money out of thin air. He was a difficult man to deal with at first. The former headman of a village did not lose his commanding antics after his death and was severely rebuked several times, but then he got used to it, acknowledged the authority of the Little Mistress, and slowly began to take control of the financial operations. Seven dinirs out of every ten the community now received, Gardoman rightly took credit for it. The remaining twenty percent of the undead community''s income came either from the machinations of Medea, who occasionally followed a lover into a lucrative venture-not so much out of greed as out of a desire to be at the center of things - or from the other vampires.

    Celesta also had her sources, known to her alone. A dozen coins there, a hundred here, buried jewelry or gems... Not necessarily in Taley��. She left a modest rainy-day investment in every city she happened to be "on duty". Sometimes an extra penny helped her stay afloat. Let the last two hundred years the situation of the undead in the principality is stable and the authorities do not intend to destroy the useful, though scary subjects, life - it is that, unpredictable.

    Last on the right side was Latham, who had returned to Taleya just today. Business in Lascaris was better than could be expected, so he considered his mission complete and left the city to Sattar. The youngest of the assembled, in his lifetime Latham had been heir to the Counts of Kos and was considered one of the best swordsmen in the guard. His virtuoso mastery of the weapon, coupled with his good education, strong leadership skills, and knowledge of clan magic now earned him a seat at this table. Despite his relatively young age compared to the other elders, he was the one Celesta had recently sent to hunt down the most dangerous creatures. Not alone, of course.

    She had a sort of quick response team of four experienced vampires, aka bodyguards and fighters, and she put Latham in charge of them. The former aristocrat had never once failed. He was also used occasionally when, for whatever reason, Medea could not interfere, and circumstances forced him to communicate with the higher nobility - but not too often.

    First on the left sat Hustin opposite the insidiously smiling temptress Medea. The relationship between the former teacher and the former student was not easy and, according to the observations of experienced persons, developed cyclically. That is, about ten years of affectionate friendship, during which the magician, like a living person, gave the flowers for beauty, wrote love notes, and was wildly jealous of the objects of work. Gifts graciously accepted, bad quality poems neatly stacked in a box, the feelings were mutual. Then came a cooling-off period, which lasted about the same amount of time. The box was burned, the sides exchanged sarcastic remarks, Medea messed with the men for a show, and Hustin became angry and refused to appear in the dungeons. When the active fighting phase came to an end and the old, experienced risen stopped acting like quarreling teenagers, for about five years, the surrounding people enjoyed some peace and quiet. Then it would start all over again.

    Celesta did not interfere in these games. Let them have their fun. She trusted Medea, and Hustin stood apart. Despite the age-old agreement between Celesta and the humans, the vampiress could not call the mage fully her subject. He lived on the Academy grounds, was well acquainted with many aristocrats, and could gain an audience with the highest dignitaries all the way up to the king if necessary. He was favored by Tairan, head of all mages in Taleya. From the outside, it might have seemed that Celesta had no leverage over Hustin.

    Fortunately, the memory remained. The memory of the days when they had wandered the dungeon together, of the first lessons in night hunting, taught to an inexperienced risen, of the dirt, the blood, and the pressing sense of danger. Hustin remembered what Celesta was capable of, knew the true value of her abilities, and wanted no enmity. Having once recognized her as the leader of his new clan, the head of his new family, he had never since seen a reason to consider that old decision a mistake.

    There was another thread, more like a rope, that the Mistress of the Undead could use on occasion, but it applied more to the Academy as a whole. From time to time wizards conducted experiments that were ethically questionable. That notorious black magic. "Spiders" knew about the wizards'' research, some projects were developed with their help, but the true frequency and details of the rituals remained an internal secret of the Academy. If the information leaked out, the researchers would be in big trouble, as Tairan rightly believed. So the head of the mages preferred - on a mutually beneficial basis, of course - to obtain the necessary ingredients and human material from the city''s undead, with whom he maintained contact through his apprentice. Thus, Hustin regularly appeared in the sewers, was more or less aware of the community''s affairs and, as they say, did not break away from the collective.

    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    The last of the gathering, Zervan, was the fourth risen to join the small Taleyan community. He remembered the time before the Plague, a fact of which he was very proud, but he did not like to talk about his former life. A poacher, a smuggler, a vagabond, a regular in prison - not a career to be proud of. In fact, in his new incarnation, he was doing more or less the same, only at a higher level. Zervan looked after all the interests of the community as they related to the underworld. He handled the city''s gangs and contacts with pirate fleet captains, provided channels for smuggling from other countries, and carried out orders for assassinations.

    Strangely enough, he was doing quite well. Mainly because he knew his limits and preferred to ask Celesta on controversial issues. Mistress Zervan was feared and respected from the first meeting, which ended extremely painful for him and permanently prioritized their relationship. Nevertheless, any fear requires renewal, so the bandit periodically had to be reminded who was in charge. He also feared and distrusted Hustin, condescended to Gardoman, drooled over Medea, and hated Latham. The latter despised Zervan and did not think it necessary to hide it.

    "... So in both Bardi and Lascaris our position has been strengthened," Celesta finished her report. "We have our difficulties there and there, but I think we have enough leverage to influence the situation. The Highlanders need money, and Lash would be grateful for an update from the palace. What about our income?"

    "I''d say things are good, but not too good," Gardoman replied. "A large part of our activity has to be diverted into the shadows. The merchants and trading houses under our control complain of a sharp deterioration in the general situation. Government fees are rising, gangs are on the rise, viceroys and feudal lords are refusing to take orders from the capital, and travel is becoming dangerous. Trade has become more difficult. No, of course, the increase in the price of weapons and escort services offset the cost to some extent, but on the whole, the outlook is not pleasant. It''s a bit unsettling."

    Zervan smirked: "Well, I dunno. There are enough guys to sneak goods around customs."

    The "finance minister" of the community, who worked closely with Zervan and his men, shook his head negatively. He was well versed in the situation not only in his field and now immediately objected: "Gangs are getting bigger, the leaders of some are getting out of control. The size of the handouts has to increase. Sooner or later, your "meat" will want to play the game of independence, and I''m not sure we''ll be able to hold them back."

    "I''ll kill them all myself!" Zervan was indignant. "Or we''ll get the lunatics to do it!"

    Medea smiled faintly, amused by the bandit''s last sentence. It was about the Morvanite sects, especially those where they were specially trained to kill people, and which Celesta considered her personal property and did not allow anyone to command them. Not to Zervan, anyway.

    The rebuke came immediately:  "I do not intend to use my, as you put it, lunatics, to correct your mistakes, Zervan. The cultists have a different task. Moreover, I doubt that even with their help we will be able to keep all this unruly mob in check." Mistress turned her gaze to the financier. "We were distracted. Am I correct in assuming that our revenues will decrease?"

    "Yes," the old man affirmed, "though I don''t care much about money. Failed decades have happened before. The scary thing is that there''s been a lot of new players lately, and everyone wants a bigger piece. I''m talking about the feudal lords and some of the temple associations. Their spies are extremely active, and the quality of their training is somewhere on the level of the current "spiders". There are many of them, they are well-financed and ready to climb into all the cracks. I am afraid they may find out who really owns a number of well-known merchants'' unions. We risk losing the whole trade network."

    There was an anxious silence in the hall. Without the main source of funds, it would be hard to live.

    Initially, the little colony of risen, or rather their leader, had no resources at all. That is, not at all. They couldn''t count the one and only tavern where they were fed by drunken revelers as their own. "Spiders" did not pay them a salary, legal opportunities to make money could not appear in principle, and all the illegal were closely monitored by the Secret Service. But little by little the situation changed. Under the pretext of tutelage for cultists, they managed to get funding, some money was withheld, and they tried to scam it. The scheme was partially successful.

    Gradually, as truly loyal servants emerged from the cultists, the number of enterprises controlled by vampires grew in one way or another. A couple of taverns owned by Morvanites; small gangs that paid tribute in exchange for intercession with guards and information about impending raids; and contacts with pirates who sold loot in the region''s largest city. But it didn''t take long for Celesta to really unfold. It was a long time before her mortal servants began to establish their own merchant houses and trade throughout the kingdom and even beyond. The risen now owned trading companies and mines, shipyards, horse farms, fields, and forests. Unofficially, of course.

    Some parts of the web that brought the undead gold and financial independence, the beloved leadership knew for sure, guessed about some things, and had suspicions about some people and companies. But the Secret Service did not own the entire structure of the network, the top risen were sure of that. No one but those gathered in this room could tell exactly what assets belonged to the vampires. And if Gardomann was saying that dozens of rats would succeed were one big wolf had failed, then you should at least listen to what he was saying. The old man has an instinct for such things.

    "What can be done?"

    "Not so much," replied the financier. He was probably figuring out what measures to take and was now stating his conclusions. "To pull back new projects within the kingdom and try to move operations to other countries. I recommend Lanaka. The Princely Council recently adopted a program to build a new fleet - a surge of business activity is inevitable there. What to do with the existing companies, which are known to be owned by us, I honestly do not know. Unless we sell all the assets and try to start business anew, elsewhere, our servants won''t like this option. In the business reputation is built up over the years, it is very difficult to start from scratch. Especially since there are no obvious reasons to move yet."

    Mortal servant dynasties were more valuable to the risen than gold. The newbies who had recently entered the Darkness had little understanding of how dependent they were on humans, but the older vampires were soberly aware of their place in the world. The layer between the society of the living and the communities of the undead was necessary, or else the latter would be forced to turn into mere undead, waiting for victims in dark alleys. Humans provide their dark masters with a day''s shelter and an opportunity to earn a relatively honest living, cover from hunters, and an extra gulp of blood in a time of need. They didn''t want to lose all that.

    "Give the heads of the affected families the prognosis," Celesta ordered. "Tell them to be mentally prepared for the possibility that they might have to leave Taleya. If they have their way of deceiving the searchers, fine, we''ll be glad to help them. If they decide to stay... I think we should involve our "friends" from the palace."

    "With great pleasure," Medea replied. "But what about Laar? The worm gets hysterical whenever we meet at parties. He thinks I am not to get involved in politics! How silly! I don''t interfere in men''s affairs at all. I just advise my good friends sometimes, and it''s up to them whether they follow it or not."

    The belle, contrary to custom, was not the least bit deceitful. She attended feasts and parties, sang ancient hymns to guests, flirted, patronized poets and actors, seduced and allowed to seduce herself, expertly helped young girls to get out of juicy situations, and was happy to get involved in them herself. But she did not try to join any of the groups, and rarely acted in the interests of the risen. However, even this "very rarely" made the "spiders" furious and caused serious problems for Celesta''s subjects.

    So her actions were limited to surveillance, collecting rumors, and participating in the adventures of noble lovers who brought information and popularity. The vampires, however, were not the losers. Medea managed to collect tons of dirt even in such constrained conditions, providing her eldest friend the possibility of blackmailing almost the entire elite of the kingdom. Except, unfortunately, it was almost impossible to use the material. Until today.

    Celesta froze, once again mentally calculating her options. Was she too hurry? How would her comrades-in-arms feel about her proposal? They, too, had lived steadily for a long time, accustomed to their position.

    "Speaking of the Secret Guard... It has always had a tight grip on us, but lately, its grip has loosened. Many of the masters of the communities think it''s time to get rid of it altogether. On the other hand, we have become accustomed to the status quo; it gives us many legal opportunities. Arguments are being made both for and against gaining independence." Well, the word is spoken. "I would like to hear what you think."

    This topic had already been discussed with the elders separately, in private, and Celeste knew the opinion of each associate. But the time to make a decision was now. Let them make their position out loud, make their final choice.

    "It''s about time! They absolutely do not let us live - I walk as if in a slave collar, counting every word!"

    Medea. She spoke out impulsively and with great pleasure. She was the first of Celesta''s inner circle to speak of parting with her "spider" patrons, and her motives were purely selfish. They made her do something she didn''t like. Then, as soon as she heard the fervent speech about freedom, independence, and the right to self-determination, Celesta ordered her friend to keep her mouth shut. But she made a notation in her mind. Medea intuitively sensed the desires of mortals, and now that she was talking about something she''d been afraid to think about, times had changed.

    "I don''t like some humans deciding for me how and what I should do. We''ll get by without a bunch of spiders!"

    Zervan''s joy is also understandable. The bandit gang, which he called his assistants, suffered from the scrutiny of the clandestine most severely. No surprise in the constant inspections - given the proclivities of Zerwan and his henchmen, control is vital. Mistress Taleya herself gave them a great deal of her attention. She valued these, so to speak, fighters not too high, but she knew exactly who could and should be used for dirty work. Violent, poorly controlled, disobeying orders at every turn, they were well suited to hunting the not-so-dangerous undead or fighting with the temple hunters. More often than anywhere else, there were degenerates among them who had lost all desire except immoderate bloodlust. The inability to control himself, the lack of self-control, quickly turned a vampire into a ghoul, dangerous even to his kind.

    If someone had to be sacrificed, Celesta would look for a suitable candidate in the pack. There was always a reason for punishment.

    "I see no common future for the risen with the Taleyan dynasty. They don''t need us, moreover, we are beginning to obstruct them."

    By saying "I don''t see," Hustin should have specified what exactly he meant. Ever since his experiments in foresight began to yield the first results, his words could be interpreted in two ways. But the magician''s statement made it very clear where he stood. Despite his privileged position over the rest of the risen, he too wanted autonomy. The right to choose what to do, where to live, what to teach, to take care of mortal kin. He was now shackled by many prohibitions, and even his excellent relations with the Academy leadership were of little help, especially lately.

    "I doubt that there is a good reason to make a drastic change in the way of life. Crises have happened before. We will get through this one, just as we got through the previous ones. My answer is no."

    It would have been strange if the chief financier had wanted to take part in the revolution. He was quite happy with the current state of affairs. Gardoman and his team gradually increased their influence by bribing officers of the guard or officials and even sponsoring some temples. They preferred creeping into new areas, strengthening their position step by step and acquiring new companies, recruiting supporters, investing in joint operations with feudal lords. The fact that officially they had no right to conduct trade did not embarrass them. Having their backers among the nobility and merchants allowed them to ignore the law. Unless, of course, your people held key positions.

    So far Gardoman had few truly influential agents, but he was in no hurry. All in good time. So the old man preferred to wait a little longer and gain actual freedom through intrigue and corruption, while outwardly remaining subordinate to the Secret Guard. A long way, but a safe way. Proven.

    And, finally, the last vote: "Taleya is the only country in which the risen have the support of the authorities. Though this support is small and often symbolic, it is there nonetheless. By revolting, we will become, from unusual servants, the enemy. I doubt that the possible benefits of a life of freedom outweigh the inevitable losses of confrontation."

    "But that''s not all, is it?" Celesta suddenly smiled.

    "Not all," Latham agreed. "I swore an oath to the dynasty. I don''t think death has freed me from my oath."

    As one would expect.

    The mistress nodded lightly, showing that she had heard and accepted everyone''s words. Be that as it may, the decision belonged to her. She ruled over all the communities of the risen country, ruthlessly eradicating any manifestation of independence and wielding the full extent of absolute power. Insofar as absolute power is possible at all. But in return, she had to pay the price of responsibility for the actions of any undead among those for whom she was responsible.

    Medea, Hastin, and Zervan are pro, Gardoman and Latham are con. Or, if we consider the fields of activity, political intelligence, mages, and the army - in its worst form - propose to take a risk and break with the current authorities. Break the centuries-old pattern. The financial sector and the guards are satisfied with the existing order. And they make quite good arguments to support their position. It is unacceptable to underestimate their influence on communities and ability to analyze the situation.

    "You''re right, Gardoman, there have been crises before," Celesta finally spoke. "But never before have they threatened the very existence of the state. The elite is divided and unable to find common ground on any issue, the army is actually divided into factions led by several warlords who hate each other, money is rapidly depreciating. The peasants revolt. There is no unity within the ruling dynasty either, the Son of the Sea has no authority with his relatives. In fact, Taleya is on the brink of civil war. It''s just that, for now, the sides are hoping for compromise and don''t want to use arms."

    "Regardless of whether the higher princes decide to revolt or not, the status quo regarding the vampires will be disrupted. The temples have gained too much power, and our existence runs counter to their ideology. Not all, but most. The hierarchs might accept the existence of the risen if they could put us on a short leash, but that option no longer suits me."

    "It is not possible to sit on the sidelines and wait out the hard times. But you can''t choose one side over the other - there''s nothing to choose from. The king''s supporters hate us, princes and feudal lords remember well who killed their fathers. So what if we''re ordered to? We have enough blood feuds among the nobility."

    "Change is inevitable."

    Gardoman tilted his head slowly. His speech did not convince him, but he recognized that her point of view was valid and not an empty whim.

    Encouraged by his reaction, Celesta began to give orders: "We won''t be in a hurry to break up a generally beneficial collaboration, but I don''t intend to wait until humans decide to get rid of us, either. Therefore. Medea! Keep Laar occupied at all costs. Let this idiot who''s ruined the Guard concentrate on his problems and stay out of our way. I know his patrons will be angry, but we can live with their dissatisfaction. They''ll soon have bigger problems than petty risen."

    "Hastin, get ready to move. You should be able to leave the Academy at any time and run to the lower floors of the catacombs. So start dragging books, materials, documents - everything you need. I''ll assign helpers."

    "Gardoman, Zervan, you are in charge of people. Our interests in trade will suffer, but the damage must be minimized. We are talking about mortal servants first and foremost. Negotiate with pirates, with smugglers, with the Archipelago fleet, eventually bribe the Deep Harbor Senate - we must always have an escape route at hand. Prepare hideouts overseas for the people and provide possible travel routes to them for the risen. Do not spare the money: even if the precautions are unnecessary now, they will come in handy in the future. Try to get rid of any bad assets that you can''t sell, and transfer them to Lascaris, Zonne, or overseas. All merchant houses are leaving Taleya, and ideally only the risen and our closest servants should remain in the Capital. No families. I understand that this is a difficult and long process, capital is difficult to withdraw, but I rely on your experience. And your discretion, Zervan. Keep an eye on your pack. Take good care of it."

    "Try not to involve the Morvanites, make do with your reserves. Latham, your four are at my disposal. If you stay late after the meeting, you''ll get new instructions."

    "I want to remind you again: everything is about people. If the situation stabilizes and the court manages to regain its former level of influence, we will have to be very quiet. Yes, I am counting on a long civil war, on the feudal fragmentation of the country, remember that term. But both Chancellor Rakawa and Prince Kono have shown themselves to be very shrewd diplomats. They could agree among themselves, and then our assumptions would end up in the trash. In the worst-case scenario, we would have no patrons, and even our current allies would be among our enemies."

    If that happens, the risen will have to flee the country.

    * * *

 Chapter 7

    Chapter 7

    * * *

    Vador stood hesitantly in front of the sewer entrance. His family had recently moved to the country, to his family, but he had spent his childhood in the city. The first thing the Taleyan boys were taught by their mothers was not to go underground. Threats, floggings, deprivation of supper, hours of standing in the corner, prohibition of walks, and other punishments invented by a stern parental mind to keep naughty children from dangerous excursions were used. But kids are kids, and almost every kid has explored the old tunnels that permeate the city at least once a year.

    If someone went missing, the Night Mistress was traditionally blamed, though there were plenty of other dangers. There were gangs of smugglers storing goods downstairs, small street bandits setting up hiding places down there, gatherings of cultists who were happy to sacrifice the occasional lost soul to Morvan. No matter how hard the guards fought the fanatics, they could not eradicate the infestation, so the secret altars of the Overlord of Hell continued to be regularly stained with freshly smoldering blood. In the sewers, you could run into little demons left from the Plague, or meet temple troops hunting them. And there was no telling which encounter was more frightening.

    And yet the real masters of the Taleyan catacombs were thought to be the risen. Vampires. God forbid you to say "ghouls," they''d bite your head off in a heartbeat. They slid silently through the darkness to do their mysterious business, appearing from nowhere and disappearing without a trace, dictating terms to the tunnels'' other inhabitants. The rest were guests here, and the few fools who dared oppose the order given by the red-eyed man disappeared quickly and forever. Only the undead walked everywhere, possessed a complete map of the tunnels, and did what they pleased, disregarding the displeasure of the other inhabitants of the darkness.

    "Come in," his guide or escort nudged him lightly in the back. "There''s nothing to be afraid of. Now."

    Vador mentally agreed with the last statement. He couldn''t imagine anything worse than a vampire''s fate. The worst had indeed happened to him. "Cheering up" himself in that way, he went down the steps and followed the stranger with confidence, especially since it was easy to walk. Or was it just that the darkness from the previous night was not a hindrance to him?

    They walked the stairs twice more, each time farther and farther away from the people''s dwellings. The darkness grew thicker, becoming impenetrable even to the sensitive eyes of the risen, and the tunnel vaults dipped lower, forcing them to cautiously press their heads against their shoulders. Nevertheless, there were occasional traces of repair, and fresh marks of intelligent activity were visible in some places along the way. Cleared drains, chips in the stone, too new compared to the general appearance of the walls, and in one place the passage looked newly hollowed out. The longer they walked, the more inhabited and frequented the place looked.

    Four times they came across other risen, but no one tried to talk to Vador or his escort. They simply stared at the young man, as if trying to figure out what to expect from him. Such scrutiny was both frightening and irritating, encouraging him to either try to escape or do something stupid. At last, the guide stopped in front of the sturdy oak door and looked carefully at his ward, expressing no opinion about his disheveled appearance.

    The instructions were simple and succinct: "The mistress is addressed as "Mistress Celesta," and in no other way. Answer questions quickly, clearly, and briefly. I advise against lying."

    Then the risen knocked on wood and, although Vador heard no answer, opened the door. The guide was the first to enter, followed by the young man, timidly stepping across the threshold. To his surprise, the room was empty. Well, not entirely empty - in the middle was a large massive table, around which seven chairs were arranged in a circle, at the side was a cabinet with some papers and books, but there was no one else here. But the man who had brought him was already near the passage in the far wall, leading somewhere, and was beckoning impatiently with his hand.

    The young undead hurriedly followed his escort, only to find himself in a more comfortable room. At least, it was comfortable. It wasn''t exactly a luxury, either, but it was clear at once that people often worked here, perhaps even lived. Though there was not much furniture and nowhere was it possible to see the usual knickknacks which give coziness and allow to judge about the nature of the owner. The Mistress. A small, young-looking girl in men''s clothes, now sitting at the table with a pen in her hand and looking at the uninvited guest with detached interest.

    The lad was somehow confused and distraught at the sight of her. In the whispered legends, the dark mistress of the city seemed a frightening figure, surrounded by a halo of fear and awe. But here... The girl looked him straight in the eye, and the urge to argue or doubt vanished instantly. The feeling of strength and will contained in the small, fragile body made her want to kneel, to bang her head against the floor, just to avert her gaze.

    The escort was the first to speak: "A newcomer, a Messena. His name is Vador. Risen today, killed a horse, came to town, met me by chance."

    "Commoner?" The undead put the documents aside. "It''s good that he''s a commoner, they''re easier to deal with. How did you die, boy?"

    "The bandits attacked, Mistress Celesta. I was on my way home to the village, Mistress Celesta."

    "It happens," the girl nodded slightly. "It''s lucky the body wasn''t chopped up."

    Only the nobility, able to perform elaborate funeral rituals or hire a priest-magician, buried their dead in their entirety. In sarcophagi, in family crypts, as required by the old memorial rites. Ordinary people got rid of the danger of a risen relative by simple means. Fire followed by ashes burial was considered the most popular, followed by beheading. When circumstances did not allow one to act according to tradition, one tried to mutilate the body as cruelly as possible: it was believed that the dead with serious wounds would not rise. Rightly so.

    "Lucky yeah," Celesta smiled faintly, seeing the shadow of disagreement on the boy''s face. "You have a new life now. You can correct the mistakes you''ve made, learn to understand people, their virtues and flaws, their weaknesses and strengths. You can lead or remain in the shadows, understand the secrets of the universe or fight what you see as evil. A thousand paths have opened before you, previously impossible for a peasant boy. Think about it, Vador. Morvan has given you another chance, so don''t waste it."

    Obeying the releasing gesture, the young risen left the room. The mistress''s short speech caused confusion in his head. Until this moment, he had had no opportunity to think about his future, which he had vaguely imagined in dark colors. There was no time for reflection. Having just risen, he attacked a peasant who was sleeping in the field - he managed to swing a pitchfork - then caught up and drank the blood of the horse that had torn the harness, thereby restoring his clarity of thought. He had no intention of going to his native village. Vador understood that he would probably not make it home, and even if he did, he would not be welcomed with open arms. But there were vampires in the nearby Taleya. Hoping that he would be accepted and at least teach him something, the boy returned to town, where he met his silent escort at the nearest cemetery. And that was it.

    It seemed to him that if the dead rise at the will of the Master of Hell, then they were serving evil and were evil themselves. That''s what he thought in those rare moments when he was distracted from his work or thinking about the charms of his young neighbor. So did the priests, and so did his parents. True, from the words of his relatives it came out that vampires, of course, are evil, but evil is familiar, understandable, and it is possible to agree with them. But all the same, Vador was not expecting anything good from a meeting with his new tribesmen. And here... He was not even beaten, as he had prepared for, not even insulted in any way. Such friendliness was a little frightening.

    "This way," the escort turned down a side corridor and opened a heavy door.

    The young-looking, dark-haired vampire stood up at their arrival and bowed politely, with dignity. His bow, of course, was not addressed to Vador at all.

    "Vador, Master Egard is before you," the still nameless warrior introduced the cell master. "He will help you enter our world. He will explain the rules, show you how to hunt, teach you how to cope with Thirst. Ask him all your questions."

    "Is it my turn to tutor the novice, Messen Latham?" Egard asked in surprise.

    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    "Mistress has ordered it specifically to you, master."

    The vampire seemed satisfied with the short answer. He politely said goodbye to the departing guide, then sat down in a comfortable chair, put a foot on his leg, and nodded to his newfound ward''s chair:

    "Sit down, boy. It''s almost dawn, but we have time to get acquainted. Tell me a little about yourself, and then I''ll explain where you''re going and what to expect from fate."

    Hustin''s underground, sewer-hidden abode could not boast the same rich tools, ingredient storage, or library as his personal laboratory in the lower tiers of the Academy, but it had an incomparably more valuable virtue. Confidentiality. There were enough skilled and interested ears in the mages'' den to eavesdrop on other people''s conversations. So Celesta, wishing to keep some details of the Lascaris incident secret, chose to meet here. It would have been wise to talk to the mage sooner, but she had been busy, clearing her backlog of cases, studying urgent reports of spies and analysts, and as a result, she could only find time for a serious conversation now.

    "It''s cozy here," the risen remarked, settling comfortably into a deep armchair. "It''s much cleaner, especially compared to the last time I was here. A dead servant?"

    "I raised one," Hustin agreed with a chuckle. "I''m sick of rags and mops. After all, I don''t think the inspectors are likely to come here."

    Magic of Death was closely monitored even before the Plague, but in those days it had little practical use and was considered rather a lot of philosophers. The only people who made cadavers from human or animal bodies were the few originals because such servants were inferior to artificial golems, and summoning souls from the realm of the dead was dangerous, costly, and pointless. The dead proved to be remarkably deceitful, inventive, and malicious creatures, especially if they were no strangers to magic while alive. Nevertheless, they disturbed the peace of the deceased often enough for the priests of Morvan the Judge to be concerned about the matter and to bring order in this sphere.

    After the world catastrophe, the situation changed. The art of invoking death was one of the few areas where wizards'' efforts yielded results (the other elements stubbornly ignored invocations and refused to share their power), and as a result, a previously unpromising section began to be studied with particular zeal. Wizards, however, were watched more closely. Although the Servants of the Judge The latter were interested in all manifestations of the mystical, trying to put them at their service.

    "It makes sense," Celesta agreed. "I have to settle for people with erased memories, and they tend to rethink orders creatively. On the other hand, the source of blood is always at hand."

    The undead shrugged philosophically. As long as there was enough scum like guilty sectarians, city gang criminals who tried to steal from the city, or just plain low-life homeless people, she wasn''t going to change a thing.

    "I''d like to share with you a few... observations," she went on to the subject of her visit. "It''s about the events in Lascaris. Do you know what happened there?"

    "In general terms. I know that three foreign risen invaded the city, and you killed them."

    "Yes, but they managed to finish off Zar and seriously hurt Sattar," Celesta said grimly. "He had to hide until I arrived. The strangers were skilled mages, skilled in the ways of fire. Yes, with fire, you heard right! The bastard tried to burn me, too, but it didn''t work. I''d have brought him back to Talia where I could investigate his powers, but I couldn''t do it then. I had to give it to Count, and it was a good thing it wasn''t to the spiders. The strangers came from the Free Cities, and I can''t help but wonder if I should expect more visitors. Not just stupid ghouls with a thirst for blood, but vampires who consciously, thoughtfully explore their capabilities."

    Hustin thought a little.

    "All serious wizards research the undead - it''s a very interesting topic. I''m referring to those in the civil service. But the resources of the independent mages, as far as I know, are limited... A self-taught talent?"

    "Based on the results of the interrogation, it seems so," the girl agreed with the assumption. "But there are a few things that confuse me. The vampires there have customs, unwritten laws, a certain structure, and the young undead are often apprenticed to the older ones. The fool I caught in Lascaris suffered not so much because he was fascinated with magic, but because of his tainted relations with almost every influential person. If he had been a little more diplomatic, no one knows who would have escaped, him or his enemies."

    "Rumor has it that there are Masters of the Night in those lands," the mage recalled. "Perhaps we should find out more about them?"

    Celesta knew much more about the Masters of the Night than her interlocutor did. She gathered information about her kin wherever she could, and it was only natural that the gossip that merchants brought in about the strong undead communities in the west should have interested her. True, nothing concrete could be learned. There were one or more factions that acted harshly, decisively, and bloodily, but it was impossible to get more detailed information - too far away. Celesta had few personal agents on or off the steppe, and she didn''t trust those people.

    "Could you through Tairan, find out what the situation is with the undead in those parts?" either asked or commanded the undead. "I don''t want to keep distracting Latham and Zerwan from Taleya, I need them here."

    "Of course, I''ll talk to the teacher," Hustin nodded.

    "That''s fine. Then the second question..." The girl shook her glass thoughtfully, trying to find the exact wording. "After that fight, I got a lot stronger. Much stronger. I don''t need blood as much, I don''t need daytime sleep as badly, I don''t need as much energy to use my powers anymore. And the energy has increased dramatically, in a leap. Do you have any idea what caused it?"

    The magician leaned forward: "Have you stepped up to the next stage?"

    "I don''t know," Celesta said hesitantly. "I thought the transition was supposed to be gradual."

    "Not absolutely," Hustin''s eyes lit up with fanatical fire. "With me, Medea, or Zerwan the process is gradual, but in special circumstances, the body can speed up the second initiation. Have you been using your abilities to the limit a lot lately?"

    "I''ve been there a lot, actually," the Mistress estimated. "First I caught a bone digger near Suwalki, then in Bardi, there were several confrontations with the locals, in Lascaris I had to do my best, too... Do you think it''s related?"

    "I think so."

    The theory of the "stages of development" was formulated by mages about ten years after they began to study the phenomenon of rising. They experimented on Hastin. He voluntarily offered himself as an object for testing the ideas, which was regarded by most of his acquaintances at the time as something between madness and a feat. As a result of his research on the undead apprentice, the great Tairan hypothesized that vampires - at the time, the word served as a sort of term for those risen who retained the mind - might, like the rest of the undead, evolve to be more survivable and environmentally tolerant organisms.

    The practice seemed to confirm the theory. Older risen who remembered the time before the Plague surpassed their younger counterparts in speed, physical strength, needed less blood and tolerated sunlight better. In addition, as time passed, they gradually began to master a specific form of direct influence on reality, which, for lack of suitable terminology, was simply called vampiric abilities. They wanted to call it "blood magic", but came to the conclusion that it was not magic, i.e. the inherent gift of working with energy, but a kind of generic feature of the species. A chameleon changes color, a cobra stings with venom, and vampires use some of the energy they take away for more than just survival. For example, Celesta could suppress another will, Zervan became more powerful for minutes, and Medea was able to mesmerize by the play of her voice and her body movements.

    What would happen next was a matter of divergent opinion. Tairan assumed that the development of each particular risen was gradual, changes accumulating little by little. Hustin thought otherwise. In his version, a vampire did evolve slowly, but only up to a certain point. At some point, quantitative mutations turn into qualitative ones, and the organism acquires entirely new properties. No one of Hustin''s supporters could predict in advance which ones exactly, but the magicians derived a number of regularities and compiled several techniques that, in theory, allowed them to reach the " higher " state as soon as possible. Theory or theory, but it really became easier for the youngsters to develop their existing abilities.

    "Couldn''t you come more often?" The bloodsucker and wizard''s face took on the features of a kitty begging for a bowl of milk. "I''d take a few measurements..."

    For centuries in charge of a rather peculiar contingent, Celesta had learned certain wisdom: If you can''t prevent it, lead it! If Hustin were to hear a refusal now, he would do things that would make the inconvenience and the time lost seem like petty hooliganism in comparison. So it is necessary to agree, and there is an opportunity to set your conditions.

    "All right, but do your rain-dance here I will not attend the Academy."

    Hustin nodded, though the mention of the failed attempt to summon the spirits of the elements made him wince a little.

    "And don''t say anything to Tairan just yet. When there are obvious results, then we can make a report."

    And until then, no one knows where we''ll all be or what state we''ll be in.

    "The Rector should not be approached at all right now." Hastin was already rummaging through the closet, retrieving suspicious-looking objects in the darkness. "He''s in serious trouble at the palace. Rumor has it that the Son of the Sea is angry, has called the Academy a stronghold of Darkness, and has even expressed a desire to close it."

    "I hope he was talked out of this foolishness?"

    "Yes, but the position of the blessed Tairan has been shaken. All right, I''m ready."

    While the dark mage made complicated manipulations with devices, measuring and recording aura readings, the leader pondered the information she received. So the wizards are in trouble. Not good. The Academy had always acted as a protector and ally of the risen, not out of friendship, but believing it foolish to get rid of valuable servants for religious motives alone. However, a certain commonality of interests cannot be discounted - they have the same enemies. The temples, the fanatics of light, the petty feudal lords who want to get rid of any manifestations of witchcraft.

    Celesta looked skeptically at the wooden wand that Hastin waved around her head, but did not comment on his methods. But she did specify: "And who persuaded our wise king not to destroy the heritage of his ancestors?"

    "Chancellor," the mage answered aloofly. All his attention was on the experiment. "Great Chancellor Rakawa."

    * * *

 Chapter 8

    Chapter 8

    * * *

    Night. The streets are barred by thorns. Houses turned into silent fortresses as darkness fell. The small groups of passersby with torches, suspiciously looking around and clutching iron-clad batons or other weapons. Such is the Lower Town now.

    Fifteen years ago, Taleya was different. More open, more peaceful, more friendly. Artisan communities did not organize their militias to protect families from the gangs that flooded the capital; impoverished people did not migrate to Pit, adding to their already precarious poverty by taking any job, legal or otherwise. The guards, who in years past had rarely ventured beyond the Upper City, now only kept an eye on the mansions of aristocrats and priests, leaving the rest of the quarters to their fate. And, frankly, in their outlook and their way of obtaining sustenance, the worthy guards of the order were not at all different from the bandits. The guards were even more feared. Corpses were found far more often, and the bazaars were openly filled with dope or dark artifacts. Strangers'' ships docked in the harbor, unloading whatever bales they could with goods that bypassed customs. The number of brothels where one could buy cheap drugs or rent a shabby whore for ridiculous money had almost tripled.

    Seeing the once majestic city, the largest on the shores of the Good Sea, filled with fear and lingering hopelessness was unpleasant. It hurt almost physically, though in the human sense of pain she hadn''t felt in a long time. Celeste had grown quite fond of Taleya. She''d spent the lion''s share of her time here, knew the ins and outs of the capital, visited the ancestral estates of the nobility, and spoke the same language as the inhabitants of the creepiest of cloaks. Yes, her influence and power among the townspeople, especially the criminal element, had increased recently. So what? The undead has always preferred the stability of existence. The reckless Zervan is the exception that proves the rule.

    The vampiress walked past the tall temple, looking displeased at the piles of garbage by the steps. Under the current ruler''s father, the abbot might have been demoted for such negligence, under his grandfather, he might have been exiled to the frontier forever. The cult of Derkana was something like an officially approved religion. Officials were obliged to take part in certain rituals, thereby receiving from the ruler a piece of sacred power and at the same time confirming their loyalty. What they really believed in was of little interest to anyone.

    The common people in the kingdom preferred to worship small local deities, rather spirits, which were closer to them and did not attract much attention from the authorities. There was also widespread service to Illiar - his temples grew like mushrooms at one time. The growth of the flock of the Lord of Light was because the undead did not feel well in the territory hallowed in his name. Later, the mages and priests of other deities figured out which signs and rituals hurt the darkly marked creatures, and introduced changes to their services "due to the current situation," but by then the cult had gained strength and penetrated all strata of society.

    Being considered a direct descendant of the Mistress of Waters, the Son of the Sea was naturally the high priest of Derkana. Logically speaking, this position provided a lot of opportunities, especially for an intelligent man. Unfortunately, a fool sat on the throne. Even ultra-loyal popular opinion had ceased to idealize their ruler for some time, and there were good reasons for the resulting skepticism. Irrhan had a monstrous tendency toward mysticism from a young age, made his political decisions based on divination, and had his retinue of mostly fanatics like himself.

    There were plenty of smart people around him too, only it would have been better if there were none at all.

    Now at court three factions were naturally formed, each with its ideology, including in the religious sphere. The first, composed entirely of members of the old aristocracy, was in fact in opposition to its ruler. The paradox of the political competition. It was called the "Dragon of Welfare" and as its leader, it recognized Prince Kono, the uncle of the current ruler, well as the other members of the reigning family (Irrhan''s close kin was also dissatisfied). In addition, the "blessed ones" were joined by a large part of the titled nobility, who did not want change and feared a decline in their status. "Dragons" sponsored monasteries of the Derkana cult and were closely associated with all the temples tracing their history back to before the Plague. In fact, it was former family cults of aristocrats that had grown to paradoxical sizes.

    The second party was also made up of people of noble birth but from simpler clans. These were some of the earls and barons, especially those whose possessions were near the borders. They were allowed to keep their own large armies to repel possible attacks of enemies, and their lands were often crossed by trade routes, which gave financial power and led to the emergence of their own intelligence network. Although not "blessed", they often enjoyed serious influence at court, but were deprived of the most prestigious positions and wished to correct this disadvantage.

    They chose "Beech and Lily of the Valley" as their symbol. The beech stood for the non-titled nobility, of which there were also many in their ranks. The ideological justification for this political current was provided by the temple of Blue Ang, a minor deity in the retinue of the Mistress of the Waters. In recent years, however, Ang has increasingly been referred to as the consort of Derkana, reflecting the increased influence of his worshippers and leading to noisy religious disputes. So far, bloodless.

    Finally, a diverse coalition of "new" noblemen, whose ancestors had been elevated after the Plague, rich merchants, and migrants from neighboring countries, united around the Temple of the Sun. Tale��a was not a mono-national state, and the concept of "nationality" had changed somewhat in the last three hundred years. The nations were young. Nevertheless, certain culturally constructed communities did exist, and their leaders often clashed with the royal servants because of the latter''s desire to get rid of autonomy. Their representatives did not hold key positions at court, but thanks to their control over an army of small and medium-sized officials, they were able to block almost any decree.

    The latter group, however, did have one powerful patron - High Chancellor Rakawa. With intelligence, cunning, incredible intuition, and rare charm, this cynical and overbearing descendant of the ancient Counts of Scalia was able to occupy a place unattainable by his ancestors. As the acknowledged leader of the Beeches and Lilies of the Valley because of his origins and personal talents, he formed an alliance with the hierarchs of the Temple of the Sun, and his ability to intrigue and read people''s souls ensured him the favor of the young Son of the Sea. As time passed, Irr��an began to listen more and more to the advice of his more experienced vassal, who appeared to share his mystical views and brought his master into contact with representatives of new spiritual schools.

    An extraordinary personality.

    Celesta''s status prevented her from meeting personally with the Chancellor, which did not prevent her from communicating with his confidants. Of course, such meetings were mostly directive and instructive in nature and had recently been reduced to a minimum since Laar, one of the Scalia family had taken over as head of the "spiders". Rakawa was not shy about using the undead to his advantage. This man cared little for the undead taking his orders, only expediency and results mattered. So far, the result had suited him fine. But the longer the old schemer''s actions, the more he relied on the priesthood, which hated the risen, and Celesta awaited the day when her kin would be sacrificed.

    I hate politics.

    The more responsibility you have, the more often you have to do unpleasant things. For example, dealing with scumbags. They can be charming, polite as hell, show great manners, and impress with their strict upbringing. However, the essence cannot be hidden, and sooner or later it will come out and show itself, most likely in communication with the inferiors. People who depend on them.

    Celesta, sad as it was, also depended on the chancellor and his minions. She would like to think that this situation was about to change. People were literally pushing the undead to revolt.

    The girl turned into a quiet alley, marked the four watchers in their usual places, walked a little along the high wall, and knocked three times on the inconspicuous gate. As usual, the door opened a minute later. The silent guard, smelling of incense and a light drug, did not attempt to look under the deep hood of the late visitor. He simply escorted her to the house, shining a lantern in her path, and handed her over to another guard, younger and more dangerous. The other bowed slightly and motioned for the lady to follow him.

    Although she was expected, the local host didn''t accept the vampiress right away. He wanted to demonstrate his importance and the subordinate position of his guest, the bastard. He made her sit in the waiting room, under the supervision of two armed guards, next to a portable ark adorned with the signs of Light. Celesta certainly didn''t show how uncomfortable her proximity was - we''re not talking about nervous sweating mortals - but she made a notation in her memory. The bill she''d intended to present to Baron Tulak someday had grown by one more point.

    Her current supervisor, apparently, did not think it necessary to be polite, and as soon as the vampire crossed the threshold, began to interrogate her: "Why didn''t you follow Captain Guin''s orders?"

    Celesta defiantly slowly chose a comfortable chair, did not wait for the proposal, sat down, and only then spoke.

    "Is Guin already a captain? I expressed my doubts at the time about the current personnel policy. No, he''s not stupid, but his experience as an army officer weighs on him and hinders his work."

    "Answer the question!" Tulak raised his voice. "It is not for you to decide who deserves to hold what position!"

    "Oh, calm down, I don''t intend to stop you from doing anything foolish," the risen assured him. "As for the order to hand over the captive stranger to the monks... was it my duty to break the will of the blessed Yunariq?"

    Baron grudgingly pursed his lips. He could not say bluntly that the order of the regional officer of the "spiders" was more important than the expressed wish of a distant relative of the ruler, for heads had been taken off for less. But he didn''t want to let Celesta get out of a potentially unpleasant situation, either.

    "Don''t play with words, lady Celesta! Your action falls well within the Privy Code, the article "disobeying an order".

    "So, organize a tribunal," the vampiress suggested with a serious look. "You make your arguments, and I''ll call on the Voice of Lash to prove my point."

    "I wouldn''t laugh in your situation. It is more serious than you seem to think."

    "This is no laughing matter to me at all. Reports of demons are coming in from all over the country; a new cult practicing human sacrifice has appeared in the south; Cardach the Accursed is lurking in the mountains of the north, employing two vampires. He is, incidentally, considered one of the strongest dark mages of our time. And instead of dealing with these serious problems, I am forced to waste my time planning operations to eliminate noblemen."

    Celesta became silent. She had already allowed herself to say more than was reasonable in the current situation.

    "It is not for you to argue with the orders of those entrusted with the trust of the Son of the Sea himself!" Tulak immediately took advantage of the pause. "Treason must be punished mercilessly! Snakes are a hundred times more dangerous than open adversaries, and we must rid ourselves of those whose loyalty to the House has not stood the test of time. Oh, speaking of Cardach, I''m not so sure that the vampires serving him are really fugitives, as you claim. Perhaps you allowed or even ordered them to swear allegiance to the sorcerer?"

    To Celesta''s deepest regret, this was not the case. Two criminals had fled into the mountains to the half-mad necromancer, who had dared to break the laws she had established. Something had to be done about them, and urgently so that the rest of them would not have an unnecessary illusion of being able to escape the Night Mistress''s judgment. So she was outraged in all sincerity: "How dare you! I always coordinate this kind of operation with the head of the Guard!"

    If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    Or almost always.

    "Really? Then in the future, try not to do things that make one doubt your sincerity," Tulak advised with a satisfied chuckle. "The Son of the Sea, though he has ruled for a thousand years, holds no favor with the undead. His Grace the Chancellor has so far succeeded in finding arguments in favor of your damned kind, and the undead have been useful to the throne, but recent events could disqualify you from his favor."

    She distracted herself for a moment, wondering how beautiful the bloodstains would have looked on the dark green cloth upholstery of the walls. She was used to human ingratitude, but it still hurt. The undead had honestly kept their oath of allegiance and, despite their craving for more independence, were generally loyal to the kingdom.

    However, the community should not depend on the intrigues of politicians. If it is forced to go underground, it will go underground.

    "I am immensely grateful for his mercy, and always ready to do his bidding," Celesta said calmly, with a habitual effort to suppress a flash of anger. "The great chancellor''s wisdom is like a vast ocean, giving life and good to those who touch its shores. Happy is the ruler who has such an adviser! Can an insignificant one contribute to the fulfillment of the plans that lead to the prosperity of all?"

    The Baron grimaced almost imperceptibly as the vampiress switched to a higher dialect. He reasonably assumed he was being mocked. The undead had mastered the etiquette and language of the nobles in the days when the bearers of the original tradition were still alive, familiar with a mass of subtle nuances lost in more recent times. Sometimes the slightest shift in accent was enough to turn praise into a caustic insult, and the court took great advantage of it.

    "You have the opportunity to atone for your Lascaris mistake," the man nodded, confirming his companion''s thoughts. "The position of the lord of Capara is contrary to the strategic interests of the State, and it is up to you to convey to the Baron the depth of the displeasure of His Grace."

    In other words, Capara refused to sell a piece of his land for a ridiculously low price to Rakawa''s kin, and he must be convinced. Actually, it is strange, Baron Gusto sympathizes with Beech and Lily of the Valley, but the chancellor does not seem to ruin his own.

    "Must the thread of the life of the one who called upon the wrath of those clothed in blue be torn?"

    "This is unacceptable! No one is allowed to shed divine blood. The only death in battle with equals or the direct will of the Highest, who have called their descendants to service, can end a nobleman''s life path early. However, if you see signs of interference of the eternal forces, then... Sometimes the gods choose people as an instrument for the fulfillment of their plans."

    That is to say, an accident.

    "These signs are too complex and elusive," Celesta remarked. "Even the greatest prophets take time to see them."

    "I think that with your experience, a week is enough," Tulak said. "And tonight is included in the deadline."

    Celesta rose from her chair, carefully straightening the folds of her cloak.

    "In that case, I must hurry. Or does the noble lord who owns fat herds, the lord of ten thousand lancers, wish to throw another gray cloak over the shoulders of a frail woman?"

    "No, that''s all. I''m not holding you up."

    The vampiress, however, said goodbye for another five minutes, taking small steps toward the door and bowing tirelessly, thanking her for the honor and the unspeakable pleasure of the encounter, in full accordance with etiquette. Once over the threshold, she did not think of abandoning her chosen image. The girl threw a hood over her head, completely hiding her face in the shadows, and obediently, with her head down, followed her escort, eyes downcast.

    The guards looked at the dangerous guest with heavy stares. Even as she turned the corner, the experienced combatants remained alert and keenly attentive to the creaking of the floorboards. Only when the footsteps fell silent and the creature, wrapped in a heavy cloak, was gone could they relax. Celesta smiled, catching the faint sound of a harmonious sigh. She was still walking with her head down and showed no sign of reacting to the young man in his finery ahead of her. Neither did the latter pay any attention to the woman. He simply nodded in response to a respectful nod from her escort and passed her by without a moment''s hesitation.

    The moment the young man approached the departing vampiress, he raised his hand, wanting to fix his slightly disheveled hair. A white piece of paper peeked out of the sleeve of his richly embroidered jacket. It appeared and then vanished. With a movement unrecognizable to the human eye, Celesta snatched up the note.

    Once outside, the undead habitually glided through the city at night, almost without thinking, choosing darker places. Was she overdoing it? Her chosen style of dealing with Tulak, a stubborn but always taking orders from higher-ups, had its pitfalls. Standing up for the community, she had to be firm. In order not to completely disassociate with the authorities and not to provoke the beginning of a big hunt for the undead, had to show obedience. Balancing between these two states became more and more difficult with each encounter.

    Even undead''s sensitive eyes did not allow her to read in total darkness. Once she was briefly in the streak of starlight, she glanced over the informant''s note and, smiling at the corners of her lips, changed her route. Everyone has weaknesses that can easily be exploited by enemies, and the living has many more such weaknesses than the undead. It is easier to control the young than the old and experienced. It''s a shame that Tulak doesn''t understand that.

    Same-sex love among aristocrats was not considered something objectionable, but with a very serious reservation. The principle of hierarchy was always respected. If an aristocrat showed a tender interest in a boy of a less noble clan, it was normal in public opinion, or at least it was not censured out loud. But when a vassal sought the favor of his liege lord''s son... Such an act was considered the cruelest breach of the chain of command and was punished accordingly. So Tulak should have been more careful in choosing a lover. But either the baron had lost his head from passion - which is unlikely - or he had decided that the omnipotent chancellor''s right hand could ignore certain traditions, or his arrogance had simply overpowered him. Either way, he turned his eyes to a young nobleman from a poor family, but one that stood far higher in the table of ranks than his own.

    Although the young man, who did not want to endanger his family, had to move into the baron''s house and share his bed with him, he still felt insulted.

    The rest was a matter of technique. As a result of a simple intrigue, Celesta gained ears close to Tulak, and now knew the plans of her insidious leadership a little sooner than they were voiced aloud. A very pleasant advantage.

    Now, having received valuable new instructions and learned something else, she decided that she needed Latham. And it was urgent. For some assignments involving work among the nobility, Celesta could either send her self-appointed bodyguard, or go herself, and no one else. The others simply couldn''t cope. Even Medea, for all her acting abilities, would not be able to act properly from a position of power.

    From the moment he was born in Darkness, Latham became a kind of representative of Celesta to the Taleyan Security Service. The spider officers did not dare to insult him, and his high lifetime status allowed him to navigate in matters of high politics and, if necessary, resolve disputes directly with the aristocrats. True, at first he was almost executed, and the initiative came from the younger brother, the new heir of the family, but the mistress defended the newcomer. She never regretted the effort, gaining one of her most loyal associates.

    Right now Latham was in the underground catacombs near the center of the city. From here he could easily get to the central Security building, where he had to go on business more often than the other undead, or quickly go to any part of the city. It was also the base for the vampires under his command - living room, training room, armory, artifact, and elixir storeroom. The latter was not often used, but periodically the need for additional trump cards arose. Sometimes against monsters, more often against humans...

    "Messena," Latham bowed in a ceremonial bow as Celeste entered his room. She had always admired the way he had managed to combine asceticism and luxury in the decoration of his chambers, and now she could not deny herself the pleasure of looking around again. A simple table of precious wood, a discreet rug of staggering value on the wall, weapons hanging, a cabinet of books and maps. Even death does not always release from the past...

    "Hello, Latham," Celesta nodded, taking a seat in the armchair. "Anything to please me?"

    "Rather upset you, Messena," the man pulled glasses and a jug of wine from the wall cupboard. "Panari has resigned."

    "First Kars, then Rittarian, now Panari..." Undead leaned back. "The First Department could be considered non-existent. But that was the point, wasn''t it? I hope Master has learned from the fortunes of his predecessors, and that he has gone into hiding in time."

    "As far as I know, yes." Latham served Celesta a glass on a tray and sat down next to her, just waiting for her to sip her drink. "Why else would Laar make a fuss about escorting me out of the building?"

    "Yes, if Panari talks ... But it''s good that the Service is not interested in us right now. I''ve got the news, too, and it''s not pleasant either. We''ve been ordered to remove Baron Kapara."

    Latham froze in stony stillness, only his eyes reddened. Celesta smiled dryly. Her fangs gleamed for a moment.

    "Exactly. The Chancellor decided to get rid of the internal opposition and at the same time to slightly round out the possessions."

    "A deadline?" The vampire pulled himself together.

    "One week, including tonight. So, if the Baron does not delay, he may well have time to leave the capital, and I can say with a clear conscience that there was nothing I could do. But keep in mind - we must not be suspected."

    "Thank you, Messena."

    "Nonsense," Celesta shrugged off. "When will your group be ready to move out? Too many people know about this place and in light of what''s about to happen..."

    She made a vague gesture, indicating something unpleasant and unavoidable. Latham glanced longingly around the room, realizing that he couldn''t wait any longer and would have to leave the place that had been his home for nearly a hundred years.

    He could no longer ignore the permutations taking place at court and in the Secret Service. Loyalty to the throne also has its limits. A liege lord must look after the interests of his vassals, giving them support and protection in return for their faithless service. He may demand their lives - it is his legal right. But he must not in passing tarnish the honor of those whose ancestors have served his clan faithfully for thousands of years, and that is exactly what the current ruler is doing. Irrhan drew the young clansmen closer to him, and the young clansmen who were not too dignified. Latham despised fussy temporaries, preoccupied with family well-being and oblivious to true values. For the time being, however, he turned a blind eye to their presence near the royal person.

    The Overlady is right - one can''t wait any longer.

    Practically we''re ready now, Messena. Everything truly valuable has been packed up and moved to the lower levels, only the essentials remain here.

    "And your collection?" Celesta nodded at the weapons hanging on the wall.

    "Fakes. Their disappearance would raise questions, and there are too many officers of the guard visiting my place."

    "Aren''t they afraid to visit the lair of the "favorite of Darkness"?" the mistress asked with a smile.

    "There are few outright cowards among them, but many do tremble when they get acquainted," said Latham thoughtfully. "I have to admit that the quality of "spiders" has been deteriorating in the last twenty years. And I don''t mean the ability to work with agents or experience so much as purely personal qualities. Will, intelligence, endurance, flexibility, the ability to quickly analyze the situation. Personally, I attribute this to the negative cadre selection that has developed under the current Son of the Sea. Although... the first signs of decadence appeared under his father. He was the first to appoint a man unfamiliar with the job of head of the Secret Guard. I have nothing bad to say about the late Count Maulvlar, he was a faithful servant of the throne, but he did not know the basics. Generals are supposed to lead armies in the field - secret warfare is not for them!"

    Undead are easily controlled by facial expressions, so it was easy for Celesta to suppress a smile. It was amusing to listen to the former aristocrat, who had once despised all secrecy, talk about the peculiarities of detective work. How hard it had cost her in her time to convince him that to act in the usual way, with an open visor, in the new life was impossible! And now:

    "Just think of his suggestion to finance the residents directly from official funds! Well, let''s assume that it would work with some savages, but in Lanak or Archipelago the spending of foreigners is regularly checked, and if the authorities see unrecorded income, they immediately pass the data to our colleagues. Or an attempt to start a file cabinet of personal informants? A dozen of the most experienced officers resigned before Molvlar gave up on his idea."

    "But what is happening now is out of the question. Never before have the resources of the Guard been used to satisfy personal needs. Officers clearly distinguished between their own and the officials, and if they got confused, there was always someone to restrain them. Usually among the comrades, on special occasions, the allied structures intervened. Now there are people on high posts who are shamelessly using the rights bestowed upon them for their enrichment! And those who are supposed to watch over them only encourage crime!"

    Latham placed his glass abruptly on the table, nearly shattering the thin glass.

    "I''m sorry, Messena. I am sick of it. Just now, on the way here, a lowlife asked me if the undead really rendered certain services for payment. Confuse me with a paid assassin!"

    The armrests of the chair cracked, crushed to a pulp by the vampire''s fingers. Celesta stared at the servant, trying in vain to suppress his rage, and mentally marveled at the unknown idiot. What kind of man would dare ask Latham something like that? It was such a fairy-tale stupidity that she hadn''t even expected to face it.

    "Is he alive?" After waiting for the anger to subside a little, the undead woman asked in a profane tone.

    "I think so far, yes. I felt too squeamish at first, and that jerk managed to hide in the office. I cursed him through the door."

    After a little thought, Celesta shrugged philosophically. Death had not prevented her assistant from making active use of some of the family''s abilities - quite the contrary. The curse might have had already been working, and the slimy corpse was now being hastily scraped off the floor by the janitors. Even if the "author" is found, he is hardly in any danger. Insult is washed away with blood, and no aristocrat would consider it necessary to challenge a member of the lower class. Caste solidarity in this case would protect the murderer completely.

    The magic has weakened, but the Word of the ancient clans has not lost its power. However, it was used less often.

    * * *

 Chapter 9

    Chapter 9

    * * *

    Leaning against the wooden column supporting the ceiling, Medea looked out at the people resting in the courtyard. They, in turn, watched the five old men engaged in rather strange activity. Dipping broad, long brushes into buckets of water, they were scribbling poetry on the dry and clean slabs of gray stone. A very ancient custom, coming from somewhere in the East and carefully preserved in troubled times. The water will dry up, and the messages will ascend to heaven to please the gods. Perhaps the gods would take notice of those who wrote... Aristocrats, the vampiress thought. - Only they can waste their time on an activity as beautiful as it is pointless.

    From somewhere in the distance came the sound of music, and a thin child''s voice began to rumble on and on. Medea smiled indulgently and sadly. With each passing year, the skill of Singing was fading. She, despite her best efforts, could not oppose the decline alone. The general level of culture was falling, the ancient canons were being forgotten, even the classically educated members of the blessed clans were not reciting by heart, as in the old days, "The Tale of the Flying" or "The Song of Haara the Suffering." Temple dancers performed at feasts in violation of millennia-old regulations; poets wrote hymns to deities and inn songs with equal ease; stone carvers, in violation of all tradition, sculpted busts of disenfranchised merchants. There was no such thing before. There was art dedicated to the gods and available only to their descendants on earth. And there was low, mundane Art - a craft that was often lucrative, but served no more than to entertain the crowds.

    The line between them was gradually blurring. The inevitable interpenetration of cultures so said her sister.

    Medea, bitter as it was, was unable to fight the decline of tradition. She did not even know the Air Canon in its entirety, to say nothing of the other canons! In her long years of acquaintance with the masters of the ruling house, she had managed to learn a little of the Water Canon, but she knew that her voice belonged to a different element. She could never fully master the "water" range, she had a different timbre, not suitable for hymns dedicated to Derkana, she was not able to create and curb the dense, flexible squalls of sound with the same ease with which she weaves the finest lace of her element. Let the power of the gods cease to respond to the call of the mages - the singers, though not always, could still attract the attention of their divine patrons. High art has its power, inaccessible to measurement, no matter with what instrument.

    Among the multitudinous crowd of those who flashed before her eyes in the hope of favor, there were seldom any worthy of attention. They pretended to be creators, unable to create something truly beautiful. Proud of poetry, not realizing that everything they created is not worth a single line of a long-dead poet. They staged performances, turning the heart-touching stories about love, betrayal, hatred into a farce... They threw away the old, not being able to create anything new. Medea despised them. But every once in a while, amidst the slag, a diamond was found. An uncut talent, capable of shining with its many transparent facets under the skillful hand of a master, instantly attracting admiring glances from connoisseurs. The immortal singer, who remembered the former world, patronized them, helped them with money, found patrons, and dragged them out of the many troubles that they were eager for.

    In fact, she came to the palace for one of her favorites. Among other things.

    "Illumined Medea..." The messenger, in the costume of Princess Rania, bowed deeply to his guest. "The Lady, whose virtues have been granted by the gods and are comparable to them alone, wishes to see you."

    The beauty nodded in response, with a slight wave of her fan, expressing her readiness to accompany the princess. It was such a pleasure to hear exquisite speech... Year by year, the language had changed, simplified, absorbed words and phrases from savage dialects. Only here, at court, was it still spoken correctly, caressing the ear with correctly composed forms and clear pronunciation. In many ways, that was why she longed to return to her native tongue, to communicate in the language of her youth.

    Her essence was known, but Medea tried to be cautious. Approximately every twenty years, the undead would go on a long journey across the country to return in the guise of her own daughter. Of course, such a primitive masquerade did not fool serious people. However, decorum was maintained, and she could continue to lead her beloved life. "Spiders" didn''t mind; Celesta, too, was glad of the opportunity to make an extra inspection of the communities under her control, so that the forced business trip sometimes dragged on for decades. Then the play would start all over again.

    Princess Rania favored Medea. In her youth, the high-born lady had inexperience become entangled in an elaborately woven web of intrigue, and only the intervention of the vampiress, who provided some extremely curious documents, allowed Rania to keep her reputation and status untarnished. It was the time when the undead, or rather Celesta, first dared to support one of the court factions. Until then, they had only carried out orders and did not interfere in political struggles. Nevertheless, the Night Mistress took a risk by betting on the young princess, and won, finding an ally in the highest echelon of power. There was a heavy price to pay for interfering, and the vampires rarely asked for help, but it was worth it.

    "Great happiness, goodness, and joy are bestowed upon the undeserving!" Kneeling, Medea prostrated herself before the exaltation. "She sees the beautiful face of the blessed by the gods!"

    "My countenance ceased to be beautiful thirty years ago," remarked the old woman sitting on the small throne self-critically. "At any rate, that was the last time anyone tried to seduce me, not for favors or money. But you, Lady Medea, still look as beautiful as you did when we first met... And there''s not hard to confuse you with your late mother."

    Rania chuckled softly at the joke, and the two ladies, seated against the wall, covered their faces with their fans. Etiquette did not permit open expression of feelings, nor was self-irony encouraged, but the princess had long since transcended convention. Her young attendants, on the other hand, judging by their slightly tense postures and increased acuteness of movement, appreciated the hint from her mistress and were now nervous. Apparently, they''d heard enough horror stories about the undead.

    "My mother, who had passed on to a better world, would have been happy to know that the blessed mistress remembered her," Medea replied respectfully, smiling faintly. "She had always been proud to know the royal person. Truly her destiny had been fortunate, for the meaning of a subject''s life is to serve those above. Could I, unworthy, compare to her in any way?"

    "And you try," the princess suggested with a serious look. "I promise you that your efforts will be appreciated."

    "It breaks my heart to see such grace!" The vampiress exclaimed, wringing her hands theatrically. The guard at the wall stepped back, irritated as he was, but no one paid him any mind. "The kindness of a mistress, even among equals, shone like a star in the night sky. Who but she deserves to be immortalized in the memory of posterity? Should not her perfect features serve as a symbol of humanity and compassion for the shortcomings of others, which she lacks?"

    Rania raised her eyebrows in surprise.

    "Do you suppose I need another portrait?"

    "Paint and canvas cannot capture the greatness of a messenger of the gods," Medea assured her cheerfully. "Only stone. There is a craftsman skilled enough to dare to carve the face of the blessed one."

    "Is that so? And who is this unknown stonecutter?"

    "Seisan of Soldova. He is still young, but he has made a name for himself by decorating the Temple of the Dancing Birds and working on the decoration of Baron Tokori''s palace."

    "So, he''s also an architect."

    "His work as a sculptor is much more interesting," the beauty remarked in an expert tone. "It is in this capacity that I have dared to present him to the mistress if it is her will."

    "Why not," the princess shrugged slightly."I''m not ready to talk about my statue, but recently the Son of the Sea, may he rule for a thousand years, gave me a palace in Zonn. It requires repair. Bring your craftsman, perhaps I can offer him a job."

    The vampiress touched her forehead to the floor again.

    "There is no forgiveness for me! The unworthy neglected to mention that poor Seisan is imprisoned by his jealousies on charges of embezzlement! The wretched wretches, unable to appreciate the depths of his talent, refuse to let the creator go free. And this although I have paid all the debts! They say they''ve turned to Lord Laar for help," she added, remembering her instruction to plunder the chief of the Secret Watch wherever she could. "And he, for reasons unknown, saw fit to ignore the law."

    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    "Well, that''s not a problem."

    Obeying a sign, one of the maids of honor quickly scribbled a few lines on expensive "tiger" paper. Rania read the note, signed it, and then another of the ladies stamped it and handed it to Medea with a slight bow.

    "Give the order to the prison warden, get your prot��g�� cleaned up, and don''t worry about a thing."

    "The mercifulness of a lady knows no limits!"

    "It''s nothing," the old woman brushed her off. "Perhaps you wish to match me with someone else? Don''t be shy, ask!"

    "Alas, Messena," sighed the undead. "There is no one else I would dare recommend to you. There are enough of the usual artisans in Zonn, and, as far as we know, there will soon be more. Much more."

    "Do you suppose?"

    "I am sure."

    Rania pondered, staring at her companion, and then made a sign with her hand. In obedience to the gesture, the maidens hurriedly withdrew into the next room, followed by the bodyguard with a distinct reluctance. The princess and the undead were left alone.

    "My closest associates have taken the Oath of Undying Loyalty and are not capable of betrayal, but it is better not to tempt them unnecessarily. Am I to understand correctly - you have something to tell me?"

    Without too many eyes, they could afford some departures from etiquette, so Medea simply nodded in response.

    "My older sister is worried. Many signs are pointing to impending turmoil. There are rumors of an impending rebellion..."

    "There''s been talk of a possible change of ruler for a long time," the old woman said with a chuckle. - But no one is in a hurry to get to the point. Though, unless my nephew changes his mind, he has no hope of retaining the Throne, Cup, and Mirror. What do you have to worry about? The undead has proven themselves useful to the dynasty."

    "We fear that religious considerations will override the voice of reason," Medea grinned grimly. "The Temple of the Sun has gained an extraordinary amount of influence. The priests are interfering in the affairs of the state and the undead... The ideology of the self-proclaimed Servants of the Light demands the fighting of the undead, and we are in their way. Celesta has ordered new caches to be prepared and intends to send the young men and some of her most loyal servants out of the kingdom. We believe they will want to get rid of us."

    Rania was in a pensive state of mind. The old age and the "weaker" sex did not prevent her from remaining a major player in the palace arena; the old woman knew the political realities very well. Her influence remained steadily serious - even her grand-nephew, the autocratic Son of the Sea, did not always dare to argue with a quiet elderly relative. Perhaps the reason was the princess''s stubborn unwillingness to join any party and her ability to balance the fine line between independence and rebellion.

    The undead was always well-informed. And they had a rare flair for trouble.

    "I am aware of the reshuffle in the Secret Guard," Rania spoke at last. "It seems that the chancellor is satisfied with Laar''s work. Don''t you think you overestimate the threat the priests pose?"

    "When the same information comes from different sources, it''s hard to doubt its veracity," the vampiress pursed her thin lips. "Rakawa needs allies in the political arena and is willing to make some concessions for them. Especially if those concessions cost him nothing."

    The princess nodded, tacitly agreeing with the chancellor''s personality assessment. The undead seemed confident in their prognosis...

    "Do you need any help?" A direct question. At her age, you can do without the excuses.

    "Yes," Medea bowed her head slowly. "Help. Of a political nature."

    She agreed with her friend''s plan. If there is no possibility to rely on the usual state apparatus - it is necessary to enlist the support of at least one of the power groups. Getting an ally if not the best but in the current situation the only possible. It was just that the level at which she would have to play from now on was a little frightening. Medea had previously revolved in circles high enough, but in the world of the ancient aristocracy rarely appeared. She emerged from the darkness to perform specific missions and disappeared back into the shadows, making connections, acquaintances, leaving behind a trail of rumors and whispers. She had no contact with anyone in the ruling family except Rania, even though she was introduced to many.

    "I ask to arrange a meeting with His Highness Prince Kono."

    <hr>

    The Academy of the High Arts, or, more simply, the Academy of Magic, was founded by Duke Dinir, who was gradually acquiring the features of a legendary demigod. But the word "founded" does not quite accurately reflect the situation. Before the catastrophe, the buildings and part of the Academy''s funds belonged to the University of Taleya, where some of the faculty and administration also worked. Using this rather powerful base, the Duke created an extremely successful and unparalleled hybrid of a school for noble offspring and a research center.

    Combining into one cumbersome structure many elements completely different from each other, with completely different tasks, was not from a good life and was in many ways forced. There were several reasons for this. The main one was the desire to preserve and develop the remnants of magic, which continued to work at least somehow in the changing world. But considering the sharply negative attitude towards mages on the part of ninety-nine percent of the population, the newly created research center needed good quality protection at least to exist. Not to mention work. Besides, numerous descendants of noble families, most of them with a gift, also needed protection and training. Finally, there was a rather considerable circle of specialists who were not capable of research activity for various reasons, but who had experience in educating young people.

    To guard all these people, the enormous library, the repository of valuable materials, and various relics of a vanished era, not to mention laboratories and polygons, required a mass of soldiers and money. The state was short of resources. So it was only natural that the Duke wished to reduce spending and collect everything of value in one place.

    There were other reasons. The heirs of the aristocratic families were held hostage under one roof. The nobility dared not rebel, knowing that in the event of disobedience, their children would be the first to suffer. Mages appointed as tutors-prisoners were unlikely to pursue their policies and try to pressure the parents of their wards, understanding that the survival of the Academy and academicians depended on their loyalty and usefulness to the ruling dynasty.

    Naturally, at the head of such a powerful and diverse project should be an extraordinary person. A smart, experienced person who is connected to the dynasty by strong ties and at the same time is guaranteed not to try to take the position of a "gray cardinal". Nothing is surprising in the fact that the first and only rector of the Academy since its founding was the blessed Tairan.

    One of the greatest wizards in the world, aged long before the Plague came, wielded tremendous influence. If he had wished, the Court would have danced to his tune for centuries. However, he was only interested in knowledge, so Tairan left politics to the whims of stranglers, focusing on understanding the changing laws of the world and educating new generations of mages.

    Now he probably regretted it.

    The cloaks of the priests, who had rarely appeared in the stronghold of witchcraft in years past, had recently been all but abandoned at the Academy. So the students looked around in astonishment at the two leisurely strolling figures engaged in polite small talk. The event was made all the more poignant by the fact that the companion of the deity''s servant was the teacher, Master Hustin, widely known for his affiliation with the servants of the Dark One. No one called him a vampire to his face, and such rumors were suppressed by the administration, but it was impossible to conceal the truth from the inquiring minds of teenagers.

    "I''m sorry, Master, but you''re asking the impossible," the priest sighed in feigned frustration. "The temple regulations forbid such relics to be shown to the uninitiated. Only those favored by the Son of the Sea are exempt, but no edict has yet come from his chancery."

    "Is the Sovereign''s will unchanged?"

    "The Sovereign''s will is invariably done," the guest rolled his eyes respectfully toward the sky. "We are only his humble servants."

    "Of course," Hustin nodded. His attitude toward the dynasty was far less awe-inspiring, but he didn''t show it out loud. "It couldn''t be otherwise. But my question is, is there no circumstance under which I, or one of my colleagues, might be counted in the favor of the Council of Elders? The Temple of the Sun is known for its kindness to the needs of the faithful."

    "You have not been seen to have the power of religious sentiment before."

    "That''s exactly the effect the Tablets have on me," Hustin assured the priest with a stony face. "I am willing to make many sacrifices to touch their sanctity."

    "Aren''t you afraid of getting burned?" The fat man licked his thin lips faintly.

    "Not at all. Unlike most of my colleagues, I am ready to meet an artifact of Light."

    An artifact of True Light, the warlock mentally clarified. How the thing carrying the pure energy of Illiar had come into human hands remained to be seen. The children of the night, especially the oldest of them, had always paid close attention to all forms of occult power, especially the so-called Primordial. The term had been in use since ancient times among mages and priests, and referred to a pair of higher gods, as opposed to others unrelated to the natural elements. Over the past three hundred years about the Primordials had gathered morsels of information, but enough to gauge their possible prospects. Huge.

    However, Hastin would not humiliate himself in front of a priest just for the sake of an artifact. He knew how to flatter, if necessary, he flattered himself before the powers that be, threatened, persuaded, referred to the authorities... Not as well as Celesta did, but in general not bad. That is if he saw that circumstances forced him to compromise his pride a little, he did so, and he was not ashamed of it. As the Chancellor commented smilingly, "with age and experience, a reassessment of values is inevitable". But the vampire had always considered whom he was dealing with. And the junior abbot of one of the temples of the Sun of the capital clearly lacked the weight among his people to talk to him on such a delicate subject, and about something serious to ask.

    Celesta was simply interested in the priest''s reaction.

    Holiness Tanistas was relatively calm towards the undead and had served as a mediator between the temple and the Children of the Night more than once in previous years. Ideological differences did not hinder negotiations when it came to large sums of money or a sudden intersection of interests. The hierarchs easily compromised or even cooperated when they saw an advantage. Now, however, the priest was stubborn. It seemed that the top hierarchy was serious about confrontation. Neither a bribe nor an offer to share the results of his research or to help resolve some issues in the merchant community would make Tanistas cooperative... It seemed that everything had been resolved among them, and the rebels were not seen as possible partners. The undead has been written off as expendable.

    There will be a war.

    * * *

 Chapter 10

    Chapter 10

    * * *

    The possibilities of creatures unable to bear the touch of the sun''s rays are severely limited, primarily by time. The older ones, of course, have it easier. As they grow older, the urgent need to fall into a dead sleep disappears, and all that remains is to guard against the stinging touch of the light, that is, simply not to ascend to the upper tiers of the dungeons that pervade Taleya.

    Celesta valued her time more than anyone else, but she couldn''t work all the time. There was, after all, a limit to her stamina. Sometimes she felt that if she didn''t stop and allow herself a break, she would break and fall like a hunted horse. She preferred to spend her rare moments of rest in the company of her loved ones, rather than on visits to revelry or seeking adventure because she had enough extreme stuff in her life. Those whom she trusted and to whom she could show her true self.

    Medea was most often her companion. She enjoyed every opportunity to light a fireplace, climb into a deep armchair, grab a glass of expensive wine, and, plunging into the comfort of the room, start a conversation on hundreds of topics at a time. On occasion, her gossip would yield unique information, though more often than not, it would have no meaningful meaning. Celesta, however, was not silent either. She preferred to discuss the subject to the end, sacrificing breadth in favor of depth once she had grasped it.

    "Are you still feeding all kinds of riffraff?"

    "Celesta!" Medea raised her hands to the ceiling in irritation, calling the invisible heavens to witness. "How many times do I have to tell you! They''re not jerks, they''re celebrities! Ce-leb-ri-ties!"

    "Do you think there''s a difference?" The frail little girl smiled slightly. She thought an angry Medea looked very funny, so she teased her sister a little from time to time. "Okay, okay, I won''t. So, are you two communicating?"

    "Of course. You''re wrong to be dismissive of them; there are some very talented young people among them."

    "Are there any good writers?"

    "Ratillon from Seki. What do you need it for?" The beauty, the lioness of high society, the successful spy, and, as well, the caring patroness of the arts, became wary.

    "If we have to go free," the leader of the Taleyan undead snickered, "we should take care of our reputations. A favorable public opinion makes life a lot easier, even for the undead."

    "What are you implying?"

    "Let your boy write a somewhat romantic book," Celesta instructed. "Something snotty about eternal love, death, and the Prince of Night. Like, he was a great warlord, but his enemies poisoned his wife. Or better yet, they sent her a fake message and she jumped off the tower herself. Then he renounced Illiar to serve the Dark One forever. Morvan turns the warlord into a vampire, he sits in his castle for a hundred years, until one day he receives a portrait of a girl who resembles his beloved like two peas in a pod. The sufferer gets off the diet of the local peasant women and goes to town, finds his wife reborn, she dies, then he meets the dawn on her grave. In short, everyone is dead. Can your Ratillon handle it?"

    Medea mentally counted to ten, and then inquired: "But why?"

    "Such, so to speak, literature is especially popular with teenage girls, dreaming of eternal love until the grave," a cold, cynical, and calculating mask looked unpleasant on a young face. "Then they grow up, get married, tell bedtime stories to their children. The next generation will no longer think of vampires as the original evil. It will be easier to work with them."

    The beautiful girl nodded slightly. It was something she had expected to hear. However, her innate wickedness made her notice: "Considering the conspiracy that is woven in the palace now, are you in any hurry to make long-term plans? If all goes as we planned, soon one could lose one''s head for praising the undead."

    "That''s not bad either. A mediocre writer becomes a classic after his death, and it''s harder to criticize him. Yes, by the way, there is no conspiracy."

    "How so?" Medea wondered. "Then why did the governors of the Southern provinces so amicably ignore the latest emergency tax decree? Such unanimity is suspicious."

    "There''s no conspiracy," Celesta repeated in a confident tone. "Think about it. The Secret Service consists of four divisions, each dealing with its own area. The First Division oversees internal affairs, noble intrigue, counterintelligence, and the fight against separatism, that is, the excessive autonomy of the nobility. There is not much left of it, the professionals are gone, but some of the old-timers are still working. The Second Division is occupied by various kinds of sects, and we often communicate with its employees, too. The Third Division is External Intelligence and Counterintelligence. As of today, Taleya has no political opponents comparable to her in power, but this situation can change at any minute. For example, the Lord Captain of Deep Harbor marries the daughter of the ruler of Lanaka, and the resulting alliance will be difficult to cope with. The Fourth Division serves as the Human Resources and Accounting Department, so its personnel is guarded much better than the others.

    Officially four people are working at each Division, but they are only the leaders, the visible part of the iceberg. It''s such ice blocks floating on the sea. The bulk of them is hidden by the water. I don''t know the exact numbers, but I believe there are about a hundred regular officers in all in the Secret Service, perfectly trained and educated.

    Some of them we know, we have encountered in various situations, but I am willing to bet that the names of many are unknown to us. And each of them has its own agents, snitches, enthusiastic patriots, and other freelance sources of information. So we can assert that if the conspiracy had existed in reality, it would not have passed by this structure. The net woven by the "spiders" is very dense, and a small or very large organization is bound to get caught in it. Once the three nobles get together, the ears of the secret guards are sure to show up somewhere nearby. I would rather believe in the existence of a lone psychopath who miraculously cheated his way into the Guards and stabbed our dearest Chancellor to death during a night visit to another lady. And besides the "spiders," there is also the army intelligence, subordinate to the First Sword; the personal guards of the noble houses, the special office of the Guard, the department of international relations under the diplomatic corps... Not to mention us, the silent ones."

    "No, Medea. If a conspiracy existed, we would know about it. At least on a yes-no level."

    "Then I don''t understand what''s going on," the beauty admitted. In other companies, she would have pouted, but with Celesta, she could do without masks. "Before, the parties at court had never before been so openly and harshly intrigued."

    "What''s going on? Collapse. The economic and political mistakes of the government, the stupidity of the Son of the Sea, the greed of the relatives of the Chancellor and Queens, the dominance of the monks of Blue Ang... In this situation, many bet on Prince Kono. He has not voiced and is not going to declare his goals, he does not need to - the logic of events pushes him to make certain decisions. Which are essentially two - either a takeover or a split of the country. Well, he can also commit suicide. In a certain sense, the prince is not in control of his desires: he has many obligations to supporters who want to escalate the conflict. Some sincerely believe that Irrhan shouldn''t be on the throne - I agree with them, by the way - some hope to get more material benefits in the form of land and money from the coming mess, while others have lost loved ones to repression and simply want revenge."

    "Well, what should we do?"

    "Watch. Waiting. Gather rumors. You know many feudal lords whose lands lie near the borders, don''t you? Those who have the right to keep a retinue? Talk to them, much depends on their position now."

    "With pleasure," the beautiful undead purred. "A little warm, friendly company wouldn''t hurt after meeting His Highness. It''s unlikely he''ll want a closer acquaintance."

    The meeting with Prince Kono was in the best traditions of the spy genre - the night, the secret passage, the figures in broad cloaks, the dim light of lanterns... Alas, the audience was short and ended with a puff. Medea had only had time to express her joy at seeing a kinsman of the Son of the Sea - may he rule forever - before she was interrupted in the middle of a tirade. She was informed that the current king disapproved of all things associated with the Darkness, and was only accepting Mistress Medea in memory of the many favors rendered by the undead to ancestors of the ruling family. The prince spoke briefly, hinting, but he said interesting things.

    If you translate his words into ordinary language, it''s like this: He''d like to help, but he doesn''t know-how. The vampires and their network of informants were important to him. But to help them... at least to have some joint business means not only to spoil not the warmest relations with the priests but to get into the personal fiefdom of the head of state, carefully guarded against the eyes of others. Kono will not take such a risk, for it is possible to get a silk string to strangle himself for less. Period.

    "By the way, shouldn''t we invite Latham to the party? You have to agree, he''ll make an impression on this crowd."

    "Don''t," Celesta declined the offer. "He''s sending his son into exile, first of all, and secondly, I have other plans for his group."

    Medea leaned forward, her eyes gleaming excitedly: "Does our unsociable knight have a son?! Oh, my goodness!"

    "Didn''t you know that?" Celesta was a little surprised. Normally high society gossip didn''t get past her friend. "The current Baron Kaparu is Latham''s child. A bastard, but he received some of his father''s inheritance."

    "He''s about two hundred years old now," Medea recalled. "So Latham conceived him just before he died."

    "No, it''s more complicated than that. Officially, the Baron is considered the son of, um, his father. Don''t smile, you know what I mean. It''s just that the old baron has lost the ability to procreate and has asked a favor of his suzerain''s heir. The line must not be interrupted. Little is known of this history, and thank the gods - otherwise, we would not have been given the order to eliminate Kaparu."

    "Tulak has become completely insolent," said the beauty.

    "The initiative does not come from him."

    "However..."

    A light knock on the door prevented Medea from making an accurate assessment of the identity of the respected curator. The undead looked equally disgruntled at the heavy oak barrier that separated their quiet quiet sanctuary from the greedy outside world, then Celesta set her glass on the table and resolved:

    "Come in, Merck."

    She wouldn''t be disturbed over anything right now.

    "I''m sorry, Mistress," he said, a slight wave of uncertainty and embarrassment coming from the undead who had entered, he was young and not yet able to hide his emotions. It was easy to detect them. "You ordered me to let you know at once if I could find Panari."

    "Yes. Where is he?"

    "Beggars spotted him in the catacombs under the North Market, so I took the liberty of bringing him here. He''s in the waiting room. We had to use force, though - he tried to escape."

    "All right, Merck," the mistress nodded. I''ll be right there."

    When the young vampire came out, the two eternally young girls looked at each other grimly. Neither of them wanted the party to end. There was silence in the room for a while, interrupted only by the crackling of embers in the fireplace, and then Celesta made a sour smile:

    "I''m sorry, Medea."

    "Merck is too dutiful," the gorgeous blonde said. "He could have waited a couple of hours. Nothing would have happened to your spy."

    Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

    "When the crisis is over, we''ll take a vacation," the mistress promised. "For at least two weeks."

    A skeptical grimace answered her. Judging by her friend''s silence, she was really upset, which meant that the zealous Merck might very well be in trouble soon. Small, but painful.

    Celesta rested her chin on her clasped hands and stared at the man sitting on the floor. Most people, at the very least, would have been embarrassed by that unblinking stare, fidgeted, tried to talk. But the man, who looked like a middle-class merchant or the owner of a wealthy capital store, was confident. He shook himself off, inspected his torn jacket as thoroughly as possible, surreptitiously checked his pockets, and only then, standing up, did he bow gracefully.

    "Messena Celesta. It''s an honor to see you."

    There was no great joy in his voice.

    "Have a seat, Mr. Panari," she nodded at the massive chair. "Are you hungry? If so, my servants will go to the inn on the surface and order you something."

    "Thank you," the mortal shook his head. "I don''t have much of an appetite."

    "Quite in vain, they say, the cook there is very good. Well, that''s up to you. Then pour us both some wine from that jug over there and bring the fruit basket close to you, and let''s talk."

    After a little hesitation, Panari followed the advice. What could he do? He was a clever man - or should be said incredibly clever - and he understood the balance of power very well. Celesta could do anything she wanted to him. Turn him over to her enemies, kill him, glamour him, force him to serve herself... whatever the strongest undead in the land could think of.

    "Why do you think I so insistently invited you to visit?"

    "I''ve never seen you play cat-and-mouse with the victims before," the slightly wrinkled man responded after the ''invitation''. "If you''re talking to me, you either intend to get information in exchange for freedom, or you want to offer me a job."

    In her mind, Celesta admired her interlocutor. To assess the situation so quickly...

    "Or maybe I''m just curious. You were considered the best officer in the Guard, your contacts numbered in the hundreds, and in all ranks. And suddenly, such an unprofessional thing to do!" She shook her head in mock surprise and went on to enumerate. "Your resignation, a heap of incriminating evidence falling on the palace through third hands, the Vice-Chancellor committing suicide, some dignitaries taking poison or trembling on their estates. You are forced to hide in the deepest dens of the capital, hoping to wait out the hard times. According to my information, you have tried three times to slip out of the net drawn by our colleagues and other aristocrats out for revenge, and all three times you have narrowly escaped capture. Why?"

    "I''m tired of serving scoundrels," Panari twitched his shoulder. He thought for a while, and then confessed, "I also thought of the likely course of events, and realized that I knew too much about what they were up to. It was the combination of these two things that made me flee, though a little too late. They did not have time to remove me, but they did not manage to leave the capital either. And by the way, Messena Celesta, you flatter me. I couldn''t hide from your servants."

    "You really shouldn''t hide from me in Taleya," the eternally young girl smiled without parting her lips. "Where were you going to run to?"

    The man was obviously going to lie, but he changed his mind. He remembered who he was talking to.

    "To Birat. Far enough from the kingdom that they don''t actively try to find me there. Besides, a couple of my debtors live in Birat. That''s enough for a start."

    "That''s what I thought for some reason," the undead smiled dryly. "A big bustling southern country, full of strangers and so easy to get lost in. "The spiders have hardly paid any attention to it lately, and you''ve got channels left from that black pearl story. Sure you don''t want to eat?"

    "I can''t get a bite in my throat," the mortal admitted after a short silence.

    "Then listen. I have absolutely no desire to help Laar, on this point we are similar. So I''m not going to sell you out in any case. You can get up now, walk out the door and go in any direction, on the surface you will be escorted. But first I would like to propose a deal: delivery to Birat or any other place of your choice in exchange for a list of your personal agents. I would also like some of the dirt you''ve been saving for better times." Celesta felt with satisfaction the slight confusion of her interlocutor. The existence of the papers she had deduced, Panari cherished them as the apple of his eye. "You don''t need the papers, but I''ll find a good use for them."

    "No doubt about it..."

    "Well, colleague, don''t get upset! For you, it is only the past. Besides, my gratitude for the information I received will be tangibly embodied, and you will not have to think about your daily bread for the rest of your life. So? Do you need time or will you agree at once?"

    "I''m in no position to argue," the man pursed his lips grudgingly. "I can only hope that the gratitude in question is really that great."

    "I should be offended, but I will consider your poor condition."

    "Excuse me, Messena Celeste," the man cautiously rose from his chair and bowed with some apprehension. "I am somewhat confused..."

    " ...And you don''t know who to trust," the undead continued. "In that case, go to rest, and we''ll continue this conversation tomorrow. After you''ve had a good night''s sleep." She hesitated a little as to whether to make another suggestion to the best living spy at once or to wait, but she did say so. "I have a little suggestion for your main specialty."

    "Which one?"

    "A man of your breed can''t sit idle, and I need contact with my kin from Birat," Celesta smiled. "It''s dangerous, but it pays well. Off you go, Mr. Panari. We''ll talk tomorrow."

    <hr>

    The undead has many enemies. The priests of numerous temples were always ready to lead their parishioners in the fight against the "trampling of the divine plan". The feudal lords were unhappy with the appearance of a disturbing factor in their lands. Other undead, in fierce competition defending the right to the blood, flesh, and terror of victims. Mercenaries, common citizens, bandits, and cultists hungry for independence...

    The worst, most dangerous enemy of the risen is himself. Laziness, greed, unwillingness or inability to wait, the desire to take a bigger bite, not taking into account the possibility of swallowing the prey. Paradoxically, only those servants of Darkness who do not themselves succumb to vice survive. Ascesis, self-restraint, precise calculation, sometimes disguised as carelessness, become a necessary condition of existence. Some consciously cultivate the necessary qualities in themselves, while others need the help of a mentor.

    However, even the most experienced undead have their breakdowns, which are difficult to cope with alone, so supervision is necessary. A kind of friendly support, combined with unobtrusive control. Especially important when it comes to the closest assistants who can cause a lot of trouble if they want to. Celesta watched her inner circle with the utmost care. However, only Zervan was a constant headache for her, and the rest of her associates "flipped out" much less frequently. For example, Gardoman''s affairs hardly needed checking, though they kept a constant eye on the old man. So that he would not relax and remember who was in charge.

    At the moment Celesta was particularly interested in the new one that Latam had recently brought in. Vador was already in his second week of "apprenticeship" in the dungeons, running simple errands and slowly learning the basics of postmortem existence. The first three months are a diamond period. The body changes, the behavioral attitudes inherent in a new member of the vampire society are established, the psyche has not yet recovered from rising from the dead and can be adjusted in the right direction. Then the energy stabilizes, the changes become habitual, and it becomes much more difficult to change the character, instilling new values at the same time. More difficult, but not impossible, and that is why all young undead of the kingdoms spent their first ten years in the capital. Among the bearers of tradition.

    Much depended on the teacher. Usually, the newcomers were paired with an older colleague and ordered to memorize the map of the dungeon within a month. It was an impossible task: the catacombs of Taleya stretched for tens of kilometers, if not hundreds. However, this activity was a good indicator of the young risen''s ability, willingness to learn, industriousness, obedience, and talent, after all. At the same time, the elders taught the basics of survival in the afterlife, explained the rules of conduct in the hunt or among human partners, and taught how to hold a sword. After the short introductory period was over, the newcomer was taken seriously.

    Vador was allowed to send a message to his family, but he would not be able to visit in the near future. There would be no time for visits. In addition to the well-known fact that in the first three months the risen better feed himself every night, the young man had to learn the hierarchy of the city forces, starting with the official authorities and ending with the names of the leaders of criminal gangs; get the first lessons in weapons; learn which demons are a particular threat to the undead and how to fight them. After a while, it will be time for him to learn the basics of psychology and management, to be introduced to economics through examples of the undead''s sources of income.

    Later, when the young risen proves his ability to control his instincts, he will be harnessed to more serious work. They will allow him to acquire a personal network of informers or begin to involve him in operations carried out on behalf of the "spiders". At first little by little, then permanently. As a rule, the first informants of the risen were his family, so Celesta tried to help them in money or other ways. It wasn''t altruism; the vampiress was guided by a rational calculation. There aren''t too many people who are loyal to the undead, and they should be multiplied in every way possible.

    In addition, the Security Service did not doze off and also tried to keep an eye on scary "employees". The most accessible and convenient way to put pressure on a risen, especially a young one, is his kin. The same Vador, for example, will comply with any order, as soon as he sees a threat to the life and health of his mother. So he won''t get any information about the combinations of Celesta and the other elders, which are dubious from the point of view of the "spiders", for a long time.

    And the undead broke the restraints imposed on them quite often. They could help the merchants under their control remove a rival, make artifacts for sale, perform some rituals related to the service of Morvan. Occasionally they took orders for assassinations if they needed to provoke the necessary reaction in the community, or if the community had some complaints about the purpose of the order. In the past, when money was needed, they could kill someone in a not too high position for a fee. Very often they helped smugglers - in fact, all the city gangs that operated in the port and bypassed customs paid Celesta a bribe in one way or another. For passage through her territory, for information, or in some other way, but she got the money.

    Naturally, part of the proceeds had to be shared with the same security guards. The government was willing to turn a blind eye to the antics of its servants when it had its share of them. But, alas, the spider leaders did not want to let the vampire business go completely unchecked.

    "Well, that''s just rudeness," the mistress reread the report once again, as if not trusting her own eyes. "They have completely lost the ability to work."

    Latham, who was sitting in the chair, only shrugged his shoulders slightly, reacting in no other way to the sentence. He didn''t know what was in the papers he''d brought from the guards, but he and his mistress shared the same opinion of the declining level of professionalism of the agents. In the old days, vampires wouldn''t have been able to bribe scribes, and certainly, no one would have allowed secret documents to leave the building.

    "Has the kid been told yet?"

    "As far as I know, he has not yet communicated with his family, Messena."

    "Yes, it''s too soon for him to see his family," the risen girl tossed the sheet to the table in a slightly dismissive manner. "Tell Egard to talk with his ward."

    The bodyguard thought for a moment, then suggested: "Perhaps we should accelerate things? Give the newcomer a couple of tasks on the surface? He''ll probably get an offer he can''t refuse."

    Celesta smiled at the edge of her lips. Latam loved the expression she had once uttered and he liked to use it.

    "You want to evaluate Vador''s reaction to blackmailing loved ones? It''s a good thing, but right now he''s not ready."

    Relations with mortal kin were a sore point for most of the risen. On rare occasions, the family would accept recently deceased kin with joy, only slightly sprinkled with fright, and often it took a period of time for the father and mother to realize the new status of the son or daughter. It also happened so that they rejected a living dead man, refused to talk to him, and even called in hunters for the undead. It happened all kinds of things.

    Every decision, every action has its pluses and minuses, good and bad consequences. Mortal relatives brought a lot of problems to the posthumous life. It was necessary to meet with them, to help with money or favors, to listen to unnecessary and empty news... Through the family, it was very easy to put pressure, to put them on a hook, to make them spy against their relatives. Which, in fact, the "spiders" took advantage of. The Secret Service had information on all the undead in Taleya''s territory, and it was easy to get young to work for them.

    However, over time, if one managed to get past the difficulties of the first stage of becoming a new member of the undead society, it was the living relatives who became the most loyal supporters in the world of the living. Often more loyal to the young vampire than the fanatic Morvanites. The example of Hastin, who, thanks to the descendants of his father and brothers, had ample opportunities in the merchant and military environment, though he rarely left the Academy, was especially telling here. In short, Celeste found it advantageous in the long run to maintain ties with relatives, despite the difficulties involved, and tried to help her subjects establish relationships with their families.

    Vador''s parents, as already mentioned, were informed of their son''s fate. The news did not make the ordinary peasants, illiterate and superstitious, happy, but the small amount of money and the promise of a gift reduced the degree of religious fervor. In addition, the messenger was an ordinary man and not bad in practical psychology, so you can say - when the prodigal child appears at home, they will not try to kill him at once. However, then a representative of the local branch of the Guard rushed to the small village, accompanied by a dozen armed riders. He whipped Vador''s father, stole his money, trashed the already windswept house, and demanded that all occurrences of the "vile brat of darkness" be reported to him, a worthy man. Otherwise, he threatens with punishment. In the end, whipping the village chief and blacksmith for preventive purposes, and taking a slaughtered pig for dinner, the band of valiant warriors departed, leaving behind them a nest of rumors and gossip.

    Mistress thought about the situation and decided that it should be decided on the spot.

    "Send Ama the Weasel there. Let him decide what''s easier to do - move Vador''s family to another place, slip a dozen coins to the headman, or buy up the whole village. The people there are poor."

    "An extra spot relatively close to the capital?"

    "Exactly..."

    "It will be done, Messena," Latham bowed his head. "What are your instructions about the local representative of the Guard?"

    "None," Celeste curved her lips, expressing mild contempt for the person in question. "Get his name, get some dirt for the future, and leave him alone. Such enemies must be nurtured and cherished, you might say!"

    The knight nodded understandingly, sharing the mistress'' point of view. He inquired: "Is there anything else you need from me, Messena?"

    "No, mind your own business. I think I''ll pay Hustin a visit-he said he had some curious information. And I have things to consult with him... Good day."

    "Have a good day, Messena."

    * * *

 Chapter 11

    Chapter 11

    * * *

    "I recently found out a very interesting thing." The warlock poured himself a glass of wine and took a few sips before continuing. "You may remember that my colleagues are trying to cultivate the perfect fighter. The masters Konda and Neville got funding for this project six years ago from special funds, without reporting to the Ministry of the Court."

    Celesta nodded.

    "Yes. Neither you nor Medea could give me any details. Though the speed with which the petition to allow human sacrifice flew through the official barriers makes me wary."

    "Konda has contacted the higher hierarchs of Blue Ang. The research is being commissioned by them."

    "Are you sure?"

    "Neville''s direction has reached a dead end, there are no results, and she is being brushed aside. She seeks allies and is willing to share information."

    The vampiress sipped from the silver goblet, feeling the weightless particles of metal give the wine a slightly spicy taste. The reigning monarch favored the Ang temple. Recently, the monks, clad in robes of blue with a yellow circle on the back, had gained too much influence. Their influence had spread to different spheres. Over the past ten years, several new, powerful and brash factions have emerged at court, successfully supplanting the old aristocracy in the race for the throne. "The Elder of the Sea" successfully seized control of the other major temples of the state, preached hatred of darkness, and actively recruited supporters in army and guard circles. The undead did not expect much trouble from them, despite the loud slogans and demonstrative raids. It is difficult to engage in politics and fight vice at the same time.

    "Why do they need fighters?"

    "I don''t know," the mage shrugged. "Neville knows something, but she will talk only in person. But some of the details of Konda''s research have come to light. In brief, over the girl - preferably a virgin, but this is not a prerequisite - performed a certain ritual, after which she is pregnant for six months... The bearer dies during the birth, giving her powers to the child, due to which the child develops phenomenally fast and has some magical powers. Their intelligence isn''t very good, but that''s not the goal. The newborn is completely under the control of the man who performed the ritual, as he carries his blood and considers him his father. At least, that''s what the old witch claims."

    Celesta picked up the skepticism in the brief retelling and immediately clarified: "Do you doubt her words?"

    "She''s pushing her price. No, of course, some results of the experiments came... But the effect is far from the desired one."

    "What does she want?"

    "Support. If you put in a good word with Tairan, the Academy will allocate some of its resources to experiments."

    The vampiress swung her glass, watching the oily wine slowly drip down the walls. The rector would probably honor her request...

    "What is your relationship with them? With Konda and Neville?"

    "A working relationship," answered Hustin. "We''re not friends; there''s no particular animosity, either."

    "If I offer to pay for Neville''s research, will she agree to give me full access to the results? The papers, your presence at the rituals, everything else? The money and rare ingredients will go through the Rector, but she should get permission to work with people herself. Would she be okay with that?"

    The magician hesitated, shrugged vaguely.

    "Probably. She is in a very difficult position."

    "Then talk to her. Also, would Konda be willing to sell his work? At least some of it."

    "Absolutely not. As long as the priests sponsor him, he will stay away from us."

    "So we''ll wait until they''re breaking up," Celesta smiled. She set her glass aside with a sigh and squinted at her old friend. A very old friend. One of the few people she trusted. "Forget about Neville. It wasn''t her I wanted to talk about. You remember our conversation about the inseparability of the vampire and the negative pole of the world''s cathedral spirit?"

    It was Hastin''s turn to be surprised. They had been discussing this topic for a long time, purely as a hypothesis. Since then there seemed to be evidence of its correctness, but the magicians had not yet received final confirmation.

    "Yes, but you remember that..."

    "Of course," the girl interrupted him. "It''s only a theory. Nevertheless, let''s assume that it is correct. In that case, it turns out that the cells of the risen'' body are continuously exposed to the so-called "dark energy," which gives them some unique abilities."

    "In particular, stop aging."

    "Exactly. Now let''s remember some of the breeding peculiarities of the Trask werewolf, which is considered to be our closest likeness among the undead. You even do some experiments on it. Two ways - conditionally viviparous and by infestation,"

    "That''s right," Hustin still didn''t understand what her interlocutor was getting at.

    Celesta froze for a moment, hesitating to continue. What she was about to say was not merely the fruit of long deliberation, some experience, and memories from a distant, alien past. In fact, her words would inevitably change the world. It was strange to be sitting in an armchair deep underground, in the silence of an office, listening to the crackling of the wood in an intricately arranged fireplace, drinking wine from an elegant glass... And gathering the courage to utter a few phrases that might turn the tide of history.

    It is difficult to dare to have a conversation with Hustin on this subject, to tell him her conjectures. There was a time when she sincerely thought her kind was evil. Not an abstract one, sent to earth by a lord of darkness, whether he existed or not, but the most commonplace evil. Risen, morages, vampires, ghouls - whatever you want to call them, they hurt people by their very existence. That is their nature. The undead must hunt and drink human blood in order to survive, and that fact cannot be erased.

    Three hundred years ago, she sincerely believed that without her and those like her, the world would be a much cleaner place. Kinder. And she did not know why, after the second birth in the body of a living dead, she did not go out into the sun, so as not to end her hard existence once and for all. What had stopped her then? Cowardice? Lust for life? A desire to wrestle with the world or a wild hope for a better lot? No answer.

    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    Over the years, her faith in humanity had been shaken. She had seen so much filth, cruelty, injustice, and pain that she had finally given up her illusions about the human race. True kindness was rare... Celesta had long since given up pitying mortals, at least those who were not her servants - her attitude toward them was now one of rigid rationality. Still, the remnants of humanity were in the way, preventing her from taking the final step.

    The decision to finally break with the past was unexpectedly difficult.

    "The Trask Werewolf can transfer part of his flesh to his victim and, using mental control over the energy, gradually rebuild the body completely. Thus obtaining a faithful satellite. Risen have a similar ability, don''t they?"

    "Yes, but there''s a significant difference," Hustin even lifted a finger, emphasizing the importance of his words. "We don''t have the colossal power reserves of a werewolf. And even though the Trask is incredibly strong, only the oldest of them can turn another kind of creature. The risen have much more modest reserves of energy."

    "Even me? After the transition to the second stage?"

    The mage was silent, choking on a prepared phrase. There was a look of shock on his face. Mistress of Taleya leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. That was it. The impetus is given, and the rest is up to Hustin. Or he won''t, and the research he''s beginning to plan in these moments will come to nothing. Either way, no matter how it ends, she''s the one who made the decision. She is the only one.

    Because the living dead rise less and less frequently every decade but they still die often. And if she doesn''t want to be alone one day, she must find a way to continue her cursed bloodline. To at least maintain the status quo and not be crushed by mortals, she needs kinsmen, friends, companions, apprentices, servants, subjects. Many subjects! Otherwise, they are doomed.

    She rose from her chair and walked toward the exit, feeling the admiring gaze directed at her by the sorcerer slightly distraught from the possible prospects.

    "There is time, but it is not enough, Hustin. Try to get the results as soon as possible."

    <hr>

    The news of Son of the Sea''s uncle''s exile fell on the city suddenly, instantly rousing people. It was clear to the last of the drunkards that this was not good. The ruler will not simply remove his closest relative and heir to the throne. Something will happen. And, bearing in mind the universal wisdom "the nobles fight and the peasants are sore", the most prudent Taleyans began to seek a way to survive the approaching turmoil. They bought up gold and jewelry, those who could, took their families to neighboring countries or to their relatives who lived in distant fortified towns of feudal lords, the poorer townspeople stocked up on flour and cereals. A faint wave of panic spread in circles from the capital, stirring up the state.

    However, not everyone behaved this way. The vast majority, the inert mass, hoped that everything would work out, and were in no hurry to change their way of life. The inhabitants of the Duchy of Zonn were glad of the honor bestowed upon them - the mighty Prince, the Hope and Support, the Keeper of the Southern Chambers, and the Hand of the Blueness honored them with his presence in their land! Whether or not he would be there long, they didn''t wonder.

    The top undead was not happy with the place chosen for the king''s disgraced kinsman. Their position there was very weak. No, fifty years ago there had been a relatively large colony of the undead in Zonn. Not comparable to the capital, of course, but the other cities of the state had no more than four, or more accurately, five undead in each. Security considerations prevented the small towns from having large communities.

    In the largest city of the feudal duchy, there used to be nine risen. Such a large number was largely due to the efforts of Celesta, who managed to convince the leaders of the Secret Service of its loyalty and usefulness. The city is large, thought the "spiders," located far from the center, the need for the services of the hand undead occurs regularly, the received tasks they perform accurately and on time. Let Celesta be in charge of the bloodsuckers throughout the duchy - at that time Taleya was just about to become a kingdom - and spare people from doing the dirty work.

    In other words, the Secret Service had stayed out of Celeste''s affairs, a situation that suited her completely. Unfortunately, over time, the vampires of Zonn ceased to adequately perceive reality, either because they thought too much of themselves, or because they miscalculated the balance of power in the state. Maybe they simply succumbed to the hunger that overwhelmed them. As a result, they were hunted. The army, the guards, the monastic orders, and even the townspeople began to hunt the ghouls, who had lost all fear and caution. Celeste wasn''t left out either. Mistress of Taleya had no intention of sparing the creatures who had broken the laws she had established and who had ruined their fellows in other cities in the process. She personally beheaded Tatyuf, the leader of the hapless separatists and his closest associates, hid one of the young risen in her personal lair, and turned the rest over to the hunters with a clear conscience. None of the rebels survived.

    There were only three vampires in Tsonne, the fifth largest city in the kingdom. It was an insufficient number even in normal times, and even more so now when Prince Kono would have many petitioners under his wing: potential conspirators, petty feudal lords attracted to the glitter of the high aristocracy, spies of all kinds, big merchants, adventurers, visionaries, mad prophets, and other people eager to touch power over the greatest country in the oikumene.

    That snake tangle simply needs to be kept under supervision, if only for reasons of personal safety. But how? Celesta did not want to repeat the same mistakes, trusting an important position to someone not close enough, but she could not let anyone from Talea go now either. In fact, the head of the risen Tsonne would become the second person in their internal hierarchy, a kind of viceroy. Medea? She is too necessary here in the Capital, and so is Latham. Gardaman is not suitable for the same reasons, and there is no need to give him too much autonomy. Hastin is only interested in things that have to do with magic and science. Zervan... Not funny.

    Irrhan, or more accurately, the Chancellor behind him, had acted foolishly. Celesta sincerely thought so. Whichever way you look at it, removing the head of the systemic opposition would not bring stability. Yes, in the old days, disgraced courtiers were exiled to the border, sometimes on the spur of the moment ordering permission to commit suicide. But then the power was much stronger. Now Kono, in fact, found himself with his hands untied, unchecked by the special services of the court and among loyal, ambitious supporters. Does Rakawa not understand such a simple thing? Or is it that he understands perfectly well and is counting on such a development. Come to think of it, a small, quickly suppressed rebellion is to his advantage. The prince enjoys considerable influence, and his removal would utterly destroy the chancellor''s rivals for access to the Son of the Sea.

    Except that it will not be possible to quickly suppress the rebellion if it begins. The most combat-ready units in the army are either under the command of men loyal to the prince or sympathetic to him. He also has many supporters among the guardsmen. The Secret Service has been considerably degraded in recent times, and many experienced specialists have fled or gone to work for the big feudal lords. So, if there is a rebellion, it will drag on for a long time... Do agents of the Chancellor report to him incorrect information, embellish the situation in the right direction?

    The Mistress of the Night Taleya gestured to the messenger to let him go. Well, now the civil war is inevitable. Even if Kono, Rakawa, or Irrhan were to die a sudden death, their parties would soon enough nominate other leaders, and the bloody meat grinder would only begin soon enough. In general, such development is advantageous to the risen - it''s easy to get lost in the dust raised by the brawl of the giants. If only not to get under the feet of the fighting men. The phantom dream of freedom and independence is quickly taking shape, rapidly coming to life, pulling the undead, the people, and the resources into the whirlpool of events with frightening persistence, sprouting from a germ idea into a still weak, unstable, but clearly delineated system. Life changes, irrepressibly and frighteningly.

    A time of change. A scary time. A fascinating time.

    You can lose everything - or you can gain everything.

    The short girl in the throne-like chair stretched her lips in a cold chuckle. She felt confident in her abilities, ready to take the risk.

    "So the game begins."

    * * *

 Too Old

    Too Old

    * * *

    The rumble of an airplane taking off caused a dull stir in the small woods, disturbing the birds that lived there. Sluggishly, because the birds had got used to the roar of the machines and now paid little attention to it. Much more their small minds were worried about two-legged men, busy since yesterday morning with incomprehensible activity on the hill sheltered by bushes from prying eyes. There was something frightening about them, something that made little hearts clench in fear...

    The short girl, who was sitting in a massive wooden armchair, mysteriously appeared far away from the city, looked at the plane, and then looked at her companion. He, however, did not notice the attention to his person. He walked around the wide stone slab, painstakingly sketched an intricate pattern on its surface, occasionally taking a break to check the manuscripts lying nearby. When he had finished his drawing, he sighed with relief, proudly looked at his creation, and began to place candles on the edges of the primitive altar.

    Only then did the girl speak.

    "Are you confident of success?"

    The Wizard did not interrupt his activities but answered immediately: "Tonight is a lucky night, Mistress. Several threshold conditions coincide, which happens once in a millennium... No, even rarer!"

    "In my opinion, too complicated," she looked at the stove with faint skepticism. "In my experience, the simpler, the more reliable."

    "In your case, Misstress, simplicity is unattainable," the man objected respectfully but firmly. "Your descendants, your vassal oaths, the Guilds'' oaths, your agreements with humans create an incredibly strong web that cannot be broken by conventional methods. Even the complete destruction of your physical body offers no guarantee..."

    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

    "I know," the girl''s aura grew powerful for a moment, and the air around her grew dangerously cold. "That''s why I needed your help."

    The magician bowed briefly, accepting the warning. Indeed, to whom is he telling it?

    "I am a faithful servant of my Mistress, as are thousands of other children of the Night."

    "Unfortunately, they are less willing to comply with my requests."

    "They admire and respect you, Mistress," the man shrugged. "For many of them, you are at the center of the universe. Which, by the way, is true in a certain sense."

    "Nonsense. I have long since handed over most of my connections to the King and the Council."

    "And yet, the remaining number is still too high," the mage stopped preparing the ritual, raised his head, and, after a short hesitation, cautiously began. "I am obliged to ask, Mistress. May it be eternal sleep?"

    "Sooner or later they''ll wake me up, and I''ll have to meddle in their primitive squabbles again," snorted the girl. "I''m sick of it. Don''t try to talk me out of it!"

    The grass around the chair blackened and dried, the man''s shoulders trembled, a trickle of blood appeared from his nose. He mumbled a hasty apology and went back to work. There was silence. The girl sat upright in her chair, listening to the birdsong, staring at the sun without blinking.

    "How long will it take you to perform the ritual?" After a quarter of an hour of silence, she asked.

    "The ritual will begin at midnight and will take about..."

    "It doesn''t matter," she twitched the corner of her mouth in displeasure. "They''ve already found us."

    As if to obey her words, the shadows of the trees stirred, grew thicker, with a frightening depth and volume. The mage sighed with ill-concealed relief and began to put the items he had placed on the altar back into the bag. When he looked up again, a dozen dark-skinned figures surrounded the clearing.

    "My Misstress..."

    The girl looked grimly, displeased, at the kneeling leader of the uninvited guests. She hesitated and, with a faint gesture of her hand, allowed him to rise.

    Quietly inquired: "Is it so hard to leave me alone?"

    "Forgive me, my Mistress," the warrior dared to raise his head and look her in the face. "Your people need you too much."

    We can''t allow you to die.

    * * *

 Chapter 12

    Chapter 12

    * * *

    In a certain way, the night is more full of life than the day. The darkness brings out, makes the events within it shine brighter, hiding the unimportant features and leaving the bare essence behind. Late-night wagons drive along the roads, their rumbling wheels drowning out the quiet prayer of a merchant frightened by the howl of wolves, or the drunken song of a carriage driver. In the tavern, there is music and dancing, the occasional clatter of bones interspersed with square brawls, and more rarely, the sound of wheezing from a slit throat. The bed on which the happy newlyweds conceive their first-born child creaks softly. The guards'' lats clink, the whites of their eyes flash mockingly in the darkened lanes, and their scornful words are slow to whisper. Those who have ears shall hear...

    It was not that Hustin often went to the city, but he did not like to sit idly at the Academy either. A childhood spent in a large mountain village was not conducive to turning a sturdy, healthy boy into a bookworm, and most of the habits of life remained after the rise. Sharp wit and natural curiosity seamlessly intertwined in the personality of one of the oldest vampires of Taleya with a willingness to adventure and the ability to wait, forming a complex, but an extremely useful fusion of qualities. So now, instead of appealing to a respected leader about a minor problem, Hustin chose to deal with the matter personally. It''s not hard for him, and it''s nice for his family.

    The clan remained one of the meanings of his after-life. His father, mother, brothers, nephews, and even nephews'' grandchildren had died long ago, but blood is blood, and one should never forget one''s own. The townspeople do not understand this. So the descendants of the Highlanders, who had come to Taleya just before the Plague to support a relative who had been admitted to the university, preferred to live in the suburbs as a close-knit community. The clan had a large estate there, granted by personal order of the Duke, and thus not subject to land taxation; the head of the family had the title of " a man full of spiritual support," that is, he belonged to the upper class of the lower nobility, and the income was also at a decent level. All this came about largely thanks to Hustin, who influenced the aristocrats because of his position. Specific and unstable, but nevertheless.

    The fact that Morvan''s servant was not supposed to be a guardian angel did not embarrass the sorcerer. He was happy to help relatives, comfort the elderly, goes into the details of the adults'' family life, and spoil the children with gifts during his secret visits.

    And sometimes he helped solve delicate issues.

    He ducked into a dead alleyway, waved his hand toward an inconspicuous back alley, with his fingers marked in the usual way, and confidently opened the wooden door at the very end of the house. He had been here more than once. The place served as a kind of "palace" of one of the capital''s gangs, inherited from one deceased ringleader to another. It so happened that the owners of an inconspicuous little house in a low-prestige neighborhood, if they ever died of violent causes - or rather, not "if", but "when", with rare exceptions - they were killed elsewhere. Not in the house itself. In those cases where the owners of a bandit''s palace tried to kill them in their rightful dwelling, the attempts have always failed. Criminals are superstitious and observant people, so they soon noticed the connection and drew unambiguous conclusions.

    A shabby door, along with a long corridor, with walls covered with century-old paint and cobwebs, which looked as old as the ruling dynasty, led to a fairly spacious hall, bearing some traces of old amenities. Hustin didn''t stay long. A frail old man, seated at the roughly folded hearth, jumped up with unexpected agility and, bowing momentarily, escorted his visitor to the second floor. It was probably because of his reaction that the two thugs lurking in the shadows were reluctant to get to know the guest.

    The second floor of the building looked completely different. The cleanliness, the thick mosaic carpets on the floor, and the carved doors made of precious Scandian wood pleased the eye and shouted loudly of the owner''s wealth. This luxury was not excessive. Unlike most of his predecessors, the current owner of the house had good taste and did not want to wallow in gold.

    "I am glad to welcome you, Master, to my humble abode. It''s been a long time since you came to see me."

    Rushd''s appearance was remarkable. A tall, slender, muscular man in his forties, with regular features, piercing blue eyes, and a short black goatee had broken more than one woman''s heart, causing the fair sex to do stupid things. The small scar on his right cheekbone in no way spoiled the charm of the predatory male beauty, only enhancing the impression he made. In fact, he had obtained his current position by seducing the former ringleader''s favorite concubine and persuading her to finish off her master. What became of the girl afterward, Hustin was not interested, but it is unlikely something good.

    "The occasion did not appear..." The sorcerer sat down in the prepared chair.

    "Alas, you''re right," Rushd regretfully agreed. "The order could have been fulfilled much earlier. But you know what''s going on in Carmee!"

    "An ordinary civil war. In the barbarian kingdoms, they happen almost once a generation. By our standards, of course."

    A generation in Taleya was considered the average length of a monarch''s reign. Sixty years, sometimes more. Aristocrats in general lived long lives, conceived children late, and often preferred to die in battle as soon as they felt decrepitude approaching. Cheerful strong men of a hundred years of age, leading young beauties to the altar, did not surprise anyone here. Why? He still has half a century of active life, he has time to continue the family and bring up children, and then he can retire. If only he had enough money for the services of an experienced magician and the internal reserve, feeding the spells of rejuvenation, was available in the right amount.

    "I''m more interested," Hustin continued, "should I rely on further supplies, or should I look for other sources?"

    "Does a dead leaf grow anywhere else?" The bandit was genuinely surprised.

    "No, but there are always substitutes. With the same properties, only of worse quality. However, I would prefer to work exactly with a "dead leaf" - the other ingredients have some unpleasant features."

    "What kind?"

    "It doesn''t matter. So?"

    "Well," the owner of the house thought and shrugged, "why not? They wouldn''t fight forever, would they? In any case, there are always a dozen fellows willing to risk it for a good price. Only the price tag will go up a bit, Master."

    "How much?"

    "Half."

    Hustin was silent for ten seconds, estimating the possible income and expenses, and then nodded accordingly. He could sell some of the potions he made to people for a profit, the Academy would buy some secretly, some orders were received from Gardoman. The vampire brethren had also asked him to make some for their own use, and Celesta would pay for them. The rest will go for personal use.

    "The cost of the rest of the list will not change?" Not so much asked as affirmed by him.

    "No, everything is the same."

    Rushd leaned back and tugged on the string hanging on the wall, his keen ears picking up the ringing of the bell in the next room. Almost immediately he heard footsteps. Heavily panting, the huge bodyguard brought in the iron-clad trunk and, obediently, placed it beside his guest. He turned slightly in his chair, and the lid of the trunk swung open, revealing a chest full of coils and sacks of linen.

    People reacted differently to the obvious sorcery. The guard flinched slightly, his cheekbones marked a little more sharply on his face, and his hand involuntarily waved, revealing the urge to grasp the sword hanging from his belt. At his master''s signal, he left the room with little more haste than befitting his proprietor. Not that the strong, experienced man was afraid but rather relieved. Such behavior did not surprise Hustin; he was used to it, but Rushd''s feelings were worth pondering. The bandit leader looked at the wizard''s actions with a mixture of eager longing and fierce disgust whenever he witnessed a display of his powers. It was as if he had seen something beautiful and terrible at the same time, appealing and repulsive at the same time. There was something personal about his attitude toward the magic that his servants did not have.

    In general, upon close acquaintance the bandit turned out to be an interesting person: he was not afraid of witchcraft, loved the cleanliness, unlike most of his kind, to religious prohibitions treated with hidden irony. Hustin tried to find out about his past but constantly forgot, losing the fight with routine or not wanting to break away from his research.

    "Perfect." The goods were thoroughly examined before a mutually satisfactory verdict was reached: "As always, the quality is excellent."

    Frankly, there was no need to check, it was just that he didn''t want to change the centuries-old order. The criminals knew who ruled the nighttime Taleya, and the bandits rarely tried to deceive the risen. But they did try. Some of them succeeded, and the rest served as a visual aid in the study of human stupidity.

    "Money at the same address?"

    "No, something had changed." Hustin took two scrolls out of his pocket, unfolded one, signed it, and placed it on the writing table. "A check from the First Bank of Lanaka, payable to bearer, so you can go yourself, or send someone else. And this is a list of what I hope to get in the next shipment."

    Rushd ran his eyes over the text and noted: "Quite a lot. Three times more than usual."

    "I want to make a supply. I''m hoping for your connections."

    "Of course," smiled the bandit and smuggler. "Everything will be done in the best way. Although I can''t help noting that my connections are far from yours."

    "Are you referring to the bankers?" Hustin sniggered. "It''s nothing. Don''t you invest in legitimate businesses yourself? Yes, your main, uh, "business" is illegal, but there are savings for a rainy day."

    "They are much smaller than I would like them to be."

    "Don''t be so glum," the risen grimaced slightly. "I don''t meddle in Zervan''s affairs, but I know for a fact that the income from his activities has increased lately."

    No matter how hard Rushd tried, the mention of the vampire collecting taxes from the city''s criminals made him flinch. There was a reason for that. The self-appointed custodian of the bandit''s coffers was beating out money with an iron hand, ruthlessly suppressing any sign of dissatisfaction. True, not everyone got his attention. There were some spheres of activity, to enter which the "spiders" imposed a strict ban, and no matter how Zervan licked his eyes, could not do anything. However, regular payments for smuggling, brothel maintenance, drug dealing, and banal robbery brought a good income.

    This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    "Master Zervan increased the rate the month before last, hence the increase," Rushd grumbled.

    Hustin smiled: "Not only that. You wouldn''t deny that you''ve expanded the scope of your work a bit, would you? Or maybe the people who came to the Muddy Mines don''t work for you?"

    "We just wanted to offer security services," the bandit paled slightly. "You know how many lawless people there are on the roads. I don''t go into other people''s territory, no way!"

    "Of course. Savat got the badge for that area, didn''t he?"

    "Uh, actually, the Muddy Mines is kind of a nobody''s land."

    "Well. The deposit in the Mines is small, the ore there is poor, but it is close to the Capital. Transport costs are practically zero, and you can sell the metal directly to smiths, without intermediaries. Would a place like that go unnoticed?" The vampire leaned forward slightly, catching his interlocutor''s gaze. "Take my kind advice, don''t meddle with it again."

    Rushd swallowed. Hustin could not match Celesta''s talent for the suggestion, but he had some skills. And now he was sure he''d made his point to the bandit in its entirety, so to speak, of the consequences. Now that the warning had been given, it was up to Rushd whether he would listen to reason, or risk it, too greedy to take it. Though the latter was unlikely-no one in his position was foolish.

    "And if you think about it," continued the sorcerer, "you shouldn''t collect taxes. It''s not your thing. You can earn ten times as much from smuggling if you have such amazing ability to deceive the customs officials."

    "But it''s safer," the owner of the house grumbled. "At least the peasants don''t shoot."

    "Peasants, no, they don''t," agreed the risen. "However, I must point out that the accuracy of soldiers is inversely proportional to the amount of gold in the officer''s pocket. But I don''t have to tell you what to do. When can I expect to receive my current order?"

    If the sudden change of subject confused Rushd, he didn''t show it.

    "In a month and a half, not including possible delays. Although, if you like, I can pass the goods in parts. Some things are in stock or will come soon."

    "No, I''d rather have the whole batch at once," the sorcerer refused. "It''s more convenient for me. Well, thank you for a pleasant time. When I request of you, my dear Mr. Rushd, I am always sure of its successful fulfillment."

    After hearing the requisite empty words of farewell, the vampire descended to the first floor and, escorted by a servant with a torch - an unnecessary symbolic gesture, as both sides knew - went outside. It was seven o''clock before dawn, and the night had begun beautifully. The chest carried on his shoulder tugged pleasantly aside, foreshadowing pleasant hours in the laboratory. Now there was nothing to prevent him from doing some of the experiments his mistress had led him to think about, and the petty problem that had vexed his kin had been dealt with. All that remained was to get to the dungeon without any adventures, which was not so easy lately. Though, quite frankly, nighttime Taleya had not been the quietest of places in the best of decades. Except before the Plague...? He''d been out all night with his friends, celebrating his graduation, and the guards had accosted them... They''d let him go, of course, since it was too expensive to mess with rich kids at any time.

    Or was he wrong? Memories were washed away, faded, turned into a dry statement of fact, gradually disappearing completely under the inexorable action of time. Memory preserved only the brightest and most important moments, mercifully discarding the everyday husk of routine. Celesta claimed that one could reconstruct one''s entire life, minute by minute if one wished, but so far none of the undead had had such a desire. More often the other way around, there were moments I wished I could forget.

    Perhaps I should take an apprentice? - Hustin was in a lyrical mood as he grabbed his oversized burden. - An assistant. Pick someone with a bit more sense from the newcomers, let him lug the tools, and look after the library. And hands-free...

    He turned around and stared intently into the darkness. Was that a trick? Yes, most likely. None of his brethren would hide from him. Maybe a lowly demon had managed to slip through the perimeter of the city, or maybe a colleague of his had decided to field test a new design. Though no, I don''t think so. The sense of recognition that comes with encountering the undead is too specific to be mistaken for anything else.

    After hesitating for a moment, Hustin concentrated and exhaled the spell. If there were any priests nearby, especially light temples, vampiric magic would be detected by them on the count of one. The most zealous would sometimes send an armed detachment to capture the "vile spawn of Darkness," and with each passing decade, there were more and more enthusiasts. But since the Lascaris incident, the Taleyans had been nervous of any uprising by outsiders who were not servants of the Lord, and the wizard had not escaped the mania. And his gut told him it was worth the risk.

    At the limit of the distance, someone''s fading presence was felt. An undead, a complete stranger to Hustin, was moving quickly toward the outskirts of the city. It was unreal to mark at such a distance, and besides, the stranger''s aura indicated familiarity with the occult sciences, which meant that he would discard the tracker. Should I try to chase? Not the fact that it would be possible to catch up, and most importantly, the chest is reluctant to leave. A derelict would be taken by the locals in a jiffy. /No, let Zervan or Latham catch the fugitive, they''re the ones who like to wave their swords around.

    His job is to report the news to Celesta. Others will do the rest.

    <hr>

    The leader must be strong. Regardless of the level of development of civilization, the historical period, and other external conditions, it is the personal strength of the leader that largely determines the survival potential of the population. But it is expressed in different ways, turning into its facet for each time and society. Physical strength in a primitive tribe means about as much as intelligence, cunning and diplomacy are quoted in the Kremlin Palace of Congresses. However, there are universal qualities necessary for a leader everywhere and always - cruelty, cynical calculation, readiness to overstep the limits of the currently accepted morality...

    Sometimes Celesta regretted the decision she had made three hundred years ago. Who knows how her circumstances would have turned out if she had refused Cardae''s offer then? Would she now have lived quietly in a secluded corner of the dungeons, practicing magic, searching for a way to return to her half-forgotten homeworld, and only occasionally leaving Taleya? No responsibilities, no constant pressure, no tedious paperwork... But what''s done is done, and most of the time the mighty undead spent dismantling denunciations of numerous spies and trying to understand the intricate intrigues of power groups. She knew, however, that she could not always rely on her servants for everything, and that no one could protect you better than you. So every day she set aside at least a couple of hours for training.

    After all, three hundred years is a negligible period of existence for a race. And the chief of a savage tribe must have the biggest and strongest cudgel.

    "Is something wrong, Zervan?" Celeste asked, putting her weapon on the counter.

    Without a good reason, she would not be disturbed in the fencing room. The subjects knew how much the mistress did not like to be distracted from her training.

    "There''s a man to see you, mistress," poked his finger at his companion.

    Latham reacted to the performance by curving his lips slightly in a sneer. He didn''t think Zervan deserved any more than that. They disliked each other intensely, the former hunter and the former aristocrat, and only an outright ban on fighting between their own prevented them from dealing with each other once and for all. More precisely, enemy to enemy.

    Celesta looked at the stranger with unconcealed interest. Risen, old, unfamiliar. He looked like a typical small-town craftsman, owning a small shop, or working with relatives to fulfill the orders of the rich. Short haircut, shallow features, average height, gaunt build - nothing to catch the eye, an average man of the crowd. But the eyes are intelligent. Instinct unusually sharpened lately, rated the intruder very highly.

    "Who are you and why have you come?"

    "My name is Kalderan, Messena Celesta, Kalderan of Nasan. I lived there until recently."

    He''d come a long way. Nasan was in the southern part of the mainland, at least three months away by good ship. No one traded directly with the city-state, though goods from there were prized among the nobility.

    "You must have a pretty good reason for leaving your home."

    "So it is, Messena Celesta," the risen nodded. "I had no choice. To be more precise, I was left with no choice."

    He hesitated a little, choosing his words, but Mistress stopped him. Experience and feeling told her that the conversation would be long and unpleasant. Kalderan brought bad news. With a sign ordering everyone to follow her, she quickly made her way to the private rooms, where again, without a word, she indicated the guests to their chairs. Only then did the vampiress command: "Tell me."

    "As I told you, Messena, my name is Kalderan. I rose eighty-two years after the Plague, and in time I became the strongest undead of Nasan. At any rate, the other seven recognized my power." He paused, choosing his words, then began to explain at length: "The risen are not as firmly tied to the human rulers in this land as they are in Taleya, but my community has often done the secret orders of the Sultans, and so it has been stable. Until recently..."

    How does he know that we are forced to obey humans? - Celesta noted. - Did Zervan tell him, or did he figure it out himself? We must find out.

    "Everything changed two years ago," the man went on to say. "A strange and incredibly strong risen named Carlon came to the city..."

    "How did you say that?" Celesta interrupted involuntarily. And in three hundred years she had not forgotten the mad, fanatical priest who yearned to cleanse the world of the filth of the human race. "Carlon?"

    "Yes, that''s what he called himself. A dozen other risen came with him. He demanded an oath of allegiance and forced me to obey, and there was nothing I could do - I swear he had the protection of the demons of the underworld themselves! I''ve never met a stronger wizard! Brother Carlon, as he calls himself, performed a ritual - he claims to have summoned Morvan himself - and a plague came to Nasan. We in the city didn''t believe him at first, but when the streets were strewn with the corpses of the dead... I don''t know how he did it. The rulers and their families died, and disease spared neither the poor nor the rich. When we left Nasan, there was barely a quarter of the city alive."

    Celesta sat motionless, her face hardened.

    "I knew a risen by that name, a mad priest of the Lord of Hell," she finally said. "But he died the second death. I saw it myself..."

    She was staggered. She had not seen the corpse of her first patron. She had heard of the massacre at the monastery and assumed that the fanatic had died. Medea claimed that in front of the altar of the Dark One lay the ashes left by one of his kin; they assumed that the priest had fought his last battle there, and they settled down.

    "Describe him."

    "A gaunt man, you might say thin. Long black hair, handsome face, round but thin, black eyes," Kalderan enumerated. "He looks like an aristocrat of the old family. His fingers are also long as if in his lifetime he practiced music..."

    "Enough."

    Survived... - She felt the wood crumble beneath her fingers on the armrests. - He survived, the bastard. Who died in his place, then? Does it matter...? What matters now is why the priest has appeared now, and what he wants.

    "Go on. How did you end up in Taleya?"

    "I don''t know, Messena, for what reason," the man threw a sharp look at his mistress, "but he hates your city and wants to destroy it. He once let it slip that he had made the greatest mistake of all and that he wished to correct it. So we, his flock, though it would be fairer to call us slaves, followed him here to Taleya. In the larger towns, Brother Carlon would sometimes linger, you may have heard of epidemics... The smaller villages were slaughtered to the last man, in the smaller towns we took tribute in blood and killed those who tried to resist. Fifteen older undead were hard to resist."

    "So now there are fourteen left with Carlon?" Latham clarified.

    "I don''t know. Some died along the way, some were welcomed into the community by their brother. Two months ago, in Arvavista, I felt that the sorcery that bound me had weakened, and I fled immediately." Kalderan threw up his hands helplessly. "I have no home now, nowhere to go. And I thought, since Brother Carlon hates Taleya so much, perhaps he could be stopped here. And he''s got to be stopped, you know. I''ve had to do all kinds of things, but he''s a monster. It''s not even that he kills people like flies! It''s just..."

    "He turns others into his imitation," the Mistress finished slowly.

    There was silence in the room. Celesta had not yet recovered from the shock of the frightening news, the rest of the rebels did not dare to break the silence of the leader. Finally, when Zervan was about to ask what to do next, the mistress spoke: "Latham! Bring Medea and Hastin here at once. Don''t say a word about Carlon, I''ll "make them happy" myself. Zervan, you may have to travel. The Southern cities must be cleared of all - I emphasize, absolutely all - the risen, and they must be sent to safety. You will learn the details tonight. Kalderan!"

    Celesta thought for a moment. The usual coldness of thought returned, and with it the suspicion. Could this whole story be one big trap? What if Kalderan was sent to ingratiate himself with her, to wait for the right moment and strike when she wasn''t waiting? Unlikely, though. Carlon likes to show off, or at least he used to. He''ll want to punish Celesta, and Medea, too, personally. But a messenger could gather information about the city and pass it on to his master.

    There were no charms on the fugitive, as far as she could tell. But that didn''t mean anything.

    "Tell me about Carlon and his companions," the undead woman ordered. "Names, abilities, habits. Remember the smallest details. Everything is important to me."

    * * *

 Risen

    * * *

    The history department turned out to be a remarkable place. Previously Siroslav imagined the work of a historian or archivist filled with a quiet, library-peaceful monotonous routine, but after joining a friendly student group and looking around, he changed his mind. It turns out that among the masters, immersed in the dust of the ages, there were great passions.

    In addition to the Department of General History and others, ordinary and boring, there was the Department of the History of Nonhuman Races. It successfully supplied specialists to special units of the police, the army, the diplomatic corps, antiquities dealers, and other organizations that came into contact with the same vampires or the Sandpeople. Logically, a separate department should have been created long ago to study the traditions, rituals, and legends of the nonhumans, but both the church ministers and their eternal adversary, the College of Mages, successfully opposed it. For different reasons, though.

    The joint efforts of the eternal rivals yielded results; the Xenoethnologists did not even speak of their own faculty or, still less, of a separate educational institution. Thus, there were three ways for the young men and women who wanted to know more about the inhabitants of the night: to become a monk in one of the temples specializing in the extermination of undead; to establish contacts with wizards by purchasing a certificate on a topic of interest from them or by taking a specialized course; and, finally, to enroll in the History Department. The other ways were not so safe, because they involved personal contact with the object of interest.

    It''s the right place to find out something about the issue he''s interested in.

    "Professor Rocha! Professor!" Syroslav even ran a little, catching up with the professor.

    "Hello... Gaetzky?" The older, but younger-looking man stretched out a little tentatively.

    "Siroslav Gaetzky, second year," the young man nodded. "You were our teacher last week, filling in for master Rimini."

    "Oh, yes, yes, I remember. Well, what is it? Did you have a question?"

    "Yes."

    Choose your expressions carefully, the student reminded himself. He mustn''t guess at anything.

    "You see, master, I didn''t quite understand one point in the lecture. About the "Child-Sir" connection. You said that the Child always senses its Sir and is able to find him in any crowd, right?"

    "That''s right," Master Rocha nodded. "It''s an extremely difficult bond to break or hide. That''s what some monks of militant orders take advantage of when they hunt old, experienced vampires."

    "What if the Sir doesn''t want to be known?"

    "Well, in special cases, if a Child''s life doesn''t seem valuable, why not?" The historian shrugged philosophically. "A young child without a sir''s nourishment fades in a matter of hours."

    "Always?"

    "Depending on age. The older a vampire is, the easier he experiences separation from his parents and is more independent in his actions and thinking. Say, about ten years after conversion, the dependence on daily touches disappears, after thirty the ��hild begins to share his interests and those of his Sir, he gets selfish motives..."

    "I''m more interested in the initial period," said Syroslav nervously. The information was too unexpected and did not coincide with personal observations. "Let''s say a month or two."

    "In the first three months, the Child is very slow-witted and needs the presence of a Sirat all times," Rocha smiled. "He shouldn''t be left alone. Abandoned Child at this stage, even with constant energy boosts, go instantly insane if they don''t feel the care of the Sir."

    The professor was silent, looked around, then, with a sigh, took off his glasses and carefully began to wipe them with thin suede cloth.

    "Is there anything you want to tell me, young man?"

    "No," answered Siroslav hastily, "No. Thank you for the consultation."

    A big plus of living in new buildings was complete anonymity. The neighbors did not pry into your life, preferring to mind their own business, no one was interested in who you were and what you were doing in that particular place. The only exceptions were the ubiquitous grannies on the benches near the porches, but with them it was enough to say hello regularly and exchanged a few words about the weather, to be reputed as a "decent young man". That was all it took.

    For the past month, Siroslav had been coming home late, not until midnight. The schedule was unpleasant, having to sleep in on Saturday afternoons, but his brother had asked very hard. Gavil had tried to leave altogether, not wanting to put the younger man in danger, and only a promise to abide by the rules he had worked out convinced him to stay home. One of those rules was not to be in the apartment just after sunset.

    "Hi," Siroslav looked at his brother staring at the monitor in surprise. "You''re early today."

    "I was lucky. I ran into an alcoholic asleep near the house."

    Gavil looked away from the text, looked at the younger man with his usual wary, guilty eyes. He''d often had that look lately - not so much directed at his interlocutor, but inward. It sounded paradoxical, but there was no other way to put it. The older man was trying to figure out if he was a danger to others if he could talk to people who smelled like sweet blood, or if it was better to get away from them.

    Whether the demon living in it is calm or will demand food again.

    "I was talking to a professor today," Siroslav went into the kitchen and began to prepare a late dinner, giving out the information he had obtained. He didn''t raise his voice, knowing that he would be heard anyway. "Well, he says that in the first few months a child can''t go anywhere without a sir. And he always knows where the one who transformed him is."

    "I don''t feel any of that."

    "Master said that child go crazy very quickly without a sir. Literally within days." The student returned to the room, put a plate on the table with a couple of sandwiches. "Anyway, we still have to look."

    The older brother''s lips parted in a dry grin, revealing needle fangs.

    "Are you so sure of my adequacy?"

    "When you''re... satiated," Siroslav chose a definition, "you think clearly."

    Gavil only hummed, kicking the big box he spent his days in with his foot.

    This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    Two weeks ago the eldest of the brothers had gone missing, disappeared into the tangled maze of the streets of the big city. It had happened before, at twenty-five, it was normal not to spend the night at home, so Siroslav didn''t start looking until the third day. Already he was beginning to worry when Gavil returned himself. Tattered, in someone else''s blood, with his heart not beating.

    The only explanation was that the boy had been turned into his kind by a vampire. But why, why go to such trouble? According to the Pharean covenant, undead people had the right to take nestlings, as long as they consented. And they tried to abide by that rule. Especially since it coincided with their Code. Sure, there were the "unaligned," who continued to hide their identities the old-fashioned way, and some said there were ten times as many vampires as the official count, but even the traditionalists wouldn''t stun a candidate, hide him in the basement of a house under construction, wait three days and watch from afar to see if he survived on his own or not. This is a strange kind of treatment. It was as if the sir was trying to conceal his identity or was conducting some kind of experiment.

    If Gavil really was the victim of internal vampire intrigue, he''d better stay away from the city master''s servants. No one knows about him now, so don''t let them know about him later.

    The silence was interrupted by the ringing of the doorbell.

    "I''ll get it" Gavil came out into the hallway. "Who''s there?"

    "Professor Ignatius Rocha and Valery Medea of the Guild of Arts. We would like to speak with you, Mr. Gavil."

    Gavil backed away, looking at the door as if it had turned into something horrible. Syroslav jumped to his feet, took a step forward, but immediately stopped. His brother''s appearance startled him. The undead''s eyes poured dark, his skin lost color and turned white, his hands twisted, his fingers seemingly transformed into curved blades.

    "Mr. Gavil. There is no cause for alarm."

    The second voice was mesmerizing. Soothing. Slept. His source wanted to believe and obey as if it promised to solve all problems, to relieve all hardships. Even aware of the witchcraft''s effect, the brothers relaxed involuntarily and stopped frantically searching for ways to escape.

    "We just want to talk," Rocha said again. "There''s no need to be afraid of us."

    "What do you want?" Siroslav was surprised at how deaf and muffled his words sounded.

    "To understand the situation."

    The brothers looked at each other, silently consulting each other. The younger one shrugged his shoulders awkwardly, It''s up to you. There was no point in hiding now. Gavil licked his parched lips and, as if afraid of changing his mind, quickened the locks.

    The undead who entered the apartment after the professor looked impressive. Tall, handsome, with graceful manners, dressed in a conservative suit and carefully chosen hair, he exactly fit the refined image of the "Prince of Night", so beloved by directors and scriptwriters of TV shows. For vampires of the Arts Guild, however, stunning looks were normal. The Arts and Financiers have long been the face of the undead community, so to speak, its front facade, successfully hiding their less attractive brethren with their bright brilliance. Little was known of the Sword, Darkness, Paths, Ghosts, and other lesser Guilds.

    Valery Medea knew how to put people at ease. And, as a consequence, he could listen to their stories.

    "...about that," the young vampire finished telling his story. "I have no idea who turned me. By the way, why are you here in the first place?"

    Valery smiled. He was generally very good with facial expressions, almost indistinguishable from the people sitting next to him.

    "Mr. Siroslav asked questions too unusual for a student, and the esteemed Master Rocha is, shall we say, quite good at navigating the nocturnal world. You shouldn''t have been hiding. Any vampire who spots a Child in distress is sure to help. So you''ve been asking questions all this time for nothing."

    "Yes?" Gavil asked incredulously. "And what do you mean by help?"

    "Well, first you have to go to Taleya. All risen are first presented to the Council, which decides their fate."

    Master Rocha broke away from the vase of candy and placed the teacup on the table with a sigh.

    Valery, young people don''t know who the risen are. They do not write about the phenomenon of "rise" in a university course.

    "Is that so? And how do you explain to students where our kind came from?"

    "We refer them to specialized literature, which they tend not to look at," the professor snorted. "Young people prefer to settle for fairy tales and legends. To be fair, some legends are quite true, but not all, by no means all."

    "Amazing!" The vampire clapped his hands lightly in the image of applause. "Well, I''ll take it upon myself to educate the youth. Gentlemen! Where do you think vampires come from?"

    "Uh, you came after the Plague" Syroslav began "according to the Order of Light and other organizations, you were created by the Dark One to deceive his brother and continue to interfere in the affairs of the real world. The scientific theory holds that vampirism is a mutation of the necrotic type, originally caused by the influence of ..."

    Valery raised his hand in a gesture begging him not to continue.

    "Enough, spare me the new-fangled theories. Better the old-fashioned way. So, our origins," He leaned back as if he were in a deep chair and stared out the window. "Every vampire living in this city can clearly trace their lineage. We all belong to families descended from one or another of the Lords of the Night. A Sir, converting another candidate, rebuilds his energy and psyche according to his own pattern, and the closer the initial moral attitudes of the future Child and his Sir, the higher the probability of successful rebirth. In a sense, all of us are copies of our forebears, because our personality and abilities are a reflection of their personality and abilities."

    "Lady Medea created the School of the Voice and loves art - and as a consequence, we, who carry her blood, easily enchant with singing and love theater, dance, patronize artists and poets... Similarly, the descendants of Saarimat are originally predisposed to study the element of fire, and the Uzani family easily gets involved in dubious ventures."

    "There are two ways to become a Lord of the Night, the founders of new families, tribes, and clans. The first is well known: one has to reset the original settings. That is, through long and difficult exercises, one might say, ascesis, to completely rebuild one''s energy. Few people are capable of it. Only an extraordinary person possessing an iron will is able thoroughly examine his body, consciousness, and magic to create something new on their basis. Something, that is more reflective of its essence. And when a warrior''s Child becomes a philosopher, and the first spell of a water master''s offspring becomes reading other people''s thoughts - that''s when one speaks of the emergence of another Lord."

    "But there is another way, less known. Sometimes the Lords do not become, but are born at once. They rise up."

    "The last occurrence of a rise was recorded about two hundred years ago. I think the dead return to non-life more often, but the psyche of most cannot withstand the journey from the realm of Morvan and a ghoul is born. Such cases, you understand, are not mentioned. If the risen shows no signs of insanity and is quite able to think, then... then we have a feast!"

    "Why so sudden," said the professor quietly. "The boys are shocked enough as it is."

    "I only told the truth."

    "Wait," Gavil said. "So you think I''m the risen?"

    "Absolutely," Valery nodded. "No doubt the Council will conduct a full inspection, but you show all the signs of an independent rebellion. Believe me, you don''t look like a convert, like someone''s child."

    "What will become of me now?"

    The old vampire thought about it.

    "To begin with, you should be reported to the master of the city. He will most likely order you to be transported to him... No, and don''t mind! The risen are too valuable to be left unguarded, especially since the priest-hunters have been active again. You will be transported to Taleya, where, after the ritual of inspection, you will be placed in your rightful place. Naturally, your brother will be able to visit you or move in with you, later."

    "No one will separate you," Rocha added. "Don''t worry."

    Siroslav stood near the ramp of the private plane, thinking how quickly life changes. Yesterday his brother was a frightened renegade with no idea of his future, and now he was flying out to meet his new family in the company of bodyguards and a personal servant. The change is too steep.

    "Maybe I should go with you after all."

    " No," the older refused for the umpteenth time. "I''ll get the hang of it first, figure out what''s what. Then we''ll see."

    They were silent, speculating on what had not been said. Indeed, somehow it will turn out. Valery didn''t seem to be lying, to treat Gavil with respect, one might say, reverence, but... The expression "vampire truth" didn''t come out of nowhere.

    "My lord, it is time to depart."

    "I''ll be right there," Gavil nodded. He turned to his brother. "That''s it, come on. I''ll write as soon as I get a chance."

    Five minutes later, the silvery steel bird took off, carrying away Siroslav''s only relative. The young man sighed. There was nothing he could do about the situation. His brother had flown away, and now there was nothing he could do to help him. He had to manage on his own.

    The young mortal turned around and walked away from the airfield.

    * * *

 Chapter 13

    Chapter 13

    * * *

    Her sister reacted to the news as expected, that is, severely. Three centuries had passed, life had changed and become different, Medea was used to her condition, but Carlon frightened her as before. Even more so - now in her eyes the priest looked not just like an outcast from that, old and cruel time, but the very real returnee from the hell realm. And that was too bad. The hysterical Medea was becoming a serious problem in itself, infecting those around her with panic.

    "You look disgusting," Celesta remarked, assessing the state of her confidante. "Why did you disperse the servants?"

    For the past six years, Medea had lived in her mansion, a gift from her former lover. Today the house was empty. The mortals, frightened by their mistress'' inadequate behavior, had scattered.

    My slip-up, Celesta admitted to herself. But when I told her about Carlon, she didn''t shake like that.

    She walked through the bedroom, ignoring the naked body of the young man on the bed with his throat torn open, and sat down next to her friend. She leaned against the wall, wrapping her arms around her knees as she did, and mentally cringed-it was unpleasant to see Medea like that. Scared, crushed, stiff with shock, her hair tangled and her nightgown drenched in blood. Fear paralyzed the vampiress, forcing her involuntarily to her dark form and filling her eye sockets with scarlet, extending her fangs and adorning her fingers with powerful claws.

    "You chose the wrong time to be hysterical."

    Medea finally looked at her, turning her head and resting her cheek against her knee.

    "Do you think he didn''t die then?"

    "We didn''t see his corpse, but the ashes could have been left by someone else," Celesta realized instantly. "Artak, Paltin, Tick... There were plenty of vampires in the monastery."

    "And what if not?" The singer whispered feverishly and frantically. "What if he isn''t? If he really is the chosen of Lord of Wickedness? The Older brother had served him faithfully, he knew secrets unknown to us, he said he could hear the voice of the Master! He disappeared for three hundred years - and suddenly he came back out of nowhere!"

    "Yes, I wonder where he''s been all this time," agreed the mistress of the city. "And why he decided to come back."

    Celesta pulled her friend closer, wrapped her arms around her shoulders, and stroked her tense back. Medea broke down, and she broke down at the wrong time. Despite the demonstrated public impulsiveness and emotionality, which is considered an inherent sign of a creative person, she rarely made very rash actions, even in the most brilliant moments, maintaining inner equanimity. She simply felt powerful support behind her back and therefore did not always correctly assess the risk. But Carlon... Perhaps the old priest was the only creature she truly feared. He had too much effect on her destiny.

    "I''m scared," Medea admitted quietly. "He''s going to kill us."

    "Let him try," the little vampire stretched her lips in a dry smile, feeling her fangs come out into the light. "I made the mistake of not making sure my enemy was dead. I should have searched the monastery more thoroughly. My fault, I admit. I won''t do such a foolish thing again."

    A long silence.

    "Do you think it will work?"

    "At least I''ll try very hard," Celesta assured her friend. "Stop whining. If you want things to go our way, you have to act, not cry against the wall. Why did you kill a mortal?"

    "Accidentally. He was worthless anyway," the beauty was relieved to switch to another subject. The hysteria had passed, and her appearance was returning to the familiar, human image. "I came home, sat down in an armchair, wanting to think quietly about the news. Then Donnis came in and started yelling that I didn''t love him. I snapped and started yelling, too. So..."

    Celesta just shook her head.

    "Hustin claims to have sensed a stranger in the city, and it was not Kalderan. It is more likely that stalkers were sent after the defector."

    "It doesn''t get any easier."

    "Calmed down?"

    "Yes. I think so," Medea smiled awkwardly. "Thank you for coming. I don''t know how long I would have sat like this."

    "Good." The mistress of the city stroked her friend one last time on the sticky hair and stood up. "Tonight rest and fix yourself up, and tomorrow go scare Tulak. He must realize that an ancient mad vampire, a priest of Morvan, is coming to the Capital and wants to create a plague epidemic here. Press the threat to the ruling house and the chancellor personally. We are doing our best to catch his scouts, but we need help. Do not speak of Kalderan. In a word, make our amiable baron shake - he mustn''t get under my feet."

    "And you?"

    "And I really want to catch this or those vampires who came to my town without asking," Celesta replied dryly. "I have some questions for them. And besides, we need to prepare for Carlon''s imminent arrival. Hide the youth, make arrangements with the allies... Distract the palace scum - I can''t be bothered with them right now."

    "I''ll try," Medea finally smiled.

    <hr>

    Events so far were proving the old adage that trouble never comes alone. The vampires, or more accurately, the top of Taleya''s undead, were preparing to pull off the most complicated and dangerous intrigue of their existence when news of the appearance of a peculiar "tribute from the past" arrived. The leader of the risen doubted whether they would be able to solve each problem separately...

    There is no choice, we will have to take a risk. First to deal with Carlon and his henchmen, at the same time hiding behind the hunt for a priest from the scrutiny of the Secret Service, then throw all the resources to free themselves from slavery. And the word "all" means absolutely all resources accumulated over the centuries: knowledge, allowing to blackmail officials documents, money, connections in the commercial and military environment, acquaintances in the circles of priests and magicians - any advantage must be used. Even if their forecast of events is correct, it is not certain that it will be possible to get out of the forthcoming bloody squabble without losses.

    We need allies, even if temporary and unreliable.

    It may seem from the outside that it is difficult to find a person in a big city. In a large crowd, it is supposedly easy to hide, to pretend to be an ordinary gray philistine, busy exclusively with his affairs and carefully not to get involved in other people''s. In fact, it is not so - inconspicuous without a long preparation is difficult to become. Any newcomer becomes the object of intense interest of old ladies, neighborhood watchmen, neighbors, kids, a romantic girl from next door... And if he stands out from the crowd in any way, soon enough rumors about him will reach the guards.

    It''s even harder for vampires. In theory, they can get lost among humans, but in practice, they need long, painstaking work to create a suitable legend. This is possible only in a quiet environment, in their territory. Otherwise, the rebel would have to seek shelter for a day, feeding on a certain contingent of mortals, carefully hiding the corpses, and trying not to come into contact with the spheres of influential people. If they notice, they will be hunted down; a loner cannot fight the system (unless he understands the mechanism of the system in detail).

    The web of search weaved quickly and inexorably. Street thieves, beggars, owners of posh taverns and eateries, bribed guards, merchant guards, bandits, prostitutes, market keepers... Everyone knew of the two risen who dared to go against the Night Mistress. The flow of information was increasing, and the four of Latham periodically took off and went to check on the reports they had received from informants. So far without success, but Celesta was not worried - if the enemy was still here, it was only a matter of time before they were caught.

    The main trump cards have not yet come into play. Hustin had already arranged with the leadership of the Academy, and in a few hours, the mages will perform a ritual, casting a network of tracking spells over the city. Whether or not the outsiders can hide from the sorcerer''s gaze is not so important - in any case, they will give themselves away. And there are still stirring temples, by this time surely aware of the actions of the undead and wishing to join in the game. Under the guise of catching the "wild" undead, you can pull a lot of combinations, and just a reputation among the lower classes to improve.

    Using card terminology, Celesta habitually analyzed her condition. So I''m worried.

    The official authorities also promised help, not wanting a repeat of the Lascaris incident. At least in words. In reality, there was a lot of confusion among the various parties, and the help from the city guards was late. Looks like someone would have liked a little street rioting. A predictable course of events.

    There may be more than two scouts, the vampires pondered. Hustin sensed one, and Kalderan claims that Carlon truly trusts few and tries not to let his "flock" leave him. Still, I''d send a larger unit ahead, at least three of the older ones, with mortal support. Though it''s unlikely this lunatic would use humans, except for one-off actions.

    On the whole, the search did not bother her and served as a distraction. A decision had to be made, a difficult one, one that might jeopardize everything she had achieved over the past centuries. The emergence of Carlon forced her to take a step more dangerous than trying to throw off the yoke of the secret service. The force she was about to turn to for help was far more unpredictable and old.

    The vampiress leaned back in her chair, watching the man before her from beneath half-closed eyelids. No matter how you deny it, being does define consciousness. The activities that require meticulousness and precision inevitably affect the performers - just as artists need constant emotional turmoil. Being surrounded by general hostility for so long and always being ready to stab in your back also takes its toll. In the after-life of any risen, there are enough complications to make the habit of not trusting anyone second nature, and Celeste was no exception.

    The circle of people she really trusted was not wide, and strangely enough, it was more than half were human. A special place in it was occupied by Shorgot, who was now writhing before the night mistress of the city, awaiting orders. The man was not accustomed to urgent calls and now wondered what the mighty patroness would require of him.

    In the minds of the vast majority of people, the word "magician" was firmly associated with a noble origin. Among commoners, bearers of the gift were extremely rare. Despite the abundant bloodletting received by noble families during and immediately after the Plague, aristocratic women still bore children capable of performing miracles for their own needs. Not as often as before, and mages'' abilities were now severely limited by their reserves, but wizards continued to play a significant role in Taleya''s life. However, life does not want to submit to the frameworks established by society, and so there are mishaps. For example, some baron will have fun with a pretty maid, and she will have a child who can read the mother''s aura from the cradle. Or, say, a noble lady has an affair with a brilliant officer of the Guards and gives the unwanted child to the faithful nurse. And so the child will grow up not knowing about his origins and sincerely believing his stepmother to be his mother.

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

    The blood made itself felt, and wizards still appeared among the lower classes. As a tendency, their fate was not the most enviable. Commoners harassed the gift holders, there was no one and nowhere to learn them, but most importantly, the aristocrats were afraid to lose their monopoly on sacred knowledge. Therefore, the found practitioners were either killed on the spot or transferred to the Academy, where noble magicians had long cherished the idea of developing a ritual to take someone else''s power. Until now, no one had survived the experiments.

    Shorgot was lucky twice. His gift manifested itself at a mature age, and the boy was smart enough not to tell anyone about the noticed feature. The second time luck smiled on him was when a small merchant, fighting off bandits, caught Latham''s eye. The undead warrior quickly chopped up all witnesses to the incident and delivered the lad himself, who was trying to frighten his attackers with simple tricks, to the dark eyes of his mistress. Celesta, naturally, was interested in the rare mortal - she had long wanted to start something like a pocket sect of mages, but the opportunity never came. She offered Shorgoth training and seed money to get things rolling in exchange for faithful service and complete secrecy. The man, after a brief deliberation, agreed - and in time became one of Mistress Thaleya''s confidants. Despite Hustin''s efforts, he did not become a particularly skillful magician, but he always used his abilities effectively and to the point.

    "There''s an assignment for you." Celeste considered one last time whether she was doing the right thing, and cast aside her doubts. Hard times call for hard decisions. "You go to Leatherman Street, find Master Garresh there. Do not hide yourself, but try not to draw too much attention. You will tell Garresh... Tell him that the risen Celesta asks for advice and is ready to come for him at any time convenient for the master. That''s right, word for word."

    In addition to his other virtues, Celeste valued Shorgot for his ability not to ask unnecessary questions. Despite the intense amazement in his eyes - the Dark Mistress herself would humiliate herself before a mere commoner. - he confined himself to asking: "Will he does not call the guards, Mistress?"

    "I don''t know," Celesta admitted. "So be careful. I have no idea what to expect from him. Go ahead."

    The man bowed and left, leaving the mistress alone to ponder whether she had just made a serious mistake.

    <hr>

    The door opened, and a lightly armored figure appeared in the opening.

    "New message, Messen. It seems that this time it is not worthless."

    Latham curled his lips in a dry chuckle.

    "How many of these "not worthless" have we checked in the last 24 hours? Six? Or seven? Yes, seven, if you count that visit to the city jail."

    "I hear our popularity in the city has grown tremendously since that incident," the deputy shrugged without a trace of remorse. "Nobody likes jailers. But it seems true now - they found a bloodless body with its throat ripped open in that area, and I don''t think it was one of ours."

    The knight froze for a moment, like a snake before the bite, then rose gently to his feet: "Is the squad ready?"

    "Of course, Messen."

    The search for the intruders fell almost entirely on his shoulders, and Latham was well aware of why. The Mistress was in charge of general management and had no time to deal with private matters, Medea, Gardoman, and Hustin were strong in their directions and weak in the others, Zervan... At the thought of the bandit, the knight felt a half-remembered desire to spit. The filthy lowlife was also looking for outsiders with the help of his "subordinates" from among the inhabitants of the city bottom, but he has fewer opportunities. In any case, Messena forbade Zervan to try to take the enemies himself. The elder himself is not a bad fighter - experience and strength replace his lack of brains - but the rabble he leads is nothing but grease for blades.

    Latham''s squad is made up of undead of a very different category. They were the ones who belonged to the warrior class during their lifetime and died in battle, that is, with a special kind of character, training, and worldview. Hee had to collect them literally one by one. The initiative to create a kind of analog of the Guard belonged to the Mistress, who wished to have at her command a team of versatile fighters who can kill demons, and suddenly quell the riot, to quickly deal with the interfering mage, and if necessary, and the monastery cut. Not feeling unnecessary emotions, not freely interpreting the order, but also not doubting its necessity. There were now four of them; he, the commander, the only one who retained his clan magic, was the fifth. The others had to rely on their mastery of weapons and the few abilities developed under Maestro Hustin''s tutelage.

    At the leader''s arrival, the r������ scurried about. While the group awaited new orders in the back rooms of the vampire-owned tavern, they passed the time playing dice, wondering quietly about their mistress'' plans. Latham strode toward the exit, making a slight gesture with his hand and noting with pleasure how the others followed him without a word. His right to command had long since been unquestioned. Though birth-at-night cleared away old debts, still the blood is blood. He had no right to a title now, but he continued to be called "lord," the ancestral spirits had not deprived him of their grace, and Messena Celesta had drawn him closer to her and trusted him in serious matters.

    "Here, High One." The fidgety mortal guide stopped, pointing to the narrow passage between the houses. "We didn''t touch the bodies."

    Latham nodded, tossed the man a small coin, and made his way down the alley. The corpse looked fresh, and it seemed that the commoners who had found it had indeed confined themselves to searching their pockets without leaving much of a trail. The knight crouched down, held the dead man''s hands to his nose, and breathed deeply. Yes, there was a faintly sour smell wafting through the stench of sweaty, filthy flesh, torn bowels, and coagulated blood. A vampire had really committed the murder- mortals hadn''t yet learned to fake the scent of the undead. Though they''d tried, yes.

    "Redgie."

    Everyone in the squad knew how to search for traces of dark creatures, but Redgie was the best at it. Now, the sensor knelt on one knee, felt the ground with his fingers, found something invisible, sat there for a while, carefully memorizing the imprint of another''s essence, picked up the thread, as he called it, - and moved confidently forward, leading the squad behind him. Judging by the silence, the energy of the trail was unfamiliar, which meant that the murder was not the work of one of his kind. So much the better. Killing people for food was considered a bad sign and indicated the possibility of regression, so normal risen tried to get rid of potential ghouls.

    I didn''t have far to go. After four crossroads, the trail diverged into the yard of a half-burned-down house that looked like it had been torn down twenty years ago and abandoned since. It''s a nice hideaway, as long as mortals don''t show up here.

    "Vantal."

    A short risen with two short blades on his belt gave a low, nasty squeal. Despite his comrade''s strange behavior, the rest of the undead stayed still, as if it were the right thing to do. Soon their patience was rewarded - out of the roadside ditch cautiously peeked a gray face. The big gray rat sniffed the air suspiciously, peering warily at the figures frozen in the shadows. Vantal squatted on his haunches, continued his affectionate squeak, and took a piece of jerky from his pouch, offering his tailed guest a treat. The rat hesitated a little but came over. Apparently, this was to her liking, for after a brief inspection she swiftly grabbed it, chewing on it in a matter of moments while crouched on her hind legs. Vantal immediately took out a second piece, this time more graciously.

    The rat ate the third bite, sitting on the risen''s palm. It calmed down completely and without fear allowed the two-legged creature to bring itself close to its face, trusting the strange fellow who had treated it to such delicious food. Her beady eyes gazed directly into the risen''s eyes, her tail sagged, her little brain showed images without resistance, answering the silent questions her older brother asked.

    "They''re up there," Vantal reported. "Two of them, lying down in the attic. They went down into the dungeon once, but they didn''t like it, so they never went down again."

    Latham nodded, indicating that he had heard. He could expect no more from the rat, for his small mind was incapable of operating in complex categories. She''d already helped a lot by informing them of the entrance to the city catacombs. Whether the intruders liked it or not but it was necessary to block the possible escape route.

    If only we knew how old they are and what abilities they have!

    The vampires had a general idea of the inner structure of the building, they were not afraid to disturb the neighbors, and there was not much time left before dawn. Latham considered his options and decided that in such a situation, the Dark One himself told him to start the seizure. Why be afraid? His five men could handle far greater dangers than a couple of undead, even if they had some training. And the mistress is very much in need of prisoners: a renegade she does not trust...

    Inaudibly, like ghosts, the undead entered the courtyard. Without fuss, but not in a hurry; smoothly, but not lingering anywhere; not making unnecessary movements, and at the same time in complete control of the visible space, they entered the house one by one. They walked carefully, treading on sturdy beams or stone ledges against the walls, making sure that not a single board creaked. A man with any acute hearing would not have heard them. Unfortunately, they were now confronted by creatures at least slightly inferior, if not equal. As soon as the five men had reached the second floor, they seemed to be sensed.

    When not even a sound came from above - not even a short rustle, a shadow of movement - the squad froze. At once, as if it had received a command from a common unified consciousness. The wolves of war, who instantly grasped the change in the situation, froze in complete stillness, merging with the walls and waiting for the commander''s order. To storm? Or wait until dawn to let the strangers weaken or, with any luck, fall into a daytime stupor? Elixirs taken before the operation would prolong their wakefulness, though not for long. Latham did not hesitate long. He did not trust the alchemists'' designs, especially since the potions cost insane amounts of money and it would be better to save them. In the strength of his fighters, the knight was confident.

    Two guardsmen, obeying gestures, returned to the courtyard and began to climb the walls cautiously. They would be the first to act. They would knock, make noise, pretend they were going to break in through the boarded-up windows. They would divert attention, allowing the main group to win a few precious moments. Only then, when they hear the sound of fighting, will they really try to get inside or, if necessary, try to stop the game that found a way to escape. The remaining three, showing no sign of impatience, waited.

    Slow heartbeat. Breath oozing in a thin trickle. Relaxed muscles, ready to burst into a whirlwind of rapid movement. Slightly bowed heads, listening attentively to the slightest rustle, waiting for the signal to start the assault. Soon, soon... Come on!

    Latham could not explain why he had chosen that particular moment. Just someone immeasurably ancient and savage, unable to reason but able to act, pushed from within, "Go!" And the risen man flew up the stairs, only the tips of his toes touching the rattling steps in time, feeling Vantal tearing after him just as easily and swiftly from behind. The hinges of the trapdoor, which covered the attic door, were snapped off by the seemingly weightless clap of an open palm, flung aside, and before he could hit the floor, Latham burst inside.

    Actually, the targets had been allocated in advance, but the plans, as usual, did not stand the test of reality. The two strangers, though distracted by the incomprehensible rustling outside the windows, met the guardsmen in full armor. The first, a tall man in a brown cloak of coarse cloth, at once tried to slash at Latham with a broad, short blade across the neck, hoping if he succeeded in doing so to sever the spine and put his foe to a final rest. His partner, who had a luxurious, deep scar across his face, did otherwise. He picked up a piece of the girder that was lying on the floor and tossed it toward the hatch in a cartwheel, trying to block the path of the other attackers. Part of his attempt succeeded - though Vantal managed to get to the loft, Redgie, who was following, had to stop, letting the heavy log above him and lose his pace, and then move the obstruction aside.

    A half-successful attempt to block the entrance was the stranger''s final success. Latham swung back sharply and let the cleaver pass over his head, simultaneously swinging his short blade at belly level. He missed, too, but with his attack, he forced his opponent to retreat. The enemy took a step backward, preparing to strike again. Latham, who had regained his balance, did not give him the chance, snapping him sharply as if with a whip and jabbing at his near-open wrist. The cloaked wrist fell to the dirt floor, and the cloak opened its mouth in a soundless cry, but the enemy did not have time to make a sound before the knight drove his fist into his face, crushing his jaw and teeth.

    Things were not going so well for Vantal, not because his opponent was too strong, but because of his tactics. In simple terms, the second stranger tried to escape. He took off running from his attacker, and would probably have hit the timbers that covered the window way with his own body if a knife hadn''t been aimed at his back. The silvered blade didn''t do much damage, but it tripped him and threw him off his path. Vantal took advantage of the scarface''s momentary hesitation to half-jump and half-drag his foot off the floor, then leaped up like a compressed spring and struck his hand to the temple. His skull cracked, and the unconscious stranger collapsed backward, wheezing.

    The planks covering the windows snapped off the walls and flew down, and the group members who had stayed behind climbed into the holes, but there was no particular need for their help. The wounded prisoners were already being tied up with specially prepared ropes. At the same time, as a precaution, they each had magic-blocking amulets attached and a bottle of debilitating tincture poured down their throats. They did not interrogate them, though intellectually they should have done so. Latham admitted, self-critically, that they had overdone their task, so their prisoners would not be able to speak today, and that they had little time before sunrise. The capture itself took about thirty seconds, but it took at least an hour to prepare.

    * * *

 Chapter 14

    Chapter 14

    * * *

    Taught by bitter life and post-life experience, the undead never had a clear center of power (unless you count the entire city of many thousands of people as such a center). Each elder arranged a shelter to his liking, his subordinates and the mortals associated with him were involuntarily drawn to him, and various storerooms, archives, and the like were set up nearby. In these underground complexes, not badly fortified, lived and conducted business, trained youngsters and made large deals, met with allies. And here, on the lowest levels, captured enemies were held in improvised prisons.

    Over time Celesta spontaneously formed three offices, combined with meeting rooms and living quarters. Taleya was a big city, and her interests required her to be present in various neighborhoods.

    "Messena..." Good news should always be delivered first, and Latham dared to intervene in the conversation between his mistress and Gardoman. "The strangers have been captured. By tomorrow night, they''ll be cured and ready for questioning."

    "Amazing," Celesta nodded. "It''s about time. Have a seat; it might be good for you to hear, too."

    The former headman, now a banker and merchant, said interesting things. He received an enormous amount of information from the counterparties and could keep track of important topics for the community of the undead. And it must be said that Gardoman - the head of financial intelligence was no less useful than Gardoman - the head of the trading house. Therefore, his reports were highly valued.

    "In short, the Dark Blades are on their way to the city. Five large detachments have been invited to visit Taleya, and some have been paid in advance."

    "Who is the client?" Latham immediately asked.

    "The nobles associated with the Chancellor."

    "Rakawa decided to give us secret support?"

    "I''m not sure," Celesta muttered. "Listen to this."

    "In addition, the supply of real estate has jumped," the merchant continued. "Many homeowners are trying to get rid of their property. Prices for land and buildings are falling, but buyers are in no hurry to part with their money - they are waiting for more. Next. The temples of minor deities withdraw large sums from their accounts, take out loans, or unseal their treasuries, and it''s still unclear where the money goes. They spend some of the money to reinforce the guards, but the main sums cannot be traced. The gold is not leaving the city and the rhetoric of the influential courtiers has not changed... But there are illogical and unclearly caused disruptions to the food supply. My men are now trying to find out what it is."

    The Mistress was not pleased with the news.

    "We need to know what''s going on." She sounded annoyed. "I get the impression that the chancellor intends to pull some kind of intrigue of his own on the upcoming ruckus. It would be very unpleasant if it were directed against us."

    "Hunters could have been hired against outsiders," Gardoman clarified, rather than objected. "You asked for help, didn''t you?"

    "Of course, but they might as well have been hired to hunt us," Celesta chuckled wryly. "Latham, you know some of the commanders. Try talking to them, carefully."

    "Yes, Messena."

    It couldn''t be said that the various types of darkness fighters were much of a nuisance to the undead in the kingdom. Vampires were rarely hunted, only when the undead lost caution and began to kill the common folk outright. Or when the victim of a bite was someone powerful and from the highest levels of society. Because of Celesta''s rigid stance, which included "do not kill for food," she insisted on upholding the laws she had established, incidents did not happen often. On occasion, the young risen went mad. Occasionally, some of the city''s community leaders decided to play the game of autonomy and defiantly ignored the orders of the Mistress of Taleya.

    Punishment was always immediate, though it took different forms.

    If for some reason, Celesta was unable or unwilling to punish the renegade in person, either the "dark blades" or the "holy warriors" of the many cults would step in. Though small and well-trained, they tended to roam the countryside or small towns, slaughtering the creatures that had proliferated during the Dark Age. In large cities of more than five thousand people, the "holy warriors" were rare. Firstly, there was little work due to the strong guards, and secondly, there was a rather nervous reaction from the "spiders". The influence of large monasteries or sects increased from decade to decade, and the Security Service prudently considered it necessary to keep the fervor of religious leaders at bay. Let the monks pray - the secular authorities were not about to give up control of military power.

    Thus, most vampires died at the hands of mercenaries. There was a layer of people, experienced, often proficient in some basic magic, well-equipped, who made demon-hunting their main source of income. They charged a lot for their services, but they hunted in all kinds of ways, and they had no hardened moral code. On the bright side, though because Celeste also occasionally made use of their services. When she needed to support her fighters or didn''t want to show undead participation in certain events. But she watched the Templars closely and did not lose vigilance. Right now the priests were squabbling among themselves over congregation and proximity to the court - in time the situation could change dramatically, and the undead would be in the center of hostile attention. An organization is always more dangerous than ill-connected loners, even if they are professionals in their chosen craft.

    ---

    The Craftsmen''s Quarter, as in the old days, was considered a relatively safe place. Relatively - because a lonely girl could be robbed, raped and killed even in front of the royal palace. We are talking about ordinary townswomen, of course, the daughters of noble families were not allowed out of the house without guards. Violence against members of the lower classes was not considered noteworthy. It was commonplace for a group of five or six drunken nobles to have fun with a woman seized in the street without any legal consequences. Such a thing was not considered a crime. Besides, Taleya was awash with various gangs and gangs of robbers, and the guards could not cope with semi- and organized crime. And, frankly, they didn''t want to.

    In short, if Celesta hadn''t had long practice at diverting the gaze and hiding in the smallest hiding places, she would have had her adventures.

    He said the doors were open at all times. - The risen stopped outside an unremarkable shop and looked around carefully. - Let''s hope he''s not setting any traps.

    Medea cried out when she found out who her friend was about to meet. The past three hundred years had had no effect on her desire to stay away from the priest of the Father of Light - rather, on the contrary, the feeling had become more enduring and sharper. The only way to convince her of her reasonableness was to remind her of Carlon''s imminent appearance. The former chieftain the beauty feared more than anyone else. So now she, at the head of a squad of a dozen Morvanite fanatics, waited in a one-night rental house nearby and prepared to intervene at the first sign of danger. If Celesta wasn''t out of the house in an hour, the assault would begin. The men were brought in because of the patron powers of the man - the man? - to whom the mistress was now on her way, had a very negative effect on the undead. They were much more tolerant of mortals, on the other hand.

    The door swung open invitingly, and a deceptively frail figure slipped into the shop. The rebel habitually dodged the bundle of trumpets that hung at the entrance, designed to protect the owner from evil spirits - a silly superstition, revered by the people - took a step, another, stopped, and deeply bowed to the old man who was sitting near the small table. As knowingly standing higher in the hierarchy, albeit someone else''s. The rule was for the petitioner to bow down, but Celesta was in her territory and was not about to give up her position.

    "I am honored to receive the legendary Night Mistress in my humble abode," the host also bowed without rising. "Please be seated. I have prepared a fine tea of oga root, please try it."

    Thank you," nodded the risen.

    She didn''t feel the taste, but it is not worth refusing.

    In solemn silence, they drank the first cup, watching each other surreptitiously. What the priest saw in it, Celesta did not know. She was struck by the sharp contrast between Garresh''s gray, unremarkable appearance and the impression of power that came from him. And she hadn''t noticed any visible manifestation of it - an aura ordinary, belonging to a common man, small height, small fists, friendly face... And a soft, enveloping warmth that made the hairs on the back of her neck move.

    "I hope my presence does not make you uncomfortable?" The priest suddenly inquired. "The power I serve is not always friendly to your kind."

    "I''m fine, thank you," she put the cup on the table. "I was expecting a colder reception."

    "Why should I? You haven''t done me any harm, and people speak well of you."

    "Are we talking about the people of this city?" After a short silence, Celesta clarified.

    "Oh, there are more than enough gruesome rumors," Garresh smiled. "But it''s easy to separate truth from fiction if you''re willing. Especially since I''m familiar with the situation in other countries and can make comparisons."

    "You''re pretty well informed."

    "It depends on the area."

    The undead decided to hold off on asking, though the short dialogue gave her a lot to think about. The priest seemed to have a friendly disposition, which should be taken advantage of.

    "I should probably apologize," she bowed briefly. "I once barged into your house instead of just coming and talking. I still don''t understand why the servant of the Light would react so calmly to risen from the dead."

    "Well, our acquaintance in absentia was too long ago to remember it now-" Three hundred years ago, Celesta thought. "And you''ve been hurt worse by it. So let''s forget the past and talk as if we were meeting for the first time now. Though I have to admit, I''m curious, how did you find me? I tried very hard not to draw attention to myself."

    "Accident," the risen admitted. "Accident and luck. I thought you died during the Troubles of Molvlar, I even saw the corpse. I didn''t realize you''d changed bodies."

    "I was covering my tracks," the priest smiled. "I sensed an interest from the spiders in my person, and decided to hide more thoroughly."

    "Did Cardhe know of your existence?"

    "He guessed," Garresh said briefly. "At the time, they were looking for any manifestation of magic that worked."

    Celesta nodded understandingly. She, Medea, and Hastin had survived in large part because of that interest - albeit not exclusively.

    "But I remembered the feeling of the protection on your house well," she continued. "So when I felt the traces of light power on some people again, I remembered very quickly where I''d encountered something similar. True, you remained completely elusive-no logic in the actions of the unknown servant of Illyar was visible, and my observers did not notice suspicious faces. Besides, I didn''t want to take the risk of being frank with the agents."

    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    The man pressed his hand to his heart, expressing his gratitude. Celest�� had spoken the truth - Garresh, or rather, his true occupation was known to a very limited circle of her closest aides. The leader of the undead had no intention of giving the rulers of mortals an unfair advantage and informing them that an experienced ancient mage lived here, right under their noses. A representative of an order that had existed and accumulated knowledge for thousands of years. And, it seems, continued to be successfully engaged in its obscure affairs, despite the world catastrophe.

    Well, eight years ago I met you, Mr. Garr��che. It was a relatively quiet year, and I finally decided to solve a nagging mystery. I walked around the city, mapped every instance of Illyar''s power, and began to check one version after another. First I looked for a merchant who occasionally left the city, then for a peasant from the suburbs, then... Long story short, I bumped into you in the street and hid in the nearest hole out of sheer surprise.

    The corners of the priest''s lips twitched slightly upward. Just a little, but Celesta knew he had. He remembered.

    "At first I didn''t connect Master Garresh, who lived in the cottage on Leatherman Street, with the servant of the Lord of Light Garresh, who died shortly after the Plague. There was no reason to think of them as one person. But then...." the eternally young undead remained silent. "I don''t know. The thought just popped into my head and refused to go away. I couldn''t explain it."

    "Honestly, it''s my fault," the man admitted. "I should have changed my outward thought pattern a long time ago. You''re a strong empath, aren''t you?"

    "It''s hard to say. According to my feeling, the one of the best in the kingdom."

    "So I guessed right." Garresh sighed, changing his pose to a more comfortable one. "The emergence of the undead was something of a welcome surprise. The soothsayers thought it highly probable, but they could never have imagined that the uprising would not be the result of elaborate rituals, but of natural causes. You are as much a mystery to us as we are to you."

    Celesta squinted. On her way here, she had prepared herself for all sorts of scenarios - ambush, coldness, a long bargain. But the farther she went, the more she felt like she was banging on an open door.

    "Do you propose to quench each other''s curiosity?"

    "Will it work?" The priest stretched out with regret. "Our order is very secretive, we have survived for thousands of years only through secrecy. And many of my answers you simply wouldn''t understand. It takes a wide range of knowledge in very specific areas to understand the goals and reasons for the actions of the priests of Light or Dark."

    "But we must try," she assured him. "It is literally a matter of life and death for me to know the capabilities of Morvan''s servants. I''ve been out of breath for a long time, but I don''t want to leave this world."

    Garresh looked surprised: "Well, there''s nothing wrong with death. And why would you be so adamant about it?"

    Celesta spoke at length. About how she had met Carlon, about the madness that had possessed the undead monk, about fleeing from a patron who had become too dangerous. Of how for centuries she had thought him dead, and of the tidings brought by the stranger. She had to pause to go outside and reassure a worried Medea, then she returned and finished the story. Garresh made no comment on the pause; he did not make a sound or move at all as he listened. There was silence. At last, the risen could not stand it and asked:

    "Help us. After all, our enemy serves Morvan..."

    "I serve Morvan to some extent, too," the priest hummed, sipping his tea thoughtfully. "The Temples of Light and Darkness are not at war with one another, no matter how much anyone might claim otherwise. Rather, we operate under a unified charter..."

    He was distracted again, and the room fell into silence. It wasn''t long before Garresh broke the silence: "You bring sad news."

    "I am so sorry."

    "So do I," the man sighed. "Despite the strictest selection system, sometimes novices don''t stand the test and break down - psychologically or spiritually. It''s rare, but you can''t avoid it altogether. It''s unfortunate, because there have always been few of us, and since the Plague, even fewer... Are you saying the epidemics in the South are his doing?"

    "This is what the defector claims."

    "His words might well be true." The priest thought for a moment, then clapped his hands together decisively. "I must report our conversation to the elders of my tradition before I can give a final answer."

    "I understand."

    "Would you mind coming back tomorrow at the same time?"

    "I will."

    Celesta didn''t expect Garresh to immediately agree to help her, and she prepared herself for a long wait. One twenty-four hours was a hell of a lot faster.

    After saying goodbye to her unexpectedly hospitable host, the vampiress left the house. As she stepped outside, she was relieved that the pressure on her shoulders was gone, and she allowed herself a slight smile. Whether Garresh was friendly or not, he remained a strong servant of the Light. Being in his company, or simply in a dwelling attuned to his energy, had a depressing effect on the undead.

    Medea couldn''t stand it - she jumped out into the street as soon as she saw her sister approaching. The tense guards followed her. These cultists, unlike the usual brainwashed "meat," had the special attention of the mistress. There weren''t many of them, but each had the privilege of a personal conversation with the Night Mistress of Taleya, regularly received serious ideological pumping, and would not hesitate to give his life at the first order. They saw and knew more than others, considered themselves - and were - the chosen among Morvan''s worshippers, possessed some occult knowledge, knew about poisons and politics. They were almost all skilled in the use of weapons, though they seldom engaged in open combat. They were valued not for their fighting prowess but for their loyalty.

    "I told you there was nothing to worry about." Celesta smiled slightly, amused by her friend''s eagerness.

    "You never know what''s on his mind!"

    "As you can see, all is well." Mistress looked approvingly at the men who continued to watch the deserted streets. Their admiration for their proximity to the two supreme beings did not prevent them from performing their duties. "Thank you all for your service. I cannot, I have no right to say why you were summoned today, but believe me-the knowledge of the near help has greatly sustained me in the past meeting."

    A kind word is good for the cat, and even more so for people. Celesta would never have achieved her position if she had forgotten that little maxim. She''d learned how to manipulate mortals for a long time, consciously and from the best, so now she said some things automatically, though with steady success.

    Only when she''d sent the Morvanites away did she finally tell Medea the details of the negotiations. The beauty listened eagerly, her eyes gleaming feverishly and not even gesturing, forgetting her usual play of the touchy-feely woman.

    "I don''t believe it!" After asking me everything to the end and making me repeat some points three times, my friend finally spoke up. "It doesn''t work like that. It''s too good!"

    "I got the impression..." Now that the first euphoria was gone, Celesta partially regained her ability to reason about events in a detached way, and she was formulating her thoughts aloud: "...That Garresh sincerely does not see us as enemies. But he doesn''t see us as allies either. As if there were no points of contact, interests lying on different planes."

    "He could have deceived you!"

    "Well, with his experience, it''s not hard," admitted the eternally young girl. "But why? As much as it disgusts me to admit it, Garresh is the master of the situation."

    The beauty growled irritably, bared her fangs, grumbled embarrassedly, and covered her mouth with her palm. This little incident seemed to take her mind off her worries and bring her peace of mind back. The older vampiress laughed:

    "Don''t worry. Since he ignored us for so many years, why would he suddenly want to change his habits? I''m more worried about the result of his conversation with his superiors. Will they agree to help?"

    "What do you think?"

    "I don''t know," Celesta''s smile disappeared from her face. "I can''t really say now."

    ---

    The silver earring wiggled in the ear, causing a slight pain and a pleasant irritation. A metal that every undead hated. At least it showed who was the eldest because no one would dare wear such a piece of silver jewelry! They''re afraid of the poison, snot-nosed kids.

    Zervan kicked a body curled up in the road dirt. The man groaned.

    "Are you awake, meat?"

    The mortal was moving, so that the Elder considered him ready for dialogue.

    "Listen to me, punk. You were told to watch the neighborhood, you got the tag. The boys reported to you. Right? I can''t hear you!"

    The man mumbled something in the affirmative.

    "Then why the fuck would I find out from another person that some outsiders go around the barracks and sign poor people up for obscure things?"

    There were two reasons for Zervan''s bad mood. First, it was not he who was sent by his mistress to catch the strangers, but that peacock Latham. That is, Zervan and his boys are not trusted. Secondly, the businessmen have been acting high-handed of late, not in a big way, but it''s not much fun either. Orders were carried out with delays, weekly payments were delayed and brought in installments, obviously withholding pieces, they arbitrarily divided the districts among themselves. Lately, many unwilling gangs had sprung up, unwilling to submit to the undead. They used to operate only on the outskirts, ratting out the little things, and so they were ignored. Now all this racket was trying to get involved in serious business, and they didn''t want to pay their share.

    One or two can be punished, turned into a lesson for the rest. What to do if everyone rebels?

    No, in some ways they are understandable. The guards are disgusting, the "spiders" and the aristocrats are intriguing each other, and the merchants don''t give a damn about other people''s problems as long as they''re not touched. Absolute freedom - do what you want! At this rate, the Dark One himself tells them to pinch the losers. And the risens, according to the will of his mistress, they do not give much to lose, they need peace ... If not kept Zervan mortals in an iron fist - and gangs, and consequently, and the blood, the outrage in Taleya would be more. To be honest, he wouldn''t mind making some changes himself. The merchants, for example, could be gutted more often, and the tribute on the craftsmen''s quarter is not enough, it should be increased. And why shouldn''t he drain the "cows" to the death? There''s enough meat on the streets, no one would notice the loss of a dozen whores. But you can''t argue with the Mistress.

    The annoyance resulted in a new blow to the victim''s ribs.

    "Who are they? What do they want? Answer me, meat!"

    "I don''t know," the overseer of one of the poorest parts of the harbor muttered. "They just recruit people. They give them water and food and sometimes a small amount of money. They promise a good piece of loot if they''re followed at the right time."

    "Couldn''t you get them to talk?"

    "They were tricked, they don''t know anything! In the temple after the service the holy man came up - go, he said, help those who are suffering!"

    "What temple?"

    "The Sun."

    This is more serious.

    "Why didn''t you tell me right away?"

    "Well... there was nothing to report."

    "Yes?" Zervan jerked the mortal to his feet, held him by the scruff of the neck, and turned him to face him. "Or did they give you coins? Fifty silver, at the Red Crayon the night before last. Why don''t you say something, you scum, eh?"

    "Have mercy," the strong one and nor cowardly man, squeezed out hoarsely. "The Dark One mess with me".

    "Don''t speak of the Master in vain, he doesn''t like it," the vampire repeated an expression he''d once heard from Celesta. "You''ll give me the money. I''ll cut down your territory. These, from the temple, you show to my boys. You understand, don''t you?"

    "I-I got it, Elder. Thank you. I''ll never forget it, Elder."

    "Well, if you get it, crawl out of here."

    After letting the bandit go after an unusually easy scolding, Zervan whistled to his men and headed for the exit. The showdown was taking place in the courtyard of a small house on the edge of the Craftsman Quarter, with some half-decayed barracks nearby, and the people who lived there preferred not to poke their noses into others'' business. And even if they did, three risen would be enough to deal with a bunch of idiots.

    Scar was nestled, as always, on his right hand. The faithful helper had been mischievous on the roads in his lifetime and had a reputation as a lucky ataman who had more than once escaped the trickiest of traps. In fact, it was his excessive luck that got him into trouble. Once he got more money than he was supposed to, the central authorities got interested in his gang and raided it. They rounded up the outlaw in the hope of buying off his own execution by handing over the chief criminal to justice. Scar, not being a fool, didn''t wait to meet the executioner and learn the refinements of modern ideas like pouring molten lead down his throat or imposing a stake on his body, and took his own life. He slit his wrists with a sharply sharpened piece of brick. It must have come as a great surprise to the jailers when, three days later, he rose undead...

    Since the case took place in a neighboring kingdom and Scar had no sins against Taleya, he decided to change his place of residence to a quieter one. The fact that he managed to keep his sanity, escape, leave his second birthplace immediately after the uprising, and reach his destination was admirable to anyone familiar with his story. Zervan immediately noticed the clever guy and soon made him his closest assistant. Just after the accidental death of the old one.

    "What''s a holy man got to do with "meat"?" As if to the side, he remarked. "In secret?"

    "You don''t believe Illyar told them to do good?" The two savage predators both smirked in the same way. "They''re up to something. And you can''t ask them..."

    Zervan gritted his teeth. The risen had no right to "work" the nobility or the priests, and it was annoying. It was annoying. There was a lot they couldn''t do, to be sure, but if he was okay with some of the prohibitions, like leaving bodies out in the open and staying out of politics and such, then this kind, which kept him within the boundaries set by the "spiders," like a strict collar, just pissed him off.

    "What are we going to do?"

    Zervan ruffled his thick hair:

    "You can ask those generous men yourself. Maybe they''ll tell you something useful. Actually, you should know that there''s no time for them right now."

    "Yeah, we''re waiting for what''s-his-name, Carlon. Who is he, anyway?"

    "I don''t know, but Medea shakes when she hears his name. He used to be in charge of the town, but he didn''t agree with his mistress, and he flees."

    "Looks like he didn''t get far."

    "He''s holed up somewhere," Zervan nodded. "But he must have been pretty sick in the head to come back here."

    "Do you think the mistress is going to kill him?"

    The fourth oldest risen in the kingdom was silent, pondering his answer. He wanted to say yes, but the memory of Medea''s panic prevented him from doing so. And the Mistress seemed very tense when it came to the lunatic priest. Not frightened, no, she didn''t reek of fear, but as if she were preparing to face a powerful enemy.

    "She should," he said at last. He felt Scar''s leering glance on his skin and suddenly became furious. "She''ll break him, all right! We''ve met some tough ones before, and more than one!"

    The deputy didn''t answer. He just shrugged his shoulders and stepped back, not wanting to get under the hot hand.

    * * *

 Chapter 15

    Chapter 15

    * * *

    The reality was not like a fairy tale.

    The village tales or the priests'' sermons portrayed the undead very differently. Some believed that the risen lived in deep, filthy caves, in dark cellars, with rats and spiders, in cemeteries, in the ancestral crypts of the rich, among the dust and ashes of cracked urns. They would go out at night to the streets of the cities to catch the late-night travelers and suck their blood. Other stories, not encouraged by adults, spoke of powerful demons, all-seeing and all-powerful, doing their secret work from the depths of underground palaces. Tricky and beautiful, they laughed at attempts to harm or deceive them, but they could also help if a mortal impressed them with their courage, honesty, or intelligence.

    The truth was that Vador spent most of his time underground. He slept, did his mentor''s lessons, and occasionally went to the surface on minor errands. The rest turned out to be not so much a lie - just that the legends didn''t even mention that he would have to learn so much. Immediately after Egard recognized him as having mastered the alphabet, they began to drum the basics of theology, geography, biology, mathematics, and other sciences into the illiterate country boy showed him the basics of weaponry and began to prepare the ground for mastering the mystical disciplines. At the same time, all classes were firmly tied to practice. About the gods and the will of the Dark One an old minister of the Morvan cult spoke to him, explaining by example the reasons for the return of some people from the realm of death.

    A close associate of the mistress herself told him a great deal about the place of vampires in mortal society and about the second chance given to the undead. Geography was taught by a merchant cultist, who knew a good deal about the history and provided information about the flow of goods, their prices, and the places where something of value remained from earlier times. The doctor taught how to give people first aid, and talked about diseases, poisons, and antidotes. The master swordsman made them memorize the vulnerabilities of the most common small demons and humans.

    All of the newbies were pushed very hard. Not out of a desire to mock, no. It was just that for the first ten years, as long as the body remained somewhat alive and the mind remained elastic, it was necessary to use it to the maximum. Then it became harder to learn, and it was impossible to perceive new knowledge and concepts at the same speed. So the teachers tried to impart as much as possible to the young risen one.

    As a result, there was no free time left. Egard did not seem to let him out of his sight for a single moment. The mentor was deciding what and how to teach the young risen while introducing him to the night world of the Capital. Not only occult but also criminal. The methods of action of the guards and their perennial opponents - bandits, the channels of smuggling, the names of atamans and their predilections, pirate captains, bribed judges, the structure of Morvanite sects, and the theological differences between them. Temples and just the most influential priests, holy magic, and the training of temple guard fighters. Prices of drugs and alchemical ingredients, stalls selling forbidden goods. Acquaintances, introductions, polite smiles, faces, faces, faces...

    "You have to be able to communicate with humans," Egard said the first night. "Talk to them in their language. Understand what they want, and how they think. Guide their thoughts in the right direction."

    So far, it was not going well. A teenager from a poor family who had no idea about etiquette was timid in the presence of strangers.

    But he clearly caught the moment when the tension of the class had decreased. At first, he couldn''t believe his luck (he thought it was another test from his mentor), but Vador looked around and was surprised to find that the teachers didn''t have time for him.

    "Isn''t Mr. Firam coming today, Master?"

    "He left the city." The older vampire didn''t take his eyes off the documents, scribbling and making notes on the papers as he spoke. "His trading house is moving to Lascaris."

    "Master," the teenager said uncertainly. "I''ve noticed that many servants and helpers are leaving Taleya..."

    Egard shook his bowed head:

    "You must have heard about the captured strangers, right? We are waiting for their master. And the authorities are unwilling to take our warnings seriously and at least step up patrols."

    "I thought that''s not why merchants were sent away."

    The master took his eyes off the papers: "And why is that?"

    Vador swallowed the "well," with which he used to begin almost every sentence, and from which he was barely outwitted, and began to share his views.

    "They said it had become harder to work. There is less order, officials demand bigger bribes, and bandits began to appear on the roads - sometimes peasants, but more often noble ones. Now in those principalities where the lords have strong armies, it is more peaceful than in the capital!"

    "Go on," Egard nodded encouragingly.

    "And again, the timing is not optimal. I have listened to people - it turns out that our servants began to leave even before they knew about this Carlon. Only little by little, not like now."

    "It''s slanted, but it''s basically right," the mentor said. "Did you come up with it yourself or did someone tell you?"

    "I figured it out on my own."

    "Well done, then. It''s really getting unsafe at Taleya. The confrontation between the palace parties has entered an acute phase. And we wouldn''t want to get hit. More precisely, we are trying to reduce the possible losses and so we transfer our servants to the outskirts or even to other states. The news of Carlon''s arrival has only spurred the process. You, by the way, get ready-soon the last of the younger ones will be leaving the capital, and then their duties will fall to you. All right, go study."

    The older vampire, standing slightly below the inner circle of the Mistress in the unspoken hierarchy of the risen, looked at the next apprentice. A promising boy. Limited, of course, and not able to work on himself, but not stupid and not lazy. The main thing was his inner guts, and we would teach him the rest. I should have sent him out of town with the rest of the youngsters, but it''s too early for him to leave his homeland. The energy is not yet fully established...

    The decision to get out of the control of the secret services was not announced to the younger ones. The elders, their closest assistants, and especially loyal mortals from the Mistress'' personal retinue knew, and that was it. The rest, who did not believe in the supposedly caused by the appearance of an ancient vampire, were fed the version about the coming confrontation of the court cliques. Given that such a confrontation had indeed taken place and that all parties concerned were seriously considering an armed clash, even if the information reached the "spiders," it would not surprise them. The undead are leaving the kingdom? So be it! The leaders remain in the capital, and we''ll finish the rest later. Had the Secret Service known the true extent of the risen'' activities, Tulak would not have been so complacent.

    Unfortunately for them, control over the most secretive and bloody part of the subjects of the throne was long lost by the secret service.

    This time Medea awaited her sister''s return, not near the mysterious wizard''s house, but in a cozy room deep beneath the earth. Not that she didn''t want to keep Celesta company, but she did! But she decided that the danger was minimal and that she did not want to irritate Garresh with a show of mistrust. Should it turn out that some unknown authority had ordered the old servant of the Light to finish off the overknowing risen woman, there would be a dozen Morvanites waiting in the familiar courtyard for that occasion. Ordinary people are more difficult to notice, and it is easier to present as an ordinary escort, due to their status.

    "How was it?!" The beauty rose from her chair as soon as she heard the familiar footsteps in the corridor. "Did they agree?"

    "How?" Celesta stepped through the just-opened door and tossed her weapon belt on the table. "Not good enough, I''d say. We''ve been denied support, but..."

    The older risen sat down in a chair and nodded at her friend, inviting her to sit beside her. She smiled dryly.

    "In another situation, I would have said we were lucky. Garresh offered to give a couple of lessons, which he said would give insight into Carlon''s capabilities and even out our chances in a direct confrontation."

    "Is he willing to share his knowledge?" Medea wondered.

    "As far as I''m aware, they''re not very valuable. By his standards."

    "Wait, wait," the completely confused singer waved her hands in front of her face. "I don''t understand anything. Let''s start from the beginning."

    "From the beginning... Well, look. As far as I understand Garresh''s explanation, from his Order''s point of view, Carlon is innocent. Or his misdeeds are not serious enough to interfere with current events because of them. But since the "big brother''s" actions affect Garresh''s interests and interfere with his work, the wizard agrees to help as much as he can, though he will not interfere directly."

    "Another thing to keep in mind is that Carlon and Garresh belong to different factions. What exactly the relationship between the temples of True Light and True Darkness is, was not explained but there is no ardent love between them. The secrets of the Dark Ones - those of which he is privy - Garresh is willing to reveal without hesitation."

    "It would have been better if he had killed the priest himself."

    "Alas, events don''t always go according to our plans," Celesta shrugged. "And I can''t say I''m not happy. The opportunity to learn something about the oldest and most secretive organization in the world is expensive, not to mention the training methods. Can you imagine Hastin jumping when he hears about this?"

    Slightly emboldened and relieved, Medea also smiled at the reaction of the fanatic of magic. Already without the hysterical notes in her voice, she began to pry details from Celesta, trying to understand the logic of strange creatures lurking under the human masks of priests Morvan and Illiar. Why didn''t they consider organizing deadly epidemics a crime? Why do they almost never interfere in human affairs? What are their goals? What does the phrase "our possibilities are almost limitless within extremely narrow bounds" mean? There are no answers, not even convincing guesses.

    The argument was interrupted by a familiar knock on the door.

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    "Come in, Latham."

    "Messena, messena Medea," the aristocrat bowed respectfully to the ladies. "I apologize for disturbing you, but we have just finished interrogating the prisoners. I thought you might be interested to hear that pair were the only ones sent to Taleya. More accurately, three were sent in pursuit of the renegade, but one returned to the main group for fear of entering the city."

    "And for sure this third one has already reached the master."

    "Yes. Messena."

    "How many of them are there?"

    "There were five left, whose level I roughly estimate as equal to my fighters, and a dozen somewhat weaker."

    "Plus Carlon himself. If I were him, I''d try to reach Taleya as soon as possible," Celesta remarked. "He knows we''re getting ready for him. What else?"

    "The information received from the prisoners generally confirms Calderan''s words. The differences lie in ideology and..." Latam hesitated for a moment, trying to find the right words, "...assessment of what is happening. They don''t seem to doubt the words of their leader and are ready to follow him to the end."

    Mistress nodded slightly, indicating that she understood what was not said.

    "No wonder. Maybe next night I''ll talk to them myself - maybe I''ll be able to get some out of them. Bring them to the right state of mind."

    Latham, as usual, did not show his emotions in any way. He listened silently to the order, clarified a few details, and left carefully closing the door behind him. Sometimes it seemed to Celesta that her eternal bodyguard deliberately abandoned his own opinion, once and for all choosing the role of executor of the plans of the leader of the rebels. Her Mistress. Why the former heir of a noble family and a brilliant guard officer decided to do so, she did not know, though she guessed. But - she preferred not to check her conjectures. Not every past was worth dredging up.

    Instinct said that Latham would give his life for her. That was enough.

    "So, are you going to be visiting Garresh a lot now?" Medea returned to the interrupted conversation.

    "Why not? The Great Exodus," the vampiress grinningly called the ongoing evacuation of the risen structures from the Capital and the country in general, "is going according to plan. Tulak and Laar leave us alone for a while, preoccupied with their machinations. The temples, too, have been quiet, though it would be fatal to let the stirrings within them out of our sight. Virtually all the factions are now building up their strength before the decisive clash, and I have time to concentrate on the main problem - the inevitable fight with Carlon. Not much. But there is."

    "Aren''t you afraid of him?"

    To anyone else, Celesta would have lied. To Medea she answered honestly:

    "Of course I''m afraid. He''s a fanatic and a great magician, how can you not be afraid of him? I just don''t believe in Carlon''s chosenness. There must be some rational explanation for how he survived the hunt for the undead, escaped, wandered for three hundred years, and now, out of the blue, decides to come back. He must be crazy, though - he didn''t seem mentally healthy from the first time I met him."

    "What if he is possessed after all?"

    Possession in the culture of the countries on the shores of the Good Sea was not necessarily considered a bad thing. The guardian spirits of a family, especially the spirits of ancestors, always acted for the benefit of their wards, so if there was a rumor that someone had received the attention of a guardian, his family was terribly jealous. In the epics of the various deities, there were often references to incarnations in certain historical figures, and almost all gods were considered reflections of the six major great powers. In short, the idea that a priest might be an avatar of the Dark One or one of his kin was taken seriously.

    "The official interpretation is that anyone who rises is a dark spirit clothed in flesh," Celesta reminded her. "We''re all possessed here. But if you want, you can hold a "Service to vanquish the heretics", sacrifice to Morvan. I don''t have to do it, I''ve had enough of it once."

    The rising women looked at each other with identical crooked smiles. They both remembered the breakthrough of the Darkness they''d made out of their meager wit very well.

    Celesta was prevented from continuing the discussion by the familiar pressing sensation in the back of her head. She made an apologetic sign, got up from her chair, went to a small cabinet by the wall, and pulled out a small, elegant mirror in a gold frame. Someone not too experienced in the occult sciences was trying to talk to her. The vampiress habitually relaxed, gazing into her reflection and reinforcing with her energy the faintly formed connection.

    "Talk."

    "This is Vasto, Messena," came the hard-formed image. "Vasto of Kinik."

    Assistant Elder of one of the southern cities. All of the younger risen - full evacuation was deemed impractical - were to be removed, leaving only those able to flee quickly enough when the priest and his undead flock appeared. There were a surprisingly large number of them, especially in the borderlands. Vasto, as she recalls, was not known for his magic, but he was good with a sword.

    "I remember you. Tell me what happened."

    "Yesterday a message came from a village near us. Something strange was seen there... Master went to check... There were vampires there, all slaughtered... even the cattle. The Master was wounded by the Count''s soldiers... He''s weak now..."

    Mistress of Talea felt as if she''d been hit in the gut. She stifled a sudden flash of fear and formulated the thought question as clearly as possible:

    "Did outsiders enter the city?"

    "No... Straight to the north..."

    "Thank you, Vasto. As soon as Olir can, have him contact me. Good luck."

    It is unlikely that the assistant will report anything else useful, and keeping the channel was taking a lot of energy. Besides, the news had to be processed. No matter how much preparation, no matter how much glee in front of friends and subjects, she had to admit to herself that she wanted to avoid a meeting with an old and scary acquaintance. Carlon was perhaps the most frightening creature she had ever encountered in this world.

    "It has begun," she turned at last to her friend, who sensed something wrong. "The vampires have slaughtered a village near Kinick."

    Medea''s face froze, and her eyes flashed red.

    "When?"

    "It''ll be two weeks before they get here," the older risen correctly understood the question. "They''re running on foot, sleeping wherever they can. I hope we can make it in time."

    We have to make it in time.

    * * *

    If there were an observer capable of a bird''s eye view of Taleya, he would surely be able to pinpoint the boundaries of certain quarters. The Golden Quarter was the seat of the aristocrats who surrounded the royal palace with an escort of fortified estates built before the Plague. The smoky and smoky Craftsman Quarter is walled off from the rest by sturdy walls and its busy, thoroughbred inhabitants. Port, wide and spacious, bright, smelling of the sea, salt, the scent of distant wanderings, and the dangers of daring pirate raids.

    The heart of the Commercial Quarter was Five Ways Square. It was here that the headquarters of the richest trading houses and banks were located, and smaller merchant families considered it a matter of prestige to have at least a small office in one of the two business centers located here. No caravans came here, no carts of merchandise drove here, and even the shopkeepers, traditionally centered around the fountain in the square, were not too shouty. It was considered a sign of stability to have representation here, to visit the same tea-house year after year, to talk to the old-timers, to read the newspapers posted on the boards. Big money reigned here - bills of exchange and bags of jewels, chests of gold, and contracts for mind-boggling sums. And big money doesn''t like fuss...

    Few people paid attention to the small two-story outbuilding a hundred paces from the square. The place is prestigious, but not too prestigious. The house wasn''t bad, but it wasn''t worth the money. Much easier, cheaper, and more profitable to buy a separate shop nearer to the Five Ways - even if on the second floor, but among the merchant elite. So for two hundred years, the outhouse has been inherited, all the while belonging to one family who did not want to sell it.

    In all these centuries, the study on the first floor had changed little. Oak cabinets stuffed with papers propped up the walls; a pair of candlesticks provided enough light to read the documents on the massive, shabby desk; the green velvet armchairs occasionally deteriorated and were swept away, and similar ones were brought in their place. The owner of the office was known for his conservatism.

    He always looked the same, unlike most of the risens, having taken his second birth at a respectable age. He was a stooped old man with the large hands of a man used to peasant labor, with a wrinkled face and long thin hair, dressed in light shoes, dark pants, and a camisole without ornamentation. He generally liked dull, quiet colors, and the only white detail in his costume was a starched handkerchief. A large ring with a ruby on the ring finger of his right hand was also an eye-catcher, but that was the end of the striking details.

    Slowly, as if through sheer force, Gardoman rose from the table and walked to the blinded window. He felt neither fatigue nor weakness; it was just that his once long-altered body continued to show weakness, and he did not consider it necessary to give up a useful habit. Show weakness where there is none... Outward decrepitude always worked.

    It''s a nice place. The thoughts of the Gardoman looking out on the evening street flowed smoothly from one to the other. The old risens thought long and hard and didn''t like sudden changes. It would be a pity to leave it. Or would it be all right? Lately, life had been good - quiet, calm, well-fed. The bureaucrats are bribed, business is good, the "spiders" hardly poke their noses into things... I''m not Zervan. This one''s getting squeezed, yes, but it''s clear why. Maybe we shouldn''t leave Taleya. A lot of people aren''t happy, we''re losing a lot of money. Ties are being severed, competitors are ripping up tidbits, security costs are going up... It''s a mess, everything''s falling apart.

    Or not for nothing? You yourself complained about the growing taxes. Mistress is right to fear civil war. Until Kono was sent to the border, there was a chance the aristocrats wouldn''t openly clash. But now the wronged have come to Zonna, and once they''ve reached critical mass (an apt phrase, I should remember), the rebellion will inevitably erupt. What then? Well, obviously, they will start to execute those involved - relatives, sympathizers, just the rich and not-so-relatives. How many of our interests are tied up in potential rioters? Not much, but not pennies. But the temple-affiliated structures will come into force, and we have enough enemies there. No, we really have to leave Taleya.

    But. There are different ways to leave.

    The rest of the elders wanted free rein. It''s understandable. There are restrictions and serious ones, and getting around them is troublesome, expensive, and long. But in the old days, there was a pretty good life under the wing of the authorities. There were clear rules, under which the "spiders" guaranteed immunity, both from the court and all others. It was easier to work, and the covert, if it coincided with their interests, willingly helped, especially in neighboring countries. They introduced more than one agent with our help and received a dozen new channels a year. It was mutually beneficial cooperation, and they allowed it at one time because of its efficiency. Now there is no security. No matter how many bribes we give them, it''s not enough. Nasty people, to tell you the truth. It is not clear when this situation will change, but it will change for sure - rottenness cannot rule the state. Isn''t it better to wait for that moment? The present Son of the Sea, if he is not poisoned, will rule for another thirty or fifty years. Yes, be patient... And survive?

    Celesta is smart, even though she''s a little brat. She wouldn''t raise the alarm unnecessarily. What''s her instinct? Remember how she played you the other day. The plague is over, there''s no food, no weapons, nothing to sow, your family only hopes for you... Your wife was frightened when you came home at night and knocked on the gate. Your sons, big foreheads, almost pissed their pants. They got used to it. He was not a city dweller - he kept his family in his fist, and that''s why they survived. And when they got the hang of it, fought off the bandits, and scared off the undead, the Taleya men showed up. Important, noblemen, and a girl with a sword with them. You could smell the girl right away, but at first, you didn''t place her too high. You thought she was a trained dog, ready to slaughter demons for food. She just called you into a quiet corner and started talking ..... She told the fool the whole story. She explained, how to behave, not to set up his own and not to warm himself in the sun.

    Snake. Patient, calculating.

    And now she is sure that the breakup cannot be avoided. We can only minimize the damage and try to keep the skins intact. Trouble is, you, former headman, current elder, and secret banker, think the same. You just hope for the best. You don''t want change, drastic or otherwise. You''re used to this place, this after-life. You''ll have to get used to it.

    It is not possible to leave Taleya itself. All undead are registered with a special office, and their movement in the country is possible only with the permission of the authorities. The older the risen, the more closely he is watched, and while the departure of the guerrillas is easy enough to explain, the quiet and modest tradesmen rarely travel. Well, someone from the mistress'' inner circle leaving the city instantly causes gossip among all the initiates. Who should be sent to Bardi? It makes sense to make the center of a new trading house, or rather, a trading empire there - the mountains are unfriendly to invaders, several ways crossroads, and the political system is relatively stable. But he was wrong about the stability. So the first thing to do is to ensure the stability of the power of the right ruler, like his, Messe seems to be? Celesta ordered to work with him first. Gold is good for loyalty, resources are never enough. Also to throw a bone to the local community, but would require very paltry spending...

    One of the kingdom''s biggest homebodies has come to terms with the relocation.

    * * *

 Priestess

    Priestess

    * * *

    She loved this hall, and she didn''t understand why the other cleaners tried to avoid it at all costs. They said the statue of the Mistress frightened them. They say it burns them with its icy coldness. Foolish tales. No, she''d seen it for herself, the way the tourists, brought in about once a week, shuddered and grinned and pretended not to care... She''d always felt good with her Mistress. Quiet. Quiet. Peaceful. She came with her buckets and rags, scrubbed the floor first, cleaned the windows and windowsills, and swept the dust from the few candlesticks. She talked about her simple affairs.

    It was a good place to think. You could tell your mistress about the past day, complaining about the stupid red-faced boss or the small salary. To dream aloud about a recently seen skirt or to cry, indignant at the indifference of handsome Taraki in the delivery department. The statue didn''t react to the words of the orphan who miraculously got a job at the museum, but the girl could have sworn she heard everything. And helping. She prompts. The thoughts that the boss really is a fool, but soon he would be fired and her salary will be raised, that there are many skirts, and she will buy the same or better with the next paycheck, Taraki, though he was handsome, but to have a man with a rotten gut is not worth it. It always made her feel better after those conversations, and she didn''t even want to leave.

    Sometimes she would stay up until midnight, on the pretext that the statue needed to be cleaned of the dirt, and listen to the guides'' stories. What she liked best were the short lectures of Maitre Roch. The professor never chased her away, squirming shyly in a corner of the room, just smiling and describing the history of the only exhibit - the statue - a little differently each time.

    "...created by the famous Seisan Soldovets, this is the only image of the Dark Mother carved with the consent of the Mistress. She personally, albeit briefly, posed for the sculptor. Legend has it that when the statue was finished, Seisan realized he could not have created anything more perfect and sacrificed himself, stabbing himself with a dagger in front of his creation. The Mistress accepted the sacrifice, and the statue has been one of her avatar incarnations ever since, though she herself, of course, rarely leaves the Castle of the Council."

    "Notice this hall! It fully corresponds to the decoration of the Temple of Darkness, in which the statue stood for about three thousand years. Specially trained priestesses danced ritual dances in front of it every day, washed its feet with warm milk, and anointed its lips with their blood. However, as we remember from history, the Temple was destroyed, and for more than two thousand years the ingenious work of art was spent in obscurity. Until eighteen years ago, a Master of our city donated one of the receptacles of his Mistress''s spirit to the museum. Unfortunately, we do not know what considerations guided him..."

    The sculptor who created the statue of the Dark Mother was a genius indeed. The teenage girl seated on the disproportionately large throne seemed alive at times, just frozen in thought. A simple dress, a hood covering the upper half of her face, bare feet touching the foot with the tips of her fingers, a bouquet of asphodels in her lap, thin arms... No symbolism is appropriate for a Queen of the Undead. And yet, sometimes the people who entered the hall would kneel down, whispering prayers they had learned as children with lips that were suddenly frozen.

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    The janitor standing in the corner looked at them with understanding.

    She was just finishing wiping the ceiling when the door faintly creaked open. She didn''t pay attention to the sound at first - it wasn''t that important. The room was lit by torches "to give a complete authenticity to the surroundings," so the soot had to be wiped off every day, climbing on a stepladder and, twisting, diligently fiddling with the rag. But she could not ignore the voice of the man who had entered.

    "You probably don''t remember me, do you?" The face of the young man, frozen in front of the statue, twitched strangely. "Of course, why would you remember the youngest chick in the nest you destroyed? You thought there were no more of us? Us, who know the truth. That your warriors have killed them all? All of them? Well, you were wrong, you know. We are reborn."

    Suddenly, in an instant, he was beside the girl and yanked her down the stairs. The next moment she was face down at the statue''s feet, unable to scream. Someone''s held her tightly by her hair, and a voice above her ear whispered frantically:

    "Look what you have come to! Hundreds of virgins have sacrificed, served, and adorned you! Priestesses danced before you every day, giving part of their strength! And now what? What? Your incarnation is being dusted off by a mortal girl who doesn''t know the simplest rituals! Why?!"

    She was pulled upward with force, icy fingers touching her neck.

    "Is that fair? Are they equal to us?"

    A sharp claw touched her throat.

    "Our race could rule these lowlifes, but you force us to live by their laws."

    A smooth, quick dash. The blood spurts forward, flooding the snow-white marble with a red wave.

    "I can''t destroy you. So be it. I''ll content myself with one of the receptacles of the spirit since I can do no more. But know this - the day will come..."

    The man suddenly stopped himself, cautiously taking a few steps back. The girl was still hanging in his arms, staining the floorboards with her blood. Her attempts to free herself, to call for help, were to no avail; she could only convulse helplessly. Consciousness faded. And with a last effort, already falling into the purple darkness, she discerned two things.

    The blood soaking into the stone of the statue.

    The corners of stone lips lifted in a dry grin.

    Night excursions were still popular, and Professor Rocha still charmed the tourists. He told her much more, though, and taught her something different than he did to the mortal students.

    She remained a mere cleaner, unwilling to leave her Mistress''s retreat. She could have had a much higher position in the entourage of the Master of the City, as Her servant, but why? It is much more pleasant to stay close to Her, catching the echoes of the great mind that is deeply asleep, listening to the whisper of the voice that tells about the ancient mysteries. Does a Priestess need anything else?

    So she came here every night. She scrubbed the floors, wiped the candlesticks, tried to do ritual dances, and, cursing through her teeth, wiped the soot from the ceiling. She brushed the dust off the statue, lowering her eyes, not daring to look into the darkness beneath the hood.

    She washed the statue''s feet with warm milk and smeared the lips with her own blood.

    * * *

 Chapter 16

    Chapter 16

    * * *

    It turns out that twenty-six hours in a day is monstrously few. Four six hours, blessed by the higher elemental gods, and two separate hours, noon and midnight, dedicated to Illiar and his grim brother Morvan, are woefully inadequate. She must keep an eye on the exodus, sending out wagons to other cities and even countries every night. She has to listen to the many spies and snitches, now focused primarily on keeping tabs on one''s home office. She must meet with Medea, who lately has been bringing back information from palaces and salons that is as important as it is contradictory. She must go to Garresh.

    She must.

    She must.

    She must.

    The time was catastrophically short. Celesta did not hibernate during the day, like young vampires, but she needed at least a short nap during the day. So she disliked the sudden rushes that deprived her of rest and drove her into a state of silent frenzy.

    "What else do you want, Hustin?"

    The warlock knew perfectly well that it was dangerous to approach a sleeping vampire (for creatures with warm blood, deadly), but he underestimated his mistress'' abilities. As a result, he was now lying on the floor, his nose tucked into the expensive carpet and listening anxiously to the crackling of the tendons in his arm behind his back. The sorcerer had some experiments with students scheduled for tomorrow, and he didn''t want to come into the classroom with broken limbs.

    His situation was aggravated by the fact that since last night Celeste had remained somewhat in a bad mood. The Zervan boys had spoiled her mood. In addition to their core activities of smuggling and controlling the Taleya criminal community, the undead thugs were covering up some establishments deemed beneficial to the community. A couple of high-end restaurants, for example, or smokehouses. They weren''t really interested in the profits, Gardoman was in charge of the profits, and they kept the restaurants and stuff for information. And blackmail, of course.

    Although it was expressly forbidden for the risen to work against the nobility, maintaining brothels for perverts was deemed advisable. Here, of course, a nobleman had every right to amuse himself as they pleased, nothing could be forbidden but still, public opinion took a sharply negative view of certain peculiarities. Zoophilia was not encouraged, nor was the necrophilia. But with people, the nobility could do as they pleased, both with their own subjects and with the king''s free conditional slaves. The penalty for killing a free citizen was a hundred dinars, and if the murderer could prove he had been insulted, the fee was reduced fivefold. The word of a noble was accepted by the court as proof.

    In special brothels, unknown to the general public, truly horrible things were practiced. Rape of children to death, torture to order. The corpses of the "workers" were often so disfigured that they were not taken to temples for ritual burning but burned themselves. Celesta did not like this very much, but she could not change the situation. First of all, perverts and sadists were, are, and will be; there was no escaping it. It was not humanly possible to destroy or cure them all, so she could only hope that they, the scum, could be kept under some kind of control. But, secondly, now and here all this mold remains out of reach. Most of the visitors to the "special" brothels were very rich people, belonging to the upper or middle stratum of the nobility. They had long ago become satiated with ordinary entertainment, and in search of sharper pleasures, they practiced things that made even the habitual risens shudder.

    True, not everyone shuddered. Some didn''t care. They were the ones who looked after the brothels, using the staff''s services from time to time. From time to time Mistress was tempted to get rid of too unsightly a part of her little empire, but on reflection, she stopped every time. At least under her watch, the contagion would not spread.

    The closest candidate for imminent death - Celesta was careful to get rid of her fellows with a certain type of morality, and he took advantage of his position, figuratively speaking, to have so much fun with three girls that only one was left alive, and that was the disfigured one. The scoundrel asserted that he could not restrain his inner demon, who had sensed the scent of blood. Whether he was telling the truth or not was of no concern to the Mistress. She did not tear the offender on the spot only because she wanted to arrange something showy, to teach a lesson that would long be remembered by others. So they would know that her orders were always obeyed.

    "Neville is dead," Hastin said, turning his head cautiously to the side. "She killed herself."

    "Did she do it herself or was she helped?"

    "I don''t know. Master is sorting it out right now."

    With a heavy sigh, the vampiress climbed down from her subordinate''s back.

    "Tell."

    "There''s nothing to tell..." The dark mage cautiously kneaded the injured limb. "They found her in the lab a few hours ago. It looks like she was trying to perform some kind of experiment, but she made a mistake. That''s not the reason I''m here - it''s a chance to steal all the dead woman''s research. Give me five of our porters."

    "How do you see it?" The girl in the robe asked with skepticism in her voice. "The investigators will probably seal everything they can get their hands on. And, as I remember, in the case of death the teacher''s property goes to the Academy, except for money and family valuables."

    "Neville, when she showed me the results of her work, gave me the keys to some of her security spells," said Hustin rather contentedly. "I''ll hack the rest. Master will notice, of course, but he won''t interfere, I''ve made a deal with him."

    "Why would he give us practically his possessions?" Celesta wondered.

    "Well, he doesn''t believe there''s anything valuable in there. Neville has no exclusives in the library, the results on the main topic of research are astonishing, and he''s probably already scoured the lab. The rest is of interest only to the temple searchers, whom the master would be happy to flick on the nose."

    The Mistress was satisfied with the explanation, but she was not going to take her busy subjects away from their work. They had enough to do. When Hustin proves that he really has removed the protection and that the deceased really has something to expropriate, then it will be the turn of the undead to work as porters. Until then, excuse me.

    "I''ll take it off right now," the sorcerer was indignant at the lack of confidence in his professional skills. "Let me show you!"

    Celesta cursed mentally, remembering how easy it was to dare her a comrade-in-arms. It was enough to question his abilities out loud. Why not take a walk, though? She hadn''t spoken to Tyran in a long time; the old man must have something to tell her, and she, too, would like to share the news and get some counseling at the same time. It wasn''t her fate to rest today.

    "Let''s go," the girl agreed. "Let''s see what you woke me up for."

    Hustin had the conscience to look embarrassed.

    As she exited the dungeon, Latham appeared silently on her left shoulder. Mistress glanced at the bodyguard but said nothing, it was useless. Though it would be interesting to know how he knew of her sudden departure this time. He wouldn''t say.

    Despite the generally tense situation in the Capital, the risens did not fear an attack. Those who like to take others'' goods, usually by instinct, understand who can offer resistance and who can''t. And they don''t touch the first ones, preferring to look for easier prey. And there was an omen in Taleya saying that to attack a teenage girl at night would mean trouble. So despite the occasional group of armed men on the way, they walked without incident, whispering to discuss common themes. Fortunately, there were enough of them.

    The families of the mortal servants and mere employees of the trade network were for the most part taken either north to the mountains or to Lascaris. With the recent political reshuffle, a third powerful community was about to be established, in Zonna, if Carlon''s appearance didn''t interfere. Pity, the plans had to be adjusted. However, Hustin decided not to go off the beaten path and quietly transported his living relatives to the islands, to Deep Harbor. Generally speaking, such affection for kin was surprising. The other undead drifted away from the living over time, becoming less and less interested in their affairs as they grew older, while the sorcerer took an active part in the clan''s affairs - participating in festivities, educating the young, helping with jobs and positions. No, the others did, too, but... without enthusiasm.

    Hustin himself had no intention of going anywhere. He had a well-equipped dungeon in the catacombs that not many risens, let alone humans, would have been able to get into. There was a vast library, an archive, a laboratory, and a repository for all sorts of nastiness. Upstairs was the Academy, his colleagues, the perfect environment for research. He reasonably thought he would be perfectly safe. And he''d sent any family that might be affected to a pirate''s nest, having secured the promise of several influential captains to take care of the migrants. So the wizard, in the worst-case scenario, was going to sit for a decade underground, doing research, and looked down on the bustle of the commoners. He didn''t refuse help, but he didn''t offer it either.

    The calm and somewhat pleasant walk was interrupted by Celesta, who stopped. Among the abilities given to adepts of the mental sciences, not the least of them is sensitivity to various kinds of emotions. Although the word "emotion" is not quite right, finding enchanted objects or cursed places also becomes easier. Rather, we are talking about various radiations of natural or human origin. The downside to this ability is sensory overload and the newcomers'' desire to stay away from crowded places, and they don''t go away until they''ve mastered ways to ward off mental noise. Mistress had long ago stopped paying attention to the fear, the pain, the anger of fighting, the bitterness and despair of dying in the streets, the joy of survivors, the lust, the rare love, and other feelings common to the night city. But now she felt something new-some subtle trickle, a light whiff that brought a fragrance of half-familiar sensations.

    Intuition sounded the alarm, forcing a change of plans. Quietly, with just the lips: "Follow me."

    Obediently, acting on instinct rather than consciously, Celesta slipped outwardly slowly from shadow to shadow. In fact, falling into a trance, she was now defenseless, and in the event of an attack, the first moments could only rely on her companions. Both the bodyguard and Hustin were well aware of this. Exchanging worried glances, they stood at the sides of the mistress, hoping to cover her in case of an attack. Latham stepped forward with his blade drawn; the shifting warlock disregarded the consequences and drew a sheaf of amulets from his pocket. He did not activate them yet, for fear of interfering with his mistress, but made ready.

    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    The farther it went, the more confident it became. The attractive and at the same time repulsive smell was getting thicker, leading more precisely to its source, soon enough Hustin also felt it, though he did not dare to follow the trail. Only twisted his head more actively, looking for a possible ambush. Risens, even non-militants, in the process of training necessarily participated in the hunt for the wild undead and well know their role in the squad. There is a sensor to determine where the threat is coming from, the task of the rest is to cover it.

    "Here," Celesta stopped abruptly.

    Her face didn''t look like a demon mask anymore, at least the fangs weren''t protruding from under her lips as they had during the trance. But no one would have confused her with a human. Rather, she now resembled the legendary punishment hounds sent to the damned as punishment for their sins. She was the same short, wary, listening with all her senses to what was going on in the house. Nothing? Not a sound, apart from the creaking of the shutters. It was as if the little yard were dead, and not even the usual snarls of horses or the whimpers of dogs sensing the undead nearby.

    "There''s a cloaking curtain over the house," Hustin remarked. "Primitive, but powerful."

    "I see."

    The vampiress quickly considered the situation and concluded that she couldn''t wait. I''d have to get inside before the traces melted away. There wasn''t likely to be anyone alive in the house - or not alive, she could smell a kindred, too-and even if there was, the three of them could handle any threat. Three older vampires, at the ready, in their own territory! All the more reason to check what they''re up against. It''s not temple magic, not human sorcery - it feels completely different.

    "Go on."

    "A trap?" Not so much asked as warned Latham.

    "It doesn''t look like it."

    Hustin did not remove the curtain. There was nothing to prevent someone else''s sorcery from passing through the gate, and the risens avoided demonstrating their presence. There was no need to attract the attention of the temple''s watcher prophets. So the vampires entered the courtyard one by one, looking around carefully and preparing inwardly for any mischief.

    The unpleasant premonitions were confirmed almost at once. In the near corner lay the corpse of a dog, which, judging by the strained chain and blood-soaked paws, had tried to escape from something horrible till the last moment. A glance into the small pen showed Latham that the small animals, often kept in the city''s less prosperous farms, were in the same condition. They were dead, with no external wounds, their mouths lined with foam, and wide-open eyes filled with horror.

    Latham was the first to enter the open door of the house, gloomily examining the cracked signs of protection against the Darkness on the walls. The mortals had painted them in the hope of avoiding unpleasant nighttime visits. They could do little to hinder the res, unlike the work of true warlocks or priests, but they could keep nightmares or other trivial matters at bay. Stepping softly across the floorboards, the knight carefully avoided the scattering of small objects. Experience told him they wouldn''t find anyone here. Whoever had done what here had carried out their intentions and left, leaving only corpses behind them. Three adults, and five children.

    Mistress silently drew a small circle in the air, ordering her companions to finish their inspection of the house, and she sat down at the entrance to the central room. The mortals seemed to have been used as a source of blood and power for some kind of ritual. Nothing unusual - almost all wizards practiced this method of replenishing energy in some way or another. Except they use runes in a different way.

    "Not our school," said Hustin, who had returned. He could find no one, and in good conscience he trusted Latham to finish the survey, believing he could do as well alone. "The basics are the same, but we work differently with runes."

    "The undead have been here," Celesta whispered, stroking the floor with her fingertips. "They needed the power to hide from the mages, and they took it from death. Four of them."

    "Carlon''s servants? Isn''t it a little early for them?"

    "Yes, I was hoping for another quiet week."

    "A reconnaissance unit?"

    "It looks like it," the risen agreed.

    Or not. Having lost two of his weakest but most loyal servants, a priest would hardly dare to send anyone else into the heart of the enemy''s domain. He did not like to delegate, trusting only himself. It was more his style to think of a faster way to travel, to reach the city as quickly as possible, to announce himself as something global. He liked spectacular effects, he loved them.

    If you consider the trade routes... A group of vampires could take over the ship, capture the crew, and sail to Taleya. The young ones in the hold, the older ones not so afraid of the sun. Then, yes, they''d saved a week''s journey.

    "Let''s go back," Celesta commanded. "Latham!"

    The bodyguard came up from somewhere on the side and shook his head negatively. No one in the house survived, and the intruders were gone. The Mistress, who didn''t expect any other answer, nodded faintly and commanded:

    "Set the house on fire. The rumors will appear anyway, but maybe they won''t connect the murder with the risens. Hustin, I leave Egard and his apprentice at your command - use them for whatever you deem necessary, but don''t let them out into the city. I suspect the guests arrived earlier than we expected. I''d send the Zerwan scouts to the port to see if the strange ship was docked there yesterday or today. By the way, we should check the other quarters, too. If Carlon wants to make a louder announcement of his passage, he''s not likely to limit himself to one family that''s been butchered."

    "Do you suppose they''re all here?" Latham asked quietly, pouring oil from the lamps onto the floor.

    "We''ll soon find out."

    What had been mistaken for haste before seemed now almost like recreation. The forgotten and incomprehensible word "Zeitnote" was floating in the depths of her memory, bringing back thoughts of the hungry, poor, and dirty times of her early years in Taleya. Celesta was forced to adjust plans on the fly, meet with dozens of people and non-humans, control thousands of details and understand - they do not have time. The initiative was in the hands of the enemy.

    If it had been just Carlon, there would have been no problem. The undead and monsters, sometimes even sentient ones, had raided the city before, so the algorithm for dealing with the visitors was well-tested. Of course, over the decades the mechanism of reaction has become somewhat rusty and crumbled in some places, but it can be restored if the will and desire exist. The Academy''s forces can help to deploy a very complex search network, unparalleled in the known world. Mobilize the Temple guards trained to fight the undead, and the guards, even with the protection of the sons of influential officials are still enough experienced masters of the sword. Take to the streets of the feudal lords and hunting parties, gut bandits and smugglers, sift through rumors and search for precious bits of information. Coordination of the giant raid would be entrusted to the Secret Service, which is well known for such operations. Ah, dreams, dreams...

    Every force capable of becoming part of an overall inexorably effective structure acted at variance, adding to the growing chaos and hindering the search. From the moment people discovered brutally murdered families in three neighborhoods of the city, the panic had only grown. The authorities, despite the warnings they had received in advance, seemed completely confused and let the capture of the elusive killers go unchecked, confining themselves to threatening demands to stop and prevent.

    Naturally, the demands went to the risens.

    "How dare you not comply with the highest demand and not eliminate the violators of the divine tranquility!"

    "Well, if memory serves me correctly, I only received an order signed by you, Mr. Laar. Nothing more." That''s it. Not "honored Laar," or even "noble Laar," but plainly, as if to an ordinary noble of low rank. "Neither the Chancellor Rakawa nor the Son of the Sea, may he rule for ten thousand years, had any special instructions. Perhaps they wished to convey something in words, but in that case, you should have received me sooner. I asked for an audience three nights ago!"

    At the last sentence, Celesta raised her voice slightly and leaned forward, glancing around her companions with a heavy gaze. A play, nothing more. She was supposed to be furious at her superiors'' ill-conceived actions and irritated, so why not show the expected emotion? In fact, her beloved superiors, represented by the rather nervous Laar and the Chancellor''s representative, Baron Tulak, are very right, one might say, filigreed skillful - it''s just that they have their own goals. Different from the declared ones.

    The Taleya community reacted rapidly to the appearance of the enemy. As many of the mortal servants as they could, they were escorted out of the city that same night, while the rest were ordered to keep their heads down and stay hidden inside their heavily protected estates. Agents ranging from petty street beggars to bribed guard officers were ordered to report any activity of outsiders. Pre-prepared traps in the catacombs were activated, especially for the undead, and the risens moved through the city in groups of at least three. That is, the undead was doing all they could to get rid of the uninvited guests as quickly as possible.

    That cannot be said about the living.

    First, the academics were forbidden to perform the ritual. The emanations from the use of powerful sorcery would disturb the citizens, terrify them, cause unrest, and in general, we can do without you. The temples of Blue Ang and the Sun will do just fine on their own. Second, the already mentioned temple warriors weren''t so much patrolling as they were searching around the houses of certain feudal lords, who, in turn, were actively fortifying the city mansions and, judging by their appearance, were expecting something like an assault. From somewhere in the streets came dozens of preachers, actively shouting about the imminent end of the world and persistently pointing out the specific culprits. And finally, the guards showed themselves. The searches they organized in the poorest neighborhoods sparked several spontaneous riots, but they were quickly suppressed.

    Strangely enough, they managed to find common ground with the undead hunters. The men there were mostly seasoned, and cynical, with their own view of the world and no illusions about human nature. Mercenaries with a difficult clientele. Fanatics were rare among them, so most of them accepted the offer to work together that Mistress of Taleya had given them.

    But, barring an unexpected alliance with the hunters, the vampires had received no other help. But there was a steady stream of mud being poured on the community.

    "It''s been five days now that this Carlon of yours has been terrorizing the Capital, and you still can''t stop him!"

    "He''s not mine, he''s his own. And didn''t you, Baron, when we last met, assert that the temple guards are, and I quote, "perfectly capable of dealing with dead scum"? Perhaps we should direct the question to them?"

    "Protecting the subjects of the kingdom from otherworldly forces has always been your job," Tulak pursed his lips in a displeasure. "Don''t forget the reason you''ve been allowed to... exist."

    "I have a good memory," Celesta replied without smiling. "I remember everything. You must understand that it is impossible to solve the problem with the available forces and with the opposition, including from the special services. Stop disturbing me and I will catch the outsiders."

    "Nobody''s stopping you. You just shouldn''t have sent two-thirds of your subordinates out of town."

    "I won''t throw the younger risens against a knowingly stronger enemy - we''re small enough as it is. And as for interference... Our patrols are not so much searching for the enemy as they are hiding from "holy warriors" or mercenary detachments. The information from my colleagues, which I was counting on, is nowhere to be found. At least allow me to involve the mages in the search!"

    "Impossible," Laar interjected again. "It is a political decision. It was made by the Son of the Sea himself."

    "I''m not one to question the wisdom of the blessed one''s commands," the girl shrugged. "But I can''t help noticing that it costs at least three families slaughtered every night. The countryside is already teeming. It won''t be long before there''s a riot."

    "It is the lot of inferiors to endure and obey," Tulak brushed aside. "Those who dare to rebel will be punished. As will you, Messena Celeste, if you do not rectify the situation in the very near future."

    I have nothing to blame myself for. The failure is due to objective reasons, as I''ve said more than once. Understand - we are dealing with an invasion of the strongest group of old experienced undead, familiar with all human methods. There''s no other way to catch them than an all-out raid under a unified leadership. We are wasting our time trying to figure out who is more to blame.

    "Because you shouldn''t ask for the impossible," Laar muttered. "The idea of holy warriors and the undead working together reeks of madness."

    "The madness will begin when the plague comes to Taleya," the vampiress encouraged him. "There is reason to believe that the murders are part of an elaborate ritual to summon the epidemic."

    "Oh yes, that deserter of yours. He ran again, didn''t he?"

    "The former master frightened him too much."

    "So can we trust his words?"

    "So far, they are supported by the facts."

    The mortals exchanged brief glances equally surreptitiously. Politics was politics, but the prospect of a city filled with rotting corpses didn''t appeal to them. Especially since infestation doesn''t choose its victims.

    "We will inform His Grace of your suspicions," Tulac promised. "I think he will take them into account."

    In this pairing, he was more independent and served as a confidant of the Chancellor. His promise was worth believing. Laar, despite his seemingly high position, had less influence. Celesta called the current head of the spiders "a man in his place" - that is, he was put in the chair of the Secret Service to cover the affairs of his patrons, so Laar did his best. He fully accomplished his task, but at the same time, he destroyed the most effective structure almost into components. Which, however, the Palace considered an acceptable cost.

    "I would be extremely grateful."

    * * *

 Chapter 17

    Chapter 17

    * * *

    There were no official maps of the whole of Taleya. There was something called a "large-scale representation of the Capital and its immediate surroundings" in the city mayor''s office, and the guards kept plans of individual neighborhoods, but both the detail and the timeliness of the changes reflected on them were lagging. Suffice it to say that it was not always possible to find houses built thirty years ago on them. It''s a shame: a quality copy would have come in handy today.

    In the absence of the right tools, they had to use surrogates. Hustin scolded, Celesta prepared for trouble and stocked up on alive canned food. A dozen "extra" people had been caught in the slums, especially for the ritual, and no one would notice their disappearance. And there were a few particularly trusted servants around, ready to set the throat to their Mistress. She was not afraid of exhaustion. But she strongly worried about complications with the magicians and priests of various temples, which would inevitably feel the complex ritual based on the power of the undead, and the future conflict with her own superiors, with whom she had not agreed on their actions. Because she knew that the use of magic on such a scale would be forbidden to her. But she saw no other way out. The nightly death toll was not diminishing, the usual search methods were failing, and the mood of the risens was falling. The community urgently needed some success. The Taleya people had never before faced such an experienced enemy; they should have been emboldened.

    After all, what if they are lucky, and the authorship of the ritual can be blamed on Carlon? Hustin swears that he will bury traces as deep as possible, and the lessons with Garresh have borne fruit. There''s a chance.

    A wide, about a man''s height and a half, an oval bowl of black porous stone had stood in the dungeon for a long time. Almost from the time of the Plague. At the time, Celesta and her companions had been shoveling everything that seemed valuable and useful but which they were having trouble realizing at the time, into the deep vaults. She doesn''t want to remember how they hid that big thing; it was both funny and scary. The three-hundred-kilogram product of the unknown master stood in the far corner of the century, before the sorcerer, who decided to adopt the bowl for useful work, saw it again. It was now the centerpiece of an intricate pattern designed to help the risen overcome the defenses created by their enemies.

    Leaning against the stone ledge, Celesta gazed out into the water. The lamps around the edge of the bank gave off just enough light to make it seem as if the vampiress was leaning over a matte black, barely reflective mirror. The sorcerer stood concentrated beside her, ready to receive images from her trance-wielding mistress and translate them into human language, and behind her, a good distance apart was Zervan and Latham. The elder bandit was to bring stupefied men from the next room, as many as needed; his colleague and rival were waiting for information to rush in at the head of his small squad to retrieve the found booty. Five elite fighters, the gathering estimated, should suffice. Carlon''s servants acted in groups of three or four and, despite their age and strength, were inferior to Latham''s workmanlike foursome. Especially since the rest of the ritualists would follow them and help when the mistress came to her senses.

    "Here we go," a low whisper echoed off the low ceiling and wafted through the small hall.

    A habitual effort takes consciousness to another level, forcing it to perceive the world, not as a set of separate, sometimes self-contained, sometimes not, pieces, but as a whole, in its entirety. Here and now Celesta seemed to herself a bird (what is a bird?) soaring over the city (what is a city?), gliding quietly and majestically in the gray mist, looking below, above, around for some small reason, for the target she needed. She could not remember why she was looking for these "enemies," only that she had to find them. So far, it wasn''t working. She spotted similar ones quickly and easily, just as black and scarlet and smelling of crossing over to the Other Side, but they didn''t fit. Too big of a city, the thought popped up in a rare clarity. It''s hard to hold a target.

    The fog was colored by people''s vivid dreams, by flashes of emotion, by the glow emanating from old buildings and places of power. It reflected everything - love, pain, artifacts made by wizards, and relics of temples worshipped by worshippers. The Academy''s core and the Royal Palace were surrounded by dark monolithic walls, and Celesta did not dare go near them, sensing a threat from the shields put up by ancient sorcerers. With hunger radiated the small undead, cautiously and respectfully twitched at the appearance of the Spirit of Mistress; menacing glowed eyes of the guards of the central temple of the Sun. That''s not it.

    At last something black flashed and disappeared nearby. The tired bird-Celesta lingered, peering more closely into the suspicious area, ducking closer, taking in the invisible currents with her whole body. Yes, there it is, there it is! Wrapped in a gray net, almost merging with the streaks of fog, four black lights shone dimly below. The Mistress screamed in triumph and lunged at the find, burning the cloak created by the foreign magic with the icy flame that emanated from her mouth.

    It took the last of her strength, and when a sharp jerk pulled her out of her trance, she couldn''t keep from falling. Her crystal-clear mind watched the body fall with detached curiosity, wondering if she would break something. The eyes fixed the picture clearly: six bloodless bodies to the right of the bowl, frightened, wide-open eyes of Zervan, bringing in another victim, hurriedly, but in strictly calibrated order extinguishing candles Hustin. Latham, as expected, had already departed.

    And then the hunger came over her. A gut-wrenching, mind-killing hunger.

    "Where?" she barely managed to wheeze out a question before she clutched at the obliging, delicious-smelling throat.

    The dark mage extinguished the last candle, erased a few lines on the floor, and came closer, peering into Celesta''s face. Zervan moved slightly away. Just a little, barely noticeable, but still. What had frightened him so?

    "Corner of Plum and Bald Coppersmith streets," has made sure that the Mistress was already adequate, Hustin answered. "It''s close by, they''ll make it in time."

    "There are four in the group. I couldn''t find the others," Celesta stepped away from her food for a moment.

    "That''s all right, we''ll get to them, too." Judging by his tone, the warlock was very pleased. "They''re probably either in the shelter or on the other side of town. Next time will be easier."

    Zervan stepped back again, now without hiding. He looked at the helpless victim, who had finally stopped moving, and went out of the hall - for another. Hastin smiled, crouched beside her on the dirt floor, and whispered in her ear, chuckling softly:

    "You should have seen yourself a minute ago. The face was white, bloodless, the eyes black, huge, your whispering made the ears bleed. Us, not you. You drained people, very fast! That speed made Zervan shudder, I suppose he thought it would be our turn, too."

    Hustin, too, judging by his feverishly rapid speech, was in withdrawal, for he could not stop, even when the cursing Zervan returned. Celesta tossed the drained man aside, took the next - an old man dressed in beggar''s tatters with eyes that looked white - and pointed the bandit helper toward the sorcerer. He, too, need some refreshment, and there was still food to eat. Men would have to be killed anyway. Usually, the risens would not drain a mortal to death, but now they would not leave any witnesses behind. That''s why they caught the ones that weren''t worth it.

    When she had finished with the mortal, the Mistress sat for a while, calming herself down and coming to her senses. She was glad she was wearing a black jacket and pants today - no blood could be seen in the dark, and she could wash off the stained face and hands. She waited until the sorcerer''s euphoria had worn off and he became sane again.

    She rose swiftly to her feet.

    "You said corner of Plum and Bald Coppersmith streets?"

    "I don''t think Latham will need our help," Hustin also got up from the floor. "How are you feeling?"

    "I''m good. And when the blood is completely assimilated, that is, in fifteen minutes, I''ll be just fine. Zervan!"

    "Yes, Mistress?"

    "Tell Vital to clean this place up," Celesta ordered the frowning sidekick. "Then catch up with us."

    It was still dangerous to go to the surface, so the risens now moved through the city in the catacombs. Even on the best of days, mortals avoided the lower levels, justifiably afraid of stumbling into one of the many traps or simply getting lost in the complex labyrinth of false nooks, dead ends, deep shafts, and wells. Perhaps the strangers were lurking somewhere underground, too, but they were unlikely to risk straying far from their hiding place.

    The recoil from the complex sorcery passed quickly, overwhelmed by the generous flow of power sucked from mortals, and Celesta quickened her pace. It wasn''t that she was worried about the Guardsmen; she just wanted to know the results of the encounter as soon as possible. But despite her haste, she was delayed at the exit to the surface, waiting for the slightly belated Zerwan. He caught up with his congeners by smell, and at one point lost his way. The sewers...

    The old vampires were sober about their options, and they didn''t like to take chances. Caution, caution, and caution again! Every step must be measured and considered, it is not strong who survive - it is the clever and calculating who survive, those who can wait out the enemy. That is why even the elders followed their Mistress''s orders and did not go through the city alone. The exception was Zervan''s reckless goons, who had already lost four of their brethren but had not abandoned their usual style of behavior. In short, when Celesta sensed the approach of a lone risen, she involuntarily became wary. Especially since the pattern of his thoughts was familiar and belonged to one of Latham''s subordinates. Did something happen?

    "Messena!" bowed to the guardsman. "Messen Latham sent me to tell you that it was a success. Two of the strangers have been destroyed, and two more captured. Vantal was badly wounded among us, the wounds of the others are not worth mentioning. There are no large mortal patrols nearby, so we''ll clean up the scene a bit and come to you."

    The vampiress felt the icy grip on her heart loosen.

    "Thanks for the good news, Reggie." Behind her back, Zervan spat defiantly, jealous of his rival''s success, but Celesta was already planning what to do next. "Are the prisoners able to answer questions?"

    "One does, the other needs treatment."

    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    "In that case, tell Messen Latham to go to the shelter under the cemetery of the Six Scarlet Righteous. It is nearer. I will wait for you there, so do not delay."

    "I obey, Messena."

    The knight''s associate bowed again and ran off with the message. Mistress smiled, and everything was going great. Of course, it''s too early to celebrate victory, but the first battle is won. Even the second, if you consider the pair sent for Calderan. And now they have prisoners who will surely answer the questions asked and spill everything they know. It won''t be long before she finds out where Carlon''s main lair is, whether the priest is really planning to bring the plague to the city, and there is now someone to charge the "spiders." What better proof of success than an alive and powerless enemy?

    A beautiful night.

    Turning around, the small group of shadowy rulers of the city walked back, talking quietly. They were in no hurry. They didn''t want to just sit and wait, so it was better for Latham''s squad to catch up with them so they would reach the dungeon together. Especially since the cemetery is a little closer to the center, there are more frequent patrols, and it is better to go there in a large group. They could also go underground, but then it would take longer to get there.

    Fate likes to joke. Those who are used to making plans for the future should remember this.

    Both the Taleya risens and the invading outsiders were looking forward to a long hunt. They were preparing for nights in the catacombs and swift battles in the night streets, sitting in ambushes for twenty-four hours and fleeing for cover. They waited for a slow war, filled with the lingering anticipation of a final lightning fight. Events seemed to be unfolding precisely according to the set scenario. Only an accident, unpredictable and fatal, broke the ending.

    The leaders and their retinue ran into each other in a short alley, almost a narrow square between two people''s courtyards. When she ran head-on into the priest, Mistress was taken aback for a moment, unable to believe that she was actually seeing an old enemy. For Carlon and his three companions, the encounter also came as a complete surprise. At any rate, they froze in stony stillness at the sight of the stunted Mistress, Zervan, and Hustin, peering hastily at their surroundings with their senses. Now, more than ever, the difference between vampires and living humans was apparent. Mortals in a dangerous situation would begin to shout, to act, to try to take a good position, to try to escape... The undead was frozen, waiting, preparing for a single deadly dash.

    "Truly the Lord is pleased with my plans!" With a resounding, well-pitched voice, the awake Carlon spoke. "His will has brought us into this nest of filth, and it shall be cleansed by his will. You, Celesta, the heart of vice, destroyer, will be the beginning of the end of the abomination gathered here!"

    "We meet again, at last. The circle is now complete," his adversary hummed softly.

    Unfortunately, there was no one in the world to appreciate the reference, and the situation was not conducive to humor. Even without the numerical advantage, fighting the mad priest one-on-one was not an option. A duel was not part of Celesta''s plan, particularly considering how the previous one had ended. She could only stall for time and wait for Latham and his team.

    If I survive, I''ll make Zervan and Latham reconcile. Or at least stop feuding so obviously, the vampiress vowed mentally. I didn''t dare unite the squad because of them!

    Oddly enough, she felt no fear or excitement. Not at all. As she gazed into the long-forgotten features of her first mentor, Celesta felt more disappointment than anything else. Dirty, with fanatically gleaming eyes, wearing a torn hulk and the marks of terrible wounds on his arms and neck, the priest evoked squeamishness and the desire to ask herself - this is what you were afraid of? What had he accomplished, what had he spent so much time on? To kill, to mock mortals! While you were building your own kingdom, learning magic, teaching your students, fighting the strongest creatures of the night, and doing a thousand other things you needed to do.

    "I was the first one you met on your way," Carlon continued to spill. "It''s my fault I didn''t see your true nature right away! But it didn''t take you long to hide your wicked intentions! You seduced our sister with enticements and promises, and stung on her outstretched hand like a creeper! I was weak in letting the heretics escape, and for my negligence, my Lord punished me severely but justly!"

    "Actually, Artak was the first," Celesta said dryly. "Or have you forgotten the name of your faithful servant? You don''t like to remember used material?"

    The priest hesitated for a few moments, but continued with renewed vigor: "It is not for you, wicked one, to besmirch his name! Brother Artak sacrificed himself to stop the mortals from destroying our former home. Morvan gave him the power to face the enemy!"

    "By the way, it''s good of you to remind me. I always wondered what happened in the temple. I thought it was you who was burned in front of the altar." And in a whisper, towards my companions: "Take care of the entourage. Don''t touch the man in charge."

    There was a muffled growl in response from Zervan. The vampire was deliberately squandering his rage, preparing to fall into a trance and turn into an all-consuming killing machine in a matter of moments. In that state, he lost some of his critical judgment but instead gained tremendous physical strength, speed, and stamina.

    Quietly, with just her lips: "Not yet."

    "The Lord''s blessing has been bestowed on Brother Artak," Carlon said haughtily. "I, unworthy as I am, have succeeded in transferring some of the powers given to him by the Dark One. The Lord of Hell was unhappy with his slave''s selfishness, and he spared Artak, but he punished me for mishandling his gift. That is why I had to flee on that terrible day. The Lord punished his negligent servant severely, and it took me a long, long time to beg his forgiveness. Look at my hands! The sun''s scorch marks from that day are still there! The hour came, however, and the Lord gave me strength again. Your death will restore me to my Lord''s favor..."

    He hadn''t even finished the last phrase yet when his appearance became blurred, indistinct as if covered by someone else''s shadow. There was a pungent smell of danger and sorcery. She tried almost immediately to break the priest''s concentration and launched a knife at him, but the runic-covered metal crumbled before she could reach her target. A blurred figure flashed to her right, crashing into one of Carlon''s companions with a triumphant roar. On the left, Hustin slashed at his wrist with his claws, preparing his gift for his enemies. The Mistress trusted her assistants and paid no attention to their battle - she had begun her own. Far more dangerous, more decisive. For the priest was worth all his retinue combined.

    Carlon does keep a steady connection to Morvan since he is still alive, she recalled Garresh''s words. They had often discussed what her current adversary was capable of. Otherwise, the pure Darkness would simply swallow him up or abandon him there is no third option. The ability to call upon the supreme aspect gives the adept of the Dark Abyss much, though it requires a great deal of skill and will. First and foremost, it allows the embodiment of particles of Darkness in our world. A perfect weapon, almost impossible to resist. You created something like that once.

    Oh, yes! Once. She doesn''t want to do it again. That stupid prank cost the lives of two dozen fanatics, and only by a miracle did not bring the final death of Hustin and Medea.

    The Darkness has shown you mercy. It happens. Seldom.

    That''s right. They were saved by a miracle.

    You and Carlon are equal in the eyes of Darkness. This is your chance. Just make the right request. Call out.

    For centuries she''d tried not to think of those terrible moments, or perhaps of the eternity she''d spent in the Dark Abyss. If vampires could dream, Celesta would still be plagued by nightmares. But now that painful experience might have been life-saving... The vampiress had long persuaded herself to try to follow Garresh''s advice, fearfully searching inside her mind for the tiny imprint of the touch of a force foreign to the living world. In vain. The fear was too great.

    But now, standing in front of Carlon, feeling the call coming from the priest, she was not afraid of anything. The shadows did not frighten her. Yes, the cold that radiated from them destroyed stone and earth, turning them into powdery, frozen dust. And the thin, faintly audible howls drove her insane, driving her mind to pain-filled, misery-filled pictures. But there was no pervasive hatred. Alive, dead, or otherwise, they were completely alien to this world and brought destruction simply by their nature. They didn''t want to kill. They didn''t want anything at all.

    She was careful and confident as if for the thousandth time, to reach out with her consciousness for the stream of incarnate Darkness that was coming at her. Carlon was completely immersed in a translucent cocoon, the tall silhouette of the priest barely visible through the swirl of thick black ribbons that surrounded him. Most of the shadows seemed to linger in the wake of the priest''s body as if they were afraid of losing their source, though a few dozen reached out vigorously toward the vampiress. Carlon, apparently, had decided to finish off his adversary in a guaranteed manner. If Celesta could have, she would have grinned - it was easy, though painful, to perceive a large number of spawns of Darkness. Feeling unparalleled emotions - if only those feelings could be called emotions - was unpleasant. Nevertheless...

    She fell into a strange state of merged-removed observation instantly, like she was under the ice. A second ago she was standing in a small square, waiting for the touch of the dark ribbons reaching for her, while a fierce battle was simmering nearby - and suddenly there she was. In the middle of the Darkness. Hanging in the boundless void, not feeling her own body, indifferently noting the presence of equally calm and cold observers. If she had eyes left, she could have tried to look at the horrifying in its merciless beauty clots of darkness, but there were no eyes and no other organs. Only pure mind, pure knowledge, and the sensation of other eyes going through the contents of her memory, touching the core of her personality, touching the very soul with icy fingers. Pulling out something old, long-buried, from the times when it was not her own will only to come into an unfamiliar world and, making mistakes, getting used to a new body, a name, a thirst.

    She sensed... interest. Perhaps that''s what you could call the thought emitted by one of the local inhabitants. The non-human consciousness was interested in an amusing toy. It was carefully, but not out of fear of injury, carefully, but not out of a desire to preserve, examining what had only recently been Celesta. Evaluated. Weighed. It grasped unfamiliar concepts, absorbed ideas, changed itself, and involuntarily changed its willing victim. Giving her some of its power, knowingly or unknowingly giving her protection from its kind. Finally, it left with indifferent thrift, picking Celesta up from the shards and kicking her back. To the real world.

    The undead girl opened her pitch-black eyes.

    The fight continued, Hustin and Zervan successfully fought off the priest''s companions, and the quiet footsteps of Latham''s fighters running to their aid could be heard in the distance. The hearts of the frightened people thundered in the houses, and clouds glided across the sky, promising rain by morning. Rats scurried through the sewers and dogs whimpered in the yards. Trees trembled, sensing the breakthrough of other-worldly energies, and witchcraft signs on the walls of the Academy glowed. The shadows still swirled around Carlon and the madly smiling Celesta, doing them no harm.

    The priest stared in horror. Mistress lazily ran her tongue over her lips, feeling the intoxicating euphoria, catching and drinking in the drops of fear emanating from the enemy. Strangely enough, the cocoon of darkness did not prevent her from seeing the look on Carlon''s face.

    "Silly priest," she purred. The sound of her voice at that moment would have made Medea jealous. "You''re confused. So faithful to the Darkness... What makes you think she needs you?"

    "No! Damn witch! You won''t confuse me!"

    A happy laugh, like the sound of silver bells, sounds in response. It is so inappropriate here and now that the fight stops, and the opponents bounce away from each other and look at Mistress of Taleya with bewilderment, laced with awakening fear.

    "Silly," said Celesta again. "Why would I confuse you? It''s just that you''re in my way..."

    She could hardly remember now why she considered this risen an enemy. The knowledge was leaving Celeste, but the vampiress understood that he is similar to her. They were marked by the same power. Slightly different, his aspect higher, but twisted and unable to make full use of the host''s flesh. There was no need to feud.

    It seems, however, that Carlon... How strange. The combination of sounds identifies identity. Well, that''s not what Carlon thinks. And if he''s not stopped, he''ll try to extract her from this layer of reality. She''ll have to get rid of him. Maybe she should send it to that Higher she came into contact with. Yes, that is the best way. The soul of a being born in the material world is a generous gift.

    "Good bye."

    The vampires in the square watched in shock as the priest''s silhouette began to fade. The shadows shrank, enveloping him more and more thickly but through them, you could see their source and host fading. Soon the Darkness''s envoys almost disappeared altogether, pulled into Carlon, as if taking his materiality with them and erasing him from the real world. All that remained were a few trickling down the Night Mistress''s body, like snakes slithering across a white statue.

    Celesta smiled contentedly and lay down on the stones of the sidewalk. The energy was slowly draining from her and instead, her old personality was returning and her strength was fading. She needed to rest. She did not think about the fact that the fight was not over. She didn''t think or reason at all - she just wanted to sleep. Sleep...

    * * *

 Chapter 18

    Chapter 18

    * * *

    The awakening was instantaneous. She had just been lying there, falling into a deep, heavy sleep when suddenly her consciousness was suddenly switched on, and began to assess the incoming information. Her body was overflowing with energy, and Celest found it hard to hold still, suppressing with an effort of will the urge to jump up and take action. To do anything but sit still.

    "Are you sure Messena will come to her senses?"

    Latham''s voice. Worried about his mistress, as always.

    "I think so," Hustin answered. "I can''t say exactly how long. I''m more worried about what happens to her afterward. What did she have to pay to win?"

    There were no other risens or people nearby, so Celesta opened her eyes. She smiled as she looked at the heads of her comrades-in-arms bent over her. They had retreated half a step for some reason.

    "We''ll deal with the payment issue later, Hustin," she informed her court mage. "Although, just in case, check my aura for extraneous changes. Latham, report."

    "We''re on level three, ten minutes'' walk from the scene of the fight," the bodyguard answered instantly. "It''s been an hour. The square had been ravaged, with priests and mages now scurrying about, taking some measurements. Two adversaries are dead, one was captured, and the leader you fought with has disappeared. All captured strangers are now interrogated by Zervan. My squad is here, waiting for instructions."

    In the distance came screams of pain and the cracking of broken bones. Celesta rose easily to her feet, noting in passing the incredible lightness and plasticity of her body, and glided down the aisle in a dancing, blurred motion. It was hard to get out of the way.

    "Do any of the people know about the results of the fight?"

    "We didn''t tell anyone, Messena. Not even ours."

    "Perfect."

    Zervan, who up to that moment had been purposefully turning his former foe into a well-chopped piece of meat, moved fidgetily back against the wall when Mistress appeared. Apparently, the demons'' appearance had shaken his ultra-resilient psyche after all, for he''d never before been so visibly disturbed in her presence. Not even on his worst days, after a severe battering. Celesta walked over to the stump nailed to the wall with steel crutches, ran her finger across his bloody cheek, and asked aloud:

    "Did he say where are the others?"

    "Yes, Mistress," Zervan nodded. He stared at the scorched mark left by the touch of the slender maiden''s hand on the risen''s flesh. "There are eight of them left, just as we thought. But I''m sure there were people helping them."

    The vampiress thought for a moment.

    "Mortals aren''t that important. I can''t allow any of Carlon''s disciples to escape from Taleya, which is exactly what will happen if we delay and don''t catch them right away."

    "Shall we send for Kalderan?" Latham suggested. "His help might come in handy."

    The people and even some of the rebels thought the renegade had left the city for the north. Allegedly, the approach of the former chief frightened him so much that he could not stand it and ran away again. In reality, Celesta simply didn''t want to show him to her superiors - who knows what the "spiders" would think? Lately, they''ve been acting out of ideological rather than rational considerations

    "No. First, we don''t have much time. Second, he didn''t mention anyone close to him in his stories, and third, I may be making a mistake in letting him live. We must destroy everyone with whom the mad priest may have shared his knowledge. It is too dangerous." The Mistress did not so much chuckle as she grinned. "Carlon was very good at persuasion. I can''t risk it, and I intend to destroy all the bearers of his faith."

    Hustin had not uttered a word since she had awakened. The mage studied the processes going on in his mistress with enthusiasm, and, judging by the occasional curses that broke through his teeth, wished only that the object of his scrutiny would remain in one place for as long as possible. He remarked, however:

    "The Element of Darkness is being studied at the Academy. I can''t say that they are successful, but there are some results."

    "Academics do not seek to destroy humanity and to make room for a new race. What about Vantal?"

    "His right arm was torn out, Messena," Latham answered, grimacing. "The leader of those four was unexpectedly strong."

    Vantal will have to heal for at least a year - it''s very difficult to grow bones. Considering who stood up to them, the loss is acceptable. But what to do now? The remaining outsiders must be dealt with as quickly as possible before they try to flee the city. She would not send her guardsmen into battle now- vampires need their rest, too, if only to heal their wounds. Use Zervan''s gang? She could but it would be a waste. They are also a resource, even if they are not of very high quality. To draw people in? Absolutely no desire to share the victory, especially with the temple people. They will surely find a way to take credit from the risens, and make them look bad. However, there seems to be a suitable option.

    "It will be dawn in half an hour... Latham, are you still in touch with the captains of the Hunters?"

    "Of course, Messena. They are dissatisfied with the conditions offered by the Templars and are eager to make contact."

    "Immediately inform them of the place where the servants of Carlon are staying, promise them a generous reward, and you can give them the plan of the tunnels in that section. If they hurry, they''ll be ready before noon. We''ll keep an eye on the catacombs."

    The bodyguard immediately went off to organize a cleanup. The other could be said to have run away, but Latham managed to move with majestic grace and very fast at the same time. An iron psyche. He had just witnessed an event comparable to the battles described in the old legends (with the general weakening of magic, of course), and he hadn''t blinked an eye. A unique hybrid of childhood instilled face control, fatalism, and faith in his diminutive mistress.

    The undead couldn''t do anything against the mortals. Again.

    You can be strong, smart, lucky, or all together. You can get out of hundreds of messes. You can live for hundreds of years, inspiring fear and becoming more experienced with each passing year. Kudos and praise to you. But remember - the minute you allowed yourself to neglect your opponent and forget caution, you lost. Graves are full of people who thought they were invincible. The outsiders had forgotten this rule. They despised what they thought were inferior creatures, and they paid the price for it.

    To be fair, the hunters should be commended for coping brilliantly with the order proposed to them. Of the eight risens only two managed to escape into the narrow passageways of the catacombs, able to cope with the effects of afternoon sleep and not to rush into a hopeless fight. The rest could not control their instincts and began to charge at the hunters, this time with flying colors. The mortals were too well prepared and had sufficient skill, acquired through decades of practice. Hunters were well versed in the habits of any undead, knew their strengths and weaknesses, passed down recipes for poisons or stimulants from generation to generation, and did not shy away from using artifacts. Occasionally, very rarely, there were wizards among them who made good use of the particles of knowledge they found. In short, the Carlon afterbirths stood no chance, and the fugitives who had broken through the cordon were finished off by the Taleya vampires.

    Celesta ordered that no prisoners be taken.

    Moments of total triumph have a vile tendency to end in trouble. The ancient Romans noted this, who used to put an evil-speaking slave in the chariot of the triumphant, a reminder of the windiness of people''s love. Everything seemed fine: Carlon was dead! The crisis is over at last! Medea will now forget her bouts of depression and return to her usual laughably exalted state! It was probably the hardest thing to see her friend depressed, so the first thing Celesta did was tell her the good news.

    "Medea, do you hear me?"

    "You''re alive!" The force of the mental response rang in my head. "They didn''t catch you?"

    Medea''s emotions were literally overwhelming her, and she was not able to remove herself from them at once.

    "Don''t be silent! Answer me!"

    "Calm down, it''s hard for me to keep a connection!"

    "I''m sorry, there''s nothing reflective in here," said the noun sister a little less forcefully. "And they won''t let me out of my room. How are you?"

    "We killed Carlon and all his scum!"

    Celesta herself was amazed at the sheer animal pleasure with which she reported her victory. It seemed that deep down inside she was not as calm as she thought she was. The fear of the priest was ingrained, habitual, and invisible, and only now that it was gone could she feel it.

    "Really?! Is he really dead?" Judging by the coming emotions, Medea was desperate and at the same time afraid to believe the happy news. "Are you sure?"

    "Believe me, I finished him off very well," Mistress of Taleya assured me with grim humor. "There weren''t even any ashes left."

    After a long silence, Medea spoke out with an unspeakable bouquet of emotions:

    "Thank the gods. You have no idea how happy I am."

    "Well, why, I, too, had a huge stone lifted from my heart. Can you imagine, now that''s it! We''ll never hear about him again!"

    "Tell me, how did you deal with him?"

    "It''s too long, and I don''t have much energy left. Come to my place in the Third Dungeon, and we''ll talk there in detail."

    Her friend was silent again for a long time.

    "Be damn my blood. I''d forgotten all about joy," she sounded doom in her voice. "You cannot go home. Laar gave the order to eliminate you."

    "What?!"

    "Right after you and Hustin performed the ritual. I literally just found out. You''re charged with killing the Son of the Sea''s subjects, practicing forbidden magic, and attempting to malign His Sacred Personality. It seems they''ve decided there are no outsiders and you made the whole thing up yourself."

    "Bastards!" Celesta roared, struggling to suppress a deafening rage. "I hate them!"

    "And we can''t meet, at least not until nightfall. I''m in Count Linae''s house right now, and there are a lot of clerics around. If I go out... I won''t be able to sneak out until after sundown."

    "He won''t betray you? Your Count?"

    "Rudy?!" The indignation seemed unplayed. "How could it be? I took his virginity!"

    "The King will order it, and you''ll know how," the older vampiress bade grimly. - That''s it, that''s enough, the link''s breaking up. I''ll think of something, just get yourself out. I''ll see you later."

    "See y..."

    The desire to rest had to be crushed with an iron fist. The time seemed to be counting in seconds, and it was urgent to understand what was happening. What was going on? Medea would not lie, but she might well misinterpret what she had learned. And if not? Okay, first of all - information.

    Latham and his squad were too tired, they already had to use stimulants during the day. They are still young to be awake during the day. Hastin is not a spy, she is not able to go anywhere by herself. That leaves Zervan. An exuberant Elder, who just drained the risen who lost in a fight: not because of hunger, but simply as a proof of victory.

    Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    Celesta pushed away the mirror she had used to communicate with her sister. She was now in yet another shelter, hidden deep underground and seemingly unknown to the "spiders". The bare minimum: a narrow trestle bed, a table, a stool, and a stash of a couple of useful items. There were hundreds of such small hiding places around the city, and they were furnished on a similar principle. Her aides filed away in the adjoining rooms, recovering from an eventful day, unaware of the thoughts that haunted their superiors. She, on the other hand, must torment herself with doubts, wondering if the information she had received from her friend was correct. Should Medea go to her aid, or should she allow herself to escape on her own? What exactly to order to Zervan?

    In principle, the elimination order is not unexpected and fits into the current policy of the Court. Something like this was expected, just not so soon. Interesting, is she the only one to be eliminated or is it, everyone, starting with the Elders, to be eliminated in general? Find out first. Most of the risens have now fled the city or are hiding in places unknown even to most of the servants-cultists, and they will not be active until they receive new orders. They are safe. There is no need to worry about those who have left the Capital; they have the corruption of the lower ranks, who always readily relay the latest news to the elders of the provincial congregations. And they will hit the largest community and its head in the first place. So, we should be worried about those who remained here in Taleya, who continued to imitate the active work.

    "Zervan!"

    A rustle was heard behind the wall, the sound of footsteps.

    "Here I am, Mistress."

    "Medea reports that they''ve decided to get rid of us," the Mistress broke the news to her assistant. "They said we were the ones who killed the mortals and invented the whole thing."

    "They''re completely...." Zervan reacted profanely. Celesta had long ago given up trying to cure him of foul language due to the utter futility. "What are we going to do?"

    "Now, you will go to the clerk Karist Ot, and give him this ring." The girl rummaged in her purse, pulled out the jewel, and handed it to the bandit. "And tell him that the miller''s daughter asked for a debt of gratitude. Word for word. Where does he live, remember?"

    "It''s hard to forget that old tarantula!" Zervan looked at his Mistress with admiration. - I never would have believed that he was your informer!"

    "He doesn''t my informer. Agents like Carist are not used for routine," Celesta grimaced. It was almost physically painful to give the name of her most valuable contact. "Find out from him who has been ordered to be removed - the Elders, the risens and servants, or just me? Who gave the order, and what forces are involved? In short, ask him everything. Then come back here. And don''t risk - it''s another six hours before sunset, and the catacombs are probably full of patrols blessed by the Sun."

    "It''ll be all right," grinned the former pirate and smuggler slyly. A good fight seemed to have put him back in good spirits and made him forget his recent fears. He didn''t like sorcery, was afraid of it. "I''ll tear them to pieces if I have to."

    The vampiress gave him a cold look.

    I want information, not bodies. Go on. And call Hustin on the way.

    First, the mortals, who suddenly decided to start hunting at the most inopportune moment. Then the anger of having to reveal the name of an agent recruited nearly half a century ago and who has given crucial information ever since. She has no other ears in the Fourth Chamber of the Secret Guard office. Now she must converse with the sorcerer, eager to learn the details of her duel with Carlon, and at the same time give the prepared listener her own conclusions. He didn''t even go home for that and stayed with the rest of the squad. So far he''d managed to avoid him but in a situation where there''s an urgent need to contact many risens she can''t do without Hustin.

    Mother Night, give me a break!

    "Did you call?"

    Celesta was glad she''d held back and not screamed out loud. Reputation takes years to build but it''s destroyed in seconds.

    "We have another problem," she "pleased" the assistant.

    As the story progressed, the sorcerer, who at first was hovering in scientific empiricism, returned more and more firmly to the earth. He appreciated the complexity of the situation in the blink of an eye. Despite a certain detachment from society, Hustin clearly understood - the risens exist relatively comfortably only due to the connivance of people. If the latter want to ... True, he doubted the ability of the current leadership "spiders" to conduct a large-scale cleanup but he recognized that on a large single action against the top vampires, their resources and determination were enough.

    "What do I have to do?"

    The subordinate''s businesslike tone pleased the Mistress. Very much so.

    "I don''t think there''s any point in hurrying. Our people are either asleep in secret hiding places now, or already scattered ashes, brought into the light. So we wait for Zervan with the news and rest. In the evening you are to contact all the risens of the country, outline the situation to them, reassure them, and pass on my orders." She admitted reluctantly, "I am in no condition to take action myself. I think the drawback is coming."

    "I have a couple of good potions with me."

    "I''ll wait till tonight, and then we''ll see." Celesta put the glass vials on the table. "That''s it, I''m going to bed. Wake me when Zervan comes back."

    "Good day," the sorcerer said with a wry grin as he left the room.

    Human stupidity, while taking various forms, still fits into certain standards. For example, the desire to find someone to blame right in the middle of the battle. It is clear to anyone that it is necessary first to eliminate the immediate threat to life, position, loved ones, or status (underline the point) - and only then to find out who is to blame for the situation and whether it could have been prevented. But no - the crisis is not an obstacle for those who like to throw the responsibility on others! On the contrary. While clever and responsible people are trying to bring at least some order, the others, those who are more abrupt, are covering their asses, exposing the former to the wrath of their superiors.

    This subtype of idiot is particularly common among officials. Both Laar and Tulak were proof of this.

    The series of massacres of families and the panic in the city had stirred up the authorities. The poor were on the verge of revolt. A wild revolt, uncontrollable, and no one wanted it. A scapegoat was needed, preferably one whose guilt was easy to believe, and whose arrest would not cause protests from one of the influential factions. In another situation, they would have framed their enemies but now the leaders of the Secret Guard were looking for a quick result. The risens, especially their Mistress, fit perfectly - they were not liked, and the temples agreed to exchange the destruction of the undead community for some political preferences. The Chancellor gave the green light for the operation.

    "So were they going to catch Carlon, or did they seriously think he was my fiction?" Celesta clarified.

    "They seem to have been promised something by the priests," replied Zervan, who had returned with his booty. "The Blue Ang and The Sun delegations sat in Laar''s office for a long time. They must have sworn they''d catch them themselves."

    The scribe of the fourth desk of the Secret Guard is a unique position. One of the highest officers of the web that entangles the kingdom, commander of archivists, accountants, specialists in secret writing, and other relatively peaceful employees, in no way related to the fieldwork. A person unknown to the general public but well versed in the underside of the motley world of the secret service.

    The information obtained from Cariste Ot can be trusted. But it''s very difficult to get it from such people. They don''t talk much, very much.

    "We couldn''t have a long talk - the moron said his house was being watched. He doesn''t know who."

    Zervan, like all the Elders, was familiar with the top of the "spiders. He knew who was worth something. If the scribe said he was being watched, he was being watched; he wasn''t imagining it.

    "Go on, tell me."

    "The orders are to arrest all the Elders and anyone else they catch," the bandit shrugged. "Well, except for Medea, of course. You''ve done it again, cat. About the arrest, you see, it''s a pure whistle; they got us where they found us and buried us. The law is not written for the undead. I''ve seen a lot of mine get shortened on the head, though Scar seems to be in one piece."

    "He has good instincts. And he doesn''t spend his days in declassified hideouts."

    "Whoever didn''t obey my order to change hideouts, all laid down," answered Zervan without much regret for his fallen comrades-in-arms. "So be it for fools. It was the first thing that tore down your official chambers. There were a hundred or so priests brought out for the cause. They were in a hurry, trying to take all the glory, so they got angry. What shall we do now, Mistress? They won''t rest until they catch us."

    "So you say," Celesta curved her lips in a contemptuous sneer. "Our enemies, if you take them all together, have missed their chance. What have they accomplished? The Elders are free, and the basic chain of command is intact. Only the youngsters among the risens have suffered. Gardaman''s moved his assets out of the city and even out of the country, and he''s in Bardi right now. The men and cultists who served us were warned in advance and lay low until they received special orders, or they left, too, for Zonne, Lascaris, and the other major cities. We made it, Zervan. We started in time, and that''s why we were in time."

    "They were quick on the run, too," the vampire paid tribute to the enemy. "They made a decision at night, then went hunting during the day. But they fail."

    "Did Carist say anything about the other communities? If I had planned an operation against the risens, I would have acted all over the kingdom at once."

    "No, Laar didn''t give any instructions. Maybe the priests, through their own channels?"

    "Or they just forgot. Let''s hope for the eternal snobbery of the capital''s inhabitants toward the provinces. Perhaps they think that by destroying me and my inner circle, that is, the strongest risens, it will be easier to deal with the rest."

    "So what should we do?"

    "Sit and wait. The priests can''t raid us all at once, and we can''t be taken by scattered actions. Let them make a fuss. You rest now - we may have to free Medea. Laar hasn''t caught the other Elders, and he needs some sort of success to keep him accountable."

    When Zervan left, Mistress laid down on the narrow trestle bed and, looking up at the ceiling, began to calculate the situation in the light of new information. The good news was that her losses were relatively low. She and Hustin still had much to hunt down in the deepest dens of their kind. But even now it was clear that the backbone of the community had survived. It was not for nothing that she had ordered her subjects to sleep in places unknown to the curators.

    Initially, the agreement made with the "spiders" implied very strict conditions. The risens were obliged, among other things, to report all the places in which their day shelters were equipped, and to let them be inspected at the first request. This provision was not changed immediately or completely. The "spiders" still knew where the big hideouts were but they agreed to the existence of a network of small rooms like the one Celesta was in now. There were also a dozen equipped dungeons deep underground in the city, like Hustin''s lab or Mistress''s personal hiding place, most of which had been mothballed once they''d been created. Just in case. There were snitches among vampires and even their own could not always be trusted.

    So, what has to be done. First, find all the risens in the Capital. It would be logical to contact the masters of the other cities but her powers are not limitless. She could, however, send a mental message to the Elders of the four largest communities, and let them contact the others. And it must be done now before her resolve fades. Laar would not turn to wizards but would use pigeon mail. That gives her a little head start on time. Secondly, she should find out the status of her personal retinue, and contact the nominal heads of the cults. Without the support of mortals, it is much harder to survive. Next, don''t forget about Medea. Her image as a slightly flighty art groupie and the patronage of the old aristocracy saved her from the first blow but now she will be taken seriously. She had better hide with the others.

    For the first time in three hundred years, the risens go underground. Completely refuse to support the authorities. In some ways, it''s the beginning of a new era.

    Her musings were interrupted by a gentle knock on the door.

    "Come in, Latham."

    "I''m sorry to disturb you, Messena, but Master Hustin sent me to you. According to him, something unpleasant happened?"

    The bodyguard trivially overslept the events after the final resolution of the issue with the outsiders. First, the battle with the band of outsiders, then the worry about the unconscious Mistress, with whom he was not present in the decisive battle, and finally the organization and participation in the raid completely exhausted the former aristocrat, and he fell into a deep sleep. After all, age was taking its toll. Through lifelong upbringing, training, and ancestral magic, Latham had rightfully ranked as one of the country''s strongest risens but he was still young and unable to resist the pressure of the sun. Physiology forced him to hibernate.

    "In short, we have been thrown out. The event was long-awaited but still unpleasant."

    While Celesta recounted the stormy events of the day her assistant stood motionless his face stony-faced. Nevertheless, the girl who was well acquainted with his emotional background sensed a current of bitterness and carefully suppressed rage emanating from Latham, so she thought it appropriate to note:

    "You know, I''m not upset at all. Yes, I was offended - because I had served the Crown and the Country long and faithfully - but I wasn''t upset. And, in some way, I''m even pleased - certainty has come the bridges have been burned."

    "I hoped to the last that they would not betray us," the assistant confessed.

    "From their point of view, we are the traitors, refusing to accept our fate." Celesta smiled slyly. "In fact, many noblemen find it unnecessary to keep their word to a member of an inferior class."

    Latham let the quip slip past his ears. In the early years after the uprising, he had a difficult time with his established worldview. Conflict with Zervan, accustomed to the subordination of the younger ones, comes from those times. Fortunately for the former heir of the ancient family honor was not an empty sound or a convenient demagogic trick, so to correct his views on life the mistress managed, albeit with difficulty.

    "Perhaps I should take care of the fate of Mr. Laar?"

    "He doesn''t have long," the Mistress shook her head. "He was valuable as long as he played his part. The need to weaken the Secret Guard is obsolete now, the task is done, and he will soon be replaced by someone more intelligent and more competent. Then we shall see. Morvan with him, the doomed man. You''d better tell me what you think of my death."

    The deputy was silent, then cautiously confessed: "I''m afraid my mind isn''t sharp enough to keep up with the twists and turns of the thoughts of the Highly Mistress."

    "It''s very simple. Imagine that I died during the fight with Carlon, and all subsequent actions you took at your own risk, wishing for revenge. The Council has disintegrated, there is no longer a single authority. Zervan minds his own business, you mind yours, Hustin is gone, Gardomann has fled the country. Medea is left, shedding bitter tears and quietly scooping up the rest of my retinue. Estimate the reaction to such news."

    "They''ll be happy at first, then confused," Latham nodded slowly. "It might work. They''ll save face and be able to say they got what they wanted."

    "Exactly. In a couple of weeks, it will become obvious that it''s impossible to destroy all of Taleya''s vampires. Then we''ll have to negotiate. With whom? There are two real candidates: Medea, who the community knows well, and you, whom they fear. Who do you think will be chosen?"

    "Obviously, I won''t satisfy the Chancellor. But I think the raid will last longer than half a month."

    "Maybe," the Mistress agreed. "It''s a very convenient cover for some business. But the initial tension will subside, and we''ll get a respite. The risens need time to adjust to the new rules of the game, and people will give us that."

    "I''m afraid that some of the Masters of Cities will want to be on their own."

    Celesta shrugged philosophically. Yes, yes, there is such a danger. So?

    "I cleaned out the most controversial ones last year. The rest will have to be visited by you. There will be difficulties with the cultists but I hope for Medea''s acting talent."

    The fragile, defenseless teenager-like leader of the risens smiled coldly. Let her be considered dead. She will lurk in the darkness from where she will watch, rule her servants, and send them after the heads of her enemies. She will wait as long as necessary, she will not rush and make mistakes, she will choose the right moment by herself and regain what is lost. Mortals are prone to hustle, missing the truly serious things in the pursuit of momentary gain.

    The undead knows how to wait.

    * * *

 Chapter 19

    Chapter 19

    * * *

    Smart people are afraid of the undead and try to stay away from them. In order not to be eaten, yes. Children are told fairy tales about how to behave when they meet them. How to avoid meeting them, or what to do so they don''t bite them at all, just a little. If you''re lucky, you can even ask for money in exchange for sucked blood. They make up all sorts of stories, especially the townspeople who love it. But almost all those stories end the same way. Lunch, of course.

    In fact, the risens turned out to be different. Like humans, only undead. The proud and haughty guards of Messen Latham, the merchant-like, calculating subordinates of old Gardoman, and the rampaging backyards wolves of Zervan''s looked no more like each other than artisans looked like peasants or warriors. They had their own traditions formed over the centuries, their way of dressing, their favorite places, and their hobbies. Vador hadn''t figured it out on his own his teacher had shown him when they studied the peculiarities of caste society. It''s true that vampires don''t have castes, which means it''s easy to go from one elder to another but Egard gave examples from life: to make it clear.

    His initial fear of his new kin was gone; no one in the community was bad-mouthing him, humiliating him, and generally treating him well. Almost everyone. Some wanted to make the newcomer work for them but a few words from the master was enough to keep them off Vador''s back. It was as if the Mistress had forbidden the young rebels to touch him without his master''s permission for the rest of his training, and she was watching over it personally. Well, that''s the way he understood it.

    Vador rarely saw Mistress Celesta herself. At first, his lessons consumed most of his free time then he had to run around all day, or rather nights, on Master Egard''s errands. For a whole month, there was a fuss, and all quietly, away from prying eyes. So he couldn''t visit his family, but maybe that was for the best. What to tell them? "Hello, dear parents, here I am, your son! A little dead, but I''m well settled in the Capital!" His father would pull down his pants in a jiffy for such fun - he doesn''t care that his son is a monster. Especially since he and Master had no way out of the dungeon now. Master Hustin forbade it.

    They had been assigned to the sorcerer right after the strangers came to Taleya. Vador wondered if there were risens who were not afraid of their Mistress. It turns out, there are, only a few, and the head of the strangers is one of them. The sorcerer himself did not see him, only heard that Lady Celesta and Lady Medea (the first time he saw her, he froze) quarrel with him during the Plague. And now he''s back, and he wants revenge. He was the only vampire who could not leave his homeland, so they sent all the young vampires away, except for Vador who couldn''t yet. Well, if you can''t, then you''d better get out of the way and go help Master Hastin in the lab.

    Now it''s funny to remember, but then he was walking, and his legs were trembling. He had been frightened of sorcerers since childhood and told them to stay away from them. He was now undead himself, but sucking blood was an understandable and somewhat customary thing. Mosquitoes suck blood, and no one is afraid of them. That''s how they eat. Cows eat grass, wolves eat meat, and vampires feed on blood. Warlocks themselves, voluntarily sign a treaty with Morvan, and take the dark destiny for themselves and their descendants. That is, Master Hustin did not seem to him than a mere servant of the Darkness, but something of the wicked, a true concentrate of evil. And he was waiting for the worst fate, especially when he saw the dead men he had raised. The ones who scrubbed the master''s floors and did all the cleaning.

    In general, he made up some nonsense and believed it himself. He had been in the lab for a while now, and nothing much was going on, especially lately. He was not allowed in the Academy, and his mistress had also asked him not to go outside the dungeon. So he decided to make the most of his time and began to brew elixirs. That is, not so much to brew as to infuse or to make different extracts. The Master is also familiar with alchemy, though he does not know any magic, and they both have an apprentice at their disposal.

    Just like this.

    "Open the door, young man." Hustin was used to addressing students in a certain way, and he wasn''t going to change his habits. "We have an important guest."

    The door was gingerly opened, and Mistress Celesta, who nodded at Vador, entered the room. She was in a good mood, judging by the contented smile on the corners of her lips. On the shoulder of the deceptively fragile figure hung the unconscious carcass of a large man, which instantly filled the relatively small room with the smells of fried onions, sour wine, and stale sweat.

    However, no one here was particularly squeamish.

    "I finally found the right candidate," Celesta declared as she dumped her body on the floor.

    Hustin immediately put aside the recipe book, turned down the fire under the bubbling cauldron, and walked closer to the man. He moved his hand over the prisoner, listening to his sensations, and nodded slowly:

    "It''s a strange feeling. There is something, but I don''t know what it is."

    "Even if his energy and blood hadn''t matched the parameters you''d calculated, I''d still have brought him in." The Mistress paused beside Egard, who was grinding the slugs into mush, and she grimaced defiantly at the result of the vampire''s efforts. The man only smiled. "My instincts were literally screaming his worthiness."

    "Instincts?" The sorcerer took a small vial and a short syringe out of his pocket and deftly inserted the needle into a vein. "You have to listen to your instincts. Is there no one else?"

    "Why, yes, it was." Celesta finished examining the battery of vials of potions and sat down in a chair. "But I decided on the least likable person for my first try. I doubt we''ll get the results we want right away."

    "Well, miracles do happen..." said Hustin without confidence.

    The eternally young risen laughed softly.

    "Any priest will tell you that miracles require long and careful preparation. Egard!"

    "Yes, Mistress."

    "Rejoice, your confinement is ending. The Spiders have sent a proposal for a meeting; you will go as Medea''s advisor."

    The Master Egard froze as he thought about the news. Before, he had been something of a personal assistant to Celesta, and a member of her retinue. Now he would be the closest of her inner circle of Elders, and the only one. Would such a transfer be considered a promotion? What was the reason for it?

    "Are they stopping the Hunt?"

    "Not yet," answered Celesta. "And officially, they never will. But in fact, they see that they couldn''t destroy the Community, and they''re willing to negotiate."

    They got what they wanted.

    A group of individuals, no matter how fanatical and powerful, cannot simultaneously be active and fend off the punitive apparatus of the state. The only exception is the weakness and fragmentation of the political leadership of the country. Which wants to use the presence of the enemy for some of their purposes. This is what the top risens took advantage of.

    The secret service, along with the temple guard squads, had not been able to crush the sentient undead in a hurry. To be more precise, two and a half dozen vampires died in Taleya, which for any other community would have meant a guaranteed end. Thirty-two more died in other cities, with three of the younger communities wiped out entirely. In some places, local officials reacted too quickly to orders from the Capital; in some, they didn''t get a warning in time, or they underestimated the danger. On the whole, the organizers'' success was questionable, primarily because of the lack of coordination.

    The temple investigators operated separately, the "spiders," commanded by the regular sentinels and reinforced by the guards, operated separately, and the army generally feigned activity, for the most part, preferring to mind their own business and hoping to see the shame of their traditional rivals. No one wanted to share information. On the other hand, other people''s failures were diligently exposed and their failures were blamed on their rivals.

    However, the vampires could not be said to have survived the big raid with few casualties. Few of the risen were killed, generally speaking, the least disciplined, experienced, and, therefore, the least valuable. But the mortals who served them suffered greatly. The merciless scythe of the holy warriors had wiped out half the Morvanite cults. Disorder and confusion reigned among the survivors. Dynasties of servants, those close to the elders, and the families of the descendants of the rebels were dispossessed, exiled to the outskirts of the state, and heads of families, and many men were executed. The system of existence that had been established and well-adjusted over many years collapsed. They had to return to the primitive ways of obtaining blood and gathering information.

    Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

    In other words, hunt in the streets and act in person more often than through intermediaries. The risks were increasing, with squads of corrals still roaming the streets and the upper levels of the dungeons... The losses would have been far greater had the Academy not secretly sabotaged the orders of the Secret Guard. The mages had no intention of helping their enemies oppress their most consistent allies, and so, even after receiving a direct command to conduct a search ritual, they managed to nullify the results of the sorcery.

    In response, Celesta unleashed Zervan''s pack. Who took their toll on the city''s defenseless citizens.

    The level of irritation in the city slowly rose, fueled by carefully dispersed rumors. The efforts of the authorities, unable to restore normal life, irritated the common people. They grew weary of half-drunken patrols clinging to passers-by, while bloodless corpses were found in the streets every morning. The poor whispered amongst themselves that life had been quieter under the Night Mistress, and silently berated her killers. Now there was no one to keep the undead in line, and they attacked humans.

    There was plenty of money and tangible assets, despite Gardoman''s whining about losses and robbery. The gold he had accumulated in the quiet years before was lying in foreign banks or deep underground hiding places. The authorities did not get their hands on every source of income. Of course, they requisitioned the biggest ones, but small shops, stables, mills, and small transportation offices continued to operate. Despite the temporary loss of control over them, it could be regained later. Not to mention the trading houses, which had managed to move out of the country and therefore suffered acceptable losses for their turnover. In the long run, the financial situation was not bad.

    Celesta did not regret the money; she was far more concerned with the deaths of her subjects. Both rebels and mortals. Therefore, the Mistress was glad that she managed to save the most valuable human resources - an elite sect of fanatic assassins and a small group of weak mages. Both were given strict orders to remain quiet. The carefully selected Morvanites, who had received an elaborate pledge of allegiance at initiation, were something of a weapon of the last resort. They were employed as servants, janitors, and footmen in the homes of officials and the palaces of the nobility, and worked there quietly, waiting for their mistresses'' orders. For the time being, Celeste was reluctant to launch an all-out terror, saving a trump card for an emergency and contenting herself with receiving fresh reports.

    Another blow that forced the Secret Guard leadership to settle was the loss of many channels of information. Enemies of the kingdom suddenly received documents exposing Taleya''s most effective agents or just hints that such-and-such an official had too close ties with the wrong people. Along the way, the Welfare Dragon Party skillfully used a dose of killer dirt given by Medea to patrons "in gratitude for their support," and forced Chancellor Rakawa to make excuses to the Sovereign for several unsightly points in his biography. The experienced politician, however, disavowed the accusations by turning in several of his closest associates, but his position was shaken.

    The officials were unnerved by Latham''s actions. Since almost none of the masters of the other cities were willing to declare independence (the fools that Celesta had spared had been killed by humans), there were no rebellions among the vampires. The Guard of the Undead remained in the Capital. Here, too, they found work. The individual terror Latham unleashed did a good job of thinning the ranks of the Secret Guard, killing or kidnapping many of its officers. Incidentally, some of them did not object to a change in fortune, and exchange for the removal of themselves and family from the country gave out information of prohibitive value. Not all of them, though. The priests of some temples were also affected, but things were not so rosy with them - it requires a lot of effort to penetrate beyond the consecrated walls.

    This was about the time Medea received an invitation from Baron Tulak to negotiate.

    "You have chosen a rather strange place to meet, Messena Medea."

    "It was recommended to me by the people I knew," the vampiress said eagerly. "They said it was easy to get out of here. There are a lot of exits, and you can''t cover them all. And that''s very important to me! Strange monks are running around my friends'' houses, waving papers as if to arrest me, demanding that they open the doors. My reputation would be hopelessly ruined if dozens of noble families were not similarly troubled! They are constantly presented with ridiculous demands, and then wonder why they refuse to fulfill them. Here, for example, is the story of Baron Adi. Some lousy sergeant of the guard came to him and tried to search the manor. Of course, he was flogged in the stables along with his entire posse and thrown out of the gate, but the attempt itself is outrageous! In the old days, the titled nobility was far better protected from the vile machinations of lowly men."

    "The use of violence against a representative of the Guard..."

    "Justified, if he has insulted a titled person," Medea interrupted him impolitely. "No action may be taken against a baron without the express permission of the Son of Seas, who may rule for ten thousand years, and in the presence of his appointed representative. The fall of morals is monstrous! All is lost! Taleya is ruined! Even those who are supposed to be the guardians of the law cannot be trusted. I mean, you can''t trust them at all!"

    Tulak gritted his teeth. It had cost him a great deal of trouble to first convey the fugitive singer''s request for a meeting, and then convince her of his peaceful intentions. Now the clever wretch, instead of a serious conversation, began to act like an idiot, which he knew for sure she was not.

    "I assure you, you have absolutely nothing to worry about. There is no threat to your life or dignity."

    "Alas, without a strong protector behind whose back she could shelter from the storms and hardships of life, the weak and fragile woman must behave quietly, like a growing grass!" Medea blotted the corner of her eye with a snow-white handkerchief. "Ever since my sister''s death, I have been in agitation! My heart is bursting with pain, unable to bear this loss!"

    "By the way, can you tell me exactly how she... left? There are completely contradictory rumors about her last battle."

    The vampiress waved her hands in the air:

    "I was not present at that tragic event. And don''t confuse me at all! Do you think I don''t remember that you gave an order to kill her that day?! You are a murderer! Murderer! A monster who repays evil for good!"

    Just in case, Baron stepped back, under the protection of two guardsmen.

    "Mr. Laar, by the way, who had just resigned the other day, only ordered the arrest of your friend. No one was going to kill her."

    "Oh, don''t lie! Do you think I''m a fool?"

    "I wouldn''t think of it!" Tulak sincerely assured her.

    "Then why are you trying to deceive me? Those creepy muzzles-I''ve been described to me, yes, yes! They didn''t behave like they did when they were arrested! They used fire and magic, and they came to the hideout in the daytime... No one was there, really. All the kindred had gone into hiding beforehand, but still!"

    "We feared the inadequate reaction of Messen Latham or Zervan. Quite rightly we feared it, as you see."

    "What do you mean?" Medea wondered. "What have they done?"

    Her eyes looked surprised and na?ve.

    "I am talking about the numerous murders they have committed against the subjects of the Son of the Sea, may he rule for ten thousand years! Their actions are unacceptable! The people are afraid to go out into the streets, they lock themselves in their houses, they grumble."

    "Well, what''s my kin got to do with it?" the woman asked a logical question. "The city is full of bandits, and some, I might add, wear uniforms. Catch them."

    "Regular bandits don''t rip the victim''s throat open and drink blood."

    "They hide their evidence, trying to blame their crimes on the undead," Medea shrugged. "Though, even if your accusations are true, I''m sure my friends must have a good reason for their behavior. I''ll ask them when I see them."

    "When?"

    "I beg your pardon?"

    "When will you see them?"

    "I have no idea. They''re hiding, I''m afraid to go outside. Someday."

    "Would you like me to provide you with security?"

    The beauty smiled sweetly in response to the taunt:

    "No, no, you can use it yourself. Personally, I''m thinking of leaving the Capital for somewhere north of here. You know, it''s much calmer up there."

    "There is no need to go anywhere," Tulak said firmly. "The only obstacle to peace and tranquility is the activity of these... your kindred. Only the terror they have unleashed prevents the Chancellor from revoking the permission granted to the Temples for the warriors to stay in the Capital."

    "Well, explain it to them," Medea suggested. "I''m sure they''re tired of hiding in corners, too."

    "They destroy our messengers," answered the Baron briefly. If he didn''t need the vampiress...

    "You see, you''ve made them very angry. You can expect anything from Zervan, but Messen Latham is an extremely restrained person."

    "I didn''t notice."

    "Then just trust me. He''s a true knight from the old days, a terrific man. It is extremely difficult to change his mind if he made a decision."

    Then came the bargaining. The Baron hinted that there was no need to convince anyone of anything, it was enough to arrange a meeting on terms convenient for mortals. Guards and Holy Warriors would do the rest. Medea only laughed back and demanded an official apology for the mistake and generous compensation. When Tulak became indignant, she harshly reminded her that the other elders of Celesta''s former inner circle were not subject to her. It would take time and money for them to accept her status as the new leader. And if Hastin and Latham would not argue much, the first enough for the peace of mind laboratory, and the second enough personal decree of the Son of the Sea, with the others, it''s not so simple. Zervan has support in the provinces and has an uncanny knack for traps, and Gardomann has fled the country and is playing his own game.

    In short, the official pressured and tried to threaten, Medea cried and moaned along the lines of "I wish I could, but". Eventually, they came to an agreement. Henceforth, mortals would not interfere in the undead''s affairs, leaving them to solve their problems and demanding loyalty to the Throne and tranquility in return. That is, the risens had no right to deal with the enemies of the state and act in their interests, as well as to kill people for food. At least, to kill not noblemen and not openly. The agreement reached did not regulate relations with any religious cults.

    The peace was made.

    * * *

 Chapter 20

    Chapter 20

    * * *

    After listening to the wording of the treaty and subjecting her friend to a real interrogation, clarifying the smallest nuances of Tulak''s behavior, Celesta hesitated. No, the terms were more than satisfactory to her. She had counted on even worse, expecting a requirement not to interfere with observers or mandatory registration of new risens. With the latter it is clear - all the old vampires are known, and the new vampires rise rarely now, they could not be taken into account. It''s strange why humans agreed to grant full autonomy, not even formal checks were concerned. Medea is undoubtedly an excellent negotiator, she played her trump cards brilliantly, but logically her success is inexplicable.

    "They''re stretching the time," Zervan said, and Latham nodded in grudging agreement with his hated rival. "They''re waiting for us to relax so they can take us all at once."

    The two, the thug and the knight, were still on the special wanted list. They had supposedly already been informed of the arrangements but had not yet made up their minds. However, the five Guardsmen stopped attacking officials and patrols of holy warriors. And Zervan''s heavily thinned pack was no longer killing ordinary people. It was hastily regaining control of Taleya''s criminal factions, not to say with much success. The dozens of dead fighters had little effect on the bosses'' desire for autonomy.

    "I still don''t understand," confessed the Mistress. "The authorities, in a broad sense, have just discovered their failure. They know too little about us. To successfully destroy the community, they need to find out the exact locations of our hideouts and dens, deprive us of access to information, and at least temporarily block our funding. Only after all this has been done, can we begin a full-fledged hunt for the risens. Not just any isolated detachments without any serious magical support, but a dense net to entangle the city. Do they really hope to finish their preparations quickly?"

    "Tulak looked confused and a little fidgety," Medea pointed out. "He put up with all my nonsense, though he would have snapped at me earlier. I think they were just confused. They were used to thinking of the risens as mere performers, and didn''t think we''d dare play our own game."

    "Confusion alone doesn''t explain the compliant attitude. The Son of the Sea is dead set against all manifestations of magic and darkness, and for him to make concessions to the undead is a sharp knife to the throat."

    "Maybe there''s something we don''t know." suggested the deceptively light-hearted beauty. "We have no sources in the Chancellor''s entourage. The nobles I could turn to are either banished to distant estates or refuse to meet. Did anything come through your channels?"

    "That''s it, just no. There are reports of strange activity among clergymen of all kinds, and we knew it before. Okay," Celesta slapped the table, to sum up the conversation. "In any case, we''ve been given a respite, which should be put to good use. Now our job is to recover what we''ve lost and not get caught. You know what to do. Do it."

    The decisions made at the council had no effect on the activities of Hastin and Gardomann. The former locked himself up in the laboratory and worked on his experiments, which the uninitiated tried not to interfere with. And, come to think of it, neither did the initiated. The second settled in the north, in Bardi, and in less than three months he''d taken over the risens there, creating the second-largest community practically from scratch, while carefully restoring the trading network that had been torn apart by the humans. He was doing well, too.

    So well, in fact, that sometimes Celesta wondered if she should restrain the old man. What if he wanted to secede and declare himself the new chief? But the agents in Gardoman''s entourage assured her of the Elder''s loyalty, so Mistress decided not to get too excited. Especially since there was no objective reason to doubt his loyalty, and her gut was silent. It seemed that the old skeptic had finally made up his mind and acknowledged her right to be a step above him.

    In general, the first stage of the risens'' withdrawal from the control of mortals was successful. The first stage - because no one had any illusions about Tulak''s intentions. Intelligent undead for three hundred years of existence proved to be a too convenient a tool, no one was going to get rid of it. Undoubtedly, the Chancellor and the Secret Service intended to take away some of the rights granted in previous years, destroy the strongest and most independent risens, to break the unified structure created by Celesta into many small vulnerable groups. Perhaps the vampire survivors of the planned massacre would even be allowed to remain in control of the Morvanites, leaving some sources of income. But no more than that!

    Now both sides needed a pause before a new battle. People were urgently looking for specialists who, under the previous sovereign, had worked with the risens and were well versed in the internal structure of the communities. While the periphery of the organization (that is, some cultists, snitches, and sources of income within the country) had been destroyed, the core - the Elders, their retinue, and those close to them - had survived and were planning how to deal with the changed conditions. The vampires worked hard to gather information, hide the young, prepare new hideouts, and fortify overseas branches. They had already thrown in some of the dirt they had on their enemies, held back some, and were now looking for ways to reach potential allies at the Court.

    The main problem with humans was their lack of military units dedicated specifically to fighting vampires. The hunters were specialists of a wide range, and, as recent events had shown, they could not be trusted. During the raid on Carlon, they worked closely with the vampires. They received a generous reward and a promise for more, and as a result the authorities literally hesitated to hire them. That is, Latham had invited the best, but he had ruined everyone''s reputation. The Son of the Sea Guard, previously an elite unit capable of any conceivable task, has recently absorbed so much ballast from the sons of nobles that it has become a pompous decoration for palace receptions, nothing more. Under the Captain of the Guard, it is true, there were structures of special purpose, but they were used badly. The Academy still knew how to fight the undead, but only a complete fool would ask a mage for help in such a matter.

    The Temple Guards proved to be very dangerous opponents. They rarely fought against vampires, but they often faced ghouls, had good ideological training, and actively used the so-called "divine power" - creatively processed mush from the scraps of true light magic and priests'' findings. Oddly enough, the mixture was quite effective. The disadvantage was that they were primarily disjointed. Units belonging to different cults did not share information, did not always come to each other''s aid, and as a result were not as effective as they could have been. A single command center would have remedied the situation, but no such center could be created by the Spiders in charge of the operation.

    In addition, humans were hampered by the lack of good maps of Taleya''s dungeons. They had last been drawn up in the last century, and since then landslides, traps, and manmade obstacles had made a lot of changes to the already imprecise drawings. Not to mention the fact that the vampires had tried to steal or destroy any existing descriptions of the lower levels of the catacombs. As a result, the information was sketchy and inadequate for a normal raid.

    These obvious shortcomings will now surely be corrected. Unfortunately, there are few obvious idiots in power. Although they do occur from time to time - the current sovereign is an example of this.

    Celesta and her cronies were desperately hoping for an internecine squabble at the top. A serious conflict between the royal family on one side and the royal entourage on the other is exactly what would make the elite forget all other matters and concentrate on survival. Mutiny or rebellion will force the state to leave the out-of-order undead alone and deal with the suppression of disorder, and if the heat of passion leads to civil war ... The problem is the timing and the pace of events. Carlon''s arrival and the order for his arrest have confused the risens. The crisis began too soon. The split in the aristocratic elite is not yet so deep, or rather, has not yet taken its final form, and humans may well have time. To have time to analyze the reasons for the vitality of the vampire communities. To have time to conclude. In time to get rid of their weaknesses and prepare for the next stage of the battle. And to strike a blow.

    * * *

    They don''t know how to make red wine here.

    The sun lavishes its warm rays on the shores of the Kind Sea, ensuring an unprecedented harvest of fruits and vegetables. Farmers toil from sunrise to sunset in the fields. Good irrigation and numerous rivers flowing from the mountains provide ample moisture to help plants grow and mature without hindrance. Hordes of merchants in small single-masted pinares or larger caravels scurry between cities and countries, carrying food and rejoicing in the profits. However...

    The vineyards have gone feral and the technology has been lost. If the white wine, especially that brought by the bearded barbarians from the north, is not bad, the red wine tastes like crap. But the locals like it.

    Strange.

    Everything here is different from the native Nasan. The land. The people. The risens. His homeland is a land of sand and isolated houses-fortifications, high walls without windows, and fiery men and deceptively obedient women wrapped in long robes. There they live by the sea and arms, drink mare''s milk, and leave the dead on the rocks, not wanting to desecrate the sacred elements by death. Go back there? There is nowhere to go back. The city and country had perished, poisoned by the poison of an epidemic, and it is unlikely that neighbors wished to repopulate the desolate land.

    There was nowhere to go and no reason to leave Taleya. Yes, he could find a small town far from any borders, subdue the risens there, if there were any, and in thirty years ensure himself quite a tolerable existence. But why? He liked it here, and he truly admired the accomplishments of the local community. Car... a priest had amassed almost two dozen undead, and at the time it seemed unbelievable. But what the elders of Thalia had managed to do was beyond comprehension!

    He wonders if the Mistress is really completely dead.

    Even now, after the losses suffered, the number of risens united under one authority is at least three hundred, and their communities already exist in four countries. An elaborate mentoring system. An army of mortals, fanatically worshipping their undead masters and never leaving them, even in their darkest hour of need. Deep penetration into power structures, and strong ties in the financial sector. They also have partial control over crime, well-established channels of smuggling, and good relations with maritime pirates. An alliance with wizards and wizards helps to lead the necessary developments and thereby strengthen the risens. And - quite unthinkable! - A relatively good reputation among humans. Though, of course, not as high as it was a year ago.

    He wanted to be part of this invisible state.

    The problem was that they kept him away from serious projects. They were right to speak in good conscience - he would have tried to keep an outsider, and with such an extraordinary biography, away from key positions. Familiarity with the poisoned philosophy of the priest changed the worldview quickly and strongly, especially in young ones, he also almost broke. How else did he have the strength to run away, to find allies, to bring them information? It is still incomprehensible. And then he did not believe that the priest could be stopped, and acted out of only one faint hope.

    Okay. There are many ways to become useful.

    He had always been a lucky guy, though, and he realized this after he''d gotten a lot of kicks. At first, he was lucky with his father, his family, his hired teachers, his job, and the smart and cynical senior officers who agreed to take him in and teach his future comrade-in-arms in the fight for ranks and titles. Lucky in his first independent operation, when the failed resident gave up the names of all the agents he knew. Incredibly lucky during the Plague. Then he cursed the gods that condemned him to the unenviable fate of the living dead, but now he knew exactly - lucky. He would have to make an atoning sacrifice and beg forgiveness for his impudence.

    Yes, he downplayed his age in his conversation with Mistress. Habit is second nature.

    Clever and calculating teachers have hammered into the shallow student: the value of an agent depends on the number of contacts. Survival is ensured by the number of social connections. Life has confirmed their lessons: he would not have died then, in the fourth year of the new era, if it were not for a chance. Down there, they are masters of coincidence. Anyway, that''s not the point. You have to start building your network and get to know people. With a wide enough circle of communication, sooner or later something useful is bound to come up.

    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    Let''s start right now.

    "Still, your red wines are too sour. I can''t say anything about the whites, but they can''t make reds here. That''s a pity, a great pity."

    The tall tavern-keeper, aka the bartender, frowned:

    "People drink and don''t complain."

    "It''s just that you Taleyans haven''t tasted the really good varieties. The ''Ruby Evening'''', the ''Sunset Flame'', the ''Blood of the Devotee''... They''re too far away and, as a consequence, too expensive to bring. In the old days, I heard in passing, individual merchants made their way, but now there are too many pirates at sea."

    "Yes," the shopkeeper agreed, "We get reports of missing ships every day. It''s been five years since we got any more golden berries from the North. If you only knew what a liquor they used to make out of it! And what fish was baked in it! People used to come to the inn just for it."

    "Maybe I''ll try some more..." to smile politely. "I''ve really never heard of the golden berry. Where does it grow?"

    "In the swamps, somewhere in the Nordic countries," shrugged the live one. "I''ve never been interested in the details. Which side would you be from, then? You look very unusual."

    "I am from the South, from the farthest South. I was originally a merchant, but my ship sank, I was captured, escaped, became a clerk for one merchant, another, then I traded spices for a while, and now the gods have brought me here. My name is Kalderan. Kalderan of Nasan."

    * * *

    On Latham''s face, frozen in icy stillness, only his eyes lived, and they lived so brightly, so fiercely, that a snide quip was inevitably invited to the tongue:

    "I love people who conform to expectations. They make me feel good about myself through their actions. Isn''t Ryle a sweetheart?"

    "Let me visit him after today," the bodyguard asked very calmly. It was as if a snake had hissed.

    "No way!" banned Celesta. "For one thing, it might be a trap. Only a fool would defy the authority of the elders so blatantly without powerful support behind him. Ryle had never been very bright, but he had a sense of self-preservation. And if he sends Medea a boorish reply despite the Council''s announcement, he''s counting on something. And you and Zervan are still listed as enemies of the Crown. So it''s quite possible that hypothetical masters of our rebellious master are counting on a punitive expedition to exterminate the most intransigent risens."

    "Secondly, what are you angry about? What happened? The Master of a small community on the edge of the kingdom, who had never stood out before, found out about his beloved mistress'' death and decided to play the game of self-reliance. That''s the kind of thing we''d expect. There is always a certain percentage of risens in society, and in times of anarchy, this percentage increases manifold. A normal phenomenon, not worth much attention. Soon Ryle will be followed by a few more such free-loving and short-sighted masters, but they will be few in number. I didn''t spend so much time on recruiting for nothing."

    "Nevertheless, I do not think it is possible to leave his act without consequences."

    "Who says there will be no consequences?" The Mistress was astonished. "There will be consequences. You just have to take your time."

    The problem of separatism among the undead did not exist. The senior risens in the largest cities knew the real state of affairs and ignored rumors of her "death," the small communities would not go against the hastily created Council of five of the mistress'' closest advisors. For command positions, she tried to select subordinates more judiciously. Idiots, of course, would be found, but they would be few so that they would easily get rid of the identified ballast later. One of the undoubted advantages of the crisis is that it helps to clear the ranks of weak links.

    Perhaps she should have reported her well-being to all the community masters, but she had to consider the possibility of betrayal. The Secret Guard was not always run by mediocrities; the development of absolutely all of the kingdom''s risens had been continuous before. True, the process was mutual, and as she gained experience Celesta unraveled the intrigues of the security men more and more easily, but she could not guarantee that no one in her entourage was leaking information to the "spiders." Some dirt had no statute of limitations.

    Of course, she had taken some security measures. For example, the most vulnerable youths were now sitting in Lascaris or Bardi on a poor information ration. All of the older Taleya vampires, about whom the Mistress had no firm confidence in their loyalty, had moved to Medea''s personal retinue, which delightedly began to load them with various tasks. She could not go about her usual activities - going to parties, searching for talents, and seducing handsome young men from noble families - so she invented her own activities. From the realm of ideology, mostly. Those for whom there was no doubt were officially subordinate to Egard, though, in fact, they received their orders personally from Celesta.

    Nevertheless, the authorities could know that she was intact and functioning. This had to be taken into account.

    Another argument in favor of today''s operation.

    "Forget about Ryle," Mistress twitched her cheek briefly, letting him know that the subject was closed. "Where''s your girl? It''s about time."

    "Just a little longer, Messena. I guess she didn''t count on traveling underground, and that''s why she goes slowly."

    "The main thing is to get there and do well."

    Latham nodded in agreement but reminded:

    The baroness has no doubts about the great-granddaughter.

    "I hope she''s right."

    * * *

    The fear for her life, the keen anticipation of the adventure, and the fear of the unknown were pushed to the back burner by the need to keep her clothes intact. She should have prepared a poorer cloak in advance, rather than wear the only decent outer garment she had on the meeting. But who knew that they would have to go into the catacombs and walk through them for so long? Although one should have guessed. The old mansion that had once belonged to their family was located in the Gold Quarter, where even in the worst years there were frequent guards and plenty of prying eyes.

    Her mother did not want to let Illytissa go to the Capital, but her great-grandmother ignored her objections. She ruled the family, and despite her extremely advanced age, she ruled firmly. The old baroness was not broken by the execution of her son and grandson, the death on the hunt of her second grandson, and the "accident" that happened to Illytissa''s older brother. She withstood the confiscation of almost all her lands and estates, the burning of the library with the most ancient grimoires for keeping forbidden knowledge, a triple tax burden, and exile to her last remaining possession. Castle Thar was not confiscated because only the owners and their acknowledged servants could live there - all others were killed by the blood magic woven into its foundations.

    The clan was old, very old. There were only two elements in the coat of arms of the Barons of Thar. Not all the dukes of the kingdom could boast that, and the blue stripe indicated kinship with the Blessed. It was a rare case of a daughter of direct descendants of the gods being given in marriage to a mortal, albeit a great mage, but the ancestor deserved it. Sadly, the Tars were going through a bad time right now. Their grandfather had once gotten recklessly involved in someone else''s intrigue and died. His heirs failed to find strong patrons and also laid down their heads. Pitiful remains of the former wealth, friends turned away, the former squad was dispersed by the current government, ordered to be limited to two dozen swordsmen. Now Illytissa had to think about the cost of clothing, pore over financial books, and count every gold. However, she consoled herself, some families in disgrace counted coppers, so it wasn''t so bad. However, compared with her former life...

    The girl immediately supported her great-grandmother when the latter voiced an offer from Tal���a. Not out of mercantile interests. She remembered how the old woman''s face stiffened as she listened to the coroner''s report on her grandson''s death.

    The former Thar mansion in the Capital now belonged to Laar, the former head of the Secret Guard, no less. During his time in high office, the official had amassed an impressive collection of enemies, mostly through his carelessness, and now, after his resignation, his detractors were stirring. The girl was not interested in whom she was to meet today; names were not so important - the Baroness knew them, and that was enough. She simply intended to help the enemies of her kinsman''s murderer receive a generous payment and return to her family as soon as possible.

    Magically, the building and the area around it were still in the possession of the Thar family. The systems laid down during the construction were considered owners only by the direct descendants of their creator and no one else, completely ignoring purchases, royal decrees, and the efforts of modern sorcerers. The priests, who inspected the building, frankly confessed their powerlessness, as they gave up on the masters of the legendary era. All they could do was apply an extra layer of protection and tell them not to let the T��ars inside the fence. And compared to the power of the original spells, the new "patch," to be frank, seemed like a ridiculous child''s work of art.

    That''s why Illytissa came to Taleya.

    "Do we have a long way to go?"

    "We''re here now, Messina," the guide heard a low whisper and answered at once. "Careful, there are steps."

    The first to climb the stairs was Emeric, the captain of the guard and the senior of her eight bodyguards. It was to him, a man literally loyal to the bone, that the Baroness had entrusted the safety of her great-granddaughter. Emeric was the actual commander of the small squad, and Illytissa was strictly forbidden to argue with his orders. Therefore, the girl entered the small underground hall, which had become unusually cramped for two groups of armed men only after a permissive sign.

    They seemed to have been expected, for the guide began to apologize verbatim for the delay. But he was not allowed to talk long. With a short wave of his hand, the leader of the greeters dismissed the excuses he considered unimportant and turned to Illytissa:

    "May those who stand above the world show thee a worthy path, O heiress of a glorious family. Call me Kart, and I dare to ask if you will accept the gifts of friendship from my hands."

    The girl was quietly glad to be standing, leaning on the arm of one of her companions. As soon as the man spoke, she felt a strong urge to bow to her superior, which she resisted with difficulty. She, too, had been taught to speak this way, overwhelming, instantly proving to those around her the right to lead, but this noble clearly had better teachers. And much more practice.

    "Let the sea and the wind, the earth, and the flames turn their gaze to you, hidden beneath the mask. My name is Illytissa, and I am among friends."

    The Highest Tongue must be taught from childhood; at a mature age, the mind is no longer able to appreciate the wealth of choices behind each sentence. For example, the name Kart, meaning "mask," was used by nobles unwilling to reveal their true identity. A tradition that originated with the hero of one extremely popular epic. The intonation and the construction of the phrases were also of great importance; for each word, there were up to ten synonyms describing the slightest shades of meaning and allowing within a polite conversation both to express the maximal friendliness and to insult the interlocutor to death. Commoners would not understand such subtleties even if they wished.

    Having finished with the formalities (Illytissa sighed in relief - her Highest, as she had just realized, was not so good), the interlocutors switched to their usual high speech.

    "Allow me to express my gratitude, Messena, for responding with admirable determination to my request. When I asked your venerable grandmother for help, I did not expect a quick result."

    "I''m just doing my direct duty," the girl bowed slightly.

    "I think our motives are similar," agreed Kart. "We have a shared enemy. Do you need time to prepare?"

    "Only if you haven''t already removed the outer circuit."

    "Oh, please! We got rid of that crude piece of work as soon as we got there. Please," the man pointed to the passageway that seemed to lead to the dungeons of the mansion.

    More men came with Kart than with Illytissa (almost all but two of her bodyguards remained in the inn), and they made a much more dangerous impression. Watching the armed men out of the corner of her eye, the girl was struck by the predatory grace of the hooded figures. The blurred clothing didn''t prevent them from moving easily and freely, controlling both the sparse tunnels and their bodyguards with ease. Emeric sniffed grimly behind them, and beside him, a low figure in a cloak with a deaf hood slid noiselessly-perhaps the mage who had served Kart and removed the first shield. Now whether or not they would penetrate the mansion depended solely on Illytissa''s actions.

    "Here," the man finally stopped. "Here we are."

    However, she herself already felt a slight shiver of recognition that filled the space. The House rejoiced at the return of its long-awaited mistress, like an abandoned dog, caressing her, sending waves of pure joy, and asking - where have you been? Why didn''t you come? Tears came to her eyes, she wanted to huddle against the walls, to stroke the dusty stones with her hands and caress, caress, caress the undeservedly offended creature, even if unintelligent, but loyal and able to love.

    She can''t. She''ll have to go now. But someday...

    The girl took a few steps forward, leaving her companions and entourage at a distance. She knelt, picking up the folds of her long dress carefully. The ritual ahead of her was one of the most primitive, though few mages could have performed it, and they all belonged to the oldest families of Taleya. Putting a Guardian to sleep. You could not simply enter the grounds of the manor - the House would react unequivocally to bloodshed. You cannot order the Guardian not to interfere - the Thar barons would then be the first to fall under suspicion. But it is possible to put the ancient security systems to sleep. The task is difficult, but doable, especially if you know all the passwords, and secrets, and in your veins flowed the blood of the owners. Moreover, if you can competently disguise the traces of the ritual, the investigation will reach a deadlock. There are many enemies of Laar, and among them, there are quite powerful wizards.

    The thin blade of the stiletto, made decades ago by skilled craftsmen, sliced the delicate skin of the wrist. The Guardian rumbled inaudibly, accepting the flow of native power, assimilating the knowledge of the changes that had taken place with the clan, along with the drops of blood vanishing into the air. About descendants recognized as family. About new enemies and former friends. About how he was to act now. In essence, the girl was giving the half-intelligent vassal precise instructions for the next century - or until the Thar barons managed to reclaim the mansion for themselves.

    In response, the house shared the memory of events important from its point of view. Alien people, alien witchcraft. The birth of kittens by a white-red cat. A bad man calling himself master orders the body of the mansion remodeled. The dead construction workers slip into the basements without permission. Stupid people on their knees trying to reach the Guardian. They also, going out of the gate...

    * * *

 Chapter 21

    Chapter 21

    * * *

    The feeling of the waning power was a little frightening and delightful at the same time. There are few remained in the kingdom of such houses with a consciousness of their own. Only half a hundred in Taleya, and scattered across the provinces, the ancestral nests of the higher aristocracy that had survived the fires of the Catastrophe. The oldest and most powerful was the main Royal Palace, which vampires would not venture into, though some mansions were as old as it was. But not comparable in power.

    The Guardian of Thar slowly fell asleep, obeying the will of his mistress. It had enough energy for hundreds of years of sleep, waiting for one of its creator''s direct descendants to come and wake it. It''s amazing how elemental magic and appeals to the gods, which were considered the pinnacle of science, are now useless, while the crude, primitive forms of working with the basics, lacking clear-cut canons, are still in effect. Not very successfully compared to ancient times, but they do have an effect. That is why so many necromancers have proliferated, priests of various deities are more or less successfully nourished by believers, and representatives of aristocratic families derive their power from the family egregore.

    In fact, Latham cursed quite effectively even after death. He lost his body abilities when he became a vampire, but he didn''t lose the support of the collective spirit of his ancestors. Interesting.

    Celeste smiled at the edges of her lips as she noticed the girl stroking the stone slabs before getting to her feet. It was like petting a dog. In a way, it was so: for her Guardian was not a dangerous otherworldly creature, created by forgotten cruel sorcery, but a mighty and loyal pet. Their bond is unbreakable.

    When the operation was designed, Latham put an iron wall in front of his Mistress, dissuading her from taking part in it personally. It is necessary to admit that his arguments had a basis - other telepaths, of which there were enough in Celesta''s retinue, would be able to shake out Laar the answers to the necessary questions. At the very least, the former chief could be kidnapped and get everything useful from him in a quiet working environment. To the bodyguard''s deepest regret, the Mistress found something to object to. And now the poor man was torn between the etiquette, which forbade standing with his back to the superior or grabbing her by the clothes, not letting her forward, and the acute desire to drag the guarded object far away. Because an attacking Guardian is the scariest thing imaginable. Even a leashed one during a fight with Carlon is not that dangerous, at least not to the undead.

    "I have done, Messen Kart." The girl staggered faintly, supported by one of the servants under her arm. "The mansion is put to sleep."

    Latham, not trusting the words, walked to the end of the corridor, touched the narrow door leading to the basement, listened to his senses, and only after checking satisfied nodded:

    "Very good. It is good to see that such a young Messena is worthy of her noble ancestors. Your skills are not inferior to your beauty, and I will be sure to inform the Baroness of the speed and ease with which you performed the ritual. I have no proper words to express my gratitude, but perhaps a modest gift will at least partially prove the sincerity of my feelings."

    In the hands of Reggie, who stayed in the shadows, a small box appeared out of nowhere, which he opened and presented to Illytissa with a bow. The girl took out some papers, glanced through them, and nodded contentedly.

    "Believe me, Messen, that gratitude is more than enough." By the look on her face, one could see that she could hardly contain a happy smile.

    "It is not worth the hardship that my request has forced you to go through," Latham still said graciously.

    Although both parties got what they wanted, it was not long before they parted. The young noblewoman was fervently thankful for the documents that allowed her family''s affairs to improve - and Celesta understood her. The old baroness had just been given a good chance to regain some of her former possessions. Letters from the governor of the province that held the lands that had been torn away, in experienced hands, offered the broadest possibilities for blackmail. Latham, on the other hand, was glad to talk to the great-granddaughter of a woman who remembered him alive and hoped to continue the acquaintance. Both because of the possible benefits and because both had previously belonged to the same circle, they understood each other very well.

    Finally, Illytissa was led away by a guard who was frowning at the polite, elegant aristocrat. This Emeric, unlike his mistress, was well aware of who they were dealing with, and obviously eager to say goodbye to the undead. Afraid they would be killed now that the girl had accomplished her task. In vain. High society people in distress are great recruiting material.

    "We''re ready, Messena," Once again examining the door to the basement, Latham turned to Mistress.

    "Go on, then, Messen Kart!" Celesta fluttered her eyelashes like a silly little girl. "We are only waiting for your command. Do you see how docile we are?"

    It''s okay to fool around a little among your comrades. Even a living legend has the right to fool around a little next to her comrades-in-arms, who have known her for more than a hundred years. Especially since the most dangerous part of the upcoming case has been accomplished, the many-experienced gut does not give any alarm signals, and there are almost no obstacles on the way to the goal.

    They had been preparing for the visit to Laar''s house for a long time. Ever since the day when a little-known officer from a side branch of the chancellor''s own family was appointed to a high and responsible position, the risens began to gather information about the new chief. Where he went, what he liked, habits and hobbies, sins and weaknesses. There was nothing unusual in the interest in the leadership - all senior officers of the Secret Guard were developed as far as possible. Another thing is that before in the chair of the head of the "spiders" dilettante "from the outside" did not sit (there was one general, closely associated with the army intelligence, but there is its own specifics), and as a consequence, such rich opportunities for surveillance Laar predecessors did not provide. He did not watch his tongue, his guards were poorly organized, and the newly appointed head of intelligence had little idea about secrecy. Although even in such splendid conditions he had to act with the utmost caution.

    Initially, Celeste did not plan to take out or carry out any actions against the new chief - she wasn''t crazy. And after reading the collected materials, the prospects were brilliant! Laar seemed, at first, to be the incompetent leader she had dreamed of for centuries. Alas, time had shown that working with an amateur was far more difficult than one would have liked.

    Then the main "spider" moved into the mansion taken from the Thars, and they managed to add one of the Morvanites as a servant. A filigree operation of which Celeste was justifiably proud. The cultist worked, eavesdropping on conversations that did not always take place in secure offices, information poured in a generous stream, and everything was going fine. Until the authorities decided to get rid of the risens.

    And then, after much hesitation, Mistress made a decision.

    An official who is dishonorably discharged is not the same as one who continues to serve. He has fewer opportunities, and his protection is worse. Most importantly, his death will not be perceived as an affront to the current government, which means that the investigation will be less thorough. So if Laar had remained the head of the "spiders", Mistress would not have dared to take today''s step. But when she did... The multi-layered cover-up operation involved almost all of the community''s resources. Agents were spreading contradictory rumors that would later be used to attribute the murder to at least a dozen serious political players, including the Chancellor himself. From various sources, the city''s smugglers were receiving orders for complex ingredients to facilitate the ritual of putting the guardian to sleep. Four mages of the Academy suddenly met extremely secretive but generous individuals in urgent need of advice on the same matter.

    Tonight dozens if not hundreds of people, watched the streets adjacent to the mansion. Under the ground, the guards were carried by the risens. The cultist swore that four guards inside the house wielded weapons, the rest were mere servants and posed no danger. The magical defenses were successfully suppressed by the combined efforts of Celesta and Latham, and the ancient Guardian was put to sleep by Messena Illytissa. So far, things are going as well as they can possibly go.

    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    Mistress of the Vampires knew very well that it was too early to relax. But she wasn''t going to hide her good mood.

    "Vantal."

    Latham, apparently, had decided that since his mistress did not want to behave seriously, the burden of responsibility would fall on his shoulders. In principle, it was the intention from the beginning - Celesta today will be busy with the deep gutting of Laar''s brain, she does not care about her safety. If you can''t kidnap the former head of the spiders, and he knows a lot, direct reading of the memory seems to be the only viable option.

    It took them a long time to get into the basement of the Thar mansion. Vantal first questioned the rats about the situation in the house, then it took a long time to open the secret door - it was closed on the outside with a tricky lock. They managed it. Only when they were certain they were safe from harm did the risens manage to get inside. They made their way noiselessly, treading carefully first on the stone floorboards and then on the rusted wooden steps, up to the first floor, where they were met by an agent. He had spiked a sleeping potion into the servants'' food since the night before, so they had no fear of intruders unexpectedly appearing. Not that they would interfere, but it was advisable to avoid unnecessary deaths. Hustin was not the only one who practiced necromancy.

    The morvanite''s eyes popped out of their sockets at the sight of her, and he knelt down and began ecstatically praising the Dark One. It was exactly the reaction she''d been expecting. To mortals, Celesta was henceforth the visible embodiment of Morvan''s will, his messenger, and supreme authority. In principle, this was how she had been perceived before, but after "resurrecting" she confirmed her status and greatly strengthened her position as high priestess and supreme spiritual authority. Of course, the heads of some cults knew the truth, but the official version suited them completely.

    After fixing the fanatic up a bit (the man cried when he got his blessing), they moved on. There was a slight hitch on the second floor, near the room where Laar''s guards were, but by the time Celesta came up the stairs, it was over. Four trained, prepared men could do nothing against the undead assassins. As helpless as vampires are by day, they''re just as deadly fast and strong by night.

    Laar was found in his room. He had fallen asleep sitting in an armchair, a wide red stain on the lush carpet, and the stuffy air of the room was thick with the scent of alcohol. The man had not yet sunk completely and drank expensive wine, but in huge quantities, and started in the afternoon. He was pining, hearty. Celesta would have felt sorry for him if he hadn''t bled her so much (sometimes literally - she used her own to cure her subjects) and if Laar hadn''t been heir to a long line of hated "spiders" that had restricted her freedom for centuries.

    Bring him to his senses.

    Obedient to the order of their Mistress, the two risens began to rouse and rub the mortal, one of them pressed the drunk on the jaw and deftly poured a disgusting taste of sobering infusion into his mouth. The man tried to fight back. It took about five minutes before a meaningful expression appeared in his eyes and he began to look around, trying to figure out what was going on and who all these people were.

    When he saw Celeste taking off her cloak and sitting there with her face open, he sobered up.

    "It seems that you recognize me, Laar?"

    The man wheezed at the first sound of a quiet, distant voice. The vampire, standing to his right and behind him, deftly slipped a vial of something smelly under his nose, justifiably fearing a heart attack. The remedy worked. Taking several deep breaths, Laar wheezed:

    "You are dead!"

    "From the point of view of the vast majority, absolutely," the vampiress agreed. -"Though some thinkers think otherwise. Drowning your resignation in wine?"

    "None of your business!"

    A powerful slap knocked him to the floor. Latham was not ashamed to punish his Mistress'' abuser himself, especially since he had long wanted to do the same to his former superior. However, he immediately picked up the prisoner by the scruff of his neck and put him back where he had been.

    "Messena Celesta," the knight said clearly in the ear of the shrunken little man.

    "Leave it, Latham," she waved her hand. She paid no attention to the short scene, thinking of something else. "It''s not the big deal now."

    She sat in the deep armchair Reggie had helpfully brought from the next room. It was so massive that her small figure was lost between the high armrests, and her feet didn''t reach the floor. The vampire hadn''t bothered to find a more suitable seat, and all the furniture in the study didn''t look very clean and smelled like wine.

    Celesta felt no discomfort. She wasn''t concerned with trivialities right now.

    "You know, Laar, in another situation I would have admired you," she admitted, looking at the huddled prisoner over her clutched hands. "Even now, at the last, you manage to make a mess of things. Why did you have to get drunk and make it so hard for me?"

    Mistress twitched the corner of her mouth in displeasure. Time was short enough as it was, and now she would have to spend it on bringing Laar''s body back to normal. Normally drunken people are easy prey for the sensor, but today she would have to go too deep into the object''s memory and should exclude any surprises. Well, let''s rely on Hustin''s skills.

    "Infuse him with potions."

    The weakly kicking man began to receive various poisons from the vials. First one, they waited five minutes, then the next one, paused again until the elixir had been absorbed and Laar had stopped writhing in the guards'' hands, then another and another... At the end of the procedure, the once arrogant and imperious man was a rather pitiful sight. Shaking with fear, turning his face away from light sources and whimpering softly, he had lost the will to resist and was in a perfect state for mind reading.

    She can begin.

    The wise and cruel creature, destined to wear the guise of a teenage girl forever, was leaning over Laar, sprawled across the table. Just in case, the unconscious man was held by his arms and legs by the guardsmen standing at his sides, though there was no particular need to do so. That was why Celesta had survived, unlike so many other vampires her age, because she always expected and prepared for the worst. Yes, before, mortals in similar circumstances hadn''t moved or tried to attack. So what?

    A short exhalation for concentration. Her hands tightly encompassed the mortal''s head. He rolled his pupils, but that didn''t disturb her - physical contact was more important. With the undead it''s much easier to work with, they don''t fight back, not like humans. Thoughts, memories, feelings - what could be more important? What else is there to protect with such fury? Consciousness turns into a narrow blade, a needle designed to pierce nature''s created defenses. The subject was lucky. The amulets have been removed from him, he has refused the seal-tattoo, and he has not exhausted himself with meditation and training. A weak will. Yes! There''s a wormhole! Another one! Envy, cowardice, pride, vanity - emotions make a man stronger and they also weaken him. They betray.

    Dark feelings lead to Darkness. They undermine the inner balance, upset the equilibrium, leave cracks and cavities in the shell that protects the mind, and poison the mind. A favorite tool of the mind-reader, fail-safe in its simplicity.

    The magicians said that each person''s inner world is unique and unlike any other. Celeste did not argue, but she always saw the same thing: light gray corridors filled to the ceiling with murky water, and vivid images emerging in the side aisles. The first woman, his father''s scolding, the chancellor''s menacing expression of displeasure... Like a huge snake, she slid from memory to memory, searching for the tidbits and swallowing her prey without trying to comprehend. She would sort it out later. She would have taken the whole memory, but it was impossible - even a three-year-old child remembers an enormous amount, let alone an adult. So it remains, not going into the subconscious, to take the most obvious, vivid. Too bad. Sometimes you learn more from half-forgotten, boring conversations than from a heated argument, in the heat of which the rivals stop holding back and throw facts.

    It was getting harder to move, the water becoming denser with each swallow. It wasn''t over yet, but it was time to call it a day. She''d already taken an unexpected amount; it would take more than a day to go through the stolen memories. Her head would surely ache. That''s it, the last piece - a conversation with an important official in the corridor of the Royal Palace, where Celest�� had never been before and hoped never to appear. It''s safe to go. Before, at the very beginning of her experiments with other people''s minds, she would look for the point of entry, and return to the conventional place where she entered the object''s memory. Over time, her skills have grown, and now all she has to do is wish and she will find herself near the exit. In the future, if she keeps practicing, she will learn to leave another''s mind from any place without leaving a trace. At least, that''s the promise of the treatises copied from the academic library, and Garresh assured her.

    For a brief moment, she was disoriented and staggered. Instantly, someone else''s strong arms supported her, and then, in a jerking, sharp flash, her senses returned, and she felt herself standing up. The mortal''s head was still wedged between her palms, not a single emotion or thought on his face. Emptiness. The mind might not yet be completely destroyed, but the connection to the body was already lost. Laar''s identity was gone, and his body would soon follow.

    "Time?"

    "An hour passed." Latham handed the Mistress a goblet of wine. His throat was dry and his voice sounded like a crow''s caw. "We are on schedule. The house is quiet, no suspicious activity outside or in the catacombs."

    Celeste set the goblet aside, took the vial from the pocket on her belt, and hastily drank the contents. Her head was aching. The recoil from the use of powerful abilities, as well as any damage sustained through magical means, was far more intense in the risens than a steel wound.

    "Then finish up here - and let''s go."

    "Yes, Messena," the knight nodded and immediately began to give orders. "Reggie, stay with me. The rest of you, take the lady to the first floor."

    Celesta broke away from the table and staggered faintly toward the stairs that led downstairs. Latham could do just fine here without her. And the ritual of cursing the soul of a fallen enemy will be done according to all the canons, wiping out most of the emanations from the actions of the Mistress. And cover the floor with a pattern of runes, which in a few hours will clear the room of residual traces of the undead. Poke a thin needle in a still living body where it is supposed to, so that the victim suffered hours of unbearable pain and died not at once. At least, that''s what the investigators will think.

    It was a good night. Now it''s just a matter of getting home.

    * * *

 Chapter 22

    Chapter 22

    * * *

    Medea and Hustin''s relationship was rife with so many nuances and pitfalls that outsiders tried not to interfere with it. It was not always obvious whether the two Elders were quarreling or cooing nicely. At the moment, however, the sorcerer and the singer seemed to be in a peaceful mood and were in no hurry to quarrel, so Latham preferred to stay and listen.

    "No, my dear, the Son of the Sea investigators can''t find the killers." Hustin even smiled at the question. "They might be able to calculate, but they have no proof and will not appear. Thank Messen Latham for the ritual."

    "It''s fair to say," the knight found it necessary to clarify, "the Old Families are familiar with rituals that allow them to override the lock I''ve put on. But I doubt they would be willing to intervene."

    The warlock nodded affirmatively:

    "Most heads of noble houses remember Dinir the Great, some were even born before the Plague. They see the appointment, and more importantly, the behavior of an arrogant upstart to one of the most important positions in the state as an insult to their honor. They will not seek out Laar''s killer."

    "But they could if they wanted to," Medea clarified quietly to herself.

    "Of course. It''s quite easy to feel the trail of the rises if you know how."

    "You mean temple magic?"

    "Not only that. In addition to appealing to the clan egregore, which we just discussed, there are several schools of working with imprinted information. First, a pure hypersensitivity. A strong scanner at the level of Mistress Celesta or a true ascetic who has reached sainthood is able to catch the echoes of memories hidden under the seal. They are few, very few, and their identities are concealed and they try not to be involved in matters without an urgent need. Second, the masters of true light and true darkness possess strange methods of which we know almost nothing. We could not fool Garresh, I suspect. The temples are doing research in this area, but they have had no definite success. Next, we must remember the Academy staff, as secretive as they are experienced. One never knows what the same Maestro Tyran is really capable of. And finally, the Blessed."

    "What''s the matter with them?" Medea wondered. "They''ve lost their power over the elements."

    "Yes, but not the ability to communicate with the incarnations of the elements. Our Son of the Sea, for example, could call to the water and ask who was in a particular place at a particular time, i.e. in Laar''s study, and get an answer. Another thing is that he won''t do it himself - well, you remember his specific worldview - and he exiled his closest kin to Zonna."

    "So we''re not facing any charges," Medea draws a line under her lover''s and rival''s reasoning. "Praise the Darkness! I have enough problems right now."

    The main events related in one way or another to the risens lineage took place in Taleya. The Capital community took the first blow. Here new concepts were being developed, new forms of interaction with mortals and with mortal authorities. Everyone''s attention now turned to Medea and her retinue, the spontaneous diplomatic corps and everyone''s available "face of the vampires".

    Despite the agreement, the covert warfare did not stop for a moment. The most fanatical servants of the Light continued to search the catacombs for risens or their accomplices. The unwieldy machinery of the government investigative apparatus slowly, constantly distracted by outside tasks, began to turn toward the exploration of the networks created by Celesta and her assistants. The repression of the Morvanites was growing. Financial intelligence, previously focused solely on the capitals of large feudal lords and other states, intensified. Hunters of the undead reappeared in the city, but this time they were in no hurry to make contact...

    Naturally, there was a response to human actions. Zervan''s and Latham''s subordinates periodically captured and destroyed squads of temple servants both in the depths of the dungeons and on the surface. The Mistress shuffled the pool of cultists and loyalists available to her, hastily building new layers between the risens and mortal society, effectively creating dozens of independent groups. Few of them would survive, but the rest would be able to work without the supervision of the "spiders". Medea was responsible for the greatest amount of work. She secretly met with influential aristocrats, argued with Tulak and his deputies, seductively flirted with officials from the administration, and intrigued, intrigued, intrigued. The rest of the elders became the community''s stick - Medea showed the carrot.

    There was a rustling sound from the next room, the sound of metal falling from a height. The three Elders instantly dropped their conversation and hurried to the door. Hustin''s underground laboratory, where they were now located, was equipped with rooms for a variety of activities, directly or indirectly related to magic. One of them was for mind-control exercises or resting overstretched sensors. Exactly what Celesta needed after a heavy ritual.

    The Mistress didn''t look very well. Even worse than before she watched the stolen memories. It''s one thing just to get the information, and another to process it. The second is much more difficult and requires more effort.

    "Well, what can I say, my dear comrades..." Celesta gratefully accepted the goblet of wine and drank nearly half of it in one fell swoop. The risens, though undead, were in great need of liquid. "We''d underestimated the enemy. Until recently, Ruarchidh had been sitting on the "spiders" hooks and snitching them regularly."

    "It can''t be!"

    Unlike Medea, who cried out, the men were silent. Hustin, because he had always stayed aloof and did not take the community''s victories and defeats to heart unless they affected his interests. Though his attitude had changed slightly recently, the effect of his much more frequent and intimate interaction with the other risens. The knight was a different matter. This one froze as if petrified, reeking of such concentrated rage and lust for a murder that Celesta shuddered and pulled back.

    "Calm down, Latham. After all, we expected something like this."

    "He knows almost all our plans," the aristocrat hissed through tightly clenched fangs.

    "Not lately. Besides, the state of siege had cut off his communication channel. His immediate supervisor, thanks the purges in the service, has retired, and he may not have had time to pass anything on to the new one. In short, there is a good chance that humans really believe in my demise, rather than playing their own game."

    "He must be arrested."

    "Right now." the Mistress agreed. "Just don''t kill him by accident."

    Latham bowed briefly and not walked out as rushed out of the meditation chamber.

    "I don''t believe it." Medea crouched on the edge of the fancifully shaped wide bed on which the weakened telepath lay, leaning forward slightly, lending credibility to her words. "Not Ruarchidh! He''s one of the Oldtimers. We''ve tested him in every way imaginable!"

    "It''s hard to argue with facts," Celesta shrugged slightly. Medea stood up immediately, adjusting the cushions, sensing her sister''s discomfort. "Ruarchidh is mentioned explicitly in two of Laar''s memoirs that I have processed, and four more mentioned facts are known to a very limited group. Ruarchidh is one of them. I would like to know what he was caught up in..."

    The warlock finally got down to business. He put a batch of vials on the floor, went somewhere for a while, returned with a goblet half-full of pure water, and began pouring the potions, preparing a stimulating mixture. In between, he remarked:

    "Logic suggests that words can be interpreted in different ways."

    "Not when the conversation is direct. Laar was unfamiliar with operational work and demanded that the real names of the agents be given to him."

    Should she consider the information she had received sufficient? After a brief reflection, Celeste decided that it was. The multi-pronged and costly operation had not yielded the expected result. The risens still did not know the plans of the Chancellor and his henchmen. But they got the name of the "mole" who had been leaking information to the side for centuries. Now, in hindsight, some of the failures and unpleasant awareness of the former leaders of the Service in a number of areas of the risens become clear. But the traitor could have remained uncaptured for a long time: no one suspected him.

    That''s a shame. Bitter. Why didn''t he ask for help? What was he hooked on?

    We''ll find out soon.

    The morning left a tinge of disappointment on the tongue. The Ruarchidh that Latham had delivered (the Elder had brought it in a carefully packed bale. He didn''t doubt for a moment that his Mistress was right) was locked up briefly, mostly because Celeste had threatened to chain him in a special "strict" cell and personally gut his memory. Not now, but in five days, when she''d fully recovered her strength and sorted out her business.

    The story of betrayal was obscenely banal. First an extra date with relatives, then a framed victim, a beggar, recruitment, the first report, the second, more serious tasks, a rebel who died solely because of the denunciation of a traitor ... The one claw stuck and the whole bird was lost. Although there were personal motives. Ruarchidh, like many of his kind, considered himself unappreciated and counted on his place as an Elder in the Inner Circle. Of course, I deserve more. Yes, I''m sure. No, why? It''s just that I''m smarter and stronger, and... I swear I didn''t mean to! Why didn''t I tell you everything, Mistress? Well, I thought I could get out of it sooner or later... Idiot.

    It is not certain that the "spiders" had only one mole. More cause for worry.

    After listening to the loser''s confession, Celesta ordered him locked up and went to sleep. She did not have the strength to plan anything. She found out the main thing - Ruarchidh hadn''t had time to inform his masters that she was alive. The rest would have to wait until tomorrow.

    The time when the risens all slept together, crammed into the lowest levels of the catacombs and covering the only entrance to the filthy hole with a heavy slab of stone is not yet forgotten. The Elders know the value of comfort, unlike the youngsters who have come for everything. Though the depth of burrowing, figuratively speaking, has not changed over the centuries - vampires still chose the least accessible places for humans to hide out for the day. And they defended them with paranoid care, setting elaborate traps at the entrances, solidly camouflaged doors, and allowing the carefully arranged abode of the select few. It was often practiced to create false dwellings, slipped to observers from the "spiders" as the main dwellings. Even Medea, a seemingly ostentatious socialite, used the bedroom of her mansion exclusively for meetings with young men she liked. She rested in a real bunker, in the basement.

    To enter a shelter without an invitation was to cause serious offense to the master. The risens jealously defended their territory and reacted nervously even to unexpected visits from elders. There are reception rooms, offices, some prototypes of public halls - and there are private chambers, where the closest and no one else is allowed. It was a rule crystallized over the centuries and was sacrosanctly observed by all. It was rarely violated.

    Hustin, who brought an outsider to Celeste''s secret hideout, must have had more than good reason for such an action.

    Of course, the warlock did not go into the bedroom, but stayed in the large living room, a kind of vestibule for the few visitors. Place where she was at her most vulnerable, Celesta defended herself in every way she could. Both magical and mechanical. So for quite some time the Mistress did not react to the two risens sitting behind a thick layer of stone and three reinforced plates of armor, inadvertently called doors, and she rested well for the first time in a long time. Lying on the wide cushioned bed (the room was furnished by the ubiquitous Medea), she allowed herself a little slumber and no hurry. Thoughts of how things were going in the younger communities, of contacting Gardomann, of giving Zervan orders to lay low in his flock, of unnecessarily high losses, and of killing nearly half his retinue, rolled over lazily in her head. He''s competing with Latham, he''s got his hands on the "real business.".

    Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

    The serenity faded away as if it had never existed, as soon as she heard the loud voices behind the first, outer door. Reality reminded her not to relax. Celesta didn''t know what had happened yet, but a keen premonition of trouble made her freeze and listen. At that moment the Mistress, seen by an outsider, looked strikingly like a snake preparing to strike. Cautious. Clenched in a tight ball. Despite her outward stillness and dark eyes, she was feverishly calculating her options, trying to guess what Hustin might have wanted and why it was the sorcerer who had come to her, not Latham, her faithful nursemaid. The other one moved differently and didn''t look like a bodyguard.

    Hurriedly dressing and - just in case - taking a stimulant, Mistress left the bedroom.

    "Hastin? Kalderan?" She looked even more alarmed at the sight of the sorcerer''s companion. "What are you doing here?"

    She was still ambivalent about the renegade. Kalderan turned out to be smart, strong, communicative, and able to keep his mouth shut and speak exactly as much as necessary for the cause. An uncommon personality. At the same time, he did not get too close to anyone and did not say anything specific about himself, each time deftly shifting the conversation to other topics. After the first outburst of frankness caused by his successful escape from the mad priest, Kalderan was surprisingly quick to calm down and be quiet, trying hard to understand where he was and what to do now. He did not impose, did not refuse to help anyone, and did not ask unnecessary questions that might arouse suspicion. Very thoughtful and very correct behavior.

    Mistress did not consider him an agent of mortals. But she did not dare to approach him either, despite his obvious potential. He was a very murky man.

    "Kalderan thinks the priests want to destroy the Academy," Hustin blurted out.

    Celesta turned her gaze silently to the renegade. He bowed in a Southern manner, holding his right hand to his heart.

    "I have reason to believe that a serious provocation is being prepared against the mages."

    "Reasons?"

    "The recent actions of several palace factions cannot be explained by other reasons." The risen watched firmly, with a willingness to answer for his words. "Moreover, there are several facts directly pointing to an imminent confrontation with the Academy."

    Without saying a word, she sat down in an armchair and nodded to the guests on the low sofa opposite. Well, Hustin''s condition is understandable. For him, the Academy is if not the whole sense of life, then at least half of it.

    "The beginning of my line of reasoning was the story of a homeless man. He was drinking away the money he got from a benefactor in the tavern," Kalderan said at length. "A small sum, but a regular handout for no apparent reason. Altruism, which is not typical of rich people, attracts attention, and I decided to meet a generous man. He did not, however, respond. But I found out that in the last two months, in the port, as well as in the poorest parts of the city, there are people who gather gangs of hobos around them, occasionally giving them money, but without demanding any work in return. At the same time, there is serious ideological pumping, the leaders of the groups are actively preaching and are closely associated with young cults - the Blue Ang, the Sun, the Dragon of Heaven, and others of less importance."

    Zervan reported them, Celesta recalled. But our sources in the temples didn''t tell us anything concrete at the time, and then the oddities of mortals were no longer an issue.

    "I was unable to learn anything of substance from the priests; my questions only aroused suspicion," Kalderan continued. "But I''ve counted the number of preachers, estimated the number of "meat" in each group, and concluded that the temples now have a core of ten or twelve thousand hungry people, which could create a good crowd of pogroms in a day. If they were armed, even with simple weapons, and the guards neutralized, it would be unrealistic to suppress the riots in the Capital before the troops arrived."

    Mistress nodded faintly in agreement. The newcomer''s face relaxed almost imperceptibly, and he, emboldened, spoke more calmly and confidently:

    "Considering that there are three infantry and three cavalry regiments stationed around Taleya, not counting the guards in the capital itself and the cohorts of the closest feudal lords, there seems to be no need to worry. These troops are enough to suppress any rebellion, the more so as the garrisons of the neighboring provinces can always be brought up. All it takes is the political will. The Chancellor has no fear of blood; he would not hesitate to give the order to crush the rebels so, at first glance, there is no sense in starting a riot. That''s what I thought until I found out about the latest reshuffle in the army."

    "At the moment, absolutely all the units on the four-day journey from Taleya are commanded by people who are members of Rakawa''s party and loyal to him. The noblemen''s retinue can be disregarded - they are few in number and do not affect the situation as a whole. Over the past four months, the insufficiently enthusiastic warlords have either been reassigned to the outskirts of the kingdom or have been retired along with their prot��g��s. Thus, it can be argued that the Son of the Sea, or rather his right hand, is able to conduct any operations in the center of the country unimpeded, and the opposition will not be able to interfere with them. Or, at least, not quickly interfere."

    "The desire to take the army on a short leash is quite natural," shrugged Celesta. "Especially with the generals almost becoming fiefdom dukes. And I haven''t heard the promised proof about the Academy yet."

    "The undeserving only wished to show the noble Mistress which way his thoughts were flowing," Kalderan apologized floridly. Without much remorse in his voice, though. "So, on the one hand, the rogue mobs are waiting to pounce on whoever they''re prey to, and on the other, the total control of a force capable of incubating a riot. This is an important point."

    "Now why do I believe the operation is directed against mages."

    "First, the purpose of propaganda. There is persistent gossip among the people that all recent events are directly or indirectly the fault of mages. The most ridiculous rumors are spread, accusing the teachers of the Academy of various crimes. All of the townsfolk''s misfortunes are attributed to witchcraft and the divine wrath inflicted as punishment for it, with frequent references to the Cataclysm. The high priests of the three temples referred in their sermons to the Plague of the Magi, and there has recently been a joint prayer for the remembrance of the victims of witchcraft."

    "Secondly, in the past month, eight relics, in fact, powerful artifacts previously-stored in other cities in the kingdom, have been brought to the city. According to Maestro Hustin, they can be used to overcome the protection imposed on the Academy. They are brought at the behest of the faithful, though they have never left their designated holy places before."

    "Third, in the last six months, there has not been a single clash between supporters of different deities, although in the previous decade there were regular clashes. Apparently, the priests are holding back the flock. And finally, one last thing. The day before yesterday, Maestro Tyran did not receive an invitation to a meeting of the Royal Council."

    Kalderan became silent, his shocking report finally over. The most frustrating thing was that almost all the information the stranger had voiced had already been reported to Celesta, only in an unconnected form. It never occurred to her to put them together. Probably inertia of thought - the Academy seemed to her something eternal, immutable. Mistress did not consider the option in which power would want to destroy one of its pillars; even now, after all, she had heard, she had to force herself to assess Kalderan''s words dispassionately, rather than dismiss them as delusional.

    The problem was that the individual pieces of the mosaic were adding up, coming together. The scenario seemed logical. Mages, as an organized force, hindered the current rulers of the country. That''s why they decided to get rid of the mages.

    "I wish I could mock you, but I can''t," Celesta admitted dryly. "You sound disgustingly reasonable."

    "Forgive me if I have distressed you, noble mistress," the Southerner bowed.

    "You shouldn''t be. If the riots had started suddenly, I would have been more upset."

    "I think we should report everything to Maestro Tyran," Hastin interjected, sitting tensely. "Now. I''ll call him on the mirror."

    "Do you think he''ll believe you?" Celesta asked skeptically. "As if you don''t know how stubborn the old man is. I''ll talk to him myself."

    Come to think of it, the sorcerer gave his mistress a pleasant surprise. No matter how nervous he was, no matter how he felt about the Academy and the teacher, he still came to Celesta first. And now he sat, waiting for her decision. It was a pleasure.

    It was also good that the first stupor had passed, and the brains began to work and begin reason. It looks like the academics will have to be pulled out - a natural ally, after all.

    "If a final decision is made about the mages, only escape can save them. The temples, the army, some of the nobility, the support of the Son of the Sea... there''s no way to withstand such an alliance. They must either flee to Zonna - Prince Kono is sure to take advantage of the situation to shelter the survivors - or flee to the neighboring countries. The second option is less fortunate: wizards aren''t liked outside the kingdom. So it''s Zonna."

    "Hustin, find Merck, and together you will work out the route and logistics. More than a hundred people are studying at the Academy, and it will be very difficult to smuggle them all, so we''ll start preparing right now. You''re in charge of the catacombs. You know how much crap we''ve set there, and Latham''s squad is too busy to clean it up. So you and your zombie are gonna have to take down the traps and exorcise the demons. Go on, then."

    Emboldened by the realization that Mistress had taken responsibility on her frail but extremely resilient shoulders, the Elder leaped out the door. Now, with clear instructions and some certainty about the future, he was reassured and ready to act. For a moment Celesta envied the wizard - her position did not allow for shifting decision-making to others, and in general, the simplicity of existence was not assumed. Right now, for instance, she had to figure out what to do about Kalderan. In principle, there should be a reward for his help. But how? How can you reward a talented rebel, whose desires you know nothing about and whose loyalty you doubt?

    "Kalderan, you seem to have saved us a great deal of trouble," Celesta said to the Southerner. "I''d like to return the favor. What do you want?"

    "The noble mistress knows that I have nowhere to go back to. The city where I lived for many years is destroyed; the risens community has been destroyed. Here in Taleya, under the rule of the many-worthy, I hope to find a place that will make a new home for me. For nowhere else in the land do the undead feel such peace for their future. They are poisoned, hunted, forced to live in filthy dens, and destroyed upon sight. I want to serve someone who has managed not just to survive - but to survive by creating. You have created a state of the risens, uniting them into one people; mortals bow before you, they revere and love you; your will makes the rulers of men retreat. Only in Taleya have I met risens who do not merely wish to know their own nature, but who make real efforts to do so. Is there any place more admirable? And my merits, noble mistress, will be justly appreciated, and if you will use them as you see fit, that is the only reward I ask for."

    Celesta generally liked the speech. He was moderately flattering (unlike some people who can go on for half an hour), reminded me of his plight and managed to save face, and mentioned his and the hostess''s virtues. Indeed, he could become very useful. Only let the potential subject first answer a number of questions.

    "Kalderan, you''ve been a guest in Taleya until now. A welcome guest, for if you had not told of our enemy''s imminent arrival, there is no telling what he might have done. In any case, many men would have died, and many risens would have died a second death. The worst was averted, and that is why the whole community considers you our friend. But now you want to change your status, to become one of us. I am glad to hear that. But my subjects, especially those aspiring to high status, are subject to far stricter requirements than outsiders." Celesta paused for a moment and finished in a much drier tone. "For example, I am extremely wary of rebels who have dangerous secrets from me. The community should not have to pay the debts of others."

    "Noble Mistress, all you have to do is ask a question, and I will answer it without uttering a word of lies!"

    Well phrased. After all, in order to ask, you must first know what to ask. Well, let''s keep trying.

    "Hustin knows how to determine the age of the undead." Mistress was pleased to catch a slight flash of panic from her interlocutor. "Not very accurately, the range is about fifty years. However..."

    The rest is unnecessary. Kalderan lied about his age, which both of his interlocutors knew. What would he do now? If he continues to insist that he''s not hiding anything, there''s nothing to talk to him about. But it would make sense to put observers on him, or even to send him out of town, offering to settle in any of the smaller communities. Will he start lying, dodging the truth? Well, it depends on what he says. Even outright lies can yield useful information. What Celesta wasn''t afraid of at all was an attack. For one thing, the southerner avoided violence and preferred to get his way through intrigue and deception, and for another, she feared nothing at all in her sanctuary. After countless rituals and incantations, the stone walls were imbued with her power, forming one mighty protective harness. Neither man nor risen could harm her here, scattered to ashes by her mistress'' magic.

    To Kalderan''s credit, he was quick to calculate his options.

    "I swear that I have underestimated my real age without malice, Noble Mistress," he had the conscience to bow low in an act of shame. "Many of the risens I knew, when they heard that I remembered times before the Wrath of the Gods, were very distraught, or, on the contrary, looked at me as if I were a miracle. They expected revelations or incredible powers and were angry when I did not live up to their expectations. So I got used to hiding the truth. I beg you to forgive me for this mistake, which was made in good faith and out of habit."

    Celesta nodded politely during her heartfelt speech, then remarked:

    "It''s very noble of you to care about the feelings of others. I suppose there is an equally simple and reasonable explanation for the other inconsistencies we have noticed in your biography, isn''t there?"

    "Of course it is. May I ask," the Southerner asked cautiously, "what particular ambiguities does the noble Mistress Celesta wish to know about?"

    "There are too many to list individually, and I have yet to have a difficult conversation with an ancient and damn stubborn wizard. So we''ll keep it simple." The ruler of the undead rose from her chair, and a tense Kalderan jumped to his feet. "I''m going into the next room to talk to Maestro Tyran through the mirror. And when I return, I hope to hear a full and frank account of your past, this time without any omissions or reticences. Then we will discuss your request again."

    That''s it. Not knowing what and how much Celeste knows, Kalderan will face a difficult choice: either tell everything as it is, withholding the bare minimum, or say goodbye to his desire to join the Taleya community. The terms on which he is accepted are clear. The mistress would not have put anyone else within such rigid limits. But given the Southerner''s age, his abilities, education, survivability, and other qualities that had allowed him to create a new network of agents in months, and an effective one at that, she could not have done otherwise. This is not a green rookie who just rise.

    The requirements for a potential candidate for the Inner Circle are much higher.

    * * *

 Chapter 23

    Chapter 23

    * * *

    They were late.

    Another month, just one measly month, and the Academy would have been saved. Not by intrigue - not so much influence of the risens or of the mages excommunicated from the court to change the decision made at the top. There would not be enough power to win a direct confrontation, steel on steel. But within a month, the wizards had promised to prepare the most valuable books and records for evacuation, to get their families out of the city, to hide the designs, and gradually send them to the home estates of their students. To preserve the Tradition and its Bearers, the information, and those capable of interpreting it.

    Not in time. The priests and servants of the Son of the Sea, who hated the "stronghold of wicked schemes," had struck earlier. As a result, it was now necessary to finish the preparations for escape in a wild rush, hoping to save at least the most important things before the assault began.

    In the old days, the very idea that a mob of semi-literate paupers would dare to storm the city mages'' abode, a repository of wisdom and a symbol of power, seemed insane. The Academy, formerly the High Taleya University, was guarded not only and not so much by enchantments. The safety of noble students - and no one else was here - was monitored by city guards, Guard units, and army units stationed in the city, not to mention spider agents.

    No one came to the aid of the wizards today.

    As Calderan had predicted, the troops loyal to the old aristocracy were withdrawn from the city or given strict orders not to interfere. There was no one to stop the temples in their quest to wipe out the rival stronghold. Thousands of ragamuffins swarmed into the Golden City, entering through the helpfully opened gates. The priests, leading the throng, ignored the houses of the nobility and the wealthy, anxious to move swiftly toward their intended goal. Though occasional packs of marauders jumped over the fences of the estates and tried to loot. In some places they were repulsed, in others, the defenders were overwhelmed.

    Inside the Academy itself, there was organized panic. Students and teachers scurried through the building, hurriedly hauling the most valuable books and items into the cellars, where they would await their time in enchanted vaults. Celeste shook her head in doubt - it would take more than twenty-four hours to remove the entire library. And then there were the archives, the secret annals, the teachers'' private libraries.

    An island of calm, an organizing force in all this chaos, were the four highest mages. The leaders of the Academy were busily and purposefully scribbling crooked squiggles on the slabs of the central hall, personally doing the work of the journeymen. From time to time they quarreled in quiet voices, arguing about some gradients and possible setbacks but on the whole, the work progressed smoothly. From time to time they diverted to listen to a report or give orders to their many assistants, and then returned to their previous activities, while their subordinates began to bustle about with renewed vigor.

    Celeste and Hustin were circled by the fleeing mortals. The warlock was still listed as a teacher, and the frail little figure in the simple white dress walking beside him reeked of frozen dead power from a dozen yards away. She wasn''t hiding her nature today.

    "For a twice-dead woman, you look incredibly alive."

    Tyran looked at the vampiress without much surprise. He was more interested in the blueprint that was appearing. The apprentice and his mistress were no longer the focus of his attention. Celeste smiled with one lip in response to the dubious compliment:

    "The unity of opposites, isn''t it?"

    "Indeed," the rector nodded. Then he pointed toward the balcony. "I wish you could enjoy the spectacle. Well, the priests were uncommonly unanimous these days."

    The Night Mistress of Taleya looked thoughtfully at her interlocutor and glanced at the other mages. Without a word, she turned and, without a moment''s hesitation, walked swiftly out of the shadows. Right into the sun.

    Down below, beyond the fence, a sea of people raged. The mortals were still wary of approaching the barrier that protected the citadel of mages. The bodies of foolish men piled up along the barrier stimulated rational thinking, but the priests'' robes, looming up and down, were slowly preparing the flock for the breakthrough. Celeste stepped closer to the railing, ignoring the pressing rays of the sun, and peered at the group of high-ranking priests in the distance. The leaders of the various churches had temporarily set aside their confessional differences and stood side by side. Not together, but side by side.

    "What are they doing?"

    Tyran, who followed behind, cast a fleeting glance at the enemy leaders:

    "They''re getting ready to break the spells that protect us. Someone gave them the keys to the defense, so I think it will be a successful attempt. Then again, their artifacts are curious." I could tell by his tone that he wasn''t interested in the subject. "Can I congratulate you on your transition?"

    "Yes. It''s about time, don''t you think?" They grinned understandingly. "But this wasn''t about me. I met surprisingly few students on my way here."

    "During the past six months, some of the families withdrew their descendants from Taleya."

    The rector was silent, not seeing the need to explain anything else. Indeed, what was there to talk about? The nobles who conspired were unwilling to risk their heirs and had returned them home just before the events began. Only the teachers and students from hostile families remained at the Academy, and no one was going to spare them.

    "Do you need help from my servants?"

    Tyran was silent, making up his mind. Mistress waited, enjoying the kisses of the safe sun for the first time in years.

    "We hope to slam the door loudly before we escape, to discourage Irrhan from pursuing the students. If your servants will agree to serve as guides..."

    "Absolutely," Celesta nodded. "The servants of the Dark One and the smugglers have already been warned and are waiting, the letters to Zonna have been sent. And by the way, I intend to send Medea to negotiate with Prince Kono."

    "Blessed One will quickly accept your sister," Tyran agreed. "Many of my students are descendants of his vassals. They will not forget the help they have received."

    Elder gestured for them to leave the balcony. The vampiress looked at the crowd, the priests finishing their preparations before the ritual, and returned to the hall. The priests, she estimated, would break through in two hours after the prayers began. She knew temple magic poorly and very well at the same time. Poorly - because of the lack of information and reluctance of priests to share knowledge with the "dark brat". And most of what she learned could not be checked because of the differences in energy. At the same time, most parts of its sources monitored the temples'' actions one way or another, and in the turbid stream of mixed information, one could find very curious observations from time to time. The individual pieces from which, like a mosaic, the whole picture of rituals, ceremonies, teaching methods, and other internal foundations of the school could be assembled.

    Hastin, who had been standing in the darkness of the room the entire conversation, was about to say something at the sight of his mistress, but he changed his mind. He simply nodded with a grim face at the nearly completed drawing on the floor. Celesta stepped closer to the freshly-colored marks, felt the familiar current of power radiating from them, and recalled where and when she had seen something similar. She''d seen it a long time ago. She asked the rector in a secular tone:

    "Blessed Maestro, how old are you?"

    "It doesn''t matter. I don''t have much left, that''s all that matters." The old mage looked around at his comrades-in-arms. "Isn''t it better to leave on your own? At least my students remain alive and continue my work."

    "You sacrifice your soul nor body."

    "I''ll take my chances after all."

    The risen did not comment on what she thought was foolishness. Tyran is old, experienced, and powerful. He''s probably the strongest mage alive. He knows what he''s doing. Or thinks he does. Not that he can be dissuaded - the old man has always been monstrously stubborn. It is because of him that the Academy is now being stormed: if the Tyran had been a little more flexible, he would have been able to find a compromise with the temples.

    After an hour, the wizards finally realized that most of their belongings would have to be left behind, and they slowly began to descend to the lower floors. There they were met by Hustin, grouped in groups of ten or fifteen, then introduced them to their guides, and reminded them of the dangers that awaited them underground, demanding unquestioning obedience. He exaggerated only slightly. Despite the pre-cleared routes and the subterranean creatures'' habit of obeying the undead, the last level of the catacombs was still a place not meant for walking.

    Unlike the Elder Sorcerer, Celesta spent the rest of her time in the hall, trying to remember as accurately as possible the intertwining of the intricate pattern on the floor and not hesitating to ask questions. She guessed roughly what the rector had in mind, admired his genius, and was horrified by it. People did not answer her very willingly - masters could not distract themselves from preparing for the most complicated ritual, and their younger colleagues did not have the necessary knowledge and were not versed in the subject. In addition, students and teachers gradually began to guess who exactly had visited the doomed abode of knowledge under the arm of a vampire teacher and quite freely communicate with the head of the Academy, distracting him from important matters. As a consequence, people tried to stay away from the teenage girl in a simple white dress. Latham, with an unflappable face, took a place behind his Mistress. He was the one who looked extremely organic in the luxurious interiors, though he tried not to enter the bright spots near the windows.

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    The mages, group after group, left the complex. They abandoned the laboratories and libraries, left the expensive ingredients to rot, and killed the beasts, and mutated mortals before they left. At last, not more than half a dozen or so survivors remained in the vast plot of land bounded by a fence that continued to resist the prayers of the priests. The rector, his two closest assistants, old and determined to share his mentor''s fate, the deans of the faculties, and a select few students who helped out on minor matters. Here, too, stood the two dead, or, more correctly, undead.

    People came up to the rector one by one, said a few words, took his parting blessing, and, unable to hide their tears, walked toward the underground passage. Celeste understood them, she herself felt uneasy. The old man seemed eternal to her. With Tyran''s death, an entire era would end. She said nothing to him in parting, only a nod from afar, and he didn''t seem to expect any tenderness - as wolves get older, they lose teeth, but not character. Hustin was the one who had to wait. For him, Tyran was a once-in-a-lifetime teacher, and that was if he was very lucky, so the vampire took a long time to say goodbye. And when he left, he kept looking back.

    It didn''t take them long to realize the cost of their delay. At first, there was a cracking sensation from above as if the wood had cracked. The burden of light magic was heavy on their shoulders. Even weakened by the thick earth and stone, it blinded the rebels briefly, forcing them to halt. Almost immediately, however, the paralysis passed. The priests paid dearly for breaking the spells that surrounded the Academy, and they were unwilling to strain their already shattered powers. Looking at the frozen vampires and sensing the success of their attackers as well, the humans stopped dead in their tracks. They couldn''t hear the muffled roar of the bursting crowd and the clang of breaking expensive glass, but their gut feelings, sharpened by grief, told them this was it. It was over. The house was gone.

    And when hordes of intoxicated ragamuffins burst into the vaults of the stately halls; when tired priests celebrated their victory, beginning to think how to further weaken the competition; when messengers rushed to the Royal Palace with news of a seemingly impossible event - then the magicians struck back. The walls did not tremble, nor did an eerie howl spread through the dark corridors. Just the last group of mortals and the undead, fleeing from the desecrated citadel of wizards, sensed something sixth sense: It began. It was as if an icy wind was blowing at the back of their necks. And then the wave of magic caught up with the fugitives.

    "They started too soon," Hustin whispered anxiously. "If I calculate correctly, we won''t make it out of range of the curse."

    "Apparently the priests broke the barrier faster than we thought," Celesta answered just as quietly. Then she added in a loud voice for all to hear: "Hurry up, gentlemen. We don''t have much time left."

    The mages, who had come to their senses, switched from a quick step to a light run, but their speed increased only slightly. The tight spring of the ritual behind their backs unwound more and more, and the thickened air was filled with a foreboding sense of tension. Shadows crawled across the walls, impenetrable even to the sight of the risens, sometimes softly inviting whispers or moans could be heard from them. The people''s breathing quickened, and they were already running as fast as they could.

    "We still won''t make it," Hustin whispered again. "They''re too slow."

    Celesta was thinking the same thing. If we leave people behind, then...

    "We might not make it in time either. And I promised the old man I''d get them out. Draw a circle."

    "He''s not likely to help," Hustin warned, stopping.

    "I know. Draw."

    Despite his objections, the warlock began his work with evident relief. He did not want to leave his colleagues to their certain death.

    Meanwhile, the mages, urged on by Latham, crowded fearfully into the tunnel. A vampire was keeping them from the front, and an alien, frightening power was pressing in behind them.

    "Listen to me," Celesta added a bit of power to her voice, drawing attention to herself and amplifying the effect of her words. "The wave is catching up, and you can''t escape. So you''ll have to stay protected for a while."

    "There''s no defense against it!" Came a hysterical voice from someone.

    "Don''t interrupt!" The voice hit like a whip. "Either do as I say or get ready to die! Remember, you must not look outside the circle. Understand?! Sit in the center and do not look outside! Hustin?!"

    "Done, Mistress," replied the mage.

    "What are you waiting for?!" The vampiress snarled. She could literally feel the precious time running out. "In the circle, I said!"

    Frightened by the outburst of fury and the sight of white fangs bared, the men obeyed her command. A worried Latham sat on the floor beside them, anxiously catching his Mistress''s gaze. Last of all, having drawn the remaining symbols with his blood, Hustin entered the circle.

    Celesta herself stood on the border - not outside, but not inside. It seemed right to her. She wasn''t sure of her assumption, and at first, the thought seemed crazy, but she saw no other way here and now. Sometimes you have to take risks, she thought. The one who doesn''t risk doesn''t drink champagne. She hardly remembered what champagne was. Her memory was less and less likely to throw up memories of the time when she was alive and happy and living in a world that knew no magic. It was probably for the best.

    Now she would have to trust the crumbs of knowledge wrested from fate, dark instinct, and the memory of a mistake made long ago. The once foolish and inexperienced rebel had made a bad joke. She had cried out to the darkness, not expecting a response. But she should have known by then that the great powers had a mind of their own as to whether or not she should answer her prayers. The fanatics who had served her had died that day, Celesta herself had also nearly died, and Medea and Hustin had finally recognized her as the leader.

    No matter how many years or centuries had passed, she could not forget those moments when an alien cold mind indifferently and mercilessly dissected her personality into pieces. It looked for something of its own, compared what it saw to the right criteria, or simply dissected it, like a scientist dissecting with a scalpel a new specimen of a simple organism in its hands. She felt no fear or pain, but there, in the world where her soul had found itself, everything was completely different. Then she was lucky. For some unknown reason, the creature, or entity, or something that inhabited that strange place let her go and even left a piece of herself behind. Hardly consciously - just the slightest touch of that power was enough to change her forever.

    Just now Tyran consciously repeated what Celesta had once done out of ignorance.

    Taleya''s strongest undead was more aware than anyone else of the powers the great mage had summoned. This knowledge prevented her from even thinking about confronting the impending barrage of darkness. For such an attempt would be akin to wishing for a drop of water to extinguish a volcano. But perhaps they would not want to kill her? Consider a little of her own? See a kinship? If not for her recent fight with Carlon, Celest�� would not have dared to act, but now... she had communicated with that demon, and they understood each other. So maybe now she could beg them not to hurt her companions?

    Especially since the entity doesn''t seem to kill rebels without a good reason. And her conscience is clear before mortals. She''d already kept her word to Tyran. By the very fact of her attempt.

    The vampiress grinned dryly - some experiments are very dangerous - and spread her arms crosswise, preparing to take the first touch of the approaching dark wave.

    I, unworthy, am too stupid and ignorant to interpret the will of the gods and the deeds of their earthly servants. Therefore you will not know my name. But I can no longer keep silent, for the event I witnessed is too awesome and far beyond human comprehension.

    On the day that the Academy of High Magic in ancient Taleya fell, I was one of the last to flee the majestic and beautiful abode, so mercilessly desecrated by stupid ignoramuses. We were unaware of the blessed Tyran''s intentions - in his great wisdom, he had communicated the ritual to a select few who were sworn to secrecy - but we knew that we would never see our beloved mentor again. For the Dark Lord Morvan always charges those who seek his help.

    Wishing to show respect for her tutor and saddened at the sight of the desolation being wrought, Messena Celesta, also called the Night Mistress, or Mistress of the Night ordered her servants to assist in the escape from the doomed Academy. Students and teachers and a few guests descended into the darkness to walk through the sun-beaten tunnels to a place where they were safe. The undead showed us the way. It was only because of them that we escaped the monstrous creatures of the plague that lurk beneath the ground; that we were not lost in the labyrinths of countless passages; that we were not the victims of desperate madmen who swore an oath to the Lord of Darkness and therefore refused to go to the surface, lest they defile themselves by the touch of light.

    My companions and I were the last to leave when the damned priests had already breached the first protective barrier. We were led by three undead-the Mistress herself, her bodyguard, now known as the Wing of Night, and Maestro Hustin, a student of the blessed Tyran and one of the teachers. We knew, of course, that he belonged among the rebels, but until that day he had never so clearly demonstrated his nature.

    I remember with horror the moment I realized the inevitability of death. We were moving too slowly; demons that come to the world of the living can move very quickly. And no matter how much a mortal man might prepare, no matter how many times he studied the philosophy of darkness, no matter how many days he spent meditating, he would never be able to sense the imminence of hell''s creatures without awe. For the chill that they produce will forever inhabit a man''s soul. Only the will of Mistress of the Night has kept us from our shameful and senseless flight. Obedient to her commands, frightened and despondent, we entered the protective perimeter that Maestro H��stin had drawn, and prepared to retreat to the judgment of the gods, for hope had abandoned us altogether. No one believed that salvation was possible.

    When the first demons, like wisps of translucent yet impenetrable black shadows, swirled around us in a deadly circle, I lowered my eyes. There, beyond the line, true evil was gathering. It was sifting through my soul, sifting through my memory, and in moments I could see everyone I''d ever harmed. The twisted faces of people laughed with hatred or, conversely, groaned pitifully, asking what they had done to deserve their current fate. They called and beckoned to them. Their attraction was so great that it deprived us of reason, leaving only one desire: to obey the sweet poisoned voices, to become the obedient executor of a greedy and hungry will. Some of us tried to get up to leave the circle, but the undead clung to the weak in spirit. They had to stun some of the mages, though.

    Despite my warning, I disobeyed the order, and now I must reap the benefits of my recklessness for the rest of my life. So I watched as the evil spirits, with their visible form, surrounded the Dark Mistress, sliding over her body, caressing her hands. The strongest of them were crawling through the undead as if her flesh were not a barrier but something to be attracted to. Gradually the number of them increased. It was such a bewildering sight that I was frozen in complete stillness, unable to look around, and only later did I hear from my companions that the demons had not crossed the boundary of the circle. It was as if it had become impenetrable to them. I could see the shadows woven together into a black blanket that enveloped the slender figure like a heavy cloak, and it was horrible and beautiful at the same time.

    It was impossible to look away. She shone with a dark light, filling the souls of those who gazed upon her with unearthly bliss, making them tremble with wild fear, filling them with pain, and forcing them to freeze in the stony stillness of ecstasy. The torrent of power that emanated from her took on flesh and sheltered us insignificant ones from the power of the servants of the Lord of Hell.

    I don''t know how much time passed. I was told later that the appearance of the Dark One''s servants had lasted no more than a minute, but for me, it had been an eternity. I thought we sat there on the floor, spellbound, staring at the laughing demons for an unimaginable amount of time until suddenly they were gone, and the Mistress'' quiet voice ordered us to leave. The risens quickly led us away, helping those who couldn''t walk on their own. To this day, in my dreams, I can still see that image - the slightly turned face, half-hidden by shadows, and the anthracite-black eye, like a window into the Abyss itself.

    I went blind that day. To this day I regret that I did not lose my memory.

    "Memories of Koyan the Blind."

    Original, property of the Zonna Academy of Magic.

    * * *

 Chapter 24

    Chapter 24

    * * *

    Later, in his analysis of what had happened, Hustin concluded that they could not stay. The order was so pure and concentrated that the mortals and the vampires who accompanied them rushed to do their Mistress''s bidding before they could even comprehend it. They leaped from their seats to aid those afflicted by the demon rampage and ran deeper into the dungeon. The men didn''t dare turn around.

    Without Latham, who by some miracle had kept his composure, they would surely have lost someone. The route was winding, there were wounded in the group, and only through the efforts of an Elder warrior did the mages in their entirety reach the small hall, where they fell to the floor from fatigue. Not so much physical as spiritual. The knight briefly examined the mortals, checked their condition, grimaced slightly, and approached a fellow sorcerer: "Do you understand what happened?"

    Despite their long acquaintance, the mage and the aristocrat continued to treat each other with the courtesy of the highest circles. Not because they tried to keep their distance from each other, but simply because they were more comfortable.

    "Roughly the same as the encounter with Carlon, only on a different level," Hustin answered without hesitation. "The Initiation of Abyss allows the Mistress to communicate with its inhabitants and, with luck, to make requests. She talked us out of it."

    "We have to go back. If she is in the same condition as back then..."

    "Hustin stroked his short beard thoughtfully and nodded uncertainly. After her fight with the priest, Celesta had lain unconscious for hours, completely defenseless. She probably needed help now. Only what to do with the humans?"

    "My colleagues shouldn''t be left alone."

    "Yes, I see," Latham agreed. "I suggest you stay here for now, and I''ll go and see if Messena needs help. Wait for me in... let''s say, an hour."

    "And what do you intend to do if she needs help?"

    "I don''t know," the knight admitted.

    It wasn''t a long walk to where they were caught up in the aftermath of the ritual. The mortals, frightened and weakened, could not run fast, so they fell to the floor at the first opportunity. Yet Latham did not find Mistress. He knew for sure he was not mistaken - there were traces of the circle drawn by the sorcerer on the stone and dust. Here in the dust were the imprints of people''s boots, and a relatively free area where they had been sitting close together. Come to think of it, the wizards weren''t doing too badly. A normal person might well have gone insane after the sight of a stream of whispering demons, while the Academy fugitives didn''t even go into hysterics. They rested, helped the weakened and wounded, and asked perfectly reasonable questions.

    Where did the Mistress go?

    Latham strenuously banished bad thoughts from his mind. After his death and birth into Darkness, the Mistress of the Night became the center of his inner world, an unchanging foundation without which existence seemed vague and unclear. Celesta was always there. The risens knew who taught and protected them, made rules and judged, helped, and punished. She created the community system and developed it. She ruled wisely and justly, keeping her subjects from slipping into the mud. The latter admired most of all, and since childhood accustomed to the idea of serving his suzerain, the aristocrat found in the new mistress an ideal ruler - the heart of the folk, its essence. Now Latham knew exactly to whom his allegiance belonged.

    There was a small pile of dust on the ground where Mistress had stood. The bodyguard stepped closer, tasted the fine dust with the tip of his finger, and his face relaxed slightly - it didn''t look like the remains of a vampire. The undead decayed in other ways. The dust sagged slightly in the center, and a curious Latham shoveled it gently to the side. He grinned incredulously, moved a little closer, and, disregarding the stained clothes, began to shovel the dirt off the floor. No, he was not imagining it; there was an image of two narrow woman''s feet carved and polished in the stone as if they had been made by a master craftsman. It was so carefully made as if for a moment the hard granite had acquired the viscosity that allowed the painstakingly crafted form to be immersed in it.

    "And the stone turned into the water where it was touched by the bare feet of the eternal youth. A fitting phrase for a legend, don''t you think?"

    Latham swiftly shifted from his knees to a fighting stance as the first words began to be heard. By the time the unknown man had finished his short speech, the risen was at a suitable distance to attack, roughly assessed his opponent, cast a short spell, probing the situation... His sword was staring precisely at the throat of a short man dressed as a not very rich townsman, standing quietly at the lowest level of the catacombs. The vampire scanned the dungeon with his eyes, made sure there was no immediate danger, and focused his attention on the mortal. It was an odd situation. The man, not a nobleman, not a fighter, not a wizard by any stretch of the imagination, had managed to sneak up on one of the kingdom''s finest warriors. His instinct, forged in hundreds of fights, was wary of anything incomprehensible and strongly advised him not to get into a fight.

    "There is no reason to worry, Messen Latham. I am not your enemy."

    "Is that so?" The tip of his sword didn''t waver, continuing to target Adam''s apple on his scrawny neck. "Then who are you?"

    "An observer," the mortal said with a wave of his hands. "I''m more of a witness and a checker at the moment, though."

    He reminded someone with his manners, his detached friendliness. Something similar was going through his mind. Latham took a tiny step back, breaking the distance a little, and took his eyes off his adversary a little, hurriedly going over his memories. Where could he have seen, or heard of, an elderly townsman with an unremarkable appearance, without any weapon in sight, but with a muffled, hidden, but understandable presence of the power of Light, tucked into a corpulent body? A Saint? A High Priest of one of the temples? No, the feeling is slightly different - no hostility, no desire to punish the demon of the night. Then who remains?

    The mosaic came together. The sword crawled silently into its scabbard as its master slid gently down to one knee.

    "Ascended."

    "Wow! Somebody still remembers."

    Hardly the forces that planned and orchestrated the Academy''s demise counted on the result. Yes, there were almost no mages left in Taleya. Almost, because every nobleman possessed a minimum of ability. Not nearly everyone was able to use them at a decent level. The victory, however, was pyrrhic and not much different from defeat. Tyran had taken the priests at the top of the most active temples, leaving those loyal to the Chancellor and the Son of the Sea without ideological support. Part of the Golden Quarter was caught in the breach, and the officials and clerks who inhabited them, some of them in very high positions, were killed. Panic spread like wildfire through the city to the poorer suburbs and by nightfall, at least a hundred thousand poor people had fled the Capital.

    They fled without purpose, spurred on by wild rumors of angry gods and a new Plague. The troops could not react in time. The barriers had been set up in advance to intercept the small groups of students and teachers fleeing the Academy, and they did not expect to meet the crowds of terrified commoners.

    Not two days later, Prince Kono declared his nephew bereft of Grace. The Civil War had begun.

    But that was for later. For now, the risens had enough of their own concerns to oversee the affairs of mortals. It was necessary to reassure the servants who had been warned of the coming unrest, but who had never expected such an end. Somehow to accommodate mages from groups who had failed to penetrate the search net spread by the powers-that-be. To rob, a little, kill someone, extract a couple of documents from the vaults, which are not accessible at the usual time. In short, make the most of the opportunity. All in all, the Community was not confused and acted according to plan, but tensions were growing. The disappearance of the Mistress, who possessed all information and the fine coordinator, disturbed and a little frightened. Not so long ago, though, she had been presumed dead, so the rank and file vampires, who knew the true state of affairs, were not worried. But the Elders were worried

    "It''s been eight hours already."

    "Garresh promised to let us know as soon as it became clear."

    "I don''t trust him!"

    The objects trembled, and the thin glass crumbled as Medea raised her voice. She was afraid of everything to do with the Master of Light, and Garresh''s interference in events weakened her control over her abilities.

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    "What did he say?!"

    Latham mentally cringed at the sight of the approaching hysteria, but he repeated it aloud:

    "Messena has been invited to speak with representatives of the Abode of the Abyss and will return here at the end of the conversation."

    "Did he promise? Did he say she would come back?"

    "Of course. He had a very friendly attitude."

    The beauty collapsed into a chair, looked around at the other vampires, and stopped at Hustin:

    "Can we search for her ourselves?"

    "It''s a lot easier to find Garresh himself," the sorcerer remarked melancholically. "He''s a master and so on, of course, but lately he''s been giving off a lot of phlegm in the upper spectrum. He hasn''t had time to clean himself, I guess."

    The vampire warlock was surprised to realize that he felt no particular bitterness at what had happened. A Mentor, before whom he worshipped and respected infinitely, was dead - but Tyran chose the time and place himself, departing with dignity, taking his enemies with him. The Academy is plunged into darkness, but it would be far more painful to see it desecrated by the hands of fanatics and fools. The libraries and the bearers of tradition have survived, and that is all that matters.

    "Why did you have to let him go in the first place?" Zervan spoke up as Medea shook her head in horror, refusing the offer. "I''d have to stun him, tie him up, and question him thoughtfully."

    Hustin smiled slightly indulgently, but almost immediately the smile disappeared. He had never met Garresh in person and judged the priest''s magical potential from circumstantial sources and some studies of Taleya''s background. Thus, how good a fighter he was, he could not judge. But before the sorcerer could speak, Latham spoke, who took Zervan''s words as a veiled accusation of cowardice.

    "It''s a pity you weren''t there at the time. I enjoyed watching you do this foolishness."

    Oh, yeah?" The werewolf Elder leaned forward, hunched over, the tips of his ears pointed and pulled back.

    Latham put his hand on the hilt of his sword.

    "I''ve wanted to try it for a long time."

    Hustin waved his hand carelessly, and the air between the disputants rippled and blurred, causing them both to recoil.

    "This is no time to argue. You''d better think about what we''re going to tell Gardaman. Should he come to Taleya or not?"

    "Why?" Medea flinched. "What''s he doing here now? When the war starts, there''ll be carts of guns from Bardi. Loans, credits, northern wheat, whatever else there is."

    "Right," agreed Hustin. "There''s a lot more to it than that. But first of all, there are just as many opportunities to make money here, and secondly, there''s only a fourth-ranking community in Bardi right now. Decisions are made in Taleya. A lot has happened in the last six months, and we have to figure out what to change and in what order. I, for one, intend to take a couple of students."

    "It''s a good thing, even if you''re driven by the habit of lecturing others," the beautiful woman appreciated her lover''s laboring impulse. She calmed down a little and began to sneer. "It is too early to do something. No one knows how long mortals quarrel among themselves, how long their crisis will last, and what are the priorities of the elite. Maybe they''ll want to destroy all magic, and us, too. And I don''t intend to decide anything without Celesta."

    Medea''s mood worsened again, and she looked around the other elders with a fierce gaze, secretly hoping to hear objections and cause a scandal. Unfortunately, no one was in any hurry to acquiesce to her wishes. So the young vampire, who had snuck up the wall to the high assembly, was greeted, if not peacefully, then at least quietly. Outwardly, the leaders of the raisens showed unity, wary of the turbulence of minds in troubled times.

    "Is something wrong?" Latham was the first to react to the younger one''s appearance.

    "There''s..." The vampire watched with frightened eyes, a grimace of admiration and horror on his expressive face. "There''s..."

    "So!"

    "Mistress is back. She''s in the conference room. Waiting..."

    Medea was the first to leave the room. Not caring how she looked in the eyes of the simple risens, she dashed down the corridor, leaped up the short staircase, and burst into the hall. Behind her, just as impishly, were Zervan and Hustin, followed by Latham, the last of whom was walking briskly, grinning broadly. He had lost the least of his self-control at the happy news. Perhaps that was why the bodyguard, a little before he reached the entrance to the meeting room, felt something strange. Something that wiped the joy from his face and made him wary.

    The vampires froze as they crossed the threshold and looked around in confusion. Darkness reigned in the hall. Not surprising, as the sun had not been seen in the depths of the catacombs since they''d been built. Nor had they seen fire or witchlight. The faint glow of decaying moss was enough for the sensitive eyes of its inhabitants, and no one was ever brought here. Today was different. The air seemed to grow heavier, filled with an oppressive, alien force; shadows in the corners of the room peered indifferently and pitilessly at those who stood at the door; hoarfrost covered the surfaces of tables and armchairs. The risens unconsciously huddled against the wall, trying unsuccessfully to see the figure seated at the far end of the room. For some reason, their gaze refused to linger on the face of the Mistress, slipping stubbornly to the side. The strongest undead sensed the change in their leader, struggling to suppress the fear and panic that arose in her presence.

    "Sit down," a low whisper fell to the floor as ashes.

    The vampires hurriedly took their seats, involuntarily trying to move as far away from Celesta as possible. The first shock had passed, though, and the inner circle had gotten over their emotions and adjusted to the power emanating from her mistress. Medea was the quickest to recover. She was the fastest to recover, and her face was full of delight, admiration, awe, and a small amount of fear. She had known the Mistress of the City the longest, trusted her as much as she could, and had no fear for her life. Her attitude toward Celaesta was a mixture of gratitude, faith, and mystical terror that was now being fed to her.

    "We don''t have much time, so I''ll tell you the basics. The changes in my appearance and energy are temporary. In any case, I''ll be able to control them soon enough," the vampiress''s voice, like fine sandpaper, ran over the skin of those seated. "Until then, try not to disturb me unnecessarily. Of course, Hastin, you''ll get a chance to take all the measurements, but no one has relieved you of your duties to take care of the fugitives from the Academy. By the way, describe the consequences of the ritual. I didn''t go to the surface."

    The warlock coughed, clearing his parched throat.

    "After Maestro Tyran completed the ritual, a sphere of space with altered characteristics emerged in Taleya, the center of which is located in the ritual hall of the Academy. As far as we have been able to ascertain, any life within the sphere is impossible..."

    "Are there any survivors among the people in the square? Priests, magicians?"

    "No, everyone is dead." Hustin looked questioningly at Zervan. He nodded, confirming.

    "The characteristics of a sphere?"

    "Two kilometers in diameter, completely black in appearance. Absorbs any spells directed at it, and does not react in any way to material objects, but animals, when briefly placed inside, came back dead. No tendencies to expand."

    The translucent smoke that enveloped Mistress of Taleya parted for a moment, revealing an alabaster skin more befitting a stone statue. The impression was intensified by the absolute stillness and the icy cold that emanated from Celesta. A moment and the dim shadows closed in, leaving only the lower part of her face exposed.

    "The Sphere is stable," a faint voice murmured. "For the next five hundred years, its boundaries will remain unchanged."

    "How do you know?" Hustin flinched.

    "I talked to its creators."

    Four beings who long ago lost their human form. Clots of darkness, a pure mind filled with energy. Humans who, in search of knowledge and power, had adopted the laws of another reality and were therefore rejected by their homeland. She felt the indifferent and careful attention with which the entities that had closed the breach examined the hidden corners of her soul, weighed on invisible scales, measured according to their own, only accessible to them criteria.

    When the four spoke, she couldn''t stand on her feet and collapsed to her knees. However, the creatures didn''t need to be worshipped - they were only interested in the answer.

    She didn''t dare refuse.

    "Tyran didn''t complete the ritual, and the rift to the Netherworlds was not sealed..." There was dead silence in the hall as Celesta began to speak. "The Abode of Darkness saw fit to intervene. Its... representatives have sealed the contaminated area of space and limited the further growth of cracks in the structure of reality. The Dark Priests vow that as long as the binding spell is intact, the border will not fluctuate more than a few millimeters. In time, the world will heal its wounds and the sphere will disappear."

    "The problem is that the seal is fragile, and a strong enough surge of energy, from either our side or the other, can destroy it. Normally the priests would leave a guardian at the site of the breach, a kind of spell operator capable of correcting minor irregularities and calling for help in case of major problems, but now they don''t have that option. I don''t know for what reasons. They didn''t say, and I didn''t ask. It was enough for me that they offered to be my custodian."

    "Did you agree?" Medea couldn''t stand the silence when it became unbearable.

    "I don''t know how they would have reacted to the rejection," Celesta admitted. "It''s within their power to wipe out all the undead of the kingdom, and I wouldn''t risk tempting fate. Especially since the price they offered was generous enough - the knowledge, the power, the ability granted by access to the seal. It looked like a good deal."

    "Can we trust them?" Hustin expressed his doubts.

    Time will show.

    The Risens have seen all sorts of things in their long centuries of un-life. Sharp twists of noble intrigue, creations of mad mages, miscarriages of mad evolution. Their psyches were trained. The nearly full Inner Circle had already recovered from their fright and were now peering with avid curiosity at the changes that had occurred to the revered Mistress. The first thing that drew the eye was the veil of shifting shadows that covered Celesta''s body from head to toe. Leaving only her face exposed, it disappeared from time to time, revealing other parts of her body, only to reassume its impenetrable density. The shadows seemed to destroy any matter they came into contact with, at any rate, the vampiress avoided touching objects with her hands. Though she had hardly moved at all since the beginning of the conversation and sat motionless in a milky white chair, or throne, or chair with a disproportionately high back. Where the object came from and what material it was made of, no one knew.

    In moments of danger, from extreme hunger or sheer exertion, the whites of the risens'' eyes would fill with blood, and their pupils would dilate into a slit. An involuntary reaction, a sign of demonic nature. Celesta had no pupil at all. Neither did the whites, as such - one solid blackness flooded the eye sockets, staring cruelly and mockingly at the elders, silently asking: You weren''t expecting me? And here I am. That, perhaps, was what was most frightening. The vampires wanted to believe that her words were true and that the frightening changes would soon disappear.

    "Is there something urgent that needs to be solved immediately?"

    The Elders looked at each other, and Medea shrugged her shoulders doubtfully: "Unless it''s about Gardoman. Hustin thinks he should be called to Taleya."

    "He thinks that''s right. Call it in. Now leave me alone - I''m tired."

    * * *

 Chapter 25

    Chapter 25

    * * *

    ...The snake has no limbs and is venomous and cold, and only the ice of snake rings can wait for someone else''s impatience, a careless strike, and will wait for its snake...

    The vampires had it all figured out right. For centuries they lurked in the darkness, creating the illusion of submission, winning their freedom drop by drop. Slowly, bit by bit, they grew in influence and numbers, learning their nature and the abilities it gave them. They knew that one day the mortals would let their guard down.

    Twenty days have passed since the Curse of Tyran, and the chaos has only grown. The division of the royal family, the desperate fights between nobles who had chosen different parties. Conflicting manifestos by the generals of the Northern and Southern armies finally plunged the country into internecine strife. The cult of Derkana, the official religion of the kingdom, had fallen silent after a vague statement of support for the current Son of the Sea, and several of its top hierarchs had defected to Zonna and were now rumored to be preparing to perform the coronation ritual for Prince Kono. Both sides were actively amassing troops and preparing to begin open hostilities any day now.

    In the current situation, the risens were forgotten. They did not flatter themselves, realizing that the calm is temporary and largely due to the death of their most consistent enemies in the square in front of the Academy. The temples of Blue Ang and the Sun had lost their most revered leaders - it would be better for them to deal with internal squabbles now. In any case, the vampires made good use of the respite.

    The communities hastily shifted resources and members among themselves. Zervan put off bringing the bandits to submission and swept the country in a whirlwind, executing the few traitors. His foe Latham went to Lascaris, which had suddenly transformed from a mere major city into a crucial player in the coming confrontation. The principality had a good personal retinue, excellent relations with the leadership of the western army, and serious trade routes passed through it. Much depended on which side the blessed Yunarik would take. The feudal lord was well aware that fate had thrown him an excellent card, and he intended to sell his loyalty more expensively. The vampires could help him decide on a future buyer, and in exchange for the peace and development of his community, they would provide information straight from the heart of Taleya.

    Prince Kono, head of the rioters, was not forgotten.

    You shouldn''t call him "rioter," but "rebel" or something neutral like that," Medea said. "After all, he does have some claim to the title. But why me?"

    "Who else could I send?" Celesta wondered. "Latham is busy, Hastin is physically incapable of being away from his home laboratory for long periods of time. The others are either not manners fit for the high aristocracy, or not competent enough. So you''ll have to act as our ambassador to Zonna, and at the same time strengthen the community there."

    The friend shrugged: "I don''t mind. Anyway, I can''t stay in Taleya right now."

    It was impossible to conceal the risens'' participation in the evacuation of the mages. In fact, it is impossible to keep an operation of this magnitude secret. As a consequence, the authorities instantly had extremely uncomfortable questions for Medea, still officially considered the head of the Capital''s community. Now it was impossible for the beauty to appear in the homes of aristocratic acquaintances, theaters, and simply in public places, so her departure for Zonna was seen as a return to her usual way of existence.

    It was annoying that she wouldn''t be able to come back anytime soon. It wasn''t as if the mortals were going to compromise, which meant they''d be slaughtering for a long time, and in earnest. So again, famine, plagues, bands of marauders ravaging villages, poor refugees dying on the roads and fields of war. In such years, the Dark One looks more closely at the world than usual, and more of the dead rise up. Wonder how many newcomers will come into the communities over the next five years? Will there be enough to replace those killed in the recent standoff? Hardly. There are fewer risens now than in the past, and almost all of them are insane.

    It''s a good thing Celesta doesn''t look like an otherworldly creature anymore and looks human. At any rate, she was free of the pressing sensation of alien eeriness that had come over her before, and the shadows didn''t dance around her in a rippling, black whirl. Except that she could no longer be confused with a mortal: the darkness was still in her eyes. The Morvanite fanatics would be ecstatic to see their Mistress.

    "Your blood tastes different," Medea suddenly reported. "It''s drunk like wine."

    "Crumbs of energy seep out of the seal. It''s for me, I''m for you. Not a bad source of power, you know."

    "Oh, yes, Zervan especially liked it," chuckled her friend. "Remember how he used to run around the dungeons?"

    Celesta also laughed softly, then frowned.

    "I don''t think I''m going to make that connection to anyone else. At least, not until I know more about the properties of the Seal."

    "Is it because of Latham?"

    "He burned out his throat with one gulp! If he hadn''t had the support of the ancestral spirits, he wouldn''t have survived the ritual, and he''s an Elder, one of the strongest. I don''t want to risk."

    "He recovered pretty quickly."

    "And yet," the Mistress shook her head. "We have received too generous a gift, too large a piece. I don''t want to choke on it."

    "What does Hustin say?"

    "He''s fascinated! If he had his way, he''d lock me in the lab."

    The vampires looked at each other understandingly. The wizard, who was a fine thinker - at least he knew his politics well, and could give good advice if he had to - was completely insane when it came to the work he loved. Fortunately, Celesta belonged to that very small circle of people with whom Hustin did not dare to be intrusive. He understood that demanding anything from the leader was dangerous, with unpredictable consequences.

    The warlock did not bother Medea either. He was afraid of her abilities as a scandaless.

    "Okay, I''m going to go pack," she rose from her chair. "I have to get ready for my first diplomatic mission."

    "I agree about the diplomatic one," Celesta smiled, "but why the first one?"

    "At this level, and almost officially, it is the first." Medea twirled in front of the mirror, admiring the provocative dress that enveloped her ideal figure with satisfaction. "This is not a seduction of small border chiefs! You don''t do enough with a couple of seductions in Zonna. They''re trained differently, they''re taught to be cool from childhood. You can''t fool them with smiles... That''s it, I''m off."

    She was happy. Medea, impetuous and flighty, suffered more than any other from the limits imposed by mortals. The need to obey people infuriated her, though she settled in well in comparison to the other risens. But it''s one thing to obey her older sister or act within the framework of some higher, natural laws, and quite another to take orders from the lip-synching officials of intelligence. Belle acknowledged the director''s need but demanded competence from him. Now, praise the Dark One, she was no longer dependent on amateurs!

    Celesta glanced at her sister, sat for a moment longer, mindlessly admiring the dance of the flames in the hearth, and then got up as well. Time was of the essence. There were a lot of unresolved issues, each or almost everyone required her participation, and the problems multiplied at a mind-boggling rate. She tries to shift some of it to her assistants, but they have enough of their own. Besides, some decisions can only be made by her.

    For example, how to use the former territory of the Academy. It is now completely inaccessible to humans and the living in general, but the undead can exist there for a while. Not for very long. It seems that the "little blessing," a ritual shown by the dark priests and linking Celesta with three Elders already, increases the length of stay in the cursed place, but that still needs to be verified. One wonders what the mortals will do with the area affected by the curse. They seem to be going to fence it off with a wall. They''ve calmed down a bit now. But at first, they planned to move the city. Then they figured out how much it would cost to move it, other concerns piled up, and the boundaries of the sphere are not changing - most likely, it really will do with half measures. They will simulate a semblance of activity, they will fool themselves.

    And there, in the center, is the Darkness. The Abyss. Another sphere, no more than four meters in diameter, was completely black and motionless. A tear in space, shackled by the most complex magic, which is frightening to even approach. The seal put on the rift is difficult to break, but it is possible, and she was warned that there are beings in the world with the right knowledge. Or the same Hustin, with his irrepressible craving for experimentation? No, until a way to further protect the seal is found, no one can be brought inside.

    Though the warlock was now immersed in another project. A vital one for the entire vampire kind.

    The Taleya catacombs had long ago become the fiefdom of the risens: people did not dare to descend to the lower levels without special need or permission. It is quite natural that for convenience the main routes were strengthened, cleared of debris, and sometimes even laid new ones. And the latter was disguised by different tricks. With the beginning of the known events, the dungeon maps, stored in the archives of the intelligence service, were stolen or destroyed. In short, the risens considered the lower paths relatively safe and tried to use them to the maximum. So it was no surprise that on her way to Hustin''s lair, Mistress twice encountered her kin hurrying somewhere, who halted in reverence at the sight of her, and then stared after her with awe-inspiring eyes.

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    It is pleasant, of course, to be considered a messenger of a god (or goddess, according to public opinion). But what is forgivable to an ordinary ruler is often dismissed from the pedestal by the superior powers. Long-lived vampires are not zealots or cultists, they don''t get their heads screwed on, and they don''t like to be disappointed in anyone. And if they think they''ve been deceived, they don''t want to be. She must put a stop to rumors of her godhood before they spread too widely.

    Hustin''s laboratory - although his bedroom was also here somewhere, it was hard to call the complex of libraries, storage, ritual rooms, and outbuildings home - and greeted Celesta with silence and the echoes of recently cast spells. The background of power wavered. The Mistress did not wait until the master reacted to the appearance of the guest, and walked deeper down the corridor. She didn''t want to think, she wanted to act.

    First an encounter with legendary wizards, incredibly far along the path of evolution, and the need to make a difficult, somewhat imposed decision. Then an attempt to tame the alien energy raging in her body, a merger with a pseudo-intelligent spell that has its own purpose and will. Praise Morvan, the seal acknowledged her supremacy. Next, a transfer of some of the power to the Elders. With Medea (she was the first, because the trust of both parties was an unusually important factor in the ritual) and Zervan, the bonding went well, and they both became much stronger as a result. But with Latham, it was almost a disaster.

    Celesta did not understand why her bodyguard was hurt. She seemed to be doing everything right. So until the cause of such a painful reaction to the ritual was found, no new connections could be made. That''s too bad. With Zervan, who was two days away from Thalia, Celesta could now communicate almost without strain, and the Elder himself had gained ample advantage over his kin. From this moment on, there was little fear of treachery on his part-it was unlikely that he would be willing to give up his free power.

    In the last month, she often had to calculate, to map out ways in which her kin would develop. Circumstances demanded strategic decisions, and time was taken up by routine. Rest - half an hour of light chitchat with Medea. Fortunately, there are intelligent assistants, and some questions with the answers have been determined long ago. All that was required was not to deviate from the chosen line.

    As now.

    "I thought it was explained to you why we needed you, Devlin."

    The trio, bickering in the back room, were so engrossed in the heated process of mutual mudslinging that they ignored the appearance of the Mistress. Her voice came as a surprise to the disputants, causing the two disputants to jump on the spot. The warlock, who was third, turned stately, and poked his finger: "There! Explain to Messena what else you are dissatisfied with!"

    The company was strange. If Hustin looked in the atmosphere of the ritual hall organically, so to speak, fitting into the atmosphere, his newly admitted apprentice Vador, with a commoner face, decorated with knuckles, and wearing a dirty cloak of a day laborer seemed to be an outsider who accidentally wandered into the light. Nevertheless, the warlock liked the inquisitive newcomer, and he slowly dragged him to his assistant.

    The last disputant was a man, tall, with a scowl on his face. A mortal. Considering that people had only been brought into the lair of the Elder-Warlock as test subjects before, a man without shackles, and one who dared to argue with his master, was not an uncommon occurrence. It is, in fact.

    "Devlin?"

    "Mistress," the man bowed, and remained in a bent position, not daring to look at Celesta. "Maitre says I will be left alone with one or two people after the ritual."

    "Yes, and so?"

    "Wouldn''t I lose my mind?"

    For a few seconds, the mistress considered the man. Devlin was the eighth. She hadn''t bothered with the previous ones. But on those seven they experimented and practiced, identifying possible mistakes, the moral qualities of the material did not concern them. On the contrary, Celesta tried to pick the ones she didn''t feel sorry for. Murderers, thieves, whores, just lowlifes. They were used and then eliminated, though Hustin seemed to keep a few in a cage. Why he needs plants is unclear, but that''s his business. The Mistress, determining the principles of selection of human material, was guided by expediency, and only - the rudiment of mercy left over from the former life did not speak up. There are our own, there are strangers, and one must protect one''s own. The guards don''t look for beggars and other bottom dwellers, so it''s better to use them.

    Devlin was treated differently. He was required to consent voluntarily for two reasons: first, for the ritual to be successful, the man must not resist the vampire, and second, he must not turn into an enemy in the future. If it was successful, Devlin would become one of Celesta''s closest companions for years to come, and she didn''t want to have a creature who hated her at her side. So when Hustin reported that he saw no more problems with the ritual and the methodology was fully worked out, the Mistress went to the long-found man and offered him a deal.

    Everyone is bought. Some for money, some for fame, for others the price is an honor, good name, or family safety. It was on the latter that Devlin broke down. In exchange for a move to the Northern Foothills, to a quiet town, sheltered from hardship, and a house with a large plot, not to mention gold and other benefits for his family, the man agreed to give the Dark One his soul. I mean, that was roughly how he imagined the nature of the offer he had received, and, hand on heart, he wasn''t much mistaken.

    "Don''t you care?" She was really curious to hear what he would say.

    "Maybe afterward it won''t matter..." The mortal still kept his eyes on the floor, but his whole figure was stubborn. "Right now, not yet."

    Perfect. Although principles allow for the manipulation of their possessor, without them the personality is incomplete.

    "We could use animals, but their blood doesn''t fit several parameters," Celesta explained as if doing a favor. "The first victim would have to be a human. To reassure you, they wouldn''t have long to live anyway: they''re bandits, caught in the middle of a robbery. By human law, they are entitled to the death penalty. So you might consider yourself an executioner, carrying out the sentence."

    The mortal dared no further objection. He stood there, silent. The Mistress quickly glanced at the warlock, who nodded in response, confirming that everything was fine, we could begin. After the fusion of Celesta''s energy and the seal, she was hesitant to perform the ritual, or better to conduct another series of experiments, but Hustin vouched for success. He said that the seal had no effect on the transfer of the risen''s abilities and could not interfere with it.

    She stepped closer to the mortal and touched his chin, forcing him to lift his face. The man was a head taller than she was - perhaps the vampiress would have fit on his chest. But despite the difference in height, they stared into each other''s eyes, and the man''s gaze was suffused with fear.

    "Don''t be afraid, Devlin," the soft, sing-song voice penetrated the consciousness, suppressing the will. "You''ll just fall asleep and dream. Go to sleep, Devlin. Go to sleep..."

    The theory was quickly formulated-the foundations were laid by the Tyran hundreds of years ago. For a new vampire to emerge, it was necessary and sufficient to rebuild his energy according to the already formed pattern. To put a copy of the matrix, based on which the young undead would begin to develop. However, in practice, there were a hundred small problems and roughnesses that hindered the successful completion of the process. The psyche could not withstand it, the living body refused to transform into pseudo-dead flesh, and the resulting ghouls thirsted for blood and pounced on their creators. In the end, the way out was found, they seemed to have created a method that eliminated all the shortcomings, but they dared to test it in practice only now. That is, to finally test it.

    The man stared into nothing with empty eyes, without a glimmer of reason, his heart beating smoothly and strongly. He saw nothing and heard nothing, plunged into a deep trance, completely subject to Celesta''s desires. The vampiress gently pulled him by the head, forcing him to bend over, and just as gently laid him on the floor, holding his torso with her hands. She pressed her forehead and touched her lips to his defenseless throat.

    Quickly and sharply she sank her fangs in. The body didn''t twitch.

    It is difficult to drain a healthy adult male. A vampire, unless he is extremely hungry, cannot drink more blood than his stomach (one of the few remaining internal organs) can hold. So unless the wound is lacerated and the life-giving moisture pours out on the ground, victims rarely die of blood loss. More often, they are sent to the afterlife from shock or a heart attack. Well, or if the vampire isn''t too ceremonious with his prey, which is also not uncommon. Celesta''s last meal was four days ago, and she wasn''t hungry, but the more blood she absorbed, the stronger their bond would be. And that meant the more of her power she could pass on to it.

    The man''s face grew pale, his heartbeat slowly subsiding. It was time. The vampiress slashed her fangs into her wrist and stretched her hand over Devlin''s neck, making sure the drops of her thick black blood fell directly onto the wound. At the same time, she opened herself up as much as possible, literally driving a stream of unformed images into the dying mind of a mortal, reshaping it in her image. Blood changes the body, and thoughts change the mind. A deceptively simple ritual.

    There was a muffled creaking sound in the corner, and Celesta turned her head and was surprised to see the dumbfounded look in the eyes of a teenager held by the scruff of his neck. She''d forgotten all about the audience. Vador seemed a little taken aback by what he saw since Hustin saw fit to hold his apprentice.

    "How much time has passed?"

    "Forty minutes." The warlock let go of Vador and moved cautiously closer. Celesta could slash him with her claws if he made a careless move toward the chick, at least right after the ritual. Later, the obsession would wear off. "You held Devlin''s head in your hands and sat perfectly still, unresponsive to stimuli."

    "I don''t want to let him go," Celesta listened to her feelings.

    "That''s the way it''s supposed to be. He''s draining the power out of you at an alarming rate, and you need tactile contact right now."

    "How long?"

    "Three, maybe four days. Until the organism is rebuilt. Then the power will go only to change and grow the thin layers of energy - they require less expenditure."

    "It''s still a lot," Celesta closed her eyelids tiredly.

    According to a preliminary estimate, the process of becoming takes place in several stages. The first lasted only three days, as Hustin had announced, and consists of the transformation of the body. The flesh becomes non-living. The simplest, but also the most energy-intensive stage, during which the chick actively sucks energy for the transformation from all available sources, primarily from the master. Then, when the young one is no longer a vampire, but rather a specific kind of undead, comes out of a literal dead sleep, it is the turn of the energy body. The energy is being rebuilt with all its might, and the framework is being built on the matrix laid down at the moment of the first death. No one knows how long this will take, but it is obvious that the process is long. Years, if not decades.

    At the same time, the psyche will change. It is also not quite clear how and to what extent. Celesta believed that the master''s life values would be reflected in the chick, but to what extent, she could not predict. Time will tell.

    "Do you have a room with a bed or a wider sofa?"

    "Yes, but I''d hate to see the room in ruins after your pet wakes up," Hustin admitted.

    "We''ll move closer to the dungeon anyway before he wakes up."

    The small, frail girl rose from her knees and lifted the man in her arms with no visible effort. She didn''t even seem to feel the weight.

    "Tell them not to bother me unnecessarily."

    The deputies can manage without her. Its unlikely mortals will want to hunt vampires anytime soon. They have other things on their mind right now. The preparation of an army against the Separatists alone was enough. With the rest, the Elders or Celeste''s senior deputies shouldn''t have any trouble. Areas of activity have been mapped out, sectors of responsibility have been identified, and instructions have been handed out. At the very least, Merk, who has never been too shy, would bother his Mistress. Though it would be better for him to be independent.

    Dark Mother, Mistress of Taleya is busy.

    On her lap lies the first transformed vampire.

    The future of the bloody kind.

    * * *

 Epilogue

    Epilogue

    * * *

    "...The unfortunate fugitive kneels before the might of the noble ruler and begs to be allowed to remain in the city."

    "Strange to see you here, Messena Medea," the prince said with a chuckle. "I thought your position at the usurper''s court was more than stable."

    "No one can be sure of his future on the side that opposes the will of Sovereign Kono," the risen smiled sweetly. "In fear of the imminent arrival of the rightful sovereign''s troops, the impostor''s flatterers and criminals had finally lost their heads, eager to enjoy the last days of vicious permissiveness. It was too dangerous to stay in Taleya. So I left the Capital, hoping to find warm hospitality and companionship here."

    She was generally welcomed in Zonna. The descendants of noble families who had fled the Academy had told their kinsmen to whom they owed their salvation, so the aristocrats felt indebted. All the more so since many knew Medea personally and had no animosity towards her. An audience with the Royal Rebel she got quickly, in just a measly three weeks. And that time was well spent - she talked to every member of her not insignificant community, re-established lost ties with officers she knew, and ensured that her servants received some extremely lucrative contracts for food and metalwork for the army. But mostly, of course, she communicated with the nobility.

    She liked to shine in high society, she was able and loved to talk to people knowledgeable in the art, ancient poetry, and the language of gestures and hints, in which the aristocracy communicated, was familiar to her. The routine and the economic affairs she had in good conscience left to Egard, who was assigned to her by her sister for this purpose. She was well aware of Medea''s strengths and weaknesses and found it necessary to prop her up with a deputy with strong nerves.

    "I heard you had some difficulties with your family? Have you lost a close friend?"

    He doesn''t know yet, thought Medea. They haven''t heard? It can''t be. Rather, he wants to hear the details.

    "Praise Morvan, my sister is alive. Our ancient enemy has indeed risen from oblivion, only this time to be finally put to rest." The risen one couldn''t stand it and lowered her face, hiding her expression. It took her a few moments to suppress the flood of memories. "But the victory was costly. And our allies among the so-called "servants of the throne," on whose help we relied, refused to support us at the critical moment, leaving us to perish. But we survived and have not forgotten the black ingratitude! Henceforth Celesta refuses to deal with the dastardly traitors."

    The man was quiet, looking at the petitioner, and then he slowly clarified: "Do your words mean that she is ready to swear an oath to me?"

    A subtle moment. Be careful.

    "Alas, my Lord," the beauty breathed out with sincere regret. "Such a move would destroy the risens. Chancellor Rakawa will not tolerate the presence of forces hostile to his interests in the center of his domain. After the events mentioned, we are weak and unable to hide from his minions for long. Now my sister and mistress are feverishly rushing about, gathering supporters scattered by the troubles of life and trying in vain to somehow resurrect crumbs of the former influence. And I... I, not having her mental strength, ran to you."

    Medea quickly calculated her options and considered it possible to complain at the same time. With tears in her voice, she moaned reverently:

    "Believe it or not, I had to travel in the company of a coachman and a maid, without an escort. We were twice tried to be robbed by some horrible men! Oh, my lord, what horrors I had to endure..."

    "And what was it like for the aggressor," the prince muttered faintly under his breath.

    Medea pretended not to hear.

    "Nevertheless, the Noble Lord and Sovereign of the armored thousands can be sure of our sincere sympathy and count on the risens as the most loyal of servants. His orders alone would be enough to bring him news from Taleya faster than the wind."

    Kono covered his eyes, pondering. The vampiress was proposing an alliance. Well, why not? The presence of the Children of the Night in his retinue, hired by Dinir himself, would strengthen his power in the eyes of the nobility and add weight to his claim to the throne. Not to mention the extra bit of information coming from Taleya. After all, the risens might actually learn something useful. So perhaps he need not insist on an oath of allegiance now. They will revisit the matter later when he ascends the Azure Throne, but for now, there is no need to rush into it.

    "Perhaps I will honor your request, Messena Medea. In memory of my long service to the rulers of Taleya, I ask you to be my guest."

    * * *

    "Young man," Hustin was used to treating students in a certain way, and he wasn''t going to change his habit, "as such, your magical abilities are zero. It''s not surprising - at the moment, only two of the risens are able to enchant in the conventional sense of the word, that is, to create spells."

    Honestly, Vador wasn''t upset. It''s interesting to watch witchcraft stuff from the outside, but it''s creepy to get involved. He''s not a mistress. He could be hunted down by demons in a heartbeat. It''s a shame, though, because Maestro Hustin has told and shown him things he''d never dreamt of or even known before. What will he have to do now? Master Egard has left for Zonna, and the rest of the younger risens will not be returned to Taleya. They''re waiting for the fighting to die down. Most likely, they''ll be assigned to someone to serve as an apprentice, to do all sorts of giving and take.

    However, the warlock had his ideas about the fate of the apprentice.

    "Nevertheless, your studies will continue with me. More precisely, it will be combined with a research project that I have not had time to complete."

    The kid''s eyes almost doubled in size.

    "What kind of research, maestro?"

    "Nothing complicated, a simple survey," Hustin waved his hand nonchalantly. "It''s about time we figured out our powers."

    The warlock got up from his chair and walked around the room. Walking made it easier for him to think, the wording came out chiseled, short, so that Vador already knew - in such moments do not disturb him.

    "In addition to the well-known sections of energy work, such as spirit magic or its subdivision Necromancy or Ritualism, the risens possess a number of abilities unique to them. To us. In particular, these individual traits, developed through long training, include the relatively common sensorics, telepathy, partial body modification, cryomancy, and the rare pyrokinesis or voice work." At the last words, Hastin became confused, grimaced, and rubbed his right ear for some reason. "This could also include the ability to enter a trance state, stretching personal time, or summon animals to one''s aid. Personally, I think all of the above is a consequence of our non-living nature, but the assumption needs to be tested."

    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    No one had ever tried to delve deeply into the process of the risens'' appearance and development of special skills before. They were taken as a given - there is and there is. This is the wrong position! We see a phenomenon that is interesting in itself and, at the same time, can be of considerable benefit in the future. Individual talents are shown to be possessed by every risen, the differences being only in the level of development and specialization. For obvious reasons, the abilities of the older ones are clearer and more developed.

    The goal of the forthcoming research, in my opinion, is to create a methodology for developing each ability. To be more precise, a set of techniques is suitable for any risens. This is what you and I are going to do.

    "Master..." The apprentice, satisfied that the warlock had no intention of continuing, dared to voice the doubts that plagued him. "It''s very difficult. I don''t even know where to start."

    In response to the mournful bleat, Hustin shrugged:

    "With classification. What else!"

    * * *

    Abrupt changes are not for him. He was tired of them during his lifetime.

    In the Capital, the Gardomann had to stay a bit longer. Despite the rapidly gathering pendulum of civil war and the rapid flight of capital to neighboring countries, Taleya continued to be the largest financial and commercial center of the Good Sea. Abandoning the local market meant voluntarily weakening its position on several fronts at once. In addition, the impending outbreak of hostilities meant an increase in purchases of weapons, leather, forage, and other army necessities, something the Dark One himself told them to take advantage of. The quartermasters were tearing the goods right out of their hands, even without the customary "facilitation fee".

    Mistress was pleased with the report she received through the mirror on the situation in Bardi. The local rebels, after a few minor excesses, recognized her sovereignty. A ruler loyal to the Children of the Night was placed on the throne, and his enemies were either dead or on the run. Intervention from neighboring Lanaka is unlikely in the coming years, so the community can develop calmly, without serious external threats. So Gardoman returned to Tale��a in good humor (that is, grouchy a little less than usual) and was not anxious until he came upon a group of refugees at the inn. The colorful description of the curse caused by the doomed wizards blew him out of his usual optimism, and the financier traveled the rest of the way, full of grim forebodings.

    The uncomfortable feeling grew a lush bouquet at the sight of the giant dark dome that covered nearly half of Taleya''s Golden Quarter. There was an impression of sadness and despair among the citizens, and the streets were unusually crowded with uniformed men, walking by the dozens, escorted by priests. It was said that the population of the city had dwindled by a third. Panic was heightened by rumors of family quarrels and imminent war, while in the market food prices doubled and continued to rise. Gardaumean''s worst fears were coming true.

    However, the kinsmen he met did not give the impression of creatures who had had an unfortunate argument with fate. On the contrary. They scurried about the catacombs, bossing their servants around with confidence, and looking victorious. Merk, who had recently become something of a secretary to Mistress, informed the Elder that Celesta was engaged in some exceedingly important experiment of Maestro Hustin''s, and dashed off with a wave of news. Unexpectedly pleasant.

    It turned out that things weren''t so bad. The humans were indeed fighting among themselves, and it was the attack on the Taleya mages'' stronghold that was the cue for the strife to begin. The result is plain for all to see. The mortal has not returned from the dome, and Mistress has forbidden the undead to enter the cursed earth. Mortals now have many problems of their own, they do not touch the risens, and they, in turn, do not be impudent, and slowly restore the failed network of agents. Recruit only the poor so far, to work among the merchants or the higher classes will begin after the outbreak of hostilities, that is, soon. Medea two days ago went to Zonna, Zervan, on the contrary, returned to the Capital, cleansed the communities that had stuttered about independence, and at the moment actively intimidates the relaxed leaders of the bandit. Latham is stuck in Lascaris.

    He was originally sent there to negotiate with the blessed Yuinariq, but an unforeseen factor intervened. Once again a vampire appeared from the Steppe. An intelligent, hungry vampire who thought humans were natural prey. They put it to rest quickly, literally on the second night, but the prince expressed his displeasure at the trend, and Mistress supported him. So Latham was now engaged in an activity untypical of him, preparing a reconnaissance expedition to the other side of the steppe to see what was happening there. Was there a redistribution of power among the vampires there, or was there some other reason they were suddenly headed East?

    "It''s okay," Merk admitted with a kind of childlike surprise. "Of course, officially people catch us, but no one actually touches the risens. Maybe later... We seem to have averted suspicion from the servants, the cultists are worshipping Mistress Celesta as never before, and the most hostile temples to the Children of the Night are licking their wounds. The curse of Tyran has been very fortunate. Of course, I believe we could have won our freedom without it, but not with such small losses. They say," the younger vampire lowered his voice, "that the Dark One himself intervened. He condescended to the Mistress''s request."

    "It''s just a coincidence."

    "I''ll listen to what you have to say after you talk to the Mistress," Merk sulked.

    It was impossible to find out what he meant exactly, and the old man didn''t ask the others. He naively thought he was ready for any surprises. It turned out not quite.

    Celesta was... mesmerizing. Her way of talking didn''t change, she didn''t try to show her superiority or demonstrate her power, no. But both Gardoman and the others who interacted with her sensed a current of energy from her, an echo of another world. It was as if she did not fully belong to this reality and therefore saw, felt, and knew a little more than the others.

    She had guessed the unspoken thoughts of her interlocutor before or made him doubt his opinion with a few well-placed words, but now she didn''t even need words. A slight shake of the head, a skeptical smile, or some other equally inconspicuous gesture was enough. Charisma? A mental power spike? Yes, perhaps. And a willingness to look at the world from all angles at once, noticing big and small details. The detachment from the hustle and bustle common to saints and celestials. She thought in terms of the centuries, laying the immediate plans in the fabric of a path that stretched into the future, imposing her style of thinking with ease and frightening the grandeur of her intentions. This delighted and frightened me more than her changed appearance.

    Before, Gardoman had never met anyone who evoked the same feelings in him.

    It seems that the risens really did have a Queen.

    * * *

    Excerpt from "Creatures of the Night that Mages Meet" by Master of Necromancy Zul Pollitz

    (Original, property of the Zonna Academy of Magic)

    But know, oh seeker, of all the demons sent by the Lord of Darkness Morvan to earth, the most dangerous of all are the vampires, also the Children of the Night, or the Bloody Kin named. For, many of the weaknesses they have, like the human form, as well as the mind, cunning and full of guile, have. Their lairs are in the cities. They gather in communities, sometimes five, sometimes ten, and sometimes even more vampires who live in one place for many years, surrounded by spellbound people. The people believe that they have sold their souls to the Dark Lord and serve their masters faithfully.

    And the children of the night are ruled by Celesta, who is called Mistress of Taleya. No one knows how far her power extends, but they say that in both Lanak and Azar Sultanate vampires recognize her power. Her power is great. They say that Morvan himself gave her a piece of his power, giving her power over his cursed offspring, and thus Celesta can open the gates to Hell and the servants of the Dark in our world to call. Others believe she knows the future and reads the unfulfilled as if she were reading a phrase from a leaf. Others believe she is the gatekeeper, who releases damned souls from the Darkness and puts them into dead human bodies at her master''s will, though I don''t believe it myself.

    It is known only that Celesta does not leave Taleya. She sits on a throne in the depths of the spoiled lands, cursed by Tyran, and when she has a need, she sends her servants to do her will in other lands. But this is seldom the case.

    For few of those who do un-live on the shores of the Good Sea dare to contradict her...

    * * *

 Book 3. Mistress of Undead Prologue

    Prologue

    * * *

    Alat didn''t like cities. He and Zervan had once been at odds on that ground.

    The rambunctious and intemperate Elder often preferred the comfort of a secret lair to the dangerous freedom of the woodlands, a passion shared by many of his retinues. Yes, there is more prey in the city. But there are guards, regular and covert, curious townspeople, sticking their noses into their affairs, temple interrogators, agents of Mistress, finally. Hiding oneself and hiding one''s "amusements" is much more difficult. At the same time, no one will pay attention to the disappearance of one or two peasants, or even a completely butchered family, they''ll put it down to wolves or demons or something else. It''s just business as usual. Besides, successful hunting of various magical creatures not only raised the status of a subordinate in the eyes of Zervan but also brought quite a good income, because mages always lacked ingredients and gave a good price for them.

    Not all, of course. Some were struggling from bread to water themselves.

    However, Master Hustin and his disciples had if not unlimited access to the treasury of the non-dead community, then very close to it, so in most cases, Alat preferred to sell the loot to his own. Easier, more reliable, faster, and it wouldn''t hurt to appear useful in the eyes of a second Elder. Unlike most of Zervan''s servants, he had no fear of magic, and in the laboratory of the warlocks came down without trepidation.

    "Dark Night," the hunter stumbled through the narrow door with some difficulty, greeting his host from behind a bulky bag. "Take the loot."

    "Dark, dark." The blond boy pushed aside the jars of dried herbs he''d been going through before Alat''s arrival and pointed to the table in front of him. "Put it there. What have you got there?"

    "Bellychewer. You asked for a whole one, I brought a whole one. Only without paws."

    "I don''t need paws. Oh, he''s still alive!"

    "Yeah." The hunter sat down on a stool, waiting for the mage to evaluate his prey. "I didn''t beat him with silver, I didn''t poison him with poisons... He''ll get over it."

    "He won''t make it. We don''t need him, we need his guts freshly extracted."

    "It''s up to you. Vador, do you need a fresh Firestarter? I came across a sprout on the way back."

    "Come on," the undead alchemist agreed. "I''ll make it all worthwhile. Ten gold pieces for the carcass, ten dinars for the weed, plus a shipping bonus. That makes eleven gold pieces. Will that be okay?"

    Alat nodded, agreeing to the price. Perhaps the priests of some temples would give more for a conditionally living creature, but he didn''t want to mess with them. It was risky. Other would-be purchasers, be they merchants of forbidden goods, clandestine practitioners of magic, or leaders of cults, would be very reluctant to shell out eleven yellow blobs. Gold is expensive. In the old days, when there was only Taleya, it was almost as expensive as silver because the mines were running. Now it''s over, there''s no place to mine it, and the deposits are depleted.

    Vador also concocted a kind of liquid that could affect even vampires insensitive to poisons, and he paid for it with trusted suppliers. Which, in Alat''s eyes, was the most powerful argument for being friends with an alchemist.

    "Did you hear the latest?" The adolescent-looking warlock was deftly dragging the Bellychewer into the small back room. "About the Dungeon?"

    "No, I just got back to the Capital. Haven''t even gone into the lair yet. What''s in there?"

    "Our diggers have dug a network of caves, all artificial. The protection there is terrible. I don''t know what rituals were going on in them, but there''s a lot of power poured into them, and it''s unclear for what purpose. It looks like the ancestral system of the Dukes of Taleya."

    "Their secret sanctuary?"

    Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!

    "It could very well be. After Irrhan the Fool, the dynasty had forgotten a lot of legacy of its ancestors." The sorcerer put the lock on the door and went deep into the shelter, inviting Alat to follow him. "Work is suspended, Maestro and Messen Latham are now trying to determine whether it would be best to wall up the passageways that have already been opened."

    In principle, the Taleya catacombs were more than satisfactory to the undead who inhabited them. The intricate tiered labyrinth successfully discouraged explorers from taking a closer look at the risens'' possessions, in three out of four cases with their lives. Traps, demons, bandits, cultists - you can''t count all the dangers. However, despite the precautions and regular collapses or, on the contrary, the construction of additional tunnels, human structures managed to send squads to map the dungeons. According to the vampires themselves, the same temples of the Saints and Marrh the Swordsman possessed plans for more than eighty percent of the first floor and at least sixty percent of the second floor. This gave rise to apprehension.

    The Mistress, in her great wisdom, decided that although the ideal was not attainable, it was necessary to strive for it. So she began construction. Beneath the city, directly beneath the Royal Palace, there was a powerful rock layer thick enough to become something like a central base for the risen community. Or, globally speaking, all the civilized undead of the modern oikumene. Because of its great depth and the need to operate covertly, the task was initially very difficult and took several decades to complete. They found miners in Bardi who knew how to build at great depths. Their loyalty was ensured by a considerable amount of money to families and a mental web imposed on the personality, while experience and a large number of workers provided by their employers allowed them to put up with some irregularity of the order. Then, after a long design, the construction itself began. The budget grumbled under the expense of materials, security, bribes, and payoffs to the mass of officials and guards, food and medical care for the workers...

    And now the surprises began.

    "So we won''t have an underground palace?" Alat wondered aloud.

    His feelings were contradictory. On the one hand, he didn''t like working with a pick. For safety reasons, mortals were involved in the construction to a minimum, only specialists. So the dirty work was done by the risens themselves in a large company of brainwashed cultists or the living dead raised by Maestro Hustin. On the other hand, he had seen the drawings of the future heart of the bloodline, and the architects'' design touched him. No one had ever created such a thing before, at least not since the Plague. Hunter liked the feeling of belonging to something great, capable of standing for not even centuries, but millennia. And he just liked the distraction from the usual struggle for existence.

    "I still hope for the best," the long corridor ended, and now Vador was fumbling at the door to the inner chambers. He seemed to be calling off the guards. The presence of magic always tingled in the back of Alat''s head, and now the familiar sensation made him stay away from the silently cursing alchemist. "The Elders are experienced. Any protection can be removed, given time and a calm environment, and both seemed to be present now."

    Hunter stepped through the door that finally opened before answering it:

    "Well, yes. The priests are fighting amongst themselves, and the aristocrats don''t care about us either. It''s been so quiet for the last hundred years... Except for the steppes."

    "The steppes are not our problem," Vador disagreed. "They''re bothering humans, not us."

    "The steppe lies between us and Seven Rivers. Which, by the way, seems to have strong risen communities." Alat grinned. "They''re preparing an expedition there, recruiting those with high resistance against the sun. They''ve recruited me, too."

    "I thought we were doing the Archipelago now."

    "Well, one does not prevent the other."

    In addition to the three largest communities in Taleya, Bardi, and Zonna, the risens had two other cities in their special position - Lascaris, the gateway to the west, and Deep Harbor, the largest port of the Good Sea. And while in Lascaris the bloodline''s position was fairly stable due to longstanding ties with the ruling dynasty, things didn''t go smoothly in Harbor. First, is the island position. The flowing water did not have the best effect on the undead, and the crowding and the large number of prying eyes prevented the creation of normal conditions for post-life. Of course, one could feed on sailors and dump corpses into the sea, but here the "second" - the Lord Captain''s perfectly organized intelligence service - intervened. Professionals who carefully monitored any unusual occurrences had more than once thwarted the Taleya vampires'' attempts to gain a foothold on a strategically advantageous piece of land. The community was badly needed here. They needed a base to continue their expansion; without a solid rear, there was no point in trying to reach the eastern seaboard.

    Both Vador and Alat were old enough and experienced enough. They understood the obvious - in the lands nearest to them, the dominion of the Mistress was firm. Neither in Lanak nor in the Land of the Blueness, or the mountain principalities, let alone in the Taleya Kingdom itself, were there any serious forces left that challenged her decisions. There may be tiny communities somewhere, rather risen loners who do not wish to live by the laws set by the Night Mistress, but there is no point in considering them. Moreover. In the last hundred years, there has been no mention of incidents in which the risen have suffered serious casualties. One might say that no effort has been expended - it has only been accumulated.

    And now there are enough of them to think about a new rush.

    * * *

 Progenitor

    Progenitor

    * * *

    A nervous Child did not add to the calm.

    "It''s so quiet in here."

    "The palace inhabitants are accustomed to moving about inaudibly," Loam was glad to be distracted from hin thoughts. "People aren''t allowed in here, except as an exception, and the chimeras do the cleaning. By the way, don''t lower your voice - our conversation could be overheard from the other wing if they wanted to."

    "It''s not a pleasant feeling."

    "Master the inner speech," Loam shrugged slightly. "Etiquette permits the use of sound-distorting spells only at public events like balls, negotiations, Council meetings... We can''t use our powers now."

    "Why?"

    "Because until we prove the title, we have no rights here."

    For both life and after-life, the need for money is a universal phenomenon. At least, that''s what it seemed to Loam in those moments when he was in a philosophical mood, trying to remember who he was before his conversion. Non-dead people lost their memories in rebirth more often than they''d like, yeah... Guess he was a mercenary, or a guard, or otherwise sold the sword to those willing to buy it. At any rate, no relation to the merchant class - the master said he found the dying man on the battlefield, sensed the mark of the Dark One, and hurried to convert before the potential Child died of his wounds. A spontaneous decision, for which he had to pay the price of nearly a hundred years of stress.

    I guess the old prick threw a party after Loam left. At any rate, he shouted something like that, tossing the adult risen over the fence.

    By the standards of the undead, the young man knew nothing. He could not speak to a crowd of people until they lost all critical thinking, could not pretend to be an admiring listener, listening to all kinds of bullshit, carried by an important official or feudal lord, the money ran through his fingers ... But the second father taught him a good fight, and blood of his ancestor provided an understanding of the habits of beasts. Shy horses and independent cats at first were frightened by the undead, but soon got used to it and begged for affection from his cold hands. A good talent, useful, but not too useful.

    He had to sell his sword to all comers, and sell it cheaply. Masters of the cities were not particularly eager to give up one-time orders. They gave work more out of racial solidarity than real need and were in no hurry to take a newcomer into the entourage. He did not try to become a demon hunter - mercenaries are extremely tolerant of non-dead men, but not to the point where they would admit them into their ranks. From time to time he managed to feed the Guilds, especially those who were in constant need of power support. It''s also an income. Even a certain reputation had developed.

    So Loam wasn''t too surprised when he got the offer from the Guild of Phantoms to visit a merchant''s house. They were always scheming, and if they didn''t want to go, there must have been a reason. Only it was unclear why they had chosen him. The vampires in Lord of the Night Dwer''s bloodline had never been known for their silent infiltration skills. Of course, they could do some things, on a decent level, but they were good at other things. They were good at knocking teeth out, snapping necks... That was the point, it turned out - to imitate a robbery by a not-so-experienced thief. Phantoms are interested in the documents from the safe merchant, and the rest of the loot, they are allowed to keep, honestly warned that the large amount is not worth it to count. The merchant doesn''t keep gold at home, he takes it straight to the bank.

    The most difficult thing was to enter the house. The unknown magician, who put the protection, was clearly a creative person, though not a master. Loam would not have made it through the workshop. Chains of signs protected the house and its inhabitants from fire, hail, curses, and unpleasant visits from the undead, and did so in an unconventional way. Not that the novice thief was well versed in runology, but a favorite of the local school bundles knew and can bypass them. Unfortunately, now I had to use different skills. One of the ancestral talents of the Dwer lineage was the ability to take the form of animals, fully copying their energy. Well, Loam was still far away from such heights, but he could already do some things. So he took advantage of it.

    And now he was standing in the middle of the office - in the carefully chosen spot where the alarm lines formed an empty square - holding a bag full of papers from a safe torn from the wall and other things, and thinking what a fool he was. Because he can''t take the painting off the wall, it''s too carefully protected, but he really wants to.

    It wouldn''t occur to Loam to call himself a sensitive person, but he didn''t visit exhibitions of painters or sculptors just to talk over life with potential employers. He also looked at works, even if he judged them on the level of "I like it, I don''t like it". Well, he liked this painting. A lot. Very much. In the literal sense of the word, it touched the soul, the existence of which had not been confirmed. For the sake of it was worth the risk and did a stupid thing from the category of those memories which later become embarrassing and joyful. It''s kind of a faux pas, but it''s catchy.

    So the vampire stood there, calculating his options.

    A few minutes later, the plan took shape and was deemed reasonable. Costly, though, but what could he do? Security is always expensive. With a disgruntled hiss, Loam dug into his belt bag, packed with all sorts of useful stuff, and pulled out a small vial of dark green liquid. Rare and useful stuff, and it was a pity he wouldn''t be able to buy one soon. A stimulant that boosted the strange metabolism of the undead by an order of magnitude, it was made and sold in the few shops of the Guild of Darkness. Most of the goods were bought by the rulers of the cities and other bigwigs. The likes of Loam had measly leftovers, and at exorbitant prices.

    After a few minutes, the elixir took effect. The vampire exhaled sharply, putting himself in a trance and speeding up his personal time, and pushed himself gently off the floor... The gray shadow stuck to the wall for a moment, deftly avoiding contact with the signal threads, then darted just as swiftly through the narrow window. The signs reacted instantly, grew alarmingly red, and the air grew heavy and thick with crackling and worry. Too late! Human magic could not keep up with the undead, and the blurry silhouette swept through the courtyard and over the high fence in less than a second, leaving behind a house that was not yet alarmed, but already frightened.

    The wall on which the painting used to hang was empty.

    The next night, Argelius, of Medea''s family, dropped in on Loam''s temporary shelter - all his shelters were temporary, his way of life prevented him from having a permanent one. Like all artists, he was a bit careless, with a pack of mental cockroaches in his head and an unmistakable sense of the unusual.

    "Show me," he demanded as soon as he was allowed in. "I''m anxious to see her."

    "Who?" the host did not understand. And just in case, he put his hand on the short truncheon.

    "Steppe Horses" by the great Thalia! Don''t tell me you don''t have it! Didn''t you rob that merchant''s house?" Argelius snapped his fingers, trying to remember the name. "Never mind! The whole town is talking about the theft of a masterpiece!"

    "How do you know this is my work?"

    "Well, I have some connections," the guest smiled disarmingly. "By the way, you stole one of the most secure items in town, you know."

    Loam gritted his teeth faintly and pointed to the painting, neatly propped against the wall above the low table. The artist immediately sprang to the table, knelt, and froze, gazing intently at the lines of the painting, absorbing the furious movement that the artist had transferred to the canvas with ingenious precision. The master, far less impressed, was suffering in the meantime. For it appeared from Argelius'' words that pretending to be an inexperienced thief had failed, which meant that he could not expect orders from the Guild of Phantoms for the foreseeable future. And he''d better get out of town.

    "Talent," the artist finally unfroze, reaching forward gingerly with his hand but stopped, don''t dare to touch the drawing with his fingers. "It''s a marvelous talent. Sell it to me."

    "No."

    "I understand... But isn''t it sacrilegious to hide such beauty in the dark? And where do you intend to store it? Paintings, especially such ones, require special conditions."

    It is quite normal for a descendant of the Sweet Voice to shift a little on the collection of art objects, so Argelius behaved decently by the standards of his kin. In fact, one might even say, restrained. But it was clear that he was going to get his way, one way or another. Loam had communicated with him enough to understand such things.

    "What do you suggest?"

    "My Guild could, shall we say, rent a painting from you. We would place it among other masterpieces, in a special vault, with the right temperature and humidity, and only a select few guests would have the right to admire it..."

    "As far as I know your ways, I won''t be one of your guests," the overly fortunate robber sarcastically interjected. "I''m not good enough, and I''m not a member of the Guild.:

    "I think our head will make an exception to the rule." The smug dandy finally broke away from his contemplation and looked at Loam. "Personal students or applicants are allowed access to part of the inner chambers. As a last resort, we''ll make you an honorary member."

    The mercenary scratched the back of his head with a gesture from his human life, and his mood shot up. Prospects were gradually turning into pleasing colors. The Guild of Arts, for all the small-mindedness of some members, was considered one of the most influential, both among the living and the undead. It would have been tempting to stick to the big trough, but Loam resisted by inertia.

    "Look at me," he pointed to his face an apt description of the term "thug face". "What kind of creative person am I? I can''t even draw, except on a fence with charcoal."

    "I''ll teach you," Argelius promised.

    "Are you crazy?"

    Frant turned his gaze to the painting, glanced again at his companion, as if assessing the front of the work, and confidently repeated.

    "I will definitely teach you!"

    "Master, why am I here?"

    "I have to show them, my descendant, as proof," Loam grimaced. "You''re the strongest because you''re the only one. I have been pointed [censored] out that the number of blood-bearers is too low, and I''ve been advised to get another Child as soon as possible."

    "Didn''t you swear that I was your first and last?"

    "There are some advisors who are very hard to ignore."

    A dozen paces away from the talking non-dead men, the shadows thickened, taking the shape of a man''s figure. It took the guardsman a few moments to fully materialize. The Queen''s acolyte, the executor of the queen''s will, the herald or executioner, approached Loam and bowed politely, without servility.

    "Messen Loam, the Council is waiting for you. Please follow me."

    The reality is that you can''t argue with it. You can invent any rules, formulate theories, invent laws by which society exists... Life will put everything in its place. The wolf will not eat the grass, the exhausted land will not give birth to a bountiful harvest, and people will not allow an outsider to rule them.

    The power of vampires has never been overt. Yes, there were times when the Master of the City stood openly behind the throne and actually determined the region''s politics, it happened. But there was always a line that should not have been crossed, for when the threat of loss of independence came, the mortals would quickly and suddenly organize, create a kind of underground, and begin to screw things up. At first, it was small, then it was bigger and bigger.

    However, more often than not, the temples were the first to track the growing influence of the undead, and they were the first to strike. They declared a city or, in rare cases, a state invaded by the Darkness, and launched an all-out raid on cultists, vampires, mortal servants, and unregistered mages. Given the level of holy scouts, few were saved. The ruling class also suffered, albeit to a lesser extent, and in general, it is better to flee the city under the joint edict of at least three temples. Which, in fact, is what Loam was doing now.

    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

    Slight inadequacy of the Night Ruler of the city, up to a certain point, did not bother his subjects. They, you know, are not paragons of normality. But when the Prince, or as the Northerners call it, the First Master, began to openly interfere in human politics, the undead began to falter. First, the regional guild representatives notified the ruler that his actions threatened the safety of the community, then the city was visited by the Queen''s messenger who made the same declaration, and in the end came the Council decision, notifying of the possibility of imminent conflict and ordering the Guild of Paths to help evacuate anyone who wished. The willing turned out to be many.

    In principle, Loam knew from the beginning where the wind was blowing, and he was going to get out. Responsibility let him down. He''d made a contract with a merchant to look after the property until the goods and real estate were sold out, and he was a bit slow on the uptake. In their midst, blunders are remembered for centuries, so it''s best not to break an agreement without a good reason. So when the fire broke out, he had to leave on his own, and off-road. Priestly magic froze space, destroying portals, and posted around the city outposts prevented civilized movement.

    What happened to the rest of his brethren was of little interest to Loam. Probably nothing good. The Master of the cities enjoyed a great deal of autonomy, the Mistress rarely interfered in their internal affairs, only in cases of serious violations of the Code, but she was in no hurry to solve the problems created by unintelligent servants. Everyone is responsible for their faults. If the Master of the city was ready to compromise his rights in favor of the central government - then yes, the help increased manifold.

    The cozy, dry cave that Loam had discovered fifty years ago had lost none of its outstanding qualities over time and was still an excellent place to spend the night. At one time he had lived here for several months, hunting small demons in the vicinity. He made ingredients to sell to alchemists, tried unsuccessfully to change into beastly form, and drew at the same time. He could not write poetry (however, the failure of his attempt was evident beforehand), with modeling things were better, at the level of a solid average man, but suddenly he had a good talent for painting. Argelius even organized an exhibition, once.

    Judging by the fireplace, hunters periodically slept here. The place was comfortable, and the drawings on the walls were not bad. Loam looked around nostalgically, gazing with unaccustomed tenderness at the old work. It wasn''t bad! Not perfect, of course, but four surviving drawings could be showcased to a sympathetic audience. Although there are some things he would have painted differently now that he had gained experience. For instance, in this picture of a lynx, he might add a few touches, and the ears were a bit unnatural... Before he knew it, he was walking over to the wall and carefully patching up his past mistakes.

    An unopened bag of belongings was left lying abandoned at the entrance.

    He didn''t see the point in rushing. Where to? Why? All his obligations were fulfilled, and no one was waiting for him. Relationships with his second-born kin were difficult. There are more good acquaintances among the artists. Not friends, but good acquaintances. Too different life values of a lone wolf mercenary and people who have devoted eternity to comprehension of beauty.

    So Loam hunted the creatures, feeding on their blood, gathered rare herbs, and tried to stay out of sight of the people of the nearby village. The land was not under edict, nor should there be any holy warriors around, but who knows? Sometimes the temple guards made several rounds of raids around the towns that were being cleansed of dark cults.

    Precautions were not superfluous, but, alas, did not help.

    All normal vampires preferred to rest during the day, and Loam was no exception. He didn''t like to fry in the sun, and he didn''t understand his congeners, who made their bodies more resistant to damage that way. It was masochistic! So he slept during the day and missed the approach of a party of monster hunters. But they noticed his footprints from afar...

    When the mortals entered the shelter, Loam lay on the ground, crushed by the pressure of the priest''s magic, and tried in vain to get up. It was no use.

    "A vampire indeed," exclaimed the bearded man with an ax on a long handle, "And I did not believe it! Lucky for us. You got him?"

    A hunter dressed as an officer of the Dragon of Heaven nodded, his face dripping with sweat.

    "I got. Faster."

    The divine magic wrapped a dense cocoon around an undead man, not just preventing him from moving, but also preventing him from using his kind''s abilities. Not to freeze, not to hide in the shadows, not to... Mages and priests have always been the core of the evil-hunting squads. If by some miracle, he could get rid of the priest, the other four wouldn''t be much of a threat, even now, with the sun at its highest point. Loam groaned with powerlessness and anger. The energy was pressing, hindering his concentration, seeping under his skin and burning his flesh. His whole body seemed to be covered in a thin layer of the weak acid.

    However, no. At one spot, the heat gave way to a pleasant coolness.

    Lynx! He drew the cat, putting energy into the background of the drawing, otherwise, it was impossible to achieve the vividness of the image. So now there is an artifact to the priest''s right, unnoticed by him, weak and ridiculous, but suitable as a distraction. If he can get the priest to break his concentration, Loam won''t let him cast the spell a second time. The other hunters are not as dangerous. They might kill him in a fight, but at least he stands a chance. Just as long as he can get the priest to break down!

    Thoughts flashed quickly, the man with the ax barely had time to take a few cautious steps. He had to hurry. Free energy flowed through the thin thread linking creation and creator into the drawing. The skin tingled more, and the pain intensified...

    People must have been surprised when the drawing came to life.

    The wild lynx, created by magic and coal dust, shredded the man''s neck and chest in bloody flaps with one blow of its translucent paw.

    The Major Council hadn''t met in two hundred years, not since the war in the Western Isles. Nothing much had happened since then that required a face-to-face meeting of all the leaders of the race, and affairs were handled by the Minor, made up of the guild heads and rulers of the ten largest communities. Some of them remembered the days before the Plague, each had powerful factions and alliances behind them, all with enormous personal power. Loam had avoided their company before, and he intended to do the same in the future.

    If they let him.

    He had no excessive ambition, or, more accurately, it was in areas unrelated to power, wealth, or fame. Crossing the Gloomy Plateau alone was cool, and he didn''t care if no one found out. It took sixty years to prepare the expedition, and the equipment and maps cost a monstrous sum, but it was worth it. In the short term, of course, he would be under the scrutiny of the factions, but soon the excitement would pass, everyone would realize that the new progenitor was not involved in politics, and he would quietly settle down in some quiet corner. Yes, that is what he will do.

    As I crossed the invisible line, my hair stood on end, a chill ran down my spine. The Mistress had sealed off the chasm in the Darkness long ago, and it no longer killed any living thing that dared to approach, but the echoes of the otherworldly power were still present. Though it is not dangerous to stay here for long. The Council meets in the former center of Tale��a, and even mortals occasionally come to report or negotiate.

    The massive carved stone doors swing open, and a herald announces:

    "Lord of the Night Loam has arrived to present himself to the Council!"

    What artists can''t deny is their ability to communicate. And a lot of thinking outside the box, of course. In difficult situations, Loam sought Argelius'' advice, and not once had a representative of the most diplomatic of the guilds ever failed him.

    "He looks all right to me. Look how enthusiastically he swings his sword."

    With a sigh, Loam pulled his guest by his clothes, pulling him out of the window, and with a wave of his palm placed a barrier of silence over the room.

    "He is not bestowed with a legacy of blood."

    He got his first offspring at the age of eight hundred and something, and at first, everything seemed normal. Until the age of five, the Child had little sense and needed daily communication; from thirty, he began to show independence, and then his energy stabilized and the time came for real learning. As far as the older vampire remembered himself at that age, his master had no problems at that stage.

    "Remind me, please, what are your line''s gifts," Argelius asked.

    "Mostly physical, with only the higher ones being friendly with the beasts. The physical ones are more or less okay, though the other childs are stronger. What worries me is that his animals are afraid of him."

    "Even the dark ones? Rats, wolves, snakes?"

    "Mm-hmm. True, the neighbor''s cat lets him pick her up, but that''s the only success."

    Argelius looked out the window once more. The young undead was scurrying through the garden, waving a thin knife rapidly. He was chopping up mosquitoes on the fly.

    "Let''s experiment."

    It was decided not to show the Child to the warlocks. The representatives of the Guild of Darkness had an unpleasant tendency to get carried away by the process, and their friends needed the result. So they thought for themselves. A month later, after a series of unsophisticated experiments, it became clear that almost all of the animals, when they fell into the hands of the young offspring, either desperately try to escape, or hang lifelessly in a state of shock. Totally the wrong reaction! In addition, the Child reacted too sharply to the sun and fire, even though its close relatives were more resistant to damage. He moved faster, and his reaction time was a bit better, but not too much out of the norm.

    In search of a clue to the phenomenon, they turned to the town elders. They listened, chuckled, recalled a couple of similar cases, and advised us not to dwell on known abilities. Say, run the child through a circle, in case you find something new. For lack of other ideas, they used this one.

    The result stunned them both.

    "The drawings are coming to life," Argelius repeated. "The drawings come to life. The abilities of Semmer and Kalim''s bloodlines."

    "You forgot about Allaris."

    "It''s different, it''s hard to work with space." The artist was silent, looking at the old acquaintance with a new expression in his eyes. "My friend, it seems that you have become the progenitor of your own line."

    "Don''t be silly."

    "Why? All signs point to this. Your kin tends to socialize - you like solitude. They are not good at subtle influences - even in our midst, you are considered a master, even in one particular area. It is a proverbial truth that they have a violent temper, and you have not had a temper tantrum in two hundred years. Or is it just that I haven''t seen it?"

    "There were no reasons."

    "If you want it, you''ll find a reason. Anyway, congratulations!"

    "Nothing," Loam cut him off. "There must be another explanation."

    Argelius smiled thinly, and his voice had a contented tone to it:

    "You''re stubborn! Looks like a visit to the Guild of Darkness can''t be avoided after all."

    The most reliable way to determine a new progenitor is to force him to face his ancestor in a duel of wills. The Lord of the Night, whose energy serves as the basis for the personality of all his descendants, will inevitably defeat the challenger unless he broke the mental ties with the founder, and changes completely and irrevocably. Strength, age, and magic do not matter here, it is the blood that counts. If you feel like kneeling, if you yearn to obey, if you can''t help but obey a command, it means that you haven''t become the founder of your line yet. Try to enter the elite in other ways.

    However, since the progenitor of Dwer had been gone for millennia in the realm of Morvan, Loam was tested in another way. A warlock''s way, for affinity with the blood of his closest kin. He could not refuse, Argelius had blabbed to the elders, and they immediately scheduled a ritual. The matter was too important, too many interested parties. The Lord of the Night would inevitably - unless he died or renounced his allegiance - become one of the nodes in the network that binds the race together and allows them to successfully oppose the gods of mortals. As a consequence, he has a voice on the Major Council, partial judicial immunity, the right to demand help from the Guilds, and the right to subdue other undead in emergencies. Nice perks, yeah. However, the package included increased attention of human intelligence services, participation in the most brutal intrigues, the need to acquire a personal entourage, and the occasional execution of orders of the Queen. Because the Mistress did not like freeloaders.

    When the ritual showed the appearance of a new line, Argelius became ecstatic. Creative person, what do you want? With difficulty, he wrestled the new Lord away from the warlocks, who were so hungry for research, that he went to his guild, where he enthusiastically organized a feast. This was no small event, and so he could not make do with a mere party. He ignored Loam''s objections and advised them not to concentrate on trivialities and concentrate on what was important. The main thing, in this case, was registration.

    Vampires were not particularly fond of paperwork, not even bankers. Among their people, they preferred honest words. Because if you deceive a fellow vampire, confuse him in terms of legalities and interpretations, he will hack your legs off with an ax and leave you on the roof to die in the sun two hundred years later. The undead had no complicated procedures, not even in the Guild of Arts, which loved colorful performances. But the emergence of a new bloodline was a different matter.

    The commotion began as soon as word of the ritual left the underground laboratory of the Guild of the Darkness (which consisted of only two members). First, the Taleya headquarters of the warlocks had sent word that a commission was coming to confirm the conclusions of a local colleague. The issue was too important to be handled by the very best. Secondly, the Master of the City had sent his two attendant guards. Loam took their appearance as a mockery, and uttered a great deal of "what the hell are you doing here"? The taunts were received without pleasure, but humbly, reflecting more clearly the vampire''s new status.

    The most interesting thing began the next night. Almost all the important people of the city, at least of the dark side, came to Loam''s small and once cozy cottage. The Prince came to visit, the local guild leaders were in, cultists prayed in the courtyard, and temple censors swarmed around with their spyglasses and amulets. The Guild of Arts displayed a belted portrait of the birthday boy in the lobby, his brief biography written in a prohibitively benevolent tone, and began to celebrate. Loam''s absence from the celebration did not embarrass them.

    Accompanied by three guardsmen, the warlocks arrived. They looked around, sympathized, and confirmed the results of their local colleagues. They asked out of politeness if the esteemed Lord would like to move to Taleya, so that in a quiet atmosphere to get acquainted with the new duties. He didn''t like the mention of duties, but he wanted to get away from the circus, and how. Again, personal experience told him that "the sooner you get in, the sooner you get out".

    He packed up quickly.

    They were waiting for him. Ten Guild Chiefs, as many rulers of the largest communities, the Captain of the Guard, Lord Latham, and the Mistress herself. The Queen. The embodied power, the pinnacle, and the center of the dark family.

    A great honor, of course, but he would never see them at all.

    "Sooner or later, you would have come here anyway, Lord Loam," it seemed that his thoughts were no secret to the Mistress. The hairs on his scruff stood on end. "Nevermind. Messen, I present Loam, Lord of the Night. Our brother shuns noisy company. He''d rather paint in the wilderness. Nevertheless, he''s risen to the highest rung of our kind. He''s proven his right to be here. Let us welcome the new Lord of the Night and wish his family strength!"

    One by one the Lords rose to congratulate him, Loam thanked him, and he remembered his Mistress'' last words with longing. It seems that until his second Child matures, he won''t be allowed to go anywhere. New lines are rare, their abilities strengthen the race, and are very valuable. The Council will not take the risk of allowing the only adult blood-bearer to get involved in adventures and endanger his existence. So, at least a hundred and fifty years will have to be spent in the Capital, under guard.

    Judging by the faint nod from Mistress, he got it right. A lousy prospect.

    * * *

 Chapter 1

    Chapter 1

    * * *

    The mountains separating the lands of the former kingdom of Salvatia from the western steppe are geologically old. In practice, this means that they are not too high, minerals have long been extracted from them, and wide passes, convenient for riders, abound within them. The largest pass is the Gate of Fickle, securely locked from invasion by Lascaris but even without it, there are enough places where a detachment of a hundred horses can pass. Dangerous directions are covered by a system of fortresses that are part of the western army of modern Taleya and are considered quite well fortified.

    Sometimes small gangs of raiders slip past the fortresses. Sometimes tribes gather, with the help of gods or "mercenaries" from neighboring powers, successfully storm fortifications and frolic in the lands of the kingdom until the troops come up on red alert. Either way, life in the Frontier is not safe.

    "It is strange that there is not a strong sense of wickedness in the vicinity. Isn''t there a monastery nearby?"

    "No, Messena. It is simply that the commander of the local garrison carefully performs his duties and maintains good relations with the surrounding nobles."

    "I never would have believed it was possible to purge the earth of creatures to such an extent. Of course, I''ve heard reports, but this is a case where you have to see with your own eyes and see for yourself to understand. I''ll take you up on your invitation, Medea."

    From the outside, the three could easily be mistaken for traveling nobles. Good clothes and weapons; numerous servants, who brought a table and chairs from a nearby inn at a moment''s notice for the lords who wished to sit in this particular clearing; the night darkness did not prevent them from talking, which indicated either a spell of vision-in-the-dark or a drink of an expensive elixir for the same purpose.

    In some respects, the possible observers would be right - all three were true of high status. The one man, Latham, had long held the rank of captain of his mistress''s guard and led risen units focused on comprehending the Warrior''s Path. A striking beauty in gorgeous robes, incredibly graceful, mesmerizing at a single fleeting glance, Medea was a member of the Council of Elders and ruled the second largest community in Zonna. Well, that means... She drove her assistants to nervous breakdowns, despite the fact that they themselves were undead. Nevertheless, the community grew from age to age and successfully intrigued the court of the ruler of the Land of Blueness.

    The last of the gathered, a frail teenage girl in a simple hunting costume, wasn''t supposed to be here. Everyone knows that Celesta, Mistress of the Night, does not leave Taleya.

    "That''s wonderful!" When she heard her sister''s last words, Medea fairly clapped her hands. "I will inform my people immediately to prepare for your arrival!"

    "You don''t have to tell anyone anything," Celesta flatly refused. "I remember your secrets well. I wouldn''t want an army of monks with holy relics waiting for me when I arrived in Zonna."

    "It''s not true!" Medea pouted. "It''s not that bad."

    "Are you saying it''s even worse?"

    "You''re kidding, right?!" The beauty waved her fan and narrowed her eyes in an exaggeratedly wicked way. "You''re kidding! And anyway, the largest temple of the Lord of Hell in my city stands, and no one is going to tear it down!"

    "Honor and praise to you," the older risen bowed her head slightly, despite her appearance. "I don''t argue-our position in the Land of Blueness is more secure than anywhere else. But there are hunters there, too. Besides, I don''t like the potential your community has built up being wasted. Why isn''t the Sultanate ours yet?"

    "It''s hard work," Medea didn''t flirt this time and spoke seriously. "The Sultan''s court sees us as agents of their enemies, and in good conscience, they are right. Our servants have to act very carefully. Sooner or later the situation will change but do not count on quick results.

    "Too bad. I have big plans for Birat."

    No further explanation was needed. The Principality of Birat was situated on the eastern shores of the Good Sea, and, by the will of the gods and former Taleyan intelligence officers who had fled there from the civil war, the servants of the risens wielded considerable influence there. Elder Gardoman, in charge of the revenue sector, a kind of vampire Minister of Trade and Finance, had for centuries demanded that the number of communities in the Duchy be increased and that the existing ones be strengthened by specialists. Not that Celesta objected-not at all. She saw the potential of Birat. What confused her was the isolation of its structures from the metropolis and the separatism problem that had plagued her in the past. The Mistress didn''t want to have a purge every twenty years, so it was better not to lead her subjects to the wrong ideas.

    "You don''t have to go to Birat through the Azaras," Latham said. "There''s the Archipelago."

    "Not the best option either. Deep Harbor''s intelligence is currently the best in the world. There''s no telling who''s on the hook for who. Besides, I''m confused by the success of their College of the Nine Pillars. If the mages there have learned how to bypass our concealing veils, then there''s no point in trying to reestablish the community. They''ll find it anyway."

    "What does Hustin say?" Medea asked in an indifferent tone.

    Too indifferent. It looked like the currently quarreling couple was about to have a new round in their relationship.

    "Swearing."

    "Ha!"

    "In any case, something has to be done about the Sultanate," Celesta didn''t allow the "I knew he was a loser" theme to develop. "In the next three or four years, of course, we won''t have free resources, everything will go to eliminate the effects of the current crisis, but then we''ll take care of the Azaras. Zervan, Zervan... They have about an hour to go, Latham. Get your men ready."

    "Messena," the servant and bodyguard rose smoothly from his chair and made a farewell bow and headed in the direction of the inn.

    After seeing him off with a approving glance, Medea turned to her friend:

    "Are you serious about visiting Zonna? Don''t think anything of the sort, I''m just happy, but you said that your connection to the seal wasn''t completely severed."

    "I suspect it won''t go away for long," Celesta pursed her lips. "I knew there was a catch to that offer of the true priests. But I can leave the city now. If, halfway down, it turns out that the distance to the seal matters, I''ll be right back."

    "Let''s hope for the best," Medea agreed. She thought a little, tilted her pretty head to the side, and shrugged. "It''s better this way than before, anyway."

    "I''m certainly not going to argue!"

    Celesta has spent four hundred years in Taleya, not of her own free will. After an unfortunate (or too fortunate, as the case may be) ritual by the great wizard Tyran, the priests of the True Face of Morvan made her the kind of offer you can''t refuse. They demanded a keeper, an operator of the seal that had been affixed to the rift in space that led to a dimension the human sources call Abyss. In return they were promised power, knowledge, and answers to a number of questions about the nature of the risen.

    In the main, the priests did not lie. Celeste received what she requested. The deal had allowed the vampires who served her not only to get through the civil war relatively unscathed but also to strengthen their kind''s position considerably. Nevertheless, to sit for four centuries in one city, albeit the Capital...

    When the seal finally stabilized, and the vampire leader was able to at least just step beyond the invisible but well-felt border, one of her closest, as she believed, associates forced her to go not where she wanted, but where she had to go. Not surprisingly, the Mistress had been in a quiet rage for the past month. The risens who knew her well were not deceived by the supposed calm; only the accustomed Medea dared to ignore her friend''s condition.

    Not wanting to fill her pretty head with problems, the faithful confidante turned the conversation to the construction of the future shelter. Now the problem of headquarters did not exist - the intricate network of catacombs provided reliable protection, and in a pinch the vampires planned to escape through the dead land. The vast sphere of the Tyran Curse destroyed any life that entered its confines. Even the vampires themselves couldn''t stay in it for more than a few hours, which, however, was usually enough. The only exception was Celesta, who was immune to the Curse, adding weight to the rumor mill about her near-divine essence. But as time passed, the curse weakened and became less aggressive. In addition, wizards in the royal service and monks of certain orders had long researched it and even obtained some practical results. For now, humans could not invade the sphere. While what?

    The vampires wished to prepare in advance for the time when the Curse would disappear and with it the safe escape route and the opportunity for mortals to invade their fiefdom. That''s why the construction was started. Of course, Medea couldn''t help but participate in the discussion of the project, because who else than her?

    "Okay," Celesta put her palm forward after half an hour of discussion. "Spare me the details. If you say it''s black and white with flecks of red, then so be it."

    "But I explained!" Medea raised her hands to the sky, invoking higher powers as witnesses. Her friend''s earthiness depressed her.

    "I just don''t understand why, after two years of discussion, we''re back to where we started."

    "Well, what if something more appropriate had been found?"

    "I doubt it. Well," the mistress jumped down from the chair in which she was sitting dangling her legs with pleasure. "I''m going for a walk, and you get the bodyguards closer. It''s about to start."

    "Latham will not be pleased," the beautiful elder remarked, as if in passing.

    "Let Latam have his way, and he''ll cover me with pillows stuffed with the softest down."

    Medea laughed softly after her friend''s departure, then turned toward the inn, where two figures loomed vaguely, and whispered:

    "Ral, Fango, keep me company."

    She had no doubt she was heard.

    Vampires changed with age. Slowly, much more slowly than mortal humans, and in a completely different way. Their appearance remained the same, but their power grew, which, in turn, was reflected in the strength, dexterity, and endurance of their physical bodies. In addition, they had abilities that were often mistaken for magic, which were formed depending on the worldview and the Path the risen was following. To develop them or not, was up to each of them.

    It was believed that the older a vampire was, the stronger he was. It was not entirely true - those who didn''t consider it necessary to learn and work on themselves stiffened at the same level or slipped into degradation altogether. At best, their growth was stunted to the point of being completely invisible. But when it came to the elite of undead society, the rule was ironclad.

    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

    Celesta was at the top of the hierarchical pyramid. She was old, one of the oldest risens in the oikumene, and spent a great deal of her time dealing with reports, meeting with her subjects, parsing reports, and other activities that are inevitable in life (or after-life) of any ruler. At the same time, she had access to all the resources and developments of the Community, as well as a desire to learn and a firm understanding of the need for great personal power. Such is the time, such is the race. There was no other way. In addition, as a bonus, she had a seal on the Curse, crumbs of power which the Night Mistress of Taleya could operate at her own discretion. These crumbs were enough not only for her, but also for her closest associates.

    With each year, decade, and century, Celesta''s abilities grew. She perceived the world far more entirely now than she had at the beginning of her journey, and possessed capabilities that would have seemed miraculous in her earlier life. She suspected that she could win the coming confrontation alone. However, her turbulent past had weaned her from taking unnecessary risks, and what else were servants for but to protect their mistress? At least that''s what Latham thought, and she had no intention of arguing with him. But she wouldn''t go along with his demands, either.

    Walking silently was unexpectedly difficult. There were no truly dense forests around Taleya, the people had ennobled the area around their Capital, and Celesta had forgotten how to walk through the thicket. The branches rattled beneath her feet, and the few living creatures froze, diligently hiding from the higher undead. Small animal minds exuded fear and hopelessness. The Mistress sensed everyone in the area - the intelligent ones more clearly, their consciousnesses shining brightly, the beasts and birds shining much dimmer. Plants had no intelligence, but they created some background, so a kind of "echo" came from them as well. The gray fog was dispersed by the gusty Medea with a blazing torch behind her, Latham was shining with steel glints of loyalty, and the other vampires who had come with them were preparing for battle.

    In front, exuding thirst for blood, permissiveness, and the desire to tear the weak, came a black-red wave that smelled of beastly notes.

    The attackers outnumbered three times the number of those who had prepared to meet them on the wide lawn near the inn. The vampires who came with Celesta might have seemed doomed, but in such confrontations, quality trumps quantity, so they had no fear. The Guardsmen were experienced fighters who had spent centuries mastering the art of war; they did not count a pack as their equal when they approached. Their captain felt the same way, or he wouldn''t have taken only two fives with him. Ten guardsmen, Latham himself, Medea, despite her outward appearance, a creature not of this world, able to surprise in battle, two henchmen of the beautiful elder - with such forces you can fight against any opponent.

    The commander of the attackers understood this, and he did not intend to underestimate the enemy. Celesta saw two groups, five and four consciousnesses, split from the feverish hunt and begin to circle the sides of the guardsmen who were preparing to fight. Preparing to strike from behind? Latham had enough sensors but just in case, Celesta sent him a message about the maneuver she''d noticed. In response came a respectful sense of displeasure at his Mistress''s self-righteousness, which she habitually ignored.

    Instead of turning back, she headed toward the nearest of the splinter groups. Experience, and the glow from the attackers'' minds, suggested that of the five, only two might be troublesome, the other three standing on the first stage. Not only do they have no powers at a decent level, but they also cannot even go out in the sun! One on one, an ordinary trained warrior has a chance against them; in the coming skirmish, they will be nothing more than meat for blades. Celesta will start with them, to keep them out of the way.

    With the rustle of leaves, the light of the moon, and a gentle whiff of wind, the illusion weaved by the Mistress enveloped the five congeners. It lay weightlessly on the exposed, defenseless minds, and gently overcame the natural barriers, leaving an instantly disappearing feeling of unease. It settled in the subconscious, in the depths, surreptitiously weakening vigilance, reducing the criticality of thinking, and affecting the senses.

    After a minute, she could do anything she wanted to them. No, the vampires had not grown weaker; their bodies still obeyed them precisely. They simply paid no attention to Celesta''s actions, perceived her as a natural part of their surroundings, her actions seemed normal to them. Up to a point, of course - their instincts fought against their imposed judgments and in the end they always won.

    If give them enough time.

    She appeared beside the first vampire, like a ghost in a children''s scary book. Not the leader of the small pack - the latter was running farther away - but beside the second strongest. An indistinguishable movement of the blade drew a fine line from her foe''s right collarbone to his left armpit, and almost immediately, without looking at the work of her hands, Celesta was swiftly beside the leader. He suffered the same fate. The head and upper torso of the first victim had just fallen to the ground when the risen leaped up to the third, a short lad with a short red beard, and blew his head off without a hitch. The smell of blood wafted through the night forest. The others began to suspect something, stopped, and looked around, trying to see the leader, who was slowly settling in two pieces on the moss.

    They didn''t have time to understand anything. Celesta killed them quickly.

    / Trash, mentally assessed the dead for the last time, the girl froze in stillness. - Didn''t even feel threatened until it was too late. Though perhaps I''m not being fair? My regular training partners are Guardsmen or Latham himself, their level is well above average. We need to do a few more fights.

    There was no difficulty in executing the last thought. The pack had already covered the remaining distance to the scattered Guardsmen, took them in a semicircle, and seemed to have moved on to insults. Judging by the emotions of Medea, who was sitting a little to the side, she didn''t appreciate the quality of the scolding. Deciding that stealth was enough for today, and that she wasn''t expected on this side (or rather, not expected at all), Celesta rushed as fast as she could toward the main scene.

    She was just in time for the start of the fight. A moment more, and the two sides would have come together in a fierce fight, all the more frightening because not every human eye could keep track of the fighters.

    From the outside, Celesta''s appearance looked... It didn''t look like anything. The hunting costume, in shades of green and brown, obscured the contours of her body, so that she appeared beside the young vampire standing at the edge of the field. A mere mortal would have been pulverized by the light touch of a slender maiden''s hand, but the risens were tougher - this one had merely been flung aside as a gourd of broken bones and mincemeat. He was not yet dead, he had not yet fallen to the ground when Celesta turned toward her next victim. There was no need to be delicate now, and a terrible mental blow fell upon the vampire, who groaned, grabbed his temples, and fell to his knees. Thin streams of blood ran from his ears and nose.

    Next object. Celesta remembered them, all of them, remembered each one by name, biography, habits, could name their strengths and weaknesses. She could, but she didn''t want to. Almost a month ago they had become to her objects of the hunt, targets of pursuit, evidence of a mistake, to talk to them pointless - they should just be destroyed.

    To draw strength from the seal. She looks at another vampire, crumbling to dust as if caught in the scorching heat of the sun. Celesta knows what she looks like now: a short little girl with alabaster-white skin and eyes flooded with Darkness. It must have been terrifying.

    Her appearance was finally responded to, the senses acutely struck by someone else''s fear.

    "B...ch!

    That''s just not true - she''s never slept with men, though Medea encourages it. There is no desire, no reason. She is undead, why should she? Still, Celesta doesn''t like being called that, and the vampire who screamed first loses his head. From the neat cut on his neck, blood gushes into the sky.

    As if they got the signal, the attackers scattered. There was no more pack, it was gone, and now it was every man for himself. In principle, the Mistress was fine with that - it was easier for the guardsmen to finish off the fleeing ones. But the irritation that had been building up all month demanded a special meal...

    She looked at one particular back, and then she extended her arm toward the fleeing vampire, making a short, beckoning motion with her hand. As if strung by an invisible rope, the fugitive flew back, straight to her feet. Halfway there, he managed to turn and claw at the ground with his huge claws, but there was no point in trying to stop - he didn''t even slow down.

    Only he lost his arms. The legs are also cut off by invisible blades.

    "You have no idea, Zervan, how happy I am to see you," Celesta said in a neutral tone, looking at the former elder.

    "Mistress! Have mercy!" With difficulty, the immortal''s stump crawled on his back, looking into her eyes pitifully.

    Humans believe that old vampires gradually lose their emotions and turn into a cold pure minds, subject only to rational reasoning. The opinion is generally correct - that the flamboyant, passion-driven young die often, and that only those who know how to restrain their impulses survive to a hundred years of age. Or, as Celesta has just realized, those who have not been driven to it.

    Medea rose hastily from her chair and headed for the battlefield. Her sister froze, a monstrous effort to suppress a wild outburst of anger, the grass around her was rapidly fading and turning to ashes, Zervan whimpered, trying to crawl away from the outpouring of uncontrollable power of the Mistress of the Night. The beautiful elder stopped at a respectful distance. She hadn''t seen Celesta in such a state in two hundred years, and she was a little rusty about how to act in such cases. Walk up and hug her? If her sister went berserk, she would have to do so, despite the mortal danger.

    "Mercy?!" at last Celesta exhaled whistling. Medea straightened slightly, her face relaxed in relief. "Have mercy. Mercy. You, Zervan, are still alive for one reason - I need to know exactly what you told humans. How much they know now, thanks to you. No, not just one reason. Why? Why, Zervan? You held on! You kept your impulses in check, you tried not to kill, not to let the beast go free. So why did you sink so low in a measly two years?"

    She bellowed the last phrase as she loomed over the trembling captive. Her eyes were bloodshot, her fangs protruded, and she didn''t look like a fragile girl who had unwittingly wielded a sword. Before the vampires, clad in a dark aura of power, stood the demon.

    Not wanting to talk anymore, Celesta jerkily grabbed the former elder, a member of her Inner Circle, one of the world''s strongest risen, and now just a traitor by the throat. He tried to look away, but Mistress brought his face closer to hers, forcing him to look. Zervan twitched, resisted, and almost immediately collapsed - his flesh-altering art and immense physical strength meant nothing now.

    Medea came and stood at the side of the captive, and on the other side, looking apprehensively at the Night Mistress, the bodyguards froze. They seemed to prefer to be elsewhere at the moment. They had never seen Celesta angry before, and she rarely displayed her full power, so now the two not-so-young vampires were amid a reassessment of their importance. Useful, but ill-timed. The reader is defenseless in a deep memory-reading, he must be guarded, and Medea would wipe them both to powder if even a hair fell from her sister''s head.

    The vampires spent an hour surrounding their Mistress in complete immobility. The bodyguards did not dare ask questions, sensing their mistress'' tension, and Medea was unwilling to discuss what had happened with anyone. She spoke when she saw Latham return, covered in someone else''s blood:

    "Has anyone escaped?"

    "The six managed to escape far enough, they are now in pursuit. We''ll catch up."

    "Yeah, try harder... Was it just me, or were they trying to attack our mortal servants?"

    "Vantal met those four," the captain reassured her. Judging by the slight nod, she was satisfied with the explanation, so he asked in turn: "Messena decided to read the traitor''s memory right here?"

    "She wants answers right away," Medea replied in a flimsy manner. She''ll tell Latham about the breakdown later, in private. Perhaps. "Zervan is a rare lucky man. He got off easy."

    "I agree with you, noble lady," the aristocrat nodded. "His actions deserve more than that."

    "Seven hundred years together, after all. Celesta showed leniency."

    In the opinion of Latham, who never liked Zervan and was at enmity with him, he did not deserve mercy. However, he did not express his opinion. A vanquished old enemy, a glorious victory - why spoil the good mood with an unnecessary quarrel?

    After a short time, a brief shiver ran through the captive''s body. There was no other visible action, both victim and executioner remained perfectly still, but Medea immediately began to act. A small bottle of wine and a carved bone goblet emerged from the broad sleeves of her luxurious robes, and the cork popped merrily. Filling the vessel halfway with wine, the beauty tossed the bottle to one of the bodyguards and quickly slashed herself on the wrist with a sharp fingernail.

    As soon as Celesta swayed, her friend was beside her, one arm under her chest, the other holding the goblet to her face.

    "Drink."

    Celesta greedily sucked down the mixture, replenishing the energy she''d expended. Her pale face, her cheekbones, and her uncharacteristically prominent fangs showed that learning another''s memory was not easy for her. Zervan was, after all, an old, experienced risen, and he resisted to the last.

    Gratefully stroking Medea''s arm, Celesta broke free of the embrace. She glanced at the body on the ground, twitched her upper lip dismissively, and turned her back as if to close this page of her long life.

    "Latham?"

    "Three are still alive, Messena, the rest are dead," the captain reported. "No casualties among the guardsmen, though seven received various wounds."

    "I am interested in a stranger from Seven Rivers named Gurban-ogun. What about him?"

    "I personally blew his head off, Messena."

    "A pity. I wouldn''t mind talking to him again," Mistress said dryly. Her anger had passed, she was in control again, and she resembled no otherworldly monster. "We owe much of this crisis to him."

    "I''m sorry, Messena."

    "Don''t apologize, Latham. Who knew?" Celeste shrugged. "No means no. Let''s go reassure our mortal subjects that it''s over."

    Before she turned and walked away, Mistress took one last look at the lump that was sprawled at her feet, staring blankly into the night sky. She hesitated, then her eyes poured dark for a moment, only to return to their usual steel-gray color at once. Celesta didn''t say anything, didn''t give any orders, just made a sign for the others to follow her.

    She was leaving.

    Behind her, the body of the former elder slowly scattered in ashes.

    * * *

 Chapter 2

    Chapter 2

    * * *

    Zonna, the capital of the Land of Blueness. A city of contrasts.

    The lush greenery and stone slabs of squares. The poor shacks of the peasants and the lace spires of the palaces soaring high. Dozens of temples, guardians of divine wisdom, and hundreds of establishments known for their easygoing nature, from theaters to "tea houses" with cheerful staff always ready to have fun. The state cult of the Keeper of the Waters, Derkana the Fickle, and the austere, black monolith of the cathedral of the Lord of Darkness Morvan, patron of wizards and sorcerers.

    It is to Derkana that the city owes its current appearance.

    When Prince Kono, who took the throne name Konir the Second, declared his nephew bereft of grace and deposed, not everyone supported him. Despite the monstrous sacrifices of the Tyran Curse, and despite the severe loss of reputation, a significant portion of the army remained loyal to Irrhan. A civil war broke out, rifts rippling through all slices of society. Fighting took place in all provinces, with no silent corners left at all, and the hegemon''s weakened neighbors took advantage of the momentum. The bloody meat grinder, in which there were no winners, lasted nine years and ended with the signing of the "Treaty of the Two Flowers". The parties mutually recognized each other and divided the formerly single state into two roughly equal parts - north and east went to Taleya. South and west now belonged to the newly created Land of the Blueness, with its capital in Zonna.

    Throughout the struggle, Konyr positioned himself as a conservative, a follower of the old laws and customs. In particular, he never forgot to recall that the divine patron of the dynasty was Derkana the Fickle, whose cult also traditionally occupied a peculiar place among the other temple trends. The servants of the Keeper of the Waters were considered "officials of religion"; in other words, no official event took place without their participation, they necessarily participated in commissions related to church squabbles, issued certificates of trustworthiness to representatives of new religions, and in general were more like a government department than a group of clergymen.

    It is only natural that in the new place, creating the structure of government, the king copied the old scheme. Why change something that works well?

    In Zonna, the servants of Derkana, and consequently their royal lord, had a little problem of an ideological nature. The city was situated in a valley with a river that was not the most full-flowing, and there were no other sources of water nearby. To the south, the steppe flowed into the desert; to the north, too, the steppe gradually turned into forests. There were difficulties with the administration of services, and people simply began to laugh. And there was nothing to be done about it - this was not the seaside town of Taleya, there were not even any lakes of decent size here.

    At other times, they would have limited themselves to changing the ritual component and forget about it. At that time, during the war, it was a question of the legitimacy of power.

    To smooth over the rumors, in addition to the obligatory beheading, Konir started building. First, he ordered to dig a large lake, in the center of which he erected a temple of Derkana, and obliged the priests to hold daily services there. The priests didn''t object - it was a usual and well-paid job. Secondly, Konir surrounded his palace, a large structure, with a wide moat, declaring that thus the energy of the element of water worked to his advantage and allowed him to better hear the voice of his ancestor. What exactly he heard is unknown, but the moat worked well as a defensive structure, stopping the first, most furious onslaught during the city''s only assault by loyalist troops.

    After watching the lord''s actions, his retinue followed suit. It became the custom to surround the estates with wide ditches, wider than the streets, filled with water. The nobles competed with each other over the richness of the embankments, lined sections of their banks with painted marble slabs, and considered those who confined themselves to ordinary building stones as beggars. As a result, by now Zonna consisted of two parts: the Old Town, with its suburbs and simple houses, similar to dozens of other towns, and the New Town, where boats sailed in the streets and no horses were seen at all.

    As time passed, there was not enough water. The Itir River, flowing through the valley, was never full and could not adequately fill the artificially created floodplain. Some of the canals began to shallow. By order of the next ruler, upstream irrigation works were carried out and the channels of several other smaller rivers were changed, resulting in a minor ecological disaster. It broke out in the southern parts of the country and partially affected the territories of the Azar Sultanate, causing another war. However, that is another story.

    Medea''s estate was on the border of the Old Town and the New Town. That is, it had its pier and the obligatory boat shed, but the main exit and the front gate were located on the ground, leading to a street paved with wild stone. The quirks of the golden-haired lover of poetry and theater were understood by high society - it is well known that the undead does not like flowing water.

    "In my opinion, you''re taking a risk by openly showing your nature. People will never be able to forget that there is a predator near them."

    Celesta hoped that her arrival in the city had gone unnoticed. Or at least the house-watchers hadn''t realized who exactly was visiting the leader of the local undead community. Medea''s entourage is large, and it''s easy to get lost in it. Latham, of course, was unhappy - he, the guardsmen, and most of the mortals who had accompanied his Mistress on her journey had to be housed in the city, in inns and houses belonging to the cultists. But if the appearance of one new vampire, who looked harmless at first glance, would not cause alarm, then the news of the arrival of a dozen elder risens would stir the imagination of those concerned.

    Latham, the cunning Medea, would not let him into her house either. She intended to have a little privacy with her friend.

    "If a predator looks safe, they won''t kill him, they''ll put him in a cage and start admiring him," Medea muttered without opening her eyes. "The main thing is to successfully pretend that you are harmless. And you sit in a cage."

    She liked to lie like that, snuggled up against Celesta''s side, covered with the same light blanket. It was a habit from the days when the two of them hid in the sewers, not knowing if they would survive the next day. Perhaps nowhere else did she feel as safe as with her sister. Medea, the Sweet-voiced, the Warlock, the Beautiful One, walked through her not-life with a smile, trying not to remember her fears - but that didn''t mean she was rid of them altogether.

    "Besides, only five out of the whole community live openly," she went on to defend her chosen way of life. After-life. "The other thirty-eight are still in the shadows."

    Many people sincerely believe that bureaucracy is evil. Much of the population of the kingdoms thought the same of Celeste. Their alliance was inevitable. The statistical department organized in the office counted one thousand six hundred and twenty-two vampires, of whom only eight lived in seclusion. The largest of the communities was Taleya, both for historical reasons and because of a long tradition of sending young people to the court of the Mistress. The Capital was also home to the School of Paths, extremely popular in the last hundred years, the Great Archives, and the Hall of Mysteries, where every cultist dreamed of being admitted. Other congregations boasted far fewer accomplishments, though Medea was justifiably proud of her city''s temple to the Lord of Darkness. Her closest aide, Egard, served as its Abbot.

    "You''ll have to do your best to repair the damage to your reputation," the little risen remarked. "Rumors of the Zurvan horde''s outrages must have reached here by now, no matter that it''s another kingdom."

    Medea turned slightly, looking up at the angular teenage profile from below.

    "Did you find out why he betrayed us?"

    "He wanted impunity," Celesta answered reluctantly. "He wasn''t satisfied with the restrictions I imposed. There have been preconditions for disruption before, but we - I preferred to ignore them. The Paths of the Beast have a natural tendency toward simple solutions, natural cruelty to which I attributed incidents."

    "The immediate impetus was an acquaintance with that fugitive from the Seven Rivers. Do you remember the expedition we were organizing?"

    "Of course. I''ve been hearing all about it!"

    "It''s not going to happen, I canceled the preparations. There''s no one to send now. It was originally supposed to be made up of the risens the least influenced by the Sun. They had a long march across the steppe, and there was no telling how their circumstances would play out. The local vampires are unlikely to react calmly to the appearance of two dozen strong outsiders. Who is the most light-tolerant of all? Zervan and his entourage. They were."

    Kalderan handed over all the materials he had collected on the Seven Rivers to Zervan, and in addition, Sattar had a trespasser caught in Lascaris in prison. About once every five to ten years, rebels come from the west, behaving as they are used to at home. They are usually either destroyed on the spot or if they have not done anything serious, sent to Taleya. Our chief scout decided that this Gurban-ogoon might be useful as a source of information, and gave him to Zervan.

    "Kalderan''s clever, of course, but he''s very..." Medea snapped her fingers, trying to find a way to phrase it. "Too sly at times. Doesn''t always see the obvious things in time."

    "Yes, he has that disadvantage. The specifics of his chosen occupation," Celesta agreed dryly. "Anyway, Gurban-ogoon told Zervan about the Seven Rivers, answered his questions, and told him how the risens lived there. At some point, Zervan realized that he liked those customs and wanted to live the same way. To walk among the people without hiding. To kill anyone who didn''t like it. To accept sacrifices from babies and young girls who dropped blood for the first time. Openly rule tribes, not just cultists. To go camping, to amuse themselves by torturing enemies. Or just mortals encountered along the way."

    "You know, back in my world," Celesta shook her head vaguely, "there was such a concept as ''temptation''. Demons were thought to push people into sin so that when they died, they could get their souls."

    "Pushing?" Medea wondered. "It''s a strange concept."

    "Any faith is illogical. Well, I would say that the Zervan did not withstand the temptation. Too much of what he heard coincided with his inner dreams."

    Celesta tried not to remember her past life before she was born into the undead. It had been, and it had been, so why should she trouble herself? She just used the knowledge. For her part, Medea did not often ask her sister about the past either, though she was always eager to catch a glimpse of a world without magic, where they did not believe in gods. The singer feared that Celesta might one day want to go back there - and she would.

    "It''s not your fault," she said quietly, trying to comfort. "Everyone chooses for themselves, remember?"

    "I missed the situation, didn''t notice when he changed. I should have controlled him more tightly. And if the seal hadn''t finally settled six months ago, what would we have done? Quite possibly the Guardsmen would have lost a quarter of their ranks. Or if Zervan had been smarter and figured out to cut off the link to me? We could have searched for decades."

    "His greed wouldn''t have let him," Medea snorted. "Anyway, it happened the way it happened, and stop worrying. It''s all over now."

    "Nothing''s over," there was a clang of metal in Celesta''s voice that made her sister stiffen in surprise. "We''ve got to get rid of the Seven Rivers. We don''t need a pustule in our backyard."

    "What can we do about it? He lies beyond the steppe, we can''t reach him with our strength."

    "I don''t know yet," agreed the little mistress. "I will think about it. But I firmly believe that the existence of a risens culture, built on principles opposed to our own, is a serious threat. They must be destroyed for our own safety."

    "Not right now, I hope?" Medea stretched out in a capricious tone. "I have a production at the Royal Opera House, and I don''t want to be distracted."

    "I''ll wait until you''re finished," Celesta finally smiled.

    During the journey to Zonna she returned to her usual balanced state and reconciled herself to what had happened. Especially since things were not as bad as the mistress initially thought. Zervan''s actions, judging from the spy reports, had not affected the loyalty of the cultists, something she feared most. The loss of much of the control of the criminal gangs is unpleasant, but not fatal. Of course, they bring in a lot of money, but they cause more headaches. Kalderan will pick up the most useful pieces of information, but the smugglers have long been under the thumb of Gardomann''s structures. In addition to the elders, there are still some of Zervan''s former associates who did not go with him - out of fear or loyalty, we must see. The oldest among them seems to be Alat, so he will take care of the gradual "streamlining" of the social bottom.

    For the great, no joke, magician Hustin, the destruction of the Taleya Academy, the flight of the staff to Zonna, and the transition to an illegal regime had one unmistakable advantage. He could now do whatever he wanted and determine his research topics. As a vampire, before he was "under the hood" of the secret services, from which even the intercession of his mentor could not save him, and the topics of his research had to be coordinated with various authorities, including religious ones.

    The top of the risens community had long sought ways to improve their own abilities, and Hustin was no exception in this matter. Thanks to Celesta''s support, he interviewed all vampires over a hundred years old in a relatively short time, processed the material, and formulated the concept of Paths, linking magic, physiology, and psychology. In short: a risens abilities are related to what he is interested in, and what path he prefers to follow. Or, to quote the lofty language, your skills are your essence.

    The Paths of the Warrior assumes high speed, above-average body strength, improved coordination, and direct magical skills. Fire, shield, skin strengthening, and the like. The Paths of Art deal more with social skills and focus on communicating with people, understanding their psychology, and indirectly controlling them. The Paths of the Beast appeal more to the darker sides of human nature, not evil, but savage, primitive. Those who follow the Paths of the Beast are always very strong physically, have great resistance to any external influences, but easily succumb to thirst and experience serious difficulties with self-control. They die more often than others and become elders less often.

    The proportions are about equal; in the youngest age, before the transition to the second step, on average, three of the ten vampires belong to each of the main groups. The remainder, that is, one out of ten follows an unconventional Path. The path of Magic, like Hustin himself, Spirit, like Celeste, or Mysticism, like Merck, the Mistress''s assistant in charge of working with cultists. And then there was Egard. Egard, whom the Elder and Mage disliked because he ruined his conception.

    The only risen without any distinctive abilities. Equally good at everything. In other words, just above average.

    Once it was Egard who Celesta had sent to Zonna with Medea, and she had never regretted that decision. She was well aware of her friend''s erratic nature, so she chose her "nursemaid" meticulously. Egard did not fail, although at times he complained and asked to the hermitage, to the desert - anywhere, as long as far away from the direct superiors. The Night Mistress calmed him down, gave his little sister a scolding, and everything was back to normal.

    Without seeming to show it, Medea appreciated the helper. Otherwise, she wouldn''t have gone to the trouble of spending an insane amount of resources to make him the Abbot of the Temple of the Lord of Darkness.

    "Impressive," Celesta admitted. "I''ve seen the temple in a pilgrim''s memory, but it makes a different impression up close."

    She purposely ordered the wagon to stop on the far side of the square to assess the building from afar. It must be said that she liked what she saw. The black monolith, flashing in places with white marble inlays, seemed the visual embodiment of frankly heavy power. Nothing superfluous, no ornamentation. The sight of it made it clear at once that there was no point in begging the local master for mercy.

    "In my time I had to work hard to translate into stone what I wanted and at the same time to comply with the canon," Medea looked at her brainchild with pride. "You should know how I argued with the architects!"

    "It''s amazing how you got them to participate in the project."

    "��h!" A sly smile crossed the elder''s lips. "There was no problem with that."

    While her friend was reminiscing, Celesta looked around the semi-deserted square (life in Zonna had never stopped, but it was late), threw her hood over her head, and walked toward the building. The rain didn''t bother her, just a drizzle that got into her eyes and irritated her a little.

    The young man in the dark robe with the Academy''s badge pinned on it, who was leaving the temple, recoiled from her as if he''d seen a ghost. He glanced at the small group of four - no matter how loose local morals were, the two noble ladies could not walk without bodyguards - and shook his head and, muttering something inaudible under his breath, hurried away. He must have mistaken her for someone he knew.

    When Celeste stepped on the first step of the stairs leading up to the temple, a cool wave ran up and down her body. It felt good, not unlike the scalding touch of energy in places dedicated to the Light Gods. An aspect close to the risen is prayed to here. When a vampire lives in the temple of Morvan or the land dedicated to him, they become a little stronger, more easily endure bloodlust and sunlight, and their wounds heal faster if they are wounded. Medea took advantage of the latter property, and with Hustin''s help created the Hall of Flesh, the world''s only institution for the cosmetic surgery of the living dead.

    Celesta, while acknowledging the need for such a clinic, was still in mild shock.

    The central figure, able to use all the resources of the cult building, is the Abbot. Under the protection of his walls, he is many times more powerful than anywhere else. Old abbots literally become attached to temples or monasteries, treating them as if they were part of their bodies. Egard had held rites of veneration at the altar for nearly two hundred years, and he sensed the presence of his kin at once.

    "Mistress Celesta!" The vampire came out quickly, almost running out of the passageway leading to the inner chambers. "What a joy to see you! I''d heard you''d left Taleya, but I didn''t expect your arrival so soon!"

    If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    "So you''re not happy to see me?" Medea asked in a low voice.

    "I am certainly glad, my lady, but we said goodbye to you only a short time ago."

    "Hello, Egard," Celesta stopped the banter from escalating. "I really didn''t intend to go to Zonna; the decision to come here was spontaneous."

    "So the guardsmen are accompanying you," the risen nodded. "Messen Latham could at least have informed me of your visit!"

    "I told him not to say anything - I wanted to see how you were settling in, without too much agitation. And, of course, I decided to start with the Temple. Can you show me around?"

    "Of course, Mistress. Follow me, please."

    The symbol of Morvan is a black cross with a white dot in the middle. The cross bars are equal in length and are divided at the ends, symbolizing one of the eight hypostases, each, in turn, manifests itself in a thousand countenances. And the hypostases are considered fully self-sufficient, they were in former times put by individual monasteries and carefully thought out the composition of the entourage and job duties. The goddess Celesta was considered the bride of the third of the hypostases, Morvan the Curser.

    The Night Mistress knew the intricacies of the cult very well since the cultists worshipped her as an avatar of the goddess. It was a very convenient status, allowing for a lot of things. She rarely took part in services herself, though - she had a bad experience in the past, after which Medea and H��stin almost grabbed her by the arms, dissuading her from taking part in rituals.

    Anyway, Celesta assessed the interior of the temple from the position of a knowledgeable person, and she liked what she saw. Nothing superfluous, and at the same time - the canon was followed thoroughly, to the last detail. There were no hues of green or yellow in the decoration, living flames burned in front of the statues in the lamps, and frescoes portrayed images of tortured sinners or the deeds of the Dark One''s champions. The square stone columns that divided the central hall into three sections were lined with dark red granite and bore no trace of decoration. On the floor, the decorators had laid out sacred texts describing the concept of a deity in mosaics. The parishioners hardly read them, but rather mistook them for abstract patterns, as the number of experts in the highest vernacular grew fewer and fewer with each passing year.

    To the right and left of the massive cross, two human-sized statues of the younger deities were placed. Celeste approached the third on the left, a girl of about sixteen, seated on a disproportionately large throne of white marble. The goddess looked like an ordinary human teenager, without the slightest sign of a supernatural being, even her dress was plain, albeit well tailored. A hood covered the top of her face, leaving only her tightly pressed lips in view; her bare feet touched the foot of the throne with the tips of her toes. In her lap lay two bouquets - a stone one, dead, and a live one.

    "Asphodelus?"

    "The students of the Academy have an omen that if you give the goddess a bunch of Asphodelus, you''ll get a good ticket for the exam," Egard explained. "I don''t mind."

    "Your work?" Celesta glanced at her friend, who answered with the pure, honest look of a creature who knew no lies. "I see."

    She once told Medea that in her world the Asphodelus was considered a symbol of death and oblivion. The beautiful girl did not forget the story and later started a rumor that Celesta liked these flowers, which gradually turned into an informal personal emblem. Officially it was never used anywhere, but guardsmen, for example, often decorated their armor with it.

    "This is the first time I''ve been able to look at it without hurrying," the Mistress said as she walked around the statue in a circle. "Ceysan was a genius, after all. What happened to him?"

    "We tell everyone that he stabbed himself with a dagger in front of your image, realizing that nothing greater he could do," Egard answered calmly, ignoring the forbidding signs of the direct superior. "But he did drown in the latrine when he was drunk."

    "Creative people, they are," Celesta agreed, exchanging understanding glances with the Abbot. "Unpredictable. You know, he used to praise me immensely, call me his best model. He complained that the others couldn''t sit still for ten minutes."

    "He was immensely talented!" Medea stood up for the long-dead favorite. "There is no one like him, not now."

    "I''m not arguing. I''m just not sure that statue belongs here. Don''t you feel anything strange?" Mistress turned to Egard.

    He concentrated on his internal sensations, then shook his head negatively.

    "No, Mistress."

    "The workshop where Soldowiec worked was in the area of the Tyran Curse. The statue had stood there for fifty years. Then Medea visited her former home and moved some memorabilia, including the sculpture collection, to Zonna. For what reason you decided to install the statue in the temple, I don''t know, but the fact remains that rituals were performed over it, and for two hundred years believers have been praying in front of it. And most of them directly associate the image with me. Shall I go on?"

    "You feel a connection," Medea suggested with an assertive tone.

    "Exactly. A thin thread, which, nevertheless, is there."

    "I don''t think there''s anything wrong with the connection," Egard was the first to break the hovering silence. "On the contrary. After you return to Taleya, it will be easier for us to communicate, using the statue as a focal point. As for the possibility of harm... As you said, the channel''s narrow, so it''s not going to be able to do much damage. In an extreme case, you''ll just tear it apart."

    "It''s better not to take it to the extreme," Celesta grumbled. "You''re right. There''s no hurry. As long as there''s no danger, we won''t move the statue. They wouldn''t steal it, would they? Speaking of which, about the possibility of theft. What''s your relationship with the light priests, do they bother you much? Do they have a lot of incidents?"

    "On the whole, our relations are even, Mistress... Shall we go to the lower chambers? We can talk more comfortably there."

    "As you say, Egard. Lead on."

    There were many gods, doctrines of the divine, and as a consequence, various kinds of religious organizations in the expanses of the kingdom. The lion''s share came from before the catastrophe and was directly or indirectly related to the ancient Salvian pantheon, the beliefs of the people who created what later became the great Taleya. Of course, the Dark Ages and the gigantic human losses greatly affected theological thought, and now even the monastic orders, rightly claiming the continuity of tradition, interpreted their scriptures differently than they did before the Plague. In addition, new doctrines arose, preachers came from neighboring countries, and churches split over theological (and not just theological) differences, resulting in a motley mix of coexisting religions.

    The coexistence of sometimes diametrically opposed teachings was not always peaceful. In the first centuries of the Dark Ages, various destructive cults posed almost the main danger to a weak state, even greater than the proliferation of monsters, famine, and disease. Thanks largely to the cultists, the risens had an official "roof" - the security services needed someone capable of controlling the madmen, and intelligent, cooperative undead suited that role best. The vampires did even better than their handlers expected because seven centuries later Celesta''s authority among the worshippers of the darkness was unshakable. The doubters and the completely insane were gradually purged, and those who remained served as a layer between human society and their undead masters.

    The actions of Irrhan the Pious, or, in people''s memory, Irrhan the Fool, led not only to civil war. The schism occurred in the religious sphere as well. Teachings deemed "untrustworthy" by the official authorities were forced to flee south; those remaining loyal to the Taleya throne quickly fled to the north. Two decades later, tensions eased slightly, and the fugitives were allowed to return, some even getting their confiscated estates back, but not all took advantage of the opportunity. Since then, the division remained. Celesta was amused by the fact that the central monasteries of the most intolerant organizations, such as the Marr''s Arms or the Yellow Society, were located in Taleya and had to see the consequences of their predecessors'' actions daily. The temples of Blue Ang and the Sun, which had provoked Tyran to perform that insane ritual, had lost all significant hierarchs on the day of the Academy''s assault and had effectively ceased to exist.

    In contrast, many cults preaching the idea of equilibrium found refuge in Zonna. It was historically true that Prince Kono''s successors deliberately prevented religious movements from intensifying, limiting their interference in politics. The lords of Blueness were more than satisfied with the rivalry of many monasteries, temples, and cults, and they willingly granted permission to preach to all religions, except the blatantly black ones. Although, of course, the legal registration of the "Society of Virtuous Servants of the Lord of Justice," as the cult led by Egard was officially called, shocked even the local nihilists. But that''s okay, they ate it up and eventually began to take pride in exoticism.

    Medea never admitted how much money she had to spend on bribes or how many dignitaries she had seduced.

    To everyone''s delight, dual power flourished in the Zonna community. The Elder glittered in the society of mortals, scheming, meddling in politics, patronizing singers and artists, doing obscure things with the secret service, and generally enjoying her after-life to the fullest. Her first deputy did the day-to-day work and carried God''s word (in this particular case, rather Celesta''s) to the masses. Medea was the captain of the ship, Egard her first officer. During the voyage to the Land of the Blueness, the former had enlightened her friend on her line of work. Celesta now had a pretty good idea of what was going on in the highest circles of the state. Now it was Abbot''s turn to explain the intricacies of mutual wrangling among the priesthood.

    "One moment, Mistress," Egard pressed two unremarkable spots on the wall, and the massive slab of floor lifted, revealing a passage into the underground part of the temple. "Please."

    True to their habit of burying themselves wherever they could, the vampires were faithful to themselves here as well. There were no catacombs like Taleya''s in Zonna, so they built secret vaults, ritual halls, and sleeping chambers of their own, taking the utmost precautions.

    "We bought seven houses in the neighborhood and connected them to the middle floors of the underground," the Abbot said. "It''s safer that way. The congregation doesn''t have to openly visit the temple, and mortals can also come to services or reports without attracting unnecessary attention. There is a disadvantage, though, in that we have to renew often the protection against magical searches on the walls."

    "Are you monitored a lot?"

    "All the time. To be fair, the scrutiny is mild, one might say formal. The Royal Vigilantes are interested in whether we sacrifice more often than we should, and the hostile temples are more indicative of watching us than anything else."

    "Do the authorities know about human sacrifice and don''t mind?"

    "We quite officially get criminals in prisons," Egard shrugged without turning around. "They''ll be executed anyway. Everyone knows that the Lord of Darkness doesn''t accept pure souls, so there'' no complaints on that score."

    "I think I''m getting jealous," sighed Celesta. "How many floors are there?"

    "Five, Messena. Three people know for sure, the fourth is suspected, the fifth is the location of the clinic."

    "Are there any patients there now? I''ve been wanting to see how you do your surgeries for a long time."

    "Not at the moment, but if you stay a couple of days, there''s a young risen from Kinik coming in. He got into a bad fight with a ghostly scorpion and hurt his arm. My colleagues and I will try to straighten out his threads."

    Celeste nodded understandingly. Fights with mages or creatures that used magic to attack were particularly dangerous for the undead since they affected the energy component of the non-dead body. Simply put, if you cut off a hand with an ordinary sword, it would regenerate after a while. The speed of recovery depended on the age, the Path, the presence of blood, and the place of rest, other factors also influenced, were less significant, but the result was always the same. It was different when the same sword came out of the hands of a master artifactor. Regeneration could have weakened or stopped altogether, or gone the wrong way, growing stumps unable to bend instead of fingers.

    Vampires often fought with various magical creatures and, naturally, received wounds. Up to a certain point Celesta, too, wore the marks of battle, unable to get rid of them and only glad that her face was intact. Medea was more fastidious in this matter - she was irritated by the slightest imperfection of appearance, even if it was hidden by clothes. So she pounced on Hustin and his mentor at the first opportunity, demanding that they devise a method of removing the scars. The magicians resisted for a short time, because, firstly, the task was fully within their research, and, secondly, a beautiful woman is a beautiful woman, and it''s hard to argue with her.

    Vampire medicine evolved over the centuries and was always purely practical. There were few specialists in it. The overall small number of the undead was a factor, and the need for their services was rare. Many were able to heal minor injuries, and almost all of the elders had been trained to remove scars or minor curses. In the case of serious injuries, the wounded would either die a final death on the spot or be sent to a place where they could be helped.

    The increase in the number of skilled artifactors and priests that has happened in the last three hundred years has complicated the situation. The answer to the challenge was the founding of the Hall of Flesh, another idea of Medea''s, embodied by the genius of her former apprentice and, at times, lover. The Hall was originally created to correct the appearance of overly wanted vampires but later evolved into a full-fledged central hospital for the community, treating everything but mental illness. Celesta tried to fight the latter, and sometimes she even succeeded.

    Egard''s office was on the second floor from above, where the abbot led the dear guests. Medea''s silent bodyguards stayed in the small hallway so as not to disturb the conversation. The second most important risen of the city was simply but thoroughly comfortable (the Mistress had long noted his habit of a sort of ascetic comfort), with three armchairs in the room, one for the master and guests, a table, a sturdy cabinet full of books and scrolls, a pair of oil lamps, and a beverage stand in the corner. The vampires did not eat solid food, but they drank heavily, often, and with pleasure.

    The Abbot ran his hand along the wall, causing the chain of symbols to flare up and slowly fade away. Now no one would be able to overhear the conversation in the room.

    "The alchemists of the Society of Earthly Gifts recently discovered a funny herb," Egard said, offering cups of wine to his companions. "It grows somewhere in Azar. It does not affect humans, but its taste makes us sick to our stomachs. I ordered me to get a sample as soon as possible."

    "There was no trouble," Medea grimaced. "Not only are they always trying to pour consecrated wine, but now this!"

    Celesta remembered the information, asking aloud about other things:

    "Do alchemists have their own society?"

    "There are several of them, Mistress," the host explained as he sat down at the table. "Not so much the Orders, but the Production Companies. They make different quality compounds for sale and compete frantically for lucrative customers. They don''t train. Or rather, their libraries are open to their own, and masters are required to train apprentices, but in fact, no one really bothers."

    "Our agents?"

    "Two, in different societies. It would be more if I had a pool of mages available. Mistress, could you send at least a dozen more? I''m short of men."

    "There isn''t anyone. The Guild of the Dark is not as numerous as we would like it to be," Celesta said regretfully.

    "Pity. We try to recruit Academy students, but they are all under special supervision. It''s hard to work."

    In contrast to its ruined predecessor, the Academy of Magic of Zonna was an educational institution that taught mages. Of course, the nobles who went there also took classes in other important disciplines, including etiquette, literature, fencing, and horseback riding, but on a residual basis. The state needed wizards for the army and civil services, and everything deemed unnecessary was gradually eliminated from the program. Also, the State regarded the graduates as its own resource, not wanting to share them with anyone else.

    "You can tell me about the mages later, but right now I''m more interested in the priests. What are the largest and most influential orders?"

    "A difficult question, Mistress," Egard said in thought. "There''s no quick answer. The most influential, of course, is the Derkana cult because it is led by a Sovereign, but there are few sincere believers."

    "Perhaps we should start with believers. Most of the population is made up of peasants, who have it simple. They have a headman or an official in Derkan''s service; a priest is invited from the nearest monastery on special occasions once a year; at other times, they pray to ancestors, local deities, or some forest spirits, and anyone can be included in the latter category. If the village is close to the road, or if the men go to town to work, pilgrims, preachers, wandering monks, and the like will sometimes appear. External factors, the influence of which, in general, is small. The townspeople are a different matter. They have much more free time to think about high things, and there is money to donate to the temple they like. This is why religious life in the cities is boiling, there are many currents and they are different."

    Another thing that should be mentioned is monastic lands. The government does not approve of large land holdings in the hands of the priests and tries to limit their size, usually, one cult has one monastery. There may be many chapels, shrines, and temples in cities, but only one monastery. Exceptions are rare and are somehow tied to the Court parties.

    "Our consistent enemies are sects and movements closely associated with Taleya. The Saints of Fire, the Society of Celestial Purity, the Triad of Correctness - these can be called branches whose governing centers are located beyond the northern borders. They support courtiers who advocate rapprochement with the Taleyan kingdom. Of the "irreconcilables," only the Warriors of the Wolf God are of purely local origin, but they, despite their wealth, have a reputation for being rude and slightly crazy. So it would be correct to say that when relations between the two branches of the Dinir dynasty are warming, things are going badly, and when they are quarreling, on the contrary, it''s good for us.".

    Next comes a motley and numerous crowd of neutrals. We have no allies there, no outright enemies either. The attitude depends on a mass of factors, ranging from the personality of the head of the cult to the price of salt on the market. They will not make a serious effort to make a mess, and at the same time, they may or may not take the chance. They are dependent on the various factions at court, and in turn, patronize certain individuals. Two noteworthy orders are the Eternal Wheel of Law and the Children of the Unborn Mother. The first has the sympathy of several members of the Royal Family, so the legalists are allowed a little more than the others. For example, they have five monasteries. The latter has long been a court sect of the appanage princes of Barbashia, and their influence in the west of the country is extremely great.

    The next group can be tentatively called "unusual" to distinguish separately. The Higher Moral Society, for example, urges belief in any gods and to do any deeds, as long as they ultimately lead to good. Quite a popular doctrine among merchants. Their opponents in the League of Law claim that only consistent observance of rituals and state laws will lead to prosperity, they mostly worship ancestral spirits. They rely on the middle officialdom. We have normal relations with both of them, and they consider the risen as part of society, though with different philosophical justifications.

    Our special attention is directed to the Red Sands Doctrine; it came to us from the Azarians and still serves their interests. The Vigilantes are watching them, too. As a consequence, when the kingdom is at peace with the Sultanate, the sect is awash in money from abroad, and when war breaks out, the leaders'' heads stick out at the stake. We can''t work closely with them because of the dissatisfaction with the secret services and the high probability of provocation. Nevertheless, there are certain contacts, and they are even useful. There are no other influential exercises with foreign roots in the country. Our inhabitants consider themselves direct descendants of the ancients, who have preserved the culture and customs of a past era; other peoples are no more than barbarians to them. Hence the disdain for everything that comes from abroad.

    Mistress, I just listed the biggest cults and doctrines. There are all kinds, sometimes quite exotic. "The Finger Guides to Truth," with their orgies and obligatory deflowering of girls at age thirteen. The ritual cannibalism of the "Eternal Renaissance". The spiritual practices of the "Way of Late Heaven", after which not every follower stays sane. And keep in mind - every month the clerks of the Spiritual Order register new associations and cross off the lists of the old ones that have done something wrong in front of the authorities."

    "In other words, in ten years, the current influential players may disappear altogether."

    "That''s it, Mistress."

    "Is it possible that the system will change fundamentally? Will they introduce some kind of monotheism or, say, declare undesirable all those who are not related to the ancient Sylvian pantheon?"

    Egard pondered, and slowly shook his head:

    "It''s unlikely, Mistress. Of course, the concept changes slightly with each successive ruler, but no fundamental changes have been made since the days of Konir. And why should it? The dynasty benefits from the current state of affairs."

    "As if it can''t be changed," said Celesta calmly.

    Egard froze. He had no memory of the Old World, of the time before the Plague, his whole life and post-life had been under Dinir the Great and Dinir''s descendants. To the risen, the very idea that someone from a different dynasty of rulers might be on the throne was revolutionary, out of step with his mind. If anyone else had suggested it, he would have shouted, "Impossible!" But the little vampiress sitting in front of him made the first impulse go away.

    Medea laughed softly. She had long ago developed immunity to her friend''s crazy ideas, and the helper''s bewildered look was amusing.

    "Relax, Egard," Celesta waved her hand. "I''m not planning anything like that. I just want to remind you to consider all your options. You''ve got to think more flexibly. As you get older, you get used to thinking in patterns, and that''s bound to lead you into a trap in our circumstances."

    "I''ll...remember, Messena."

    "That''s fine. Actually, the problem is serious," she turned to Medea. "I''ve been noticing for a long time that many of our elders get lost in unconventional situations, and act insecure. We should do something, some tests, or something to come up with..."

    "I''d love to participate!" her sister''s eyes sparkled. "I''d love to!"

    "But that''s for later," she returned to the previous topic. "Right now I don''t understand people''s attitude toward us. To the temple of Morvan, I mean; we''ll talk about the risen kind separately."

    "We are supported by the mages, and therefore by the petty nobility, Mistress. The goddess Celesta has recently been considered the patroness of magic, though the canons are silent on the subject," Egard smiled. "She has been for four hundred years. The palace aristocracy, through the efforts of the Messena as a whole, does not attempt to get rid of the temple, though individuals are, of course, our consistent enemies. The aristocrats are in no hurry to help and donate, mostly ignoring us. The common people try to stay away, but on the whole, the Lord of Hell has a reputation as a harsh and fair god, so in a time of need they can stop by and pray."

    "Is there any chance that tomorrow or the day after tomorrow the authorities will decide to close the temple? How stable is our position?"

    "Quite resilient. Mistress, as long as we don''t pose a threat to the upper classes, we won''t be touched. And we act very carefully," the abbot assured Celesta. "So, if nothing changes, there''s no reason to worry."

    The mask of the decent girl cracked, and her hard-willed essence peeked out coldly from the rift. With a grin that made her features look menacing, the vampire mistress promised:

    "It''s bound to change, Egard. I don''t know what it is yet, but it will change."

    * * *

 Chapter 3

    Chapter 3

    * * *

    It''s hard to get a Child.

    To begin with, a vampire must find a person whose energy and, judging by the accumulated statistics, psyche are ready to accept the changes imposed. And a candidate who is perfect for one elder would not suit the other one at all. Then there is a period of preparation, during which the mortal is persuaded to accept the Dark Kiss. Celesta searched unsuccessfully for the romantic idiot who gave the name to the conversion process. She suspected her sister, but she stubbornly denied

    authorship.

    Is it possible to convert forcibly? Yes, absolutely. But the danger of getting a mad ghoul who hates his master is multiplied.

    After rebirth, memory loses its depth and clarity, and memories begin to seem alien. The least fortunate have no past at all, they even forget their name. For the first three months, the Child needs the constant presence of the master - not necessarily close by, just enough to feel him close by and be able to run up and touch him if desired. The vampire larva sleeps a lot, often drinks blood, and ineptly tries to get into the mind of the converter and look at the world through his eyes. The Child is not able to separate itself from the master until he is thirty years old and thinks in terms of his categories, so it cannot be called a full-fledged personality. After thirty, there comes a peculiar period of adolescent rebellion, when the vampire rediscovers the world for himself and tests his ideas, forming his system of values.

    A vampire finally becomes independent, passing from the category of children to the junior category, at about the age of fifty. He cannot yet withstand the rays of the sun, but he ceases to feel the depressing desire to be near the convertor and is able to leave him for an indefinite period of time. It''s a long time to grow up, a very long time. Of course, vampires don''t measure time the way mortals do, but for them, too, spending nearly half a century raising a chick is an ordeal.

    Nevertheless, many agree to it. Maybe it''s the instincts that drive even the undead to reproduce. Or maybe it is vanity, the desire to increase status - because only an older vampire is strong enough to bring a nestling to adulthood. I was not able to reject the banal desire to have a child of their own, to leave a descendant in case of death, or simply to find a faithful companion in eternity. In any case, the conversions happen often and do not cause a sensation.

    What guided Medea to give Birth-to-the-Darkness (another term that infuriated Celesta) to the first of her chicks, she could not tell for herself. Perhaps it was "I want it"! She had Devlin in front of her, converted by Celesta, and the technique had been proven and free of growth ailments, so when she met a beggar with a delightful voice on the way to Zonna, the impetuous beauty saw a sign of fate and did not hesitate to do so. Then somewhat regretted and repented - the child was not a toy but caused a lot of problems to the creator. Her friend laughed, listening to her complaints, and claimed that now Medea understands what it was like for her. When the grown-up Valerie left her second mother for her travels, the relieved Mistress of Zonna swore never to create another chick again.

    She had kept her oath for nearly three hundred years.

    Of course, the city''s vampires learned of the return of the Head of the Community the same day. The arrival of a dozen guardsmen, led by Messen Latham, a well-known figure in the inner hierarchy of society, gave more cause for gossip. What he was doing here, since he had never left the Mistress of the Night before, no one understood, so everyone was worried in advance.

    Medea sensed her younger daughter''s longing and joy, but the naughty girl showed resentment, and independence, and did not show up until the third night. It was when Celesta, having rested and thought over the events of the past two months, gathered herself to state the outcome of her reflections. So far only two, her sister and the captain of the guard. She would meet with the other Elders later. The will of the Mistress would be conveyed to the rank and file later, after discussions.

    "M-mistress!"

    The young vampiress''s stupor looked amusing, though it was somewhat out of place.

    "Hello, Fetista," Celesta smiled slightly as she sat in the chair by the fireplace. "Wait a moment. I''ll finish talking to your mother, and then you can talk."

    "Yes, Mistress!"

    Nodding like a wooden dummy, the girl bowed and, at Medea''s sign, walked out the door. To the very door, she had stormed through a dozen seconds before. Celesta shifted her mocking gaze to her friend:

    "Do I seem to be avenged?"

    "She''s not always like that!" The singer lifted her chin. "She''s just a little excited today."

    "Oh, I don''t insist that little Fetista change her line of behavior at all!" Mistress laughed. "Latham, stop frowning! You know very well that children can''t control their impulses, especially when they haven''t seen their parents for a long time. It''s already good that Fetista listened to Egard and generally behaved decently. I am surprised at all, Medea, how you dared to leave her alone."

    "I didn''t see any other choice," her friend grimaced. "Zervan and his pack had to be dealt with as quickly as possible and taking her with us... It was safer in Zonna."

    "Well, with Zervan your help wasn''t needed, but then who knew?" Celesta shrugged philosophically. "We haven''t learned how to read the future yet, though Vador is trying. Well, it''s for the best, after all, given Chesta''s experience. In any case, it will be a long time before you two are parted."

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    "Is it going to be a lot of work again?" Medea rolled her eyes dolefully. She didn''t seem particularly displeased, though.

    "Exactly."

    "As I said before, the existence of the Seven Rivers in its current form does not suit me. Now, after requesting more detailed information from Lascaris, I will formulate it differently - it is unacceptable for us. Every century the number of rebels coming to our territory from the steppe increases. Sattar has managed so far, but the night is not far off when they will find a way to cross the border. And then what? We''ve been building relationships with humans for centuries. No matter how arrogant some young idiots may be, mortals are capable of destroying us - and they will if they get the chance. They don''t touch us because they consider us a familiar and, most importantly, treaty-compliant evil."

    "The emergence of bloodthirsty maniacs will destroy the established picture."

    "Thus, the risens of the Seven Rivers must be destroyed. The problem is that it is impossible to destroy them. They are quite far away, and they have no unified leadership, but there is a passive but effective defense in the form of the steppe and subordinate barbarian tribes. Even if we manage to find a way to bring the expeditionary corps, the Guard and its assistants, into the Seven Rivers, the locals know the territory better and outnumber them. Much more! The mages cannot explain why there are still as many dead there as in the early years after the Plague, though in the rest of the world the number has dropped by hundreds of times."

    "High casualties are inevitable, so we cannot fight. And we must fight."

    "Ergo, it is up to the humans to fight. The mortals have the resources, and all that remains is to convince them that they, too, have the desire to destroy the nest of the servants of Evil."

    "In what way?" Medea, who was listening attentively, asked with sincere interest. She adored everything unusual and therefore always actively participated in her sister''s projects. "Being poorly versed in military affairs, I would hazard to assume that sending a thousand, even five thousand people is not enough here."

    She threw a questioning glance at Latham. The aristocrat had successfully mastered the skill of very expressive silence, managing to convey his opinions to the petite sovereign without words. Now he sat there, his whole body radiating skepticism.

    "With all due respect, Messena. Ventures of this kind are very difficult to carry out. An ordinary campaign to a neighboring country, against a familiar enemy, along long-established roads, requires a long organization and does not always succeed. Here we are talking about a long journey in a foreign land, surrounded by hostile steppe warriors, with an unclear goal with no tangible obvious benefit."

    "It''s beautifully phrased," Celesta saluted the cup. "I couldn''t have done better."

    "Yes, indeed, at first approximation the task seems impossible. However, if you look closely, it turns out that there is still a possibility. Only three things are needed for a successful campaign: money, people, and diplomatic cover."

    "The first is the easiest to deal with. Gardoman complained more than once that trade through Lascaris had become considerably less profitable since the Seven Rivers gained strength. The steppe tribes still sell leather, horses, felt, buy wood, and blacksmiths - in short, nothing has changed in this segment. There are far fewer wagons coming from the other side of the continent, from the remnants of the great Zirhab empire. Attempts to reach the islands of civilization there by sea have repeatedly failed, so the overland route remains the only way for furs and tin to reach us. I remind you - we have no tin deposits, we have exhausted them! Previously, merchants bought spices and other goods from us, took the Great Route westwards, returned in two years, and made a good profit. A hundred years ago the route was cut. Now merchants either have to make a long detour, too, passing through not the nicest places, or hire guards who demand a lot of money."

    "I am sure that the big trading houses will finance the campaign if they get guarantees of its success. We need to give them a clear justification, to convince them that the chances of a successful outcome of the venture are high."

    "Now about the people. Sending an army against the monsters - any monsters - is pointless and guaranteed to result in heavy casualties. Certainly, soldiers can slaughter the mortal population of Seven Rivers, depriving the risens of their "foraging base," but that only means that they will become a new one themselves. And capturing slaves for breeding would not be difficult. The terrain there is very difficult, hilly, with lots of ravines and other hiding places, and the risens can play cat-and-mouse with the army to no end. No, the Holy Crusade should consist of priests, monks, and professional monster hunters. Or should we go with the Light Crusade? Well, we''ll figure it out later."

    "Hence, one must convince cults, orders, monasteries, and societies to send followers to war. Far away, without much sense. In a normal situation, I would say that it is a futile exercise, but in this case, several factors are at play on our side."

    "First, we are talking about fanatics. In Taleya alone there is a large number of irreconcilable fighters against the Darkness, ready to go anywhere at the first call of the hierarchs. They will consider the Crusade as a form of service and will not be embarrassed by the hardships and difficulties, on the contrary, they will be pleased! And besides Taleya, there are also Lanaka, Blueness, and other countries that have enough active populations to trouble us. It would be nice to get rid of our enemies with other people''s hands. Second, about "getting rid of". Far from always and everywhere, secular power is not happy with the strengthening of religious power. On the contrary, a confrontation between the two is inevitable. From the point of view of part of the bureaucracy and nobility, the removal of the Order''s fighters or the monastic "holy warriors" can only be welcomed."

    "It is necessary to act through the court parties, not associated with religious structures. It is necessary to interest them in the project of the Holy Crusade, and then they will take care of the direct organization. It will not be possible to ignore the aristocrats. First of all, I''m talking about the feudal prince of Lash, his city will be the main beneficiary in case of success."

    "And finally, diplomatic support. We do not need the project to be derailed by another war between Taleya and Lanaka or Taleya and Blueness. The countries participating in the campaign should concentrate on one task, or at least feel confident that there is no threat of attack from their comrades-in-arms. Ideally, Taleya is the main driving force, while Blueness has troops on the border with the Azar Sultanate and Lanaka is at war with the Archipelago of Dragons. In other words, everyone is busy minding their own business and not thinking about breaking peace treaties."

    "What else... Latham, you mentioned the Steppe people. I do not foresee difficulties with them - it is enough to explain to the chiefs that it will be about the restoration of the Great Path. Old men still remember how much the tribes earned on escorting the wagons, the grandchildren they will convince themselves."

    Celesta was silent. The two risens waited, not daring to interrupt the leader''s thoughts. Finally, deciding that this was enough reasoning for now, she stepped back from watching the flames in the fireplace and looked at the two... Who? Friends? Companions? Vassals?

    "What is said now is nothing more than a preliminary outline. I want you to think about it, evaluate it, find the weaknesses, and tell me if it''s worth continuing the discussion or if it makes sense to come up with something else. A better one."

    * * *

 Sister

    Sister

    * * *

    Some events are so ingrained in the memory that they don''t fade even centuries later. For her, the meeting with Celesta was such a milestone.

    It would seem that by then she had endured much - the death of the world, the death of loved ones, filth, stinking rapists, hunger, death, rebirth, and a maddening, gut-wrenching thirst. All was forgotten, fused into a bleak gray background, sometimes surfacing in nightmarish dreams. Then she was left with meaningless, insane hope and nothing more. Strangely, the stupid feeling didn''t let her down.

    What made her trust the little ragamuffin risen? She doesn''t know. Some kind of gut feeling. In the gods, Medea sincerely believed, and at times it seemed to her that Morvan, also called the Lord of the Second Chance, had whispered in her ear. In any case, Celesta was a central part of her frame of reference, and she trusted her even more than she trusted herself.

    It seems that her daughters adopted this secret awe from her. Along with impulsiveness, selfishness, curiosity, and the desire to always be in the center of things!

    "Why didn''t you tell me Mistress is here!"

    Medea thought for the umpteenth time that she should spank. But she couldn''t get her hands on it and in vain.

    "Mistress does not leave Taleya, Fetista. Messena Celia of Klakansa, in Lanaka, is a guest in my house, don''t you dare call her otherwise."

    "I''m not stupid, I understand!"

    The chick pouted expressively, looking so cute that Medea couldn''t stand it, and came over and embraced the wretch. She did not break away, even demonstratively - she missed her. In her thoughts, complaining to herself that she would finally spoil the child, with a sigh Medea pulled her in the direction of the couch.

    "Sit. Tell me how are you."

    "I missed you," her daughter whimpered, laying her head on her lap. "Egard has tortured me. He wants me to learn the names of every village in the country that has at least one temple!"

    "He''s so cruel!" Medea laughed softly.

    "That''s the way it is! He likes inflicting pain and suffering, that''s not why he gave himself to the service of the Dark God!" half-jokingly, Fetista agreed. "You''re not leaving, are you?"

    "I don''t think so. I have a lot to do in Zonna, especially now."

    "It''s because of Elder Zervan, isn''t it?" turned the child''s head. "Egard said he betrayed us. Why?"

    "He decided he was smarter than everyone. And that the strongest of all, the laws are not for him," a deafening heavy irritation rose in her chest against her will. Sensing the change in her parent''s mood, the chick froze. "Wanted freedom, fool. What freedom? To do what you want, to kill whom you want? I remember that freedom. Sleeping in the sewers, rat''s blood for dinner, and rags for a dress. Lucky bastard - he''d be dying a long time in my hands!"

    It took an effort to suppress the outburst of anger.

    "Well, it''s all over now, isn''t it?" the chick asked cautiously. "He''s dead, isn''t he?"

    "I wish!" Medea shook her head. "Before he fled, Zervan gave the mortals a lot of valuable information. About our servants, our bank accounts, our secret hideouts, and communication channels. You have no idea yet how much damage he has done, just trust me. More than fifty vampires have died because of him, add to that those who succumbed to his speeches, followed him, and were killed by the guardsmen. We have not suffered such losses in four hundred years! And we still have to cut the tainted connections and hide the fugitives, creating new identities for them, finding them homes, and helping them to settle in their new places. Celesta contacts the servants every night and corrects their actions."

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    "You said she couldn''t leave Taleya."

    "She couldn''t before, but now the Curse has weakened."

    Fetista shuddered slightly. She''d been to Taleya once, visited the ruined Academy with her parent, and wandered through the catacombs, examining and memorizing the heart of the dead world. The world of the undead. The girl remembered the feeling of a bottomless pit beneath her feet, the Abyss, from the fall into which the thinnest partition woven from the strength and will of a single being kept her from falling.

    "I was so surprised when I saw her."

    "Oh, yes," the laughter rang through the room with tinkling bells, bringing the darkness to life. "You burst into the living room, almost kicking the door open! You know how to make an impression, honey!"

    The younger vampiress covered her face with her hands: "I thought you were alone!"

    "And you didn''t even stop before you went in! Messen Latham was shocked - he takes etiquette very seriously."

    "Stop it, don''t remind me!"

    Watching her daughter''s embarrassment was very amusing; Medea could not deny herself the pleasure. It is so pleasant to sit next to a loved one by the fire, feeling the sincere emotions coming from the connection, the pure love, devoid of additional shades. Fetista is in the simplest and happiest period of her life, and she doesn''t understand it yet, but her master, with whom the chick generously shares her feelings, does.

    It was a shame that she couldn''t relax completely. Thoughts kept slipping back to the conversation she''d had recently.

    Celesta was seldom wrong, and never globally wrong. Her crazy ideas, on closer inspection, turned out to be deliberate and risk-proof, and fit within the framework of a single strategy. Slow growth, the next step always builds on the results of the previous one. Before you take a bite, think about how you will swallow. Guaranteed superiority in strength. Medea smiled mentally, remembering how once upon a time a friend ran after her with an aspen stick, shouting: "You can''t sacrifice strategy for tactics! Never! At all!" What kind of adventure was she proposing to get into then? It had completely slipped her mind.

    Her sister was probably right about that. The former singer had an average grasp of large-scale warfare and long-range campaigning. She was an excellent dueling swordswoman, of which few people knew; she was skilled with a woman''s glaive and throwing knives; from numerous lovers and acquaintances she had picked up various knowledge of the army, without going into detail, however. Thanks to the same sources, she understood something about commerce - not at the level of buying things you liked in a shop, but on the scale of the economy of a large region. But what she was justifiably good at was politics and court intrigue.

    Personal experience told Medea that an alliance considered impossible yesterday might be perceived as commonplace tomorrow.

    It turns out that there are no fundamental objections to the very concept of the Holy Crusade. Although making a poisonous bunch of vipers, skilfully pretending to be the conductors of the divine will, to work together to achieve one goal is a tremendously difficult task. Here, indeed, without an external will, preferably the monarch''s, can not do. You can''t help but wish that someone like the fool Irrhan were on the throne. Someone like that just needs to hint that there''s a Dark Powers enclave somewhere, and he can do the rest on his own, regardless of the cost or the objections of the ministers. Pity, pity there aren''t more of them. The dynasty has concluded from the schism, too religious heirs are quickly stripped of their status. Some take monastic vows, some fall from a horse, one, I remember, drowned in a river...

    An idea that is great in theory, when put into practice, runs the risk of encountering a lot of pitfalls. The details must be carefully thought out. Which temples will be happy to participate, and which ones will have to be persuaded, to choose arguments in advance, including force arguments. How many troops are needed, and how much money. However, the people and financing will be handled by others, she will have to persuade the crowd of court hypocrites not to prevent the Taleyans from recruiting fanatics. Nor has anyone relieved her of the task of subduing the risens of the sultanate and securing a safe road to Birat.

    Wonder if it''s possible to combine the two?

    * * *

 Chapter 4

    Chapter 4

    * * *

    People have forgotten much of the achievements of a bygone era; they have consciously abandoned much of it. From sewage and hygiene - they could not. To the great happiness of the townspeople, despite a large number of horses, one could walk along the sidewalks without fear of getting into a pile of manure, and the streets were cleaned quickly and promptly. Every morning, the janitors went through their sections, shoveling the accumulated waste into special places, from where it was partly taken out of town and partly washed into storm drains, only to find its way through the complicated paths to the nearest river. Sometimes, of course, there were exceptions; a horse would break a leg and then be slaughtered in the middle of the street and then wait a few days for it to rot before being dismembered into pieces. If the owner had a tag permit from the administration, the municipality would take care of the removal; otherwise, the costs were borne by the owner''s purse.

    Sometimes, however, things were simpler.

    "They''re having a party tonight," Celesta nodded at the flock of waifs swarming around the horse carcass. "They can eat their fill of meat, and sell the hide and bones to the slaughterhouse. They''ll get dirty, of course, but they''re used to it."

    "Does Messena care about the realities of life for the commoners?"

    "Messena vaguely remembers a society in which children were necessarily taken care of by adults. Street children did not exist at all."

    Latham shrugged slightly. He had been indoctrinated with an entirely different morality; he saw nothing strange in the murder of the inferior by the superior, nor in the ragged children starving to death in the market squares. By his standards, the Mistress had, at times, shown utterly inordinate humanity. As well as equally inhuman cruelty.

    "Dare I ask where we are going?"

    "To the street of Northern Lights. I want to see what they''re selling."

    "Is it wise...?"

    "Come on, Latham, no one will recognize us there. We''re shielded from mystical vision, and the chances of meeting someone we know are slim. And even if they do, so what? It''s nearly midnight."

    For two elders, one of whom specialized in mental influence, it is not difficult to cloud the mind of a crowd or an individual. It''s even easier for a crowd. In daylight, it might not work, but at night? The victim''s magical powers won''t seriously change the situation.

    The street of Northern Lights got its current name after the mages who fled from persecution began to open trading shops on it. Many small nobles had estates left in the north, confiscated, ruined, or simply unable to get money from them, so they did what they could. Most, of course, went into the army to fight for the rebel prince, while the rest sought other ways to provide for themselves and their families. Trade was considered unseemly, and attitudes toward magic ranged from neutral to sharply averse. Nevertheless, some dared to sell weak amulets and alchemy of their own making.

    There were few good mages among them. There are generally few of them, the average skill level is still woefully low, and children with magical abilities are sought after from an early age by priests whose status in society is more prestigious. And yet, it suddenly turned out that the crafts were in great demand and sold, despite the dubious quality. Looking at the success of the starters, they were joined by their colleagues - the same poor nobles who differed from the common artisans only by their origin and gift. Gradually the street grew, the skill of the artifactors improved and they became rich.

    Despite the late hour, the place was bright. Every shop necessarily installed a powerful lamp in front of the entrance, which served, in addition to attracting attention, as a kind of warranty of quality. It showed that the local owner was strong magically and experienced enough to enchant an item. The neighbors didn''t allow them to exhibit fakes or someone else''s work - the locals tried to keep up their mark and gladly drowned unsuccessful competitors.

    "Look how many people there are," Celesta said.

    "Tradition, Messena. Nobles do not like to get up at dawn, their day is shifted to nighttime. Merchants are drawn to follow."

    "Consider, too, that ordinary townspeople are not rich enough to buy candles or lamp oil regularly. If they had cheap light sources, they''d be in bed longer, too. Where do we go?"

    "Where Messena wants to go, I have no preference."

    "If that''s the case, then to the nearest shop. Right here."

    In Zonna, too, they hung "spirit bells" at the entrances, a set of tiny tubes that sounded like they were supposed to ward off evil. They did not affect vampires, unlike the signs that adorned the walls of almost every building. But it wasn''t enough to scratch out the signs; they had to be placed in the right order, preferably in the right place, at the right time. A good caster will also recite an ancient incantation that imprints the symbols in stone or wood, giving them additional strength. Few people adhered to the rules, so it was generally easy for vampires to find their way into the marketplace. And, for unknown reasons in public places the symbols weakened quickly and lost their power.

    "What can I do for you, sir, ma''am?" The pomaded clerk jumped up at once.

    Latham looked at him with displeasure - he did not like the local fashion of men to paint their faces - and Celesta realized that it was up to her to communicate with the salesman.

    "My uncle and I aren''t looking for anything in particular," she smiled sweetly. "We heard a lot about the unsurpassed art of the Northern Lights artisans back home, so we thought we''d stop by and take a look. What have you got?"

    "Oh, we have just about anything that might interest a young lady!" the clerk rolled his eyes. "This way!"

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    While the "mask" was asking questions and going through the trinkets, Celesta herself was trying to assess the goods on display under the glass windows. An expensive pleasure, by the way - not many people can afford to install glass, even if it''s cloudy. The Mistress was not a magician in the full sense of the word; even in blood magic, a section created by Hustin at the intersection of classical ritualism and vampire abilities, she had only mastered the initial stages. There was never enough time. But her knowledge and abilities allowed her to roughly check the workings of the artifacts, enough to give her a verdict.

    Not very good. Not quite garbage, but not the highest level either.

    The seller was not lying about the wealth of choice. There were about sixty poison-analyzer rings alone, in all sizes and to any taste. For men and women, there were gold and plain-looking bronze ones, with and without stones. Nearby were bracelets with the same function, similar ones, only with shield charms, pins to ward off the evil eye, and much more. A separate cabinet was set aside for elixirs, mostly cosmetic, though a row of universal ones lined the lower shelf - healing, stimulating, night vision. The vampiress bowed her head and whispered, her eyes narrowed toward Latham: "Do you have anything for combat? Preferably in a gift box?"

    "Alas, ma''am," the clerk answered just as quietly. "We don''t sell any of those things. At the end of the street, go to the Red Shield; they specialize in the sale of everything related to military affairs."

    "I''ll take this pendant to go with my blue dress, and this pretty bracelet," Celesta announced with a nod. "Uncle, I''ve got it!"

    Without saying a word, Latham, who was standing bored at the side, came over, looked at the purchases, turned his gaze to the merchant, and raised an eyebrow questioningly. One, the right one. Merchant answered instantly: "Six gold pieces, noble lord!"

    "Blessed," Latham corrected him. The clan magic did not abandon the undead son, the altar of ancestors accepted the sacrifices made, so the nobleman did not refuse the family name, even if he did not voice it aloud.

    The bowed back sagged even lower.

    "Please forgive the foolishness of the unworthy, the insignificant dust beneath the feet of the blessed of the higher good!"

    "Your money," the coins were placed on the padded counter. "Come, Celia."

    After picking up their purchases, the mistress and her faithful companion made their way to the recommended Red Shield. The seller was not deceived - at first glance this shop really contained everything necessary in the dangerous warrior craft. Armor, weapons, attacking, defensive and support artifacts, various potions for people and horses, enchanted harnesses, tents, and there was even a fortified wagon in the yard. Most of the work here was made to order, though samples hanging on the walls were sold without question. Mistress counted a hundred pieces of knives alone. The owners were justifiably wary of thieves - the merchandise was probably worth thousands of gold pieces, more expensive than many baronies - so they didn''t skimp and hired a good craftsman to install an alarm system. Only it was not aimed at vampires, but simply at those who came with hostile intentions.

    Latham was in earnest at this point. He did not need elixirs, his mages provided the guards with everything they needed, but he stuck to the weapon racks. Celest�� did not disturb him. She, too, was quite good at weapons and armor, it just seemed strange if a girl with her looks started discussing the quality of enchantment of any sword or spear on a professional level. Strangeness attracts attention.

    About half an hour later, she decided it was time to distract the helper.

    "Uncle," sang the Mistress in a sweet voice. "Perhaps you should come here later and not alone."

    Latham stopped in mid-sentence and looked around with mild surprise.

    "Indeed. I think I will, Celia," he reluctantly returned the clerk a slightly smaller pair of gauntlets that fit him. "I will need to equip ten men. The order will not be ready until we leave Zonna. Can you send it to Taleya?"

    "Of course, Messen, we often do that."

    "In that case, see you tomorrow."

    With respectful bows (the shopkeepers were quick to estimate the caliber of fighter they were visiting), they left the shop and headed further down the street. There were fewer people and no one was listening, so the risens spoke freely.

    "While you were looking at the assortment, I got one of the clerks talking. The Red Shield''s main customers are not so many noblemen as demon hunters. By the way, notice how the terminology has changed over the centuries: first, they were called monster hunters, then they were undead hunters, and now they''re demon hunters. Though their prey is the same creatures."

    "It''s quite natural, Messena. At first, people remembered that the same wolfhounds or gobblers were of earthly origin and had nothing to do with mysticism. Then for a long time hunters were associated with the destruction of ghouls and those risens who dared to challenge your power. In recent centuries there have been fewer ghouls, on the one hand, while at the same time ordinary mortals see no difference between real demons and dangerous creatures with magical powers. Hence the confusion of names."

    "I think so," Celesta agreed, and then she changed the subject. "So you appreciate the skills of the local spellcasters."

    "Not really, Messena," Latham answered abruptly. "Compared to our artifactors from the Dark Guild, they are not much better. In addition, our mages originally create things taking into account the differences in physiology, so in general, the goods from the "Red Shield" even lose. However, the locals, due to a large number of customers and high competition, which we do not have, have discovered a lot of useful little things. Let me give you an example. I just saw a knife with an ice spell embedded in it. We make the same kind here, but here they''ve managed to add the ability to draw energy from the wearer in addition to the basic spells. A seemingly insignificant little thing that will increase the frequency of the knife''s use. And so in everything."

    "That''s why you decided to provide the Guard with an extra set of toys. Rimnar will eat your brain with a teaspoon," Mistress foretold. "To both of us."

    A risen named Rimnar belonged to Elder Gardoman''s retinue, where he was responsible, among other things, for financing the Guard. He was an excellent specialist, reliable, a pedant with a perfect memory, but also a terrible nuisance.

    "He''ll have to put up with it. We are too few to skimp on equipment."

    "Absolutely... Which begs the question - shouldn''t we buy a couple of squads of hunters?"

    Latham looked at the thoughtful Mistress with surprise: "I''m afraid my mind can''t keep up with the twists and turns of my blessed Mistress''s mind."

    "Because they, my thoughts, constantly revolve around the Seven Rivers," Celesta confessed. "I hadn''t paid much attention to the region before, and now I realize that I should have. A mistake on my part. If there really are as many uprisings as the rumors say, we must find out why. Vampires are few, less than two thousand for the three kingdoms and principalities. At least five thousand are necessary for the sustainable development of the race."

    "No matter what the future course of events may be, it is necessary to send explorers to the Seven Rivers. If the campaign happens, if it fails, or if it ends with a complete cleansing of the risens, we will have to ensure that our wizards can work. Consequently, we will need guards. Cultists would be useless, and we have no great fighting force, but demon hunters would be perfect. So why not buy up a couple hundred beforehand? The one-time contracts you make when you need them won''t work in this case; we''re talking about long-term cooperation."

    "A small army of mortals will do the job," Latham admitted. "But they''ll be tied up with us in no time."

    "As far as I understand the traditions of the Land of Blueness, no one will touch the hunters as long as decorum is maintained," the Mistress remarked. "I''ll have to check with Medea. It seems to me that they will be based in Blueness, but they will be working in other lands, in Taleya, in the Sultanate, in the Archipelago. In the steppe and beyond. If we can find common ground with the local Vigilantes, they''ll cover us, too."

    * * *

 Knight

    Knight

    * * *

    The deceased Zervan should be thanked.

    When the thought first crossed his mind, he froze for a few moments, amazed at the nonsense he was getting. Thank - who? A nobody with no honor or sense of duty, who had no merit other than survivability and an animal instinct that told him who had the power? The latter, moreover, had failed him. The twice-dead man deserved nothing but contempt. When the same thought flashed through his mind a second time, he thought seriously.

    He never regretted his decision to stand behind his Mistress'' shoulder, to lay his blade at her feet. Not literally - she dislikes grand gestures and extra pathos, simplifying etiquette to a minimum. He walked to his current position for a long time, doubting, trying to understand the will of the gods who had prepared such an unusual path for him, refusing to accept the inevitable. It had been suggested that he should be executed, for the heir to an ancient family that was as old as the duchy''s - the Dinir did not call themselves kings at the time - could not be a ghoul. At the time, execution seemed the only decent thing for him to do.

    It seemed so until a little short girl with an icy gaze and a steely, unyielding will entered the cell where he was placed.

    Never before had he been so humiliated. In words. Without a single insult.

    Later he learned that Celesta''s own position in the security structure was very precarious. She was, to put it mildly, disliked, dumped with the most unpleasant tasks, almost openly called expendable material. All the more respect for the dignity with which she held. No fawning, not looking for a patron, tried to protect het older friend, carefully explained the cynical truths of the commonplace for him. Gradually, piece by piece, she reclaimed her freedom.

    He did not immediately recognize her supremacy, but once he did, he never repented.

    The fight with the mad priest turned into a Judgment of God and the Curse that was stopped did not fundamentally change his attitude. They cemented, reinforced a loyalty nurtured over the centuries. As a descendant of an ancient (truly ancient, not what the word now implies) family, he knew far more about magic, the gods, and their influence on the world than others, so he understood better what had happened. A long time ago this was how the gods had blessed the first sovereigns, giving them a tiny fraction of their power, confirming their claims to power. Mistress Celesta had finally formalized her status and had become a fully legitimate ruler in his eyes.

    He had to admit, with the realization came relief. Before, he had doubted whether he had the right to break the vassal oath given to the present king''s ancestor. Now the ambivalence was gone - a higher power had confirmed his choice.

    The first hundred years of independence were not easy. They had to constantly intrigue, keep an eye on people, come up with unconventional ways out of difficult situations. Then the threat declined, the traditions of the undead had settled, the mortals, too, had come to terms with the vampires who had broken their shackles and began to press less. Life became quieter, calmer, more monotonous.

    He didn''t immediately notice how Mistress began to... fade.

    No, she worked on things, still carefully delving into all the nuances, conceiving some new projects, keeping a close eye on the actions of adversaries from among the temples and special services. Not so. The fervor was gone. Sometimes Celesta came alive, especially during Medea''s visits, but mostly she lived as if by inertia. He even ventured to bother Maitre Garresh to inquire of the minister of True Light whether the seal placed on the failure into the Abyss might be undermining the Mistress''s will. He could not find Garresh, who had disappeared, and he was not at all upset - he knew that the seal had nothing to do with it.

    Or did it have some effect? I don''t know now. The two events - the final formation of the seal and Zervan''s betrayal - occurred at the same time. Almost, the difference of a couple of months did not matter. In any case, it was as if the outburst of rage had shaken off a thin layer of ash from Celeste''s emotions, recharging her with energy and spurring her to action. At the Mistress''s word, bribes were handed out, reams of carefully saved dirt were tossed, "accidents" were set up, lit shelters were abandoned without regret, and new ones were urgently created. The elder himself was never left alone for a moment; he constantly felt the breath of the chase on his shoulders and most likely bitterly regretted what he had done.

    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    He feared that after the traitor''s death the brief period of activity would end, Celeste would return to a melancholy, frightening state. Fortunately, his fears were not borne out. It was as if the mistress had awakened from her sleep and began to quickly solve the difficulties that arose, firmly bringing relaxed subordinates to their senses, suppressing the slightest attempt at resistance. At last she began to plan for decades to come, not doubting her right to change the destinies of peoples.

    "We''re almost finished, Messen Latham," Vantal reported to the captain. "It''s not a bad shop, ours is not as good as this."

    "Maybe we''ll visit it often in the next ten years," Latham replied quietly to his subordinate. "Misstres is dissatisfied with the state of affairs in Azar, and has other plans."

    "Is that so? Well, I like Zonna, it''s a beautiful city. Then don''t take warm cloaks?"

    "Take. It is quite possible that we will have to act in the principalities as well."

    Vampires suffered from the cold much less than mortals, but they preferred to spend their energy rationally. Why drink blood and cure frost-cracked skin when warm clothing would suffice?

    The amount of purchases came out a decent amount, the captain prepared in advance for a flood of complaints from the financiers. They know how to spoil the mood. However, in this case long disputes are not expected - Messena clearly ordered not to save on preparations.

    To be or not to be the Holy Crusade is decided now. It is they two, Medea and her closest aide, who can convince the Mistress to give up the idea of organizing mortals to fight a shared dark enemy. The other influential risens either cannot or will not. Gardoman, despite his cunning and mastered manners, remains a peasant headman at heart, his opinions easily predicted and easily manipulated. Hustin is a genius magician, but trusts Celesta completely in matters of politics. Kalderan loves cunning combinations and will agree to organize a campaign at least out of love of art. Merck will never go against the will of the Mistress. The others are less powerful, their word will not outweigh what will be said here.

    If so, the Crusade will be In any case, they have to try.

    Medea had already made it clear that she agreed, he... The idea still seemed insane to him, but the longer he thought, the better he realized that the insanity was very rational. A paradox common to the mistress. The task was complex, for its implementation had to take into account the interests of many factions - some to seduce the possible benefits, others, on the contrary, to weaken or even destroy. And it was to act mainly in the land of Taleya, where the government was the least favorable to vampires. On the other hand, their unofficial influence in the kingdom is also very large, secret societies have been created there for centuries and penetrate their nets into the deepest corners.

    Remembering the hidden structures that support vampires, Latham twitched his upper lip irritably, expressing his displeasure in no other way. After the damage he''d suffered recently, it would take a long time to recover. The bastard Zervan had destroyed a lot of things. Each Elder ran a particular segment, a direction, and by virtue of his status was aware of his neighbors'' affairs. Mistress, through Merck, controlled religious groups ranging from rabid fanatics to those who displeased the official cults and therefore had to go into hiding. With Hastin''s help, she also developed the Dark Guild, a motley collection of small groups of wizards who did whatever they wanted. In the Guild there was a charlatan next to a strong educated mage, and there were as many potionsmiths as there were fighters.

    Zervan was in charge of street crime. Organizing tribute collection from gangs, issuing permits for brothels, dealing drugs, covering prostitutes. More "decent" activities, such as smuggling, bribery of officials, or real estate speculation, were more in the domain of Gardoman and Kalderan. They were the ones who suffered the most from the betrayal.

    As Captain of the Guard, Latham was engaged in the personal protection of his Mistress and in contacts with the high aristocracy. His origins, his way of thinking, the manners and upbringing instilled in him as a child allowed him to be regarded as one in a small circle of people who could trace the history of their families back thousands of years to the Plague. Of course, his undead nature was known. So what of it? Some things stay forever, death means nothing to them.

    Latham''s agents were not harmed in any way; what happened would not affect them. So much the better. If the idea of the Holy Crusade succeeds in getting the aristocrats interested, then thay can say that half of the job is done. All that remains is to solve the purely technical issues.

    * * *

 Chapter 5

    Chapter 5

    * * *

    In addition to the senior assistant, two other people helped Medea run the community: Kamish and Pekar. The first dealt with money and economic matters, the second with everything else. A third would soon appear, only Celesta had not yet decided who. She really didn''t like Egard''s request to send more mages. He shouldn''t be the one to ask for help with the mages - Egard should be recruiting future geniuses at the largest educational institution in the known world and providing them to the rest of the cities!

    If he doesn''t understand such obvious things, we need to find someone who can push him in this direction. It is not advisable to remove Egard - he does everything else well, there are no complaints about him. But that''s for later, Celesta would think of a suitable candidate later, now she wanted to talk to Pekar.

    Medea was squeamish about street crime. Of course, she did her dirty business on a serious level, which meant that in her two brothels the girls got as much money per night as not every peasant woman earns in a year. The luxurious furnishings matched the prices. Nevertheless, the community had its finger on the pulse, knew the leaders of the above-average size gangs by name, and they also knew whose territory they should not enter, otherwise they might get hurt. The established scheme of relations suited all and rarely failed, periodic inevitable attempts to violate the status quo Pekar suppressed by their own forces. Celesta could recall only one time when she had to send five guardsmen to Zonna to help the locals in this matter.

    With Zervan and his assistants gone, the Mistress intended to extend the useful experience to the rest of her domain.

    "Mistress," the risen stood up at her arrival and bowed respectfully.

    "Judging by your lack of surprise, Pekar, everyone knows I''m here," said Celesta.

    "Only among vampires, Messena Celesta. We withheld the information from humans."

    "Are you sure we don''t have any informants of the Vigilantes among us?"

    "Of course there is, Mistress," smiled Pekar. "If it pleases you, they will inform their employers of your visit."

    "Your confidence is encouraging. I guess not," Celesta decided. "People believe the Night Mistress of Taleya is in Taleya, and she can''t leave. I''d have to be careful not to shatter the reassuring illusions; it''s a thankless task."

    One of the city''s most powerful vampires had taken up residence in the back of a large inn owned by a family that had served the dark kind for generations. The place was crowded with visitors, and they ranged from ordinary artisans to noblemen who had come to town on business. It was easy to enter the inn complex, even easier to get lost among stables, barns, and other outbuildings, but it was almost impossible to get into Pekar''s office directly without a guide. Celesta was accompanied by Ral, Medea''s dapperly dressed bodyguard, and that was the only reason the two guard posts let the visitors through without question.

    Pekar, of course, recognized the mistress. She got to know all the vampires out of childhood and capable of visiting Taleya in person. She talked to them, answered their questions, and asked them herself, trying to figure out what her new subject was worth and where she could best place him. Someday this practice, established in the first centuries of the new era, will disappear, but for now it is effective. Besides, the elders of the larger communities often reported to Celesta through sorcery, so it could be said that she knew Pekar quite well.

    "It''s easier and harder for us at the same time," he reasoned as he poured the tea into cups. "We have a disproportionate number of young ones who follow the paths of Art. The example of the town''s ruler has an effect on us, and the general atmosphere... A heightened emotionality does far less harm than following primitive instincts. Besides, unlike Taleya, we did not seek to use crime in the first place, we did not need to."

    "Often the lower classes know better than the upper classes," Celesta said. "For instance, if there''s a new risen somewhere, they''ll be the first to know."

    "Certainly, Mistress. No problem: poor people know that we pay well for interesting information, so we are informed of cases with possible mystical overtones even earlier than the guards."

    "What about the religious aspect?"

    There were many cults serving Morvan, and the cults were different. Some proclaimed purification through destruction, others sought self-improvement through trials (Mistress personally launched the thesis "everything that doesn''t kill us makes us stronger"), the complex philosophy of the cult of absolute violence was reduced to a simple "he who is strongest is right". Some felt it necessary to kill a man at least once a year, others sought a balance in relations, professing the principle of eye-for-eye; there were those who spoke of non-resistance to evil. One way or another, everyone worked with dirt.

    "The Land of the Blueness is a tolerant state. The government, of course, clamps down on destructive cults, but as long as the law is observed, they are not touched. At the domestic level, things are a little more complicated, servants of Morvan are treated with fear and hatred, and in some places they can be killed. But then again, the higher the level of education, the more relaxed the mortals are towards the cults."

    "Weird. My personal experience tells me that it''s easier to work with the beggars."

    "With beggars, yes; with poverty, no. When a people has nothing at all, they will agree to trade their blood and cooperate with anyone. When they has something, they becomes cautious, tries to keep what they has, and is less cooperative. Educated people, that is, nobles and rich merchants, show a different mindset. More skeptical. They believe rumors less and are guided by their own opinions, hence the desire to sort things out, to talk. Unless, of course, we''re talking about fanatics."

    What she heard coincided with Celesta''s opinion. Certainly it would be easier for vampires to deal exclusively with the higher levels of the human hierarchy. The problem was that they didn''t have that option - they had to keep a close eye on all levels to detect a threat to the community. It was those who followed the paths of the Beast who kept an eye on the lower levels. They were good at their duties, primarily because they spoke the language of brute force, the only language the bottom dwellers understood.

    Besides, she couldn''t imagine Zervan talking about poetry or any other abstract subject. He could barely do without foul language with her. He didn''t want to change; he was perfectly happy with his way of life.

    "The Beastly Paths are simple and alluring," Celesta summed up her reasoning. "Many will inevitably choose to set foot on them. What to occupy them with? They can''t be left unsupervised, and not everyone is willing or able to learn. Controlling crime forces them into serious business and forces them to play by clear rules. You can''t leave them to their own devices - they''ll go astray. As it is, they die more often than anyone else."

    "We don''t have many fans of the Beast," Pekar responded. "There''s no problem."

    "You don''t," the mistress agreed.

    In all other countries there are.

    Two other factors affected the severity of the choice. The guards were used to going to the vampires in case of any serious incidents to deal with the problem, and they, as a rule, dealt with it. In the recent past, Baron Masai''s mansion was stolen, and he immediately expressed his dissatisfaction to the head of the city detectives. Given the baron''s influence in court, the chances of being thrown out of office were high. Detectives turned to the vampires, they shook their clientele, as a result of stolen goods returned in record time. In return, the guards were accommodating, too, turning a blind eye to some minor violations of the law.

    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

    If the intelligent undead suddenly leaves the streets, cooperation will cease.

    The second point, oddly enough, was altruistic in nature. Many of the risens remembered their lives as humans, and they did not want to turn into demons, into sentient monsters. Each of them drew a line for himself that must not be crossed, but that line certainly existed. The trouble was that people sometimes did things that made bloody orgies pale in comparison. Maniacs who abused caged girls for years. Brothels where perverts beat five-year-old children to death with whips. Sophisticated aesthetes of death who fed babies to hungry dogs. All this scum sometimes sat so high that they could not even be investigated, let alone punished.

    The vampires weren''t embarrassed by the titles... They rightly believed that the Helllord''s chosen ones could send souls to Him without passing formal sentences. Celesta didn''t object, making the only condition that they inform her beforehand.

    Finding out about such cases and investigating them will also become more difficult.

    They will have to do without a unified formula. Now the heads of urban communities will determine the format of interaction with the bandits. In principle, this was the case before, it was just that Taleya served as a model, they were guided by her. In addition, Zervan was often away from the capital to clean up particularly annoying gangs in coordination with the local authorities, one might say, mercenary, at the same time bringing his vision of the situation. Now the elder was gone, there was no one to replace him, and probably there was no reason to.

    Why did she go to Zonna?

    To herself Celesta could tell the truth - she was ready to go anywhere, as long as she didn''t go home. For four hundred years, four damned hundred years, she had been chained to Taleya, unable to leave it. Toward the end, she caught herself perceiving the city, with all its three hundred thousand population, as if it were a vast personal prison. Mistress of the Night, ha! A prisoner who is willingly put on a chain.

    Fate loves a sad joke. Celeste had waited a long time for her liberation, dreaming of where she would go first, but because of the crisis she was in, she did not notice the freedom that came. She didn''t realize right away that the bond that had chained her to the abyss had weakened and thinned. When she realized that she had to go where she had to go, not where she wanted to go. She had to hunt down the fugitive elder and his retinue before he could do any more damage.

    Medea''s offer came just in time. Celesta felt like a little more and she would hate the Capital.

    In Zonna, she almost rested, almost did nothing. It would have been impossible, if she had wanted to, to completely disengage from work, not in her position. At the top of power, you either control the situation, or you quickly fall from the top. Instead, she could put aside non-urgent business for long talks with her sister by the fireplace, walk through unfamiliar streets pretending not to notice the guards, look outside at the unusual architecture of temples, or simply admire the decorated embankments as she passed in a hired boat. Buying nonsense at the market, fooling around, accepting the advances of a foolish young mortal, listening respectfully to the admonitions of a serious lady ten times younger than herself.

    The Mistress began to pay attention to the little things, long forgotten for lack of use. To the awe with which the mortal servants looked at her. The ant-like bustle in the small garden behind the house. The guardsmen guarding the square, not daring to disobey her orders, but not willing to leave her unguarded either. She noticed how Latham looked at some of the local vampires and remembered the hint he''d dropped about increasing the guard. With mild surprise, she caught herself envious and mildly jealous as she looked at the relationship between Medea and her youngest daughter. For the first time in a long time, she wondered if perhaps she, too, should have a child. It had been two centuries since Devlin''s death; it was time to get over it.

    It was her natural stubbornness that prevented her from forgetting everything and enjoying her sudden rest. Celesta knew this quality and didn''t think it was a bad thing, but it was annoying at times. As long as there was an unresolved problem, she would return to it time and time again, making plans and trying to find a way out, demanding more information and monitoring the slightest changes. Recently, the Seven Rivers had become such a problem.

    Zervan, no matter what Medea said, was her personal mistake, her miscalculation. It was she who failed to notice the threat - a threat primarily ideological, previously unseen. With the execution of the traitor, the danger had not disappeared. How many more vampires will succumb to sweet talk? How many will want to taste permissiveness? It''s not over. They have to finish what they started. She was not at all embarrassed by the fact that she was simultaneously busy arranging the "legacy" of a deceased elder and preparing a shot at Birat. The first will be dealt with without her, should only declare his will and outline the contours of the future scheme of work, the second has waited nearly a hundred years, and will wait for another. It must be admitted: that it is difficult to settle down reliably both in Azar and on the Archipelago. In addition to different cultural traditions, vampires are treated there as double outsiders-as nonhumans, and as possible agents of hostile nations. Even the unrelenting feud with the Taleya Throne has not shaken that perception.

    An opinion, frankly, a valid one. Celesta herself found it hard to tell where the community was at odds with the authorities and where it was the other way around.

    She spent two weeks in Zonna, she would have spent more; it was a good time. Alas, she had to leave. The appearance of a dozen guardsmen could not go unnoticed, and the authorities became alarmed. The local specifics in this case played into the vampires'' hands - instead of being frightened by their own fabrications, the powerful men simply invited Medea over for a cup of tea and asked her leading questions. The beauty, of course, fought back, and at the same time started a couple of convenient rumors. Nevertheless, Latham was advised not to tease the dogs and to leave town.

    It was not a good idea to ignore recommendations from such a level. Something could have been worked out to maintain a semblance of submission, but there was an additional reason for leaving - a report came from Lascaris about the capture of another alien. Celesta became alarmed. She admitted to being biased and paranoid about the matter, but the growing number of fugitives from the Seven Rivers disturbed her. First, there was no one for decades, then the second in a year. The coincidence looked suspicious.

    Her friend did not want to let her go. She didn''t try to stop her, either.

    "I know you''re going away anyway," the beauty shrugged her perfect shoulders. "Well, it''s a pity, of course, you could have stayed longer. I wasted no time at least - your eyes are bright, you start smiling, and the sadness is gone from your emotions."

    Medea judged the usefulness of anything by her criteria, perhaps more accurate than others. If her friend looked better, it was time well spent.

    "I''ll try to come back in a couple of years to stay longer," Celesta promised. "I liked Zonna. I wish it were that easy for us, too."

    "You must go back because you haven''t figured out how we live here," Medea remarked. "You wouldn''t have said ''that easy'' otherwise. But I''m afraid I''ll visit you much sooner in Taleya. You know how it is, this and that, and then half a century later."

    Celesta couldn''t disagree with the judgment.

    "Then it looks like we''ll be communicating through mirrors because you''ll have more work, too."

    "Not me, but my favorite helpers," she smiled slyly. "When word of the Crusade gets out at Court, send five guardsmen, we''ll need them here. And as for the future coordinator of the Dark Guild pick someone, not of Kalderan''s staff."

    "Do you think he should be feared?"

    "He is used to lying. He has forgotten how not to lie. You can''t constantly wear masks and intrigue for the sake of intrigue because the previous intrigue didn''t go according to plan."

    Medea described Celesta''s own fears very accurately. Kalderan was a genius spy, with operations under his leadership that were fantastically effective. The community owed half of its success to the network of spies created under his leadership. But professional burnout didn''t spare the Elder-Security, and gradually he began to see threats where they could not appear by definition. What to do with him, Mistress did not know.

    "Don''t you have the feeling that we''re standing on the threshold of something huge?" Medea, who was very intuitive, suddenly asked. "It''s like there''s going to be a change that''s going to change our lives a lot. I had that feeling when the Fool ascended the throne and started his reforms."

    "As a result, we broke with Security service becoming free."

    "Exactly! It''s the same now."

    Celesta smiled: "That a lot is about to change, you can be sure of that. I will tell you without any gut feeling that our interference in politics at such a high level, which will have to be done, will not go unnoticed and will not be reciprocated. And the temples have been getting cocky lately. No matter what starts, we will not be left out."

    "Well," Beauty bit her lower lip thoughtfully, "it ended well last time, didn''t it?"

    "And this time for sure it will be the same!" the little mistress laughed.

    * * *

 Part 2 Chapter 6

    Part 2 Chapter 6

    * * *

    A ruler who has at least the rudiments of common sense seeks information from many sources. The advantages of this approach are obvious. Different witnesses describe events in different ways, so their reports complement each other, creating a more complete and accurate picture. It is easier for the ruler''s servants to resist temptations to adjust the truth in the direction they want. Finally, the form of the report and the presentation of the facts makes it possible to understand how certain court factions feel about the event to have time to react in the right way.

    Celesta justifiably thought she was not a bad ruler.

    Information flowed to her in full-flowing streams, allowing her to navigate well in all spheres of society. First of all, of course, from the Morvanites. Cultists penetrated all levels of power structures; one could find them in the government of the tiny town and among the highest officials of the kingdom. The advantage of them was their loyalty, reaching to the absolute, and the disadvantage was that this loyalty had to be maintained, which was sometimes very difficult. They also had to take into account a peculiar vision of the world that affected the accuracy of the reports.

    The next most effective was the department that dealt directly with intelligence. Probably right to say religious intelligence, though Elder Kalderan''s subordinate also monitored movements among merchants and nobles. But historically, the main opponents of vampires at this point were various cults, temples, and monasteries, so it was primarily the department that kept an eye on them. Somewhat less attention was paid to the state security services, whose employees acted as natural enemies and sworn partners by their official duties.

    The flow of information from the financiers was somewhat one-sided, but very qualitative analysis. Money likes counting and silence, money doesn''t like surprises. Elder Gardoman''s team was usually the first to notice trends in commodity flows, anticipating changes in the political scene, and a large number of agents allowed a quick response to unexpected events. With no shortage of resources, they preferred to bribe recalcitrant officials. Flexible morals made it easy for the financiers to provide dirty money laundering services, hence the appearance of good connections in the criminal environment. Celesta was irritated at times by their fixation on wanting to make money by any means necessary but on the whole, she was pleased with them.

    Latham occupied a special place. Not as Captain of the Guard, but personally, as the rising from death heir to the family of the Counts of Kossa. The old families, who retained their lineage magic, stood apart in the noble hierarchy. Completely closed caste, which is almost impossible to enter from the outside, you must be born in it. The status of its representatives from age to age fluctuated, not sinking, however, never low, they lived by their own laws and measured others by their own standards. Despite his rebirth, Latham still belonged to their circle, and they spoke frankly to him. As a result, sometimes he reported news that became known from other sources much later, or was not known at all.

    Information also came through other channels, for example, a number of urban communities had close ties with the army regiments stationed in the vicinity or the clan structure - the risens continued to communicate with living relatives, gradually helping them to rise through the ranks. There was a lot of information, at times even too much.

    Nevertheless, Celesta has learned one simple thing in centuries of government: dozens of the most detailed reports do not equal a personal impression. It''s better to see for yourself.

    Compared to her memories, Lascaris has changed greatly, while still managing to remain the same. The city had grown, it was surrounded by an extra ring of walls, many public buildings of fine architecture had sprung up within it, and the authorities had set up trading sites in the vicinity for merchants'' carts or arriving nomads. Thanks to the long peace, the peasants of the neighboring estates managed to establish orchards, which in spring filled the air with the scent of flowers; it became fashionable to arrange flood meadows for fish breeding. The peace of the inhabitants was guarded by a powerful garrison of guards serving the duke.

    Mistress arrived in Lascaris with a minimal entourage. A sturdy carriage without much ornamentation and with the coat of arms of a little-known family, five guardsmen, two dozen men - dozens of similar nobles passed through the gates every day, leaving bribes and being recorded in the registers. The vampires owned several inns in the city through third hands, but they stayed in the one run by mere mortals. Celesta suddenly wanted to get away from the society of her kindred, to dive briefly into the motley, vibrant human sea, to imagine herself as an ordinary human for a couple of days at least. It was a strange desire, one she did not resist.

    "Latham," she called to the assistant. "Visit Sattar, please. Tell him I will interrogate the prisoner next night. Not this night, but the next."

    "Does Messena intend to visit someone else?"

    "Not at all. Messena just wants to look at the city with her own eyes before she meets its elite. She''s already noted a few things that surprised her, and she suspects she''ll see a lot more."

    "Dare I ask what aroused the surprise of the Blessed Mistress?"

    "Well, the chapel on the opposite side of the square," Celesta pointed to the window. "There''s a distinctly dark direction. Why was it allowed to exist? Such demonstrative disregard for the royal edict "On the prohibition of abominable cults" is not typical of the dukes, they prefer a more cautious approach."

    "As far as I can tell, Messena, is some kind of mountain god. At any rate, the style is similar."

    "There must be a reasonable explanation," the mistress agreed. "I just don''t see it yet. Or another example is the ropes. A merchant in the street boasted that he had successfully sold a large batch of ropes at a good price to the steppe people. What did the nomads need them for? In small quantities, I agree, they need them. But a lot and, judging by the context, often?"

    "I must admit, Messena, that I find it difficult to answer."

    "So do I. And the questions are interesting!"

    Lascaris was the only major city in the Taleya Kingdom that had its own Mage Guild. The Guild continued to exist, as it justifiably considered itself the successor to the old one, which still had Hastin as a member. After the Academy was disbanded, its staff was assigned to the Spiritual Directorate of the Left Hand Ministry. The wizards looked at the prospect and scattered, most of them to Zonna, the rest wherever they went. Yuinarik, the blessed Duke of Lash, wisely sheltered the fugitives, moreover, he created his own Guild on the basis of the then operating branch of the old one. Given the Duke''s influence and the number of swords in his service, amid the civil war that was gaining momentum, the central government dared not argue with him. Later the next king restored the state Guild, but it was reluctant to join, unlike the Lascaris Guild.

    The bloodsuckers were friends with the mages, for the most part. But they remembered that they had different masters. Therefore, the wizards'' attempts to entangle the city with a tracking network, noting the energy manifestations of the undead, were looked upon without approval, and the development was quietly sabotaged. At the same time, they developed methods of concealment themselves and were very successful at it.

    They''d better figure out how the sensors of the College of Nine Pillars find us, Celesta thought. Though we have no spies there. A weakness.

    She and her retinue were not hindered by the mages'' efforts - all the guards were experienced enough to be able to conceal themselves. She saw no need to take any additional measures. They arrived in the city late in the evening, so Mistress quietly took a bath, ordered a light dinner in her room, and spent the night learning news from other cities through mirror communication. She even managed to doze off for a couple of hours after dawn, preparing to go out under the crushing pressure of the sun.

    Unlike the frivolous Zonna, the merchant Lascaris liked to see women wrapped in veiled dresses, with their hair covered and preferably with a cape over their faces. The influence of nearby nomads was showing. Of course, it was not, and could not be complete copying of barbarian customs, but on the whole, morals were much stricter. Celesta benefited from this; she even took an umbrella to protect herself from the sun''s rays. A pair of guardsmen, who refused to leave her unattended, wore wide-brimmed hats. The Mistress did not argue with them, though she would have settled for an escort of men.

    To begin with, she decided to just look around. The places of interest to her were conventionally divided into three groups - the known property of the community, the unknown, and the lairs. The latter were always plentiful, the older a vampire got, the better he understood the necessity of having an unknown lair. Celesta had once had a pair in Lascaris, though she was rarely in town, a long time had passed since then, and they must have fallen into disrepair.

    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

    Oddly enough, she was half wrong. A new house had been built in place of one of the lairs, but the other, hidden beneath the cemetery crypt, remained undiscovered. The only drawback was the pile of garbage piled into the shelter. The Mistress estimated the scope of the work, waved her hand mentally and did not fix it - she remembered the location, and she could get into the mud if she had to, she use to it.

    As she walked toward one of the markets, which she knew for certain from the reports, belonged to the vampires, she thought about the frequent problem of ownership. Who was the real owner of the house they bought - the community or its head, who had allocated the money? If the money is communal and can be verified, then the question is removed, but if it is his own? Or if it was partly his own? Another problem was the retinue that every old vampire acquired over time. Chicks, apprentices, mages, ordinary mortals, serving him from generation to generation - who should they obey in the first place? A very pertinent question in the case of a powerful risen''s a conflict with the head of the city''s community. Until now, Celesta had to deal with each particular case, guided by common sense and existing traditions, but it could not go on. There were too many vampires, and a full-fledged legal framework was needed.

    It''s probably a good thing she has to think about it. Better to wallow in bureaucracy than to live by the right of the strongest. Even if you are the strongest.

    Lascaris was one of the key nodes in the network woven by the vampires, which enmeshed the countries and allowed them to live quite comfortably. Exist. Just as Zonna was considered a medical center of sorts, and Bardi a domestic bank, so Lascaris was deservedly called the main trading place. Everything was sold and bought here, from common stones to seafood that had not been transported by who knows what means. As a consequence, the Community needed many buildings, warehouses, and other facilities to conduct its business. Or rather, not the Community itself, but the ordinary or not-so-ordinary people who served it.

    By unusual in this case, we mean mages. The Dark Guild, though it counted Taleya as its primary home, was itself too fragmented an organization to be limited to a single nucleus. Here in Lascaris, the authorities treated them leniently, allowing them to sell their wares and provide various services to merchants, not always legitimate. Another thing is that the common people still disliked the wizards. Strange situation - almost all the nobility possessed witchcraft abilities, proud of them, developed them, while the rest of the estate at best tried to ignore them. At worst, a discovered sorcerer could be killed. The same traders who actively used artifacts or potions preferred to keep their distance from the manufacturers, limiting themselves to purely business relations on the principle of "you to me - I to you".

    Mages, of course, felt the attitude. Those who could - try to get close to the ruling class, occupying the position of advisors or astrologers, who could not - clumped together and, gradually, found themselves under the protectorate of the Dark Guild. The quality of human material is not the highest, but because of their profession, they often have access to confidential information, which they are willing to share with the benefactors.

    However, even among them, there were really unique people. People who attracted Celesta''s special attention, who she valued, who became her personal agents.

    "Hello, Homie," the mistress said, making sure there was no one else in the shop. "Stand up. I''ve been told not to prostrate in front of me for so long."

    "Of course, Mistress."

    He always answered like that, continuing to do things his way. Celesta didn''t try to find out what was going on in his head; she had enough to know that she didn''t doubt Homie''s loyalty.

    "At last I can see your wonderful shop with my own eyes," she remarked, looking around. The bodyguards stood outside the door, clearly intent on keeping anyone out. "I have to admit, I imagined it to be a little bigger."

    "This room is sufficient for the sale of tea, Mistress. I keep other goods in the back room."

    "��h? Is there something there you''d like to brag about?"

    "If the lowly servant will be allowed," Homie smiled and bowed, simultaneously pointing with an inviting hand.

    His neighbors regarded Homie as a prosperous merchant of rare teas, those in the know knew of his membership in the Dark Guild, but few could name his internal, rather high, rank. To Celesta, he was still a common street boy, picked up and given to Hustin for training out of pity.

    After seating her in the place of honor and brewing her favorite kind of tea, Homie waited for her to take the first sip before he sipped from the bowl himself. He remembered that she disliked the local round cups with square handles, and kept a suitable pair for her.

    "Right here," the owner pressed a knot on the wall without getting up, pushing aside a false panel, "I keep what the important gentlemen actually come to me for. Mostly they''re interested in potions against impotence and poisons, something else they rarely order. There are samples in the windows."

    "I''m surprised," Celesta was genuinely impressed as she looked over the rows of bottles with glued labels. "The variety is more plentiful in the stores of Zonna but ninety percent of their products are cosmetics. Though I''ll be honest, they excel us in this matter."

    "It is only natural, Mistress, that edicts tie the hands of mages. It is difficult to develop science when the hangman''s silken cord is on your shoulder."

    "Is it really that bad in Lascaris, too?"

    "No, the Duke doesn''t give us any offense... As much as possible. Sometimes we have to be a bargaining chip in his games with the central government."

    "With whom, exactly?" Celesta clarified. "The King, the Chancellor, or the Orders?"

    "The hardest part is with the priests - they oppose us as a united front, regardless of mutual relations. The Chancellor''s administration wants us as part of his Guild and combines carrot and stick, the King confines himself to edicts. He doesn''t seem to care about us."

    "So it is," Mistress agreed. "He''s counting on Lash''s help against the Chancellor, so he''s wary of pressuring. Many temple structures, on the one hand, are his natural allies in this matter, but at the same time, their appetites are excessive. And they are at odds with the Duke. I am planning something to weaken their influence, but it will take a long time to prepare. How do you feel?"

    "What do you mean, Mistress?" Homie didn''t understand the question.

    "You''re well over two hundred years old, even for a mage is a decent age. Maybe your ailments have plagued you, and you dream of retiring, moving to a quiet estate not far from Taleya, and babysitting your many-odd great-grandchildren. The operation is complicated, long-term, and more than a decade away. If you leave, leave now, before it begins."

    In response to the proposal, the magician smiled sadly and shook his head: "My children and grandchildren are grown, some of them long dead, and my great-grandchildren are almost strangers. My pupils are closer than my own family. And how long will I live without a serious business? Not long, I think. No, Mistress, I have nowhere to go and no reason to go. Don''t worry, I''ll last as long as it takes."

    The answer didn''t surprise Celesta. Not all people are capable of sitting in retirement; for some, death and cessation of activity are equivalent. Homie was one of those. She nodded thoughtfully and checked for the first time that no, she could not turn him. Pity.

    "Then listen..."

    Homie''s main task was to look after Sattar. The head of the local community never gave any reason to doubt his loyalty, otherwise, he would have been sitting in another position, if at all, but the Mistress had been very badly burned several times in the past and was now cautious. However, since Sattar had no thoughts of selfhood, Celesta additionally oriented the agent to gather information about influential groups in the city.

    The situation in Lascaris was more complicated than it first appeared. During the civil war, to prevent Lascaris from joining his opponents, the Fool was forced to transfer the duchy to the status of a personal ancestral domain. Since then, the dukes have been far less dependent on the king and have inadvertently served as a reminder of the fragility of existence, because they have become a point of attraction for aristocratic opposition. Their influence was now and then declining, at times Lascaris seriously prepared to declare independence, at times it lost some of its privileges but in general, it remained the same. Of course, many in Taleya did not like it.

    Shortening the hands of the Lash was hindered by huge money, a perfectly trained personal army, and friendly relations of the dukes with the strong tribal unions of nomads, ready to come to the aid at the first call.

    Since the force option had to be postponed, the capital''s minds tried to intrigue. Considering that among the duke''s vassals there were also enough specialists in turning people into blind instruments, the game was going with variable success. From a certain point of view, the city resembled a seething cauldron under a loose lid - the puffs of steam rising to the outside world were nothing compared to the simmering brew within. In Lascaris, the royal Secret Service, the chancellor''s Jasper Guard, spies of noble houses and religious organizations, agents of large financial and trade associations, and many others were at work. Even steppe chieftains had intelligence sent in. Before going after the duke, it was necessary to understand the true intentions of all the players.

    "We can''t act directly," Celesta explained as she sketched out the plan. "You see, it would be strange for vampires to summon the priests to organize a sacred crusade into a country that is two months'' march from their frontiers. But a Duke has the right to petition the King to defend his borders against the hostile undead. The King, in turn, will strain the priests, who are formally obliged to obey him in everything. We understand that this is not the case in practice, but that is the challenge so that they cannot refuse."

    "Mistress, the Duke will not want to ask the King for anything. For him, it is a loss of face and permission to interfere in internal affairs."

    "Then he has to want to," the diminutive undead mistress accepted his objection. "I''d have to give him a good reason, a good reason from society''s point of view."

    "It''s hard," Homie admitted. "I can''t think of anything right off the top of my head."

    The man had picked up the habit from his undead mentors of being motionless in moments of contemplation, and now he sat staring at a single point, clutching the cold tea bowl in his hand. Celesta wondered if she''d been too quick to dump it on him. Maybe she should have done it more carefully. On the other hand, it was better to announce such news at once and in full, so that the executor could clearly understand what his superiors wanted and not wonder if those superiors had lost their minds.

    "In short, think of a hook to hook the Duke. He is the key figure in the plan, without his support it is pointless to try to organize anything."

    Without getting up, Homie bowed low, folding his palms in front of his forehead: "Of course, Mistress. I will not fail you."

    * * *

 Chapter 7

    Chapter 7

    * * *

    Sattar hadn''t changed his place of residence since Celesta''s last visit to the city, that is, almost four hundred years. The mansion, on paper belonging to a family of large merchants, had been rebuilt three times. They had managed to buy some land next door, expanding the lot, but nothing had changed in principle in the intervening years. There was no real reason to do so. The authorities did not try to destroy the head of the local community, so he saw no point in hiding.

    Mistress caught herself again thinking that, in terms of flexibility of thought, age is not always a blessing. A long period of living by established rules leads to habits that one does not want to change at all. Risens'' mind "becomes ossified", loses the ability to react quickly to the changing situation, and cannot cope with the challenges thrown up by hasty mortals. The result is a second death, this time final.

    The recipe for the cure has long been known and consists of a total change of scenery, in that notorious exit from the comfort zone, which psychologists in her former world liked to talk about. Or psychiatrists? Doesn''t matter. If need be, she will reach into the depths of her memory and remember. The main thing is that it is not clear how to use the mentioned method, because it is impossible to just take the same Sattar and send him to serve as a guardsman. No one would understand such a trick. So it''ll take a long time to explain, do research, collect statistics, to find ways that don''t look like punishment or humiliation... The undead has their conventions, too, and they must always be taken into account. You can''t hurt servants without a reason, especially ones who can get their revenge after five hundred years.

    In addition, good managers are always scarce. Before sending the head of the tiniest community for "re-training," one should think hard about who to put in his position. It usually turns out that there is no one.

    Well, okay. They''re waiting for her. She''ll consult with Medea later, as long as she doesn''t forget.

    "The prisoner is ready, Mistress," Sattar told Celeste after a final check of the body tied to the massive stone table.

    They were in a large, long basement beneath the mansion, with more than fifteen meters between the Mistress and her vassal. A man would have been forced either to shout or to move closer to make his words heard. Sattar made do with simply turning his body toward his interlocutor and bowing lightly since vampire etiquette allowed such liberties.

    "I wanted to ask you, Sattar," the lady approached the table. "That vampire you sent to Taleya, Gurban-ogun. How did he appear? Why was he not executed at once?"

    "Clever, cunning," the risen replied without hesitation. "Not too strong, the sun burned him. Not bad at primitive magic, close to the Path of Art, got past the border forts without disturbing the sensors. The Guild spotted him only here, informed us at once. They did not execute him because he had done nothing wrong. Then a request came from Kalderan for a guide, preferably versed in the realities of Seven Rivers. I thought about it and decided to send him - it is still unclear what to do with him."

    "Kalderan didn''t know you had a prisoner?"

    "We didn''t tell him. I don''t think he knew - there were literally days between the capture and the request."

    That, of course, means nothing, but it removes some of the suspicions from the elder. Mistress was uncomfortable with the fact that Kalderan was the only beneficiary of Zervan''s betrayal - his department had taken over the control of some of the gangs. In addition, he and the deceased were not friends, because of Zervan''s hordes disrupted important operations, which the spy took close to his heart. And his heart is dead but very sensitive.

    The question was whether he could have devised such a cunning plan to eliminate the enemy. Celesta admitted honestly to herself that she would have eliminated the nuisance if she had had to. With someone else''s hands, making it look like she wasn''t involved.

    "I see. What do you think of this one?" She nodded at the crucified, gawking body.

    "A common risen from the Seven Rivers, Mistress. He was in the retinue of the Master of the Night, grew up to be a senior, and decided to become the Master himself. He lost, but by some miracle, he survived. He heard about the rich life in the East, so he decided to come here. He has no strength or intelligence, otherwise, he would not have behaved as he did in his homeland and we would not have caught him so quickly," Sattar sighed. "Mistress, they''re disgustingly identical.."

    "Doesn''t your natural Salvian snobbery speak to you?"

    "Alas, Messena, my opinion is supported by sad personal experience. Exceptions are rare."

    Considering that Sattar''s rule over the nocturnal Lascaris came after his predecessor was killed by the same outsiders and that he was the only undead of the city at the time (three more came later), it was worth trusting his conclusions. He knew his way around the subject.

    There were now a total of five risens in the cellar - the prisoner, Celesta, Sattar, and two guardsmen. Latham went to pay his visits, taking a promise from the petite mistress not to get involved in anything. Normally, though he regarded his duties as chief of security zealously, he worried less. It was just that it had been a long time since Mistress Taleyaa had last left her personal domain, and her number of enemies had increased. And, frankly, the guardsmen had become somewhat unaccustomed to guarding her outside her familiar territory, so they were now afraid of making a mistake.

    From the outside, the "gutting" of the stranger looked uncomplicated and easy. Mistress hovered over the interrogator, wrapping her arms comfortably around his head and looking intently into his eyes, with three assistants standing nearby, not so much for backup as for reassurance. Breaking the will of an untrained risen, moreover, prepared beforehand by torture and thirst, is not the same as having a mental duel with an elder. Celesta simply swept away resistance, locked the prisoner''s personality in a far corner of his mind, and began to quietly study the memory.

    It took her half an hour to find the answers.

    The picture of life in the Seven Rivers looked unattractive. Up to a certain point, the local mortal - tribes of hunters, gatherers and plowmen, descendants of a degraded civilization - and the undead coexisted relatively peacefully. Each tribe was under the influence of one faction of the risens, the strongest of whom was called the Master of the Night. Given that the risens were formerly of the same tribe and hadn''t forgotten their kinship, they didn''t slaughter the humans too much. Mortal, in turn, did not bother looking for the undead, reasonably believing that the wolves would be replaced by outsiders and it would get worse.

    The equilibrium lasted a long time until several events coincided simultaneously. First, a large number of Elders appeared among the risens, an order of magnitude more powerful, who had moved on to the next stage in their development. Second, an epidemic came, the foraging base was greatly reduced, and some tribes died out completely. Cities disappeared, and primitive civilizations collapsed. War broke out between the Masters of the Night, which resulted in the extermination of some of the risens who were determined to coexist with humans, and the winners began to rule directly.

    The captive did not know the details of the conflict - the events took place before he was born. Celesta, however, was only interested in them to a certain extent. She was much more interested in finding out the realities of the Seven Rivers'' society, their weak points, and whether she could count on peaceful interaction. She still had hope of avoiding conflict, though her intuition stubbornly told her that two bears couldn''t live in one den.

    "You were right about sameness," she remarked, pulling away from the cup she''d been served. "At least in terms of moral criteria."

    Sattar managed to mimic, with one polite smile, a smug "I told you so"! The long interaction with the aristocrats had affected him greatly, teaching the former craftsman a great deal.

    "Did Messena see something unpleasant?"

    "Exactly. Unfortunately, they have their own culture. A savage, bloody, inhuman, but full-fledged culture. We will have to destroy all of its bearers, because they will not want to assimilate, and we will not be able to live next to them."

    Celesta was well aware that if vampires ever stopped balancing between human power groups, they would be crushed. The undead is allowed to exist as long as the benefits they bring outweigh the harm they cause. As long as they do not try to break the rules. Otherwise...

    One day, Mistress tried to calculate the consequences of a conflict with the Order of Fire Saints, one of Taleya''s three largest religious associations, just for the sake of interest. The result was unpleasant. Given the neutrality of the rest of the human structures, the risens would destroy the Order, but they would also suffer significant losses themselves. In fact, the unified community would disappear and be fragmented into many small fragments, with most of the survivors being located abroad.

    Now the rulers of humans are convinced that vampires can be talked to and negotiated. Yes, monsters, but monsters that are reasonable, sane, and comfortable. A close acquaintance with the Seven Rivers can break the established opinion, and give an extra trump card in the hands of irreconcilable opponents of the reasonable undead. Such a scenario should not be allowed.

    "Finish up here," she ordered, heading for the exit. "I don''t need him anymore."

    All in all, Mistress spent a week in Lascaris.

    Some decisions can only be made by the supreme ruler, they are too global. Sattar, for example, had constant disputes with Gardoman, the two influential risens complaining about each other, making intrigues, sometimes it came to the clash of subordinate structures. Money is money, it will quarrel with anyone. Celesta had to intervene and manually divorce the disputants. This could not go on like this, it was necessary to clearly delineate areas of responsibility and for that, she had to personally come to town and deal with it on the spot. Neither reports nor long negotiations through the mirror gave an absolute guarantee of the correctness of the picture.

    Until recently, Celeste had been limited in her movements. Now, apparently, she''ll have to make up for lost time and go around the countryside. Sooner or later information will leak out, people will know that Mistress of Taleya has been allowed to leave her city. Where this will lead is unclear. So far, the vampires have managed to keep the secret, but no one can say how long the shroud of neglected rumors will last.

    Latham successfully drew attention to himself. His position as the right hand and the Mistress''s chastening sword were well known, his actions closely watched, and the commotion among the vampires of the city attributed to his arrival. All the more so because the Elder did not sit idly by. He visited noble families, negotiated with leaders of large trading houses, and conferred at length with ducal "bringers of answers". It sounds strange, but his appearance was usually welcomed.

    The vampires did not change their tradition and continued to hunt monsters. Whichever way you look at it, it''s a useful occupation. The carcasses were dismantled into ingredients and sold in pieces, bringing a good income even without taking into account the reward from the customer. In addition to the money, a positive reputation was gained, and people began to see the undead as possible defenders from a more terrible danger. Finally, a job well done was not only a job but also a service that could be bragged about in a small circle and that could be counted on in the future. Connections useful to the community emerged.

    The Guard took the most difficult orders. Mortals refused them, failed in their attempts, or demanded so much that it was easier to suffer regular losses in the form of devoured peasants. The vampires were doing fine, and they didn''t charge that much. So Latham''s visit was associated with solving problems, which was valuable in itself and paid dividends in the most unexpected ways.

    Mindful of recent events, the captain saw fit to bring up the subject of outsiders. At one time Celesta spent several evenings talking about the manipulation of public opinion and the preparation of serious changes in the life of society, explaining the reasons for some of her actions. How she got her knowledge of very specific areas of science and why the terminology used had never occurred to him before, Latham did not ask, but he remembered the lecture carefully. So he began to prepare a "positive background" for a possible discussion about the Holy Crusade well in advance.

    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    "You need not worry about my imminent departure. We will fulfill our obligations in full, High Noble Varrhid. Moreover, I may have to transfer a unit of my subordinates to Lascaris on a permanent basis."

    His interlocutor, one of the senior security officers of the ruler of the city, raised his eyebrows in surprise. By virtue of his position, Mr. Varrhid was aware of the capabilities of the Five Guardsmen and did not see the tasks worthy of the presence of these seasoned fighters. What are they being reassigned for, then?

    "May I know the reasons that led the Blessed One to do this?"

    "A decision has not yet been made. Mr. Sattar is managing with his forces, but if the trend continues, he will need reinforcements," the aristocrat clarified. "What do you know about the situation in the Seven Rivers?"

    "Only that your kinsmen live there, which causes serious difficulties for the wagons passing by."

    "Don''t put me next to those animals," Latham cut off in an icy tone. "To compare us would be like calling you the likeness of some steppe bandit, banished from his clan!"

    "Excuse me," the spy bowed quickly. "In no way did I intend to offend the Blessed One."

    With a faint nod, the captain accepted the apology.

    "Lately, savages have come from there, disgusted by their actions and way of thinking. They deserve to be cut into pieces and eaten by dogs, their deeds such that rebirth is impossible. They looked for trouble and found it. They have no offspring, and their ancestors groan when they look at them."

    Considering the nuances of the Higher Speech, Messen Latham''s speech was comparable to the worst swearing of the dockworkers. For a third of what was said, blood vengeance was declared on the whole clan. Varrhid, who came from a lower class, sat round-eyed - he knew that he was in fact witnessing a declaration of war.

    "I apologize if I have struck a sensitive chord," the spy bowed again. "But did my predecessors point out that some outsiders from the steppe went to Taleya?"

    "It happened rarely, but only a few were admitted to our society, and even then..." the aristocrat twitched his fingers in an indefinite gesture. "Nearly all of them did not appreciate the favor. They suffered a well-deserved punishment later."

    "So," the spy stretched out, reassessing the inner politics of the vampires.

    "Exactly. And the situation is getting worse and worse over time! If two hundred years ago we had at least some hope that the natives of the Seven Rivers were capable of rejecting their filthy customs and, having joined a higher culture, accepting ours, now it is obvious that trying to correct them is pointless! The language of force is the only one they understand."

    "Just and admirable is the indignation of the Blessed One, but is the danger posed by the savages so great as to require the presence of the best warriors of the people of the Night?"

    "Not at all," Latham twitched the corner of his mouth dismissively. "I don''t rate them much as fighters, lots of strength and not much skill. It''s just that some of them are good at hiding from detection, and it''s a bit of a headache to catch them. Besides, their numbers are growing! You know little about the incidents connected with them, because we don''t want to give our enemies any more trump cards. But, believe me, the situation is changing for the worse."

    It was certain that the contents of the conversation would be on the desk of the head of the security service in the morning. Given the close attention to everything related to vampires, shortly, we could expect a surge of interest toward the Seven Rivers - interviews with merchants, negotiations with nomads, perhaps attempts to drop agents. Any stirring went to Celesta''s advantage.

    While her faithful servant was laying the first bricks in the building of the operation, the active phase of which would begin in twenty years, the Mistress herself was busy with routine work. Takes reports, review documents, read other people''s letters, and occasionally writes herself. All kinds of paperwork carried a slight tinge of unreality for her - once upon a time, hiding in the sewers with Medea, she dreamed of how one day she would sit in a quiet office and not worry about tomorrow. The dream had, in a way, come true.

    The plan she shared with her chosen companions gradually became more detailed. Homie made an important amendment. He, who was well versed in the relationship between Lascaris and the central government, suggested that the idea of the petition be abandoned, replacing it with permission. A very significant difference in terms of feudal institutions. The result seems to be the same, but in the second case the duke acted as an independent figure, taking care of the needs of the lower classes, there was no belittling of his honor.

    At the moment, the plan was as follows: the large Trading Houses appeal to Lash with a respectful request to take care of their needs, in response to a tearful prayer he asks the king''s permission to organize a campaign, and the central government agrees and appeals to the Martial Orders and the major cults to participate. No problems were foreseen with only the first phase, merchants to the hints received reacted with enthusiasm and even expressed their willingness to help... not too much, as long as the coin can withstand. Everything else, starting with convincing the Duke, had yet to be accomplished.

    And it was impossible to concentrate solely on the organization of the campaign. The Secret State of Celeste had enough tensions that it was long overdue to get rid of them, or at least to weaken their influence on current processes, but it was not possible. They made do with conservation in the hope that it would just blow over. Sometimes the hope came true, sometimes, as in the case of Birat, it did not.

    She would have loved to have stayed longer in Lascaris; there was still much in the city that she had not had time to see, to appreciate. Unfortunately, she had to return to Taleya. The capital demanded her presence. The Mistress hadn''t shown her face to her subordinates for a long time, and little by little rumors of her disappearance began to emerge, quiet for now, but completely unnecessary. Pity. If she had the chance, she would have loved to go to Bardi, to see how the city had changed, and what the community there had accomplished under the joint rule of Gardoman and Hatsu. Alas, next time.

    The writings of numerous thinkers, both religious and secular philosophical schools, directly linked the state of the ruler and the state he ruled. The rightful king was thought to sense the land, receive certain mystical signals from it, and be able to point out where his vassals should pay closer attention. Before the Plague, this assertion was constantly confirmed in practice; in the current era, the rituals were weaker and less effective. Though people remembered that after Taleya split into two in the Civil War, Irrhan was paralyzed below the waist for the rest of his life.

    The state was considered the body of the ruler and the roads of the circulatory system. Therefore, negligence in repairing the largest tracts, and deliberately damaging or destroying bridges in the criminal code equated to an attempt on the reign and was punishable to the utmost severity. At court, there was the position of Minister of the Precious Eight Sides, responsible for the ways of communication, which gave considerable influence but was also demanding in the performance of its duties. It was more likely to be used as a scaffold than other ministries.

    The roads in the kingdom were in exemplary condition, and travel on them was a pleasure. The only inconveniences were on the largest tracts, like the one connecting Lascaris and Taleya. The kingdom had not fought heavy wars in a long time, its domestic policy for the past fifty years had been stable, its officials stole moderately and as a result, the economy was growing. As a consequence, so was trade traffic. Despite the wide roadway, which allowed four carts in a row, there were sometimes very real traffic jams of merchant carts. The nobles, accustomed to moving quickly, became enraged and took the whips in such cases.

    Experienced travelers knew the best places to get off the tract and take the secondary roads. Of course, there is only one lane, and the stone slabs are worse, but there is less traffic and the overall speed is higher.

    Celeste''s company was well versed in the nuances of the road, so they traveled quickly. They traveled by day. The risens, of course, would have preferred to travel at night, but they feared breaking the legs of their horses. Animals tolerant of the undead were expensive and had to be raised from childhood to override instinctive fear. Though to vampires walked the Paths of the Beast, they were much more relaxed without any domestication.

    ++No, Celeste pondered, rocking gently in the carriage, " we can''t reduce the number of the Beast''s followers. So what if they die a lot? Survivors are the best outside the cities, and the community needs them in case there''s a serious conflict with the authorities. In general, it makes no sense to forbid anything. We need to strengthen control, to teach better... So, what is it?

    Vampires perceive the world differently from humans. The colors seem dimmer, the taste is less intense, and the skin reacts less to touch. But hearing and smell become unusually sharp, and there is a "sense of life" - a kind of gut feeling that allows you to feel near living beings with hot blood. The latter, if desired and persistent, can be developed by expanding the sensory range several times over.

    Celesta, by virtue of circumstances, has encountered the forces known to the priests as True Darkness and True Light more often than she would have liked. She had dealt with the former constantly for the past four hundred years, the latter she remembered well from her previous existence. Given the consequences of those encounters, she tried not to ignore the slightest traces of the manifestation of these forces. On the contrary, she watched them closely.

    "Stop!" The mistress tapped on the front wall of the carriage.

    As Celesta stepped out of the halted carriage, the mounted Latham immediately appeared.

    "Messena?"

    "Keep me company, Latham," she ordered as she "listened" to her surroundings. "I want to check something out."

    Her instincts led her to a high hill that stood a fair distance from the road. Choosing a convenient path and mentally cursing the rags she wore to disguise herself, she headed for it. The dress was considered a traveling dress, that is, with a minimum of jewelry, but by the standards of a vampiress accustomed to very different clothes, it interfered greatly. Every time the fabric caught on a branch, she wanted to yank harder so that the lush lace would come off and not annoy her anymore. At home in Taleya, she wore a simple dress or a woman''s hunting costume, or she pretended to be a boy, wearing pants and a short camisole.

    Latham glided noiselessly beside her, followed, at a respectful distance, by Vantal''s five boys. It was not long to walk. The path ended at the top of a hill, near a small monument half a man''s height. It did not look well, as the once-white, equilateral cross showed traces of bird droppings, and bushes of rose hips grew around it, making it difficult to get closer. However, the bushes had been cut down in the spring or last year, otherwise, they would have been taller. And the path they took up the hill looked well-trodden.

    In the center of the cross, almost washed away by the bad weather, a faint black dot could be seen.

    "Wow," Celesta stopped a few paces away, looking at the monument. She looked at her silent companion. "Don''t you feel anything?"

    Latham took off his glove, extended his hand toward the cross, and waved his palm in the air.

    "Echoes of Illiar''s powers."

    "Exactly," the Mistress tapped her lips thoughtfully, turning to the guardsmen, who had paused respectfully in the distance. "Vantal! There are some men about two hundred meters away. If they''re natives, bring them here - I want to ask them some questions."

    Two of the five separated from the others, quickly rushing to carry out the order. Their captain looked questioningly at his mistress:

    "Does Messena expect to have a new meeting? The cross seems to have been set a long time ago."

    "I''d just like to understand the circumstances under which it was placed," Celesta clarified. "And, of course, to learn more about the true priests. I''ll tell you, I listen to them with the utmost attention."

    "Do you really think they are to be feared?" Latham asked with obvious skepticism in his voice.

    Mistress laughed:

    "No, of course not! As far as I can tell, our interests lie on completely different planes and hardly overlap. I''m just insanely curious. After all, am I entitled to a little hobby in the form of solving the mysteries of the two oldest orders of our world? It''s not all about politics or making sure that the cultists don''t get at each other''s throats."

    She uttered the last phrase in a tone so grim that the vassal could not find an answer. By the time the words appeared, they were no longer necessary as the guardsmen returned, pushing a trio of poorly dressed peasants in front of them.

    As they approached, the poor fell to their knees on the sand.

    "Who''s in charge?"

    "I am, gracious Mistress," said the foreman, not raising his head, and dressed a little more decently than the others.

    He did not give his name, for the mistress had not asked him, and he was too insignificant himself to be the first to do so. If he did so, he would unwittingly put himself on the same level as the noble lady, for which he would be immediately killed.

    "How long has this cross been here?"

    "It was put there when my grandfather was young, gracious mistress!"

    There is no point in counting on a more accurate answer. The peasant, most likely, was illiterate, and could not count, even his own age could not tell.

    "Why was it put up?"

    "Then came a great drought, gracious Mistress! Several years, gracious Mistress! A holy man came and said we should hold a prayer service and put a cross so that the mighty Lord of Light would have mercy. And so it came to pass, gracious Mistress!

    "The drought, you say... Did the animals go elsewhere?"

    "They were leaving, gracious Mistress! The cattle were dying, the children were dying too, the crops were completely gone, gracious Mistress!"

    "I see. What is the name of your village?"

    "Skinny Bellys, gracious Mistress!"

    "That''s a catchy name," Celesta pointed out. "Latham, toss them a coin. Dismissed."

    Ignoring the happy peasants crawling away from the generous mistress, she turned back to the cross. The picture cleared up.

    "There seems to have been a breakthrough here, only not into the Abyss, but out of the Good World. The priests felt it, came, and organized a patch, anchoring it to the symbol of faith. I should order a search of the archives to find out the side effects and signs that accompanied the breakthrough. Maybe we should send Hustin here."

    "With all due respect to the maitre, he can hardly understand the rituals of the True Priests, Messena," remarked the Captain.

    "Maybe he''ll see something useful for himself," Celesta shrugged philosophically. "He''ll get some new ideas to think about. Well, there''s nothing more for us to do here. Let''s go."

    She didn''t lie when she said they had nothing to share with the True Ones. Those, she felt, were far away from humanity and did not keep track of its affairs. It seemed to her that there were two plans, the so-called Abyss and the Good World, the first taking energy, the second giving it away. It did not matter whether it was monetary or not, only that the human world was part of the pumping mechanism, and the two ancient orders were responsible for its functioning. They also eliminated possible "leaks".

    She did not voice her version to anyone except Medea. Her friend was the only one accustomed to Celesta''s peculiar, one might say, atheistic way of thinking; the others would hardly accept such revelations. And it was not certain that her speculations were true.

    * * *

 Chapter 8

    Chapter 8

    * * *

    Taleya.

    The Capital of the kingdom was named after it.

    The largest of the ports of the Good Sea.

    The city that Celesta at times almost hated.

    In the four centuries, she had spent here, she had explored almost every corner of it. Almost, because the royal palace and the mansions of the ancient families had their protection, capable of incinerating even her. But in the Lower City, the port and the suburbs, the underpasses were where she knew them best. Some of her kin could match her in her knowledge of the city but never surpass her.

    Wanting to avoid prying eyes, the vampires used one of the wide underground passageways leading from a secluded spot to the sewers of Taleya Or rather, what used to be called a sewer, but had by now become a tangled labyrinth, a veritable catacomb with its inhabitants and authorities. Some of the locals had not come to the surface for years. Vampires ruled the underworld, and humans often came and went, but there were plenty of other creatures as well, sometimes even sentient. The results of magicians'' experiments settled here; bursts of energy caused animals and plants to mutate, creating something new that could not be classified; mortals went mad and turned into monsters while outwardly retaining their human appearance.

    From the underground passage to the sewers, from there to go down to the level below, through narrow corridors to the shore of a long underground lake, and there to take boats to the next descent. The Mistress was pleased to note the touching glances of the watchers, who disappeared, worth showing the correct passwords. Before they reached the central areas where her chambers, the ritual halls of the Morvan Temple, and some other rooms were located, they had to descend three more levels.

    Taught by bitter experience, vampires never settled together. Their possessions would be marked on the map as patches. One spot was the domicile of the Mistress, the second was Hustin''s labs, along with a branch of the Dark Guild, and the third was the secretariat, the offices, and Celesta''s administration. Around these are scattered others, smaller in size, ranging from archives to the ranges of the School of Paths. This scattering is annoying and sometimes very disruptive, but no one planned to change anything. Even building a giant underground palace is no reason to break the concept.

    Celeste''s quarters consisted of four rooms. A bedroom, a bathroom, an office, and a living room. When she got to her room, she let her companions go, splashed in the small pool, washed off the road dirt, put on a simple white dress from the closet, and went into the office. She wanted desperately to sit in an armchair in front of the fireplace and stare blankly at the fire for an hour or two. She couldn''t. Merck could already be felt sitting in his seat in the waiting room, probably bringing documents.

    Mistress looked grimly into the mirror hanging on the wall, thinking, with passing humor, that running a myth about vampires'' inability to reflect in mirrors was a great idea. "Vampires don''t have snot, but you pick it up anyway. Get to work, girlfriend."

    "Merk!" she called, duplicating her voice with a mental message. "Come in."

    "Mistress," the faithful secretary bowed as he entered. "I am glad to have you back."

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

    Celesta looked with disgust at the puffy folder in his hands.

    "Now only the most urgent, the rest later. What is it?"

    "Rumors have leaked out about your absence from the city. The servants of the Dark God are worried."

    "I''ll show up at the night service and talk to the heads of the cults. That will calm them down."

    "Baron Se and Baron Tar asked for a meeting."

    The head of a special cabal of guards, the king''s personal secret service, and an influential aristocrat whose clan is tolerant towards the undead.

    "With Tar, I''m ready to meet tomorrow night, Se invite the morning after."

    "Mater Hustin reported that he had figured out the structure of the Necropolis defense and was ready to remove it."

    "That''s wonderful news!" the mistress cheered up. "Tell him to come and see me tomorrow."

    "One last thing," Merk finally opened the folder and pulled out a sheet of expensive parchment. "It was sent from Lanaka."

    Celest�� glanced over the document, and her mood further improved. The letter of guarantee issued by the Lanaka treasury for presentation to the First Bank of the country in the name of the Nighthunters mercenary detachment signified the successful completion of negotiations with the Duchy government. The guardsmen hid under the cover of the squad when it became necessary to act formally.

    It must be said that Celesta associated Lanaka with the word "stability". People wouldn''t agree with her, but that''s how vampires saw the country. The large principality with its many cities and clear domestic politics stood out from Taleya by its unchanging rules of the game. One of the strongest powers in the region established a firm border to the south and west, had a good fleet to protect its shores from pirates, and was slowly expanding northward, gradually bringing the native kings into submission. Lanaka was held back from first place by feudal wars between branches of the ruling family which happened every three or four generations, and a large number of monster enclaves from the past that even hunting parties with the support of mages and priests could not cope with.

    Among vampires, the Principality was considered something of a quiet province. The communities there were small, quietly minding their own business, their heads obediently following the center''s orders without trying to revolt. The cultists behaved decently, with a pleasant lack of radicalism in their ranks. Elder Gardoman considered moving his headquarters there, but every time he refused. Apart from the financier''s general conservatism, objective reasons - the already mentioned civil wars, the country''s poor resource base, and not the best relations with the authorities - hindered the plans. The elite of the Duchy was not particularly religious, but they remembered well the ties between vampires and the Taleya high society.

    Now, it is to be hoped the situation will change. In exchange for ignoring the existence of the communities and some preferential treatment, half the guard will clean out the largest border nests of dark creatures. It''s a daunting task, and Celesta may have to do it herself, but the pay is high.

    "Wonderful!" she returned the letter to Merck. "Any more good news?"

    "Captain Grahor sent a report on the latest tests of the new shrouds, everything seems to have gone well. Maitre is checking the data."

    "Let''s hope they succeeded this time."

    Mistress loved extraordinary people, looking for them wherever she could, pulling them out of trouble, teaching them, hiring them. Like Homie, Grachor was lucky she noticed him. Under her hand, the beggar''s son rose to become one of the most respected smuggling captains and was her personal agent among them. He had numerous business connections in the Archipelago of Dragons, and now Grahor was organizing a reliable network to replace a failed one while helping Hustin test the latest developments.

    "Leave the documents, and I''ll take a look," Celesta nodded at the table. "I won''t leave the Capital for a month or two, and I''ll tell you later. Right now, first, I want to see Alat, and probably Krustyar. He''s a loner, but he has a lot of respect among the walkers of the Beastly Paths. Second, I want a detailed report on the top figures in the kingdom''s most influential religious organizations. Names, worldviews, what they want, weaknesses, who support them, and who they support. The deadline is two weeks. What else... Is Kalderan back?"

    "Yes, Mistress."

    "Call him, too," Celesta paused, wondering if she''d forgotten anything. "That''s all for now. Off you go."

    "Dark night, Mistress."

    "Rather, have a good day, Merk!"

    * * *

 Chapter 9

    Chapter 9

    * * *

    Celesta felt a strong sense of gratitude toward her first "spider" mentors. She was no fool, and she was well aware that to the instructors she was nothing more than a job - yes, a very specific one since they had never trained risen before, but just a job. But she was also aware that there were many ways to teach. To give the bare minimum and nothing more, or to put your heart and soul into teaching, forcing the student to overcome himself step by step, forcing him to become stronger, more sophisticated, and more observant with each lesson.

    Her teachers belonged to the second category. They did their work well.

    When Baron Carde, who was in charge of Taleya''s guards at the time, voluntarily and involuntarily recruited her, Medea, and Hustin into his organization, one of the conditions of entry were training in everything necessary for the new duty station. Initially, it was supposed to be purely military skills, but later the list included psychology, etiquette, ancient languages, rhetoric, literature, and much, much more. Celesta''s information-hungry mind absorbed knowledge at a breakneck speed, impressing instructors with the pace of her studies; she mastered in months what others took years to master. Perhaps she had made the mistake of frightening people with her demonstrated abilities and thus causing them to tighten their invisible leash. Or maybe she was just jealous? In any case, her relations with her colleagues did not work out; they tried to hurt the miniature ghoul at every opportunity, trying to set her up in front of her superiors. Carde figured the situation out quickly, but didn''t interfere - he wondered if she could handle it.

    She succeeded, albeit not immediately. She figured out the undercurrents of the service, learned how to maneuver between the factions, and conducted several successful operations. She earned a reputation as a clever, vindictive, useful creature. She was not going to be friends with anyone after all, and she couldn''t be. It was only later she realized that the Baron had covered for her, after all, by reprimanding the most zealous persecutors.

    Card�� showed neither fear nor squeamishness in front of her. He was a very unorthodox man, almost a genius, who disdainfully disregarded conventional stereotypes. He enjoyed his conversations with Celesta; she impressed him with her lack of deference to authority and her unorthodox judgment. Her conversations with the baron gave her much, and they gradually gave her an understanding of the inner processes of power, hidden from the outside observer.

    Celesta took a lot from him. If it weren''t for those ego-beating reprimands in private, who knows if she would have become the current Night Mistress or not?

    Hastin has passed a completely different school. He was immediately taken under the wing of the great mage Tyran, a person of power, tough, and influential. He was initially sympathetic to the boy and, after seeing the young vampire''s abilities, accepted him as an apprentice. The mage''s authority allowed him to ignore the opinions of others from a high bell tower. Because of his age and high intelligence, he had his criteria for judging people, and the fact that the new apprentice sleeps in the basement during the day and feeds on human blood was of little importance in his eyes.

    Different fates, different life experiences, and different perspectives on events. Not surprisingly, their assessments of the possible consequences of one or another action were far from always the same.

    "...you don''t seem to understand what you''ve done," Celesta reprimanded the warlock, who was scowling in his chair. "It''s not just a violation of the four points of the second part of the Penal Code, which forbids all manipulation of a ruler or their kin, including the deceased! You murdered the guardian of the afterlife! If people find out about this, everyone will turn against us, that is, everyone at all, even our allies. First and foremost, our allies! The aristocrats have the same or very similar sarcophagi in their family tombs. They will try the situation on themselves in no time. And believe me, they won''t like it."

    "What else were we supposed to do?" Hustin snapped back. "He attacked us! I have no idea why he woke up."

    "He woke up because you amateurs woke him up," she did not deny herself the pleasure of stomping on someone else''s ego. "Badly prepared did not calculate something, and here is the result. You were in a hurry before I arrived, weren''t you?"

    The warlock sat stony-faced but averted his eyes to the side.

    "Seven hundred years, no brains," Celesta summed up. "So here''s what we''ll do. We''ll seal the burial chamber. Seal it up, I said! Seal off the corridors and tell the architects to make detours from my name. By the end of next week, every dog should know about the Mistress'' order to stay out of the necropolis. In six months, we''ll continue the research quietly. Am I correct in assuming that you found a way around the protection?"

    "We have not bypassed," Hustin grimaced. "We blocked it temporarily."

    "That''s not the point. I''m more interested in whether your method works against the blessings of the human gods. You know how the light energy of temple and monastery lands affects vampires."

    "Well..." the ma?tre folded his fingers, "I''ll have to think about it."

    "Think," the mistress nodded. "Just don''t test it in practice without me. The students should be involved, too, so they don''t get involved in anything. Remember, they must not know that the ban on research in the necropolis is temporary."

    "I''ll have to tell Vador, we''ll put a stopper together."

    "Except for him."

    Celesta looked at the warlock and concluded that the reprimand was over. Hastin is Hustin, she can''t fix him. He is not a fool, on the contrary, one of the smartest in her circle, just in matters of his favorite art Hastin gets a little crazy. Fortunately, there is Vador, in difficult cases, directs the initiatives of the mentor in the right direction.

    She did not doubt that Hustin would do exactly what he said. Despite his passion, the warlock was well aware of when to argue and when not to. Especially since in matters of aristocratic traditions he knew even better than her. And now, after her words, probably had time to calculate what they threaten the public disclosure of the fact of the destruction of the guard. She can be sure that the instructions from him the students will be correct and will be silent as a fish.

    "Have you seen the report from Grahor? What do you think?"

    "I''m still convinced that the problem isn''t magic," Hustin accepted the change of subject with ease. "It''s just that Grahor has nothing to do with previous attempts to gain a foothold in Deep Harbor."

    "Or you underestimate the Collegium."

    "Or I underestimate the Collegium," the mage agreed quietly. "But I don''t think so. I''ve seen their artifacts, spoken to their renegades, and studied intelligence reports. They are not on the same level as us. Look for humans."

    "We''ll see," Celesta answered vaguely. They''ve been testing the leak, but they haven''t had any results yet. "There''s always a chance of a genius coming up with something new."

    "I''d love to talk to him."

    "Me, too. Have you thought about having a Child?"

    "I haven''t recovered from raising the last one yet. Why do you ask?"

    "I met Homie in Lascaris, and he''s not as frisky as he used to be," Mistress smiled sadly. "I don''t think he''d be good enough for me; maybe you should."

    "It won''t work, I checked," Hustin shook his head. "That''s a pity."

    "Yeah, that''s too bad," and after a moment of silence, Celesta shook her sad thoughts out of her head and rose from her chair. "I have to get to my meeting with Tar. I''ll come to see you when I''m done with my business, and we can talk more about it then."

    "I''ll be waiting, Mistress."

    There were nearly a dozen so-called reception halls, in fact, ordinary meeting rooms, only richly furnished, in the dungeons. They were scattered all over the Capital and served purely utilitarian purposes, to meet with people with whom any of the top risens wanted to talk in their territory. Or in cases where the conversation required urgency. In the case of the Tar barons, it was more a sign of trust and goodwill, because Celesta received them in the main hall, which was used to communicate with her people - the heads of cults, the leaders of the Dark Guild, and other mortals who were privy to the inner workings of society.

    She was reminded that the architects had a real Throne Room in the planned underground palace. The Mistress refused to understand why it was necessary, but she was so amicably persuaded to leave everything as it was, that she agreed.

    The risens'' cooperation with the Tars began when the rich and noble clan lost almost all their lands and influence. The barons had no allies left, nothing to lose, and out of desperation, they agreed to the proposal of the vampires who had turned to them. The deal turned out to be advantageous to both sides. A series of mutual favors followed, culminating in a full-fledged partnership that neither partner had any intention of breaking at the moment.

    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

    "Peace and goodness blessed Vercassar! I hope you have not waited long?"

    "Dark night, Messena" the baron stood up from the table at Celesta''s appearance. "Not at all, your servants brought me literally just now."

    Even if he had been sitting in the hall for several hours, etiquette required him to answer exactly that.

    "I''m sorry for the delay," Celesta sat back in her chair, motioning for the man to take the seat opposite, near the roaster. "So much has happened lately! In our community, in the circle of the Son of the Sea, and the not-so-high spheres."

    "Yes, I heard about the recent operation of the spiders," the Baron nodded. "Allow me to offer my condolences on the loss of your subjects, Messena."

    Rumors of Zervan''s betrayal, of course, reached the general public; it was impossible to hide it. However, the story was presented in different ways. One of the most common versions blamed the success of the Royal Security Service, and to some extent, it was true - because it was the spiders who made the arrests and liquidations. The information was simply presented to them on a tray.

    "Those who live in the Darkness always remember that they are no more than guests in this world. Sooner or later, the Lord will call everyone to his throne," Celesta replied. She had already come to terms with her losses, the remainder of them no longer plunged her into a state of icy rage. "Who knows if the souls of my servants, cleansed of sin, will one day meet again in my path? Though the parting is painful, the knowledge that death is not the end brings new hope."

    "I bow before the wisdom of the blessed Mistress of the Night."

    Tar actually stood up and bowed, folding his arms in a special gesture. Among the old aristocracy, Celeste was considered a spiritual authority, and her words were listened to carefully. It wasn''t a fanaticism - the elite seldom trusted anyone unconditionally - but the vampire mistress''s opinion on theological, and not just theological, matters were always taken into account.

    "Sit down, Baron. I have let go of those who have gone, and now I am moving on. Tell me, how are you? Is the venerable Lady Issilia well? I have heard disturbing rumors about her health."

    The next fifteen minutes were spent on the obligatory small talk, not as pointless as it might seem. The upper class is permeated by family ties, knowing how many times the eighth Aunty sneezed at the last party sometimes turned into an inheritance. So Tar talked about his family, Celesta showed interest by memorizing key facts and waited for the Baron to indicate the purpose of his visit.

    Finally, he got to the point: "Perhaps the Messena has heard of the little lawsuit I had with the Saints of the Fire? We are suing over a village a day''s journey from Nemmist."

    "Yes, I remember that the Ministry of Taxes was somehow involved in the case."

    "Messena is absolutely right. The monastery of the saints did not pay what was due for the annexed lands, so the tax collectors took the village to the treasury and put it up for auction. That''s where I bought it. Then, suddenly, the monastery paid its debts along with penalties and demanded the village back. Of course, I refused!"

    "What have the saints done?"

    "They went to court, which sided with them and canceled the deal. The most unpleasant thing is that no one returned the money for the purchase to me!"

    "The judge was obliged to provide for this point in his verdict," Celesta remarked.

    "He didn''t do it, Messena. However, I''ll be frank - the money in this case is the least of my worries; in the end, the treasury will pay it back, or credit it, sooner or later. What interested me more was the persistence shown by the servants of the flame. My men, temporarily dispatched to the village, were attacked by unknown assailants," Tar said with a showy chuckle at the last word. "Two were killed. I have also done a little investigation and found out the approximate sums received by the officials for the verdict the saints want. They are disproportionately large!"

    "Is it that much?"

    "They could buy five of these villages with the bribes they spent!"

    "You don''t have any mines nearby, do you?" the mistress recalled the map. "Near Nemmist, there seems to be a small amount of iron being mined."

    "That was the first thing that came into my head," the Baron nodded. "No, it wasn''t. The priest of the Temple of the Unassailable Pillar examined the site two years ago, and he said it was empty. There''s nothing there but clay and stone."

    "Then it''s really strange."

    The man rose from his chair and bowed respectfully: "I beg you, Messena, help me to solve this riddle. I must know why my men were killed."

    "You can count on my help, Baron," Celesta agreed without hesitation. "You have intrigued me. Believe me, now I want to know the answer as much as you do."

    They parted in about fifteen minutes, assuring each other of their respect. The Mistress really liked Tar - a mortal not without the flaws of his class, but overall not a bad man. She liked working with them.

    Although the habit of constantly looking for a catch in the seemingly obvious actions made her wonder. Why had the baron come to her in the first place? Was it worth it to agree to his request? The answer to the last question was an absolute yes. It is in troubled waters that the biggest fish are caught, and the situation with the village is very strange. If an opportunity to learn some secret of the Fire Saints presents itself, it should not be passed up.

    As for Tar himself... He''s vindictive. All aristocrats live by the principle "good remember long - never forget the evil," and the Baron is the same way. The fact that people died is of little concern to him. What matters is that someone dared to raise his hand against his men, challenging him. So he will not rest until he responds to it. As a matter of fact, he already did, giving the vampires valuable information about their enemies.

    Enough with the sitting. There''s plenty to do.

    "Come on, Ranilcar."

    The figure of a guardsman slipped out of an empty niche in the wall and nestled behind the Mistress'' left shoulder. What else has she got planned for today? The meeting with Se will take place later. The strongest survivors of the Paths of the Beast have not yet come to town, so the meeting will be postponed. That leaves Kalderan, with whom she has much to discuss, but no time to do so now. She can try, though.

    Inhale. Exhalation. Consciousness slipped habitually into a trance, splitting into two streams. The first walks down the corridor, habitually tracking its surroundings, nodding at people and vampires along the way, avoiding traps. The second turn into a fog, goes to the gray plane, existing and not at the same time, stretches, marking the fires of souls, searching among them for the only suitable one.

    "Kalderan."

    "My Mistress," the answering thoughts-suggestions were tinged in neutral tones, indicating a lack of surprise. "Happy to hear your call."

    "I don''t feel much joy from you," Celesta jabbed non angry. "Is this a bad time? Are you in the middle of something?"

    "A noble mistress always comes when she should, for she is the measure of propriety," the scout replied floridly. He sometimes had an occasional flair for beautiful words, and centuries of living in Taleya had not erased the education he''d received in the far south. "Her wretched servant strives in vain to understand the plans of the Hierarchs of Celestial Purity, may the curse of the Giver of Darkness fall on their souls."

    "Disturbing news?"

    "I don''t know yet, Mistress," she could taste the discontent in his thoughts. "There''s no way they can choose a new Guardian of the Gate of Peace to replace the one who died. It is as if the factions are of equal strength and cannot push through a candidate of their own. It''s not uncommon but in the old days, it was never as much of a battle group clash. I don''t see any reason for such heat of passion."

    "In a few hours, I''m meeting with Se at his request. Could this be related?"

    "Not impossible. I am just now waiting for reports that might clarify the situation. Would it be permissible for the unworthy to ask to wait a little while? I remember I have to report today, but to tell you the truth, I have a lot of questions I would like to discuss with the High Seated Ruler. A couple of hours won''t be enough."

    "In that case, I''ll expect you the night after tomorrow; I don''t have anything serious planned for it yet."

    "Thank you, Mistress."

    The conversation, which lasted a few seconds, is over. The two streams of consciousness merged softly and smoothly, testifying to the mentalist''s good experience. The teenage angular figure walking down the corridor didn''t even slow down, only shuddered a little, causing the bodyguard to listen around just in case.

    A short conversation with a senior scout added food for thought. There''s been a lot of news lately that has to do with religion in one way or another. Or is there? Unlike secular Blueness, the cults of the gods in Taleya are very influential and actively interfere in politics. You might say, directly incorporated into it.

    Every major political movement is closely linked to the religious organization serving its ideological needs. Cult, temple, sect - it does not matter what you call it, the essence does not change. There are five main organizations, or rather, three plus two less important ones.

    The Saints of the Fire were firmly coupled with the middle-class nobility, influential enough to defend their interests in the Capital, but not part of the cohort of the higher aristocracy. In a sense, the clerics served as the focal point of the whole loose coalition, because without them it would probably have fallen apart. The Royal Authority was supported by the Society of Celestial Purity, which included hereditary officials and servants who were dissatisfied with the formal cult of Derkana. They were called "lawmen" behind their backs because the concept of the cult put the law above morality. In their opinion, the supreme ruler, as the embodiment of the heavenly principle, transmits the grace descending upon him to his subjects, and only the precise observance of his will, expressed in decrees, allows the divine energy to spread unhindered throughout society, down to the lowest. Needless to say, if the regalia of power - the mirror, the sword, and others - were accepted by mediocrity, the concept would stall.

    In a sense, the same theory was held by the Triad of Righteousness, named after the motto "justice, power, punishment," only with a small caveat. Its ideologists believed that the source of divine grace was not one ruler, but his whole family. And they silently asserted that the king did not necessarily perceive the instructions coming from the gods in the best possible way; there might be some among his relatives who were more acute in their hearing. Of course, those who were not careful enough to speak out openly were executed for disrespect, but despite the repression, the Triad flourished in the realms of the bloodline princes. It had relatively good contacts in Zonna, and was the first to recognize the sovereigns there as legitimate.

    All three organizations were sharply negative toward vampires. The harshest confrontation was probably with the Triad. Their patrons hated the Lascaris feudal princes, with whom the undead community was friends, so the Triads didn''t make even temporary situational alliances. Sad, but nothing could be done. The grouping of the old aristocracy, led by Lash, by the way, along with the tribal cults, sacrificed a lot to the servants of the Weightless Host. The cult dedicated to the willful airwoman Firise, which survived the Plague, kept many secrets and enjoyed the special favor of Medea, who personally trained chanters for it.

    The last of the larger ones are the temples of Lukal, the god of trade and gold. They have no unified organization, each temple for itself, but they stand in every large city, not only in Blueness or Taleya but everywhere. With the donations of merchants and the services of an intermediary, they have accumulated a lot of wealth, maintain close ties with each other, and the abbots periodically come to the cathedrals that take place in the capital. If they were ever to unite, they would be a formidable force. On the whole, their attitude toward vampires is neutral, with the exception of Gardoman''s subordinates, with whom the priests of Lucal have a love and complete understanding.

    In addition to the strongest, closely related to and influenced by politics, there were other cults, sects, and individual monasteries. Most of them had a negative attitude toward vampires, but some maintained stable informal contacts. They exchanged information, and trade things. Occasionally, small cults would fall under the ban after the next bureaucratic outburst, and then they would go into hiding, joining the army of Mistress of the Night''s undisclosed servants.

    * * *Chapter 9

 Chapter 10

    Chapter 10

    * * *

    The older Celesta grew, the more her invisible possessions grew, and the more time it took to manage them. Good assistants were always in short supply, not every task could be assigned to them, and the dangers of the excessive growth of personal arrogance had to be borne in mind. Even though its power was firm, there were regular unicum who tried to challenge it. The emergence of the Guard solved the problem only partially, as recent events have shown.

    The routine was very annoying. She''d been looking for someone to take over the life of the capital''s community for a long time, and she hadn''t seen anyone suitable. There was too much tied up in Taleya, where all the threads of government converged, so she could not simply appoint a commandant, as she had done in some other cities. Certainly, some functions had been shared between Merk, the elders, or the respected mortals, but she still had to make many of the decisions governing the city.

    There was work all the time. Always.

    In the hours since her meeting with Tar, Celesta had studied the stack of financial reports from the two vampire-controlled trading houses; talked to the two subjects who ran the underground palace construction crews; approved a summary of household expenses for the last quarter; read three intelligence reports on various operations; agreed with Latham to expand the guard by five fighters. Finally, on the fly, she discussed with Vador the changes in the School of Paths program. She could not force the Beast walkers to change the Path, but she could create conditions that would encourage them to study more social or military sciences.

    She got the impression that she didn''t have time for anything.

    Usually, negotiations at the highest level are preceded by a long preparation. The parties agree on the range of topics to be discussed, outline preliminary positions, and hint at what they are prepared to give up and what they want in return. The rules change if the talks are held secretly. Intelligence agencies have their quirks, and their etiquette, so Celesta had no idea why Sae had asked to talk. Kalderan''s suggestion seemed plausible, but it was not specific.

    The Special Cabinet of the Guard, in the old days when the rebels were in the service of the throne, was engaged solely in the protection of the King. The rest of the tasks were divided among the "spiders," diplomatic intelligence, the army, and other secret services, which did their jobs well. Then came the collapse, much had to be rebuilt almost from scratch, and the functions were passed from those who could not cope, to those who could. As a result, now the Lieutenant of the Guard, who was in charge of a special office, had a very, very wide range of questions in his area of responsibility.

    "Messena Celesta," the man who had been sitting there rose to his feet and bowed in reverence at her arrival. "It is a great honor, happiness, a blessing bestowed upon the unworthy to behold the Blessed of the gods.

    Mistress noted mentally that the king''s previous envoys had been far less polite. They used forms of address to a person of inferior status, and they never called her blessed, refusing to acknowledge the fact of a divine touch. At best they called her "noble". Sae addressed her as a ruler, though he did not kneel, much less prostrate himself. He was wise not to specify who Celesta''s patrons were.

    The current reigning king, who ascended the throne a year ago, Valier II, seemed smarter than his predecessors. He took his time, replaced his father''s officials with his own gradually, and did not rush through reforms. So far his actions have made a pleasant impression on the Mistress. And now, apparently, he decided to accept reality and bring the formal status of the ruler of vampires in line with reality.

    Or maybe he''s just so screwed up that he''s willing to make compromises.

    "It is equally pleasant for me, a humble woman, to receive the trusted messenger of Heaven! Please, sit down, noble sir. Taste the wine - Phalaenic, from last year''s harvest."

    Nuances, nuances. The previous barons of Sae, the Ranneck clan, failed in their conspiracy, and as a result, the title was taken from them and given to their more loyal vassals, the Nikchash clan. Therefore, only the noble. The offer to drink wine together is also important. According to established etiquette among vampires, sharing a drink with a person, you can not harm him, even just drinking his blood is undesirable. The rule is often violated, but violators are looked upon disapprovingly.

    "Thank you, Messena," the lieutenant bowed again, before sitting down in the offered chair. "I hope my visit was not inconvenient?"

    "Not at all. The arrival of a man so close to the Throne, one might say, the sovereign''s left hand is always a joy," Celesta said sarcastically. "Is your lord well, may he rule for a thousand years?"

    "Oh, rest assured, his health is unshakable and his power is firm."

    They couldn''t and didn''t want to, get to the purpose of their visit right away. They looked at each other, exchanged hints, and played with words. Sae recalled the recent events when the "spiders" gutted the uncovered nets of Morvanites, and Celesta responded by jabbing at some facts of court life, related to people from the king''s inner circle.

    "We, too, have much to worry about," the lieutenant was gradually getting to the point. "You must agree that in the light of recent events, the appearance of your confidant, first in Zonna and then in Lascaris, cannot but cause concern."

    "Had it not been for the actions of your sovereign''s loyal servants, Latam would not have had to rush to the capital of Sineva," Mistress noted to herself that her movements were not yet known to the humans. "As for Lascaris... Perhaps we''ll discuss the subject later. I''m not ready, to be frank with people right now - not after all the losses my subjects have suffered at your hands."

    The lieutenant swallowed the term "subjects" without flinching.

    "Believe me, Messena, whatever the relationship between the servants of the one who sits on the Azure Throne and the blessed Mistress, my sovereign has every respect and friendliness for you personally."

    "They take some strange forms."

    "Not at all," Sae was not embarrassed. "Consider this: despite the hard evidence of illegal activities, we have not touched either the Quail Trading House or the Southern Water Company. Darmen''s shipyards also continue to operate unhindered. What, if not respect for you personally, can explain such leniency?"

    Celesta froze an effort of will keeping herself from more displays of confusion. "Good shot," she mentally appraised. So that''s how it is. The king''s men had used the material they''d gotten their hands on, going through the chains and leaving the tidbits they''d discovered for blackmail. And she does not know what exactly they know, and therefore can not implement countermeasures. It turns out that it is necessary to change everything.

    Damn you, Zervan!

    "You haven''t touched the Quail, because it contains the money of Prince Messiran, a quarrel with whom your lord has absolutely no plans," the Mistress replied, barely able to hide her shock, hoping that the mortal didn''t understand her reaction. "As for the shipyards and the Company, until the tensions in the Archipelago subside, there''s no need to worry about their fate. The kingdom needs them in good working order almost more than we do."

    "Perhaps the Messena is not yet aware of the latest negotiations between our delegation and Lord Captain Nisolae," Sae said softly. "We have agreed on the division of spheres of influence. The Archipelago will not renew its supply contracts with Lanaka, and our admirals, in turn, will undertake not to sail south of Smoky Nose."

    "The fleet is relocating north and there is no urgent need for repair facilities in the south," Celesta nodded thoughtfully. "That''s why you waited so long to come to me. So what do you want?"

    "I beg your pardon, Messena, I do not understand you."

    "Stop it, Lieutenant," the risen grimaced. "Save me and your time, especially since you have less. What does your master demand in exchange for the sanctity of our enterprises?"

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    "O blessed Mistress, he who is clothed in royal robes only wishes peace and prosperity for all nations! The purity of his thoughts is perfect! He cherishes the hope that the days of discord are over, and desires the friendship of the lord of the people of the night, as powerful as she is beautiful."

    "Is that it? And how will this friendship be expressed?"

    "Some minor favors will prove the sincerity of both parties. My sovereign believes that having demonstrated his friendliness, he is entitled to expect a reciprocal"

    "Is he expecting something specific, or will he leave the choice up to me?" The Mistress could feel the irritation slowly building up inside her. She had made it clear to the baron that she was bored with the games of higher speech, but he, apparently, simply could not switch. Accustomed to conversations with aristocrats, she was forced to follow him in the language of the nobility, which had a lot of semantic shades.

    "A mere trifle, worth nothing to Messena," assured the lieutenant. "We would like to know who the ultimate beneficiary of this transaction is, and to obtain documents confirming his participation."

    He opened the leather folder that was on the table, pulled out a piece of paper, and handed it to Celesta. The vampiress, not even pretending to need a source of light, ran her eyes over the contents. A banker''s draft, a large sum, though, and an unusual sender - the keeper of the Voice of Silence, one of the senior hierarchs of the Celestial Purity. Not only are the archives under his care, but he is also, officially speaking, the head of the prison ministry department. And sometimes there are very important people sitting in prisons.

    "Why did you come to us?" The mistress looked at the lieutenant. "I can''t believe you can''t trace the whole chain."

    We don''t want to advertise our participation. Besides, we need evidence suitable for an official procedure.

    What kind of procedure, he did not specify. Okay, at least he spoke straightforwardly, without any innuendo.

    Celesta put the document on the table and shrugged philosophically. It''s unpleasant, of course, when they take you by the throat, but there''s nothing you can do about it. Life is like that - one day you are on top, and the next day you are on the bottom. It is impossible to be in a strong position all the time, sometimes you have to compromise, including with your conscience. Plus, the deal seems to be a profitable one. The vampires keep their assets and gain time, and in return, the King gets to use their network''s resources. Valier will not limit himself to one "request". Gradually, he will get involved, appreciate the convenience of cooperation, and begin to rely on them more... Sometimes the tail wags the dog. The main thing is that the King fulfills his obligations.

    In any case, they need time now. At least to understand what exactly people have unearthed. Re-analyze the information leaked by Zervan, make a list of "exposed" structures, and urgently pull out the servants who found themselves under attack. Until the work is finished, the vampires will play by the rules of the Son of the Sea, well, he, in turn, will not take any aggressive action. He has no reason to back Celesta into a corner so long as the situation suits him.

    "I''ll be frank, Lieutenant: so far your sovereign has made a pleasant impression. He has a very rational approach to problem-solving. I hope that in his reign the people of the night will not have to leave the country as they did under his grandfather. We will, of course, comply with your request and find the necessary papers. How urgently are they needed, are there any restrictions?"

    "It is highly desirable to meet the deadline of a month, Messena."

    "You will get the information sooner, but there may be difficulties with the delivery of documents to Taleya. However, don''t rush to judgment. A month let be a month."

    The mention of the current ruler''s grandfather served as a hint, which Sae must have understood. Then, too, a messenger from the King showed up, demanded with threats, and promises the dirt on a powerful Kingsman - too powerful to be executed. On reflection, Celesta agreed. But when the time came to receive payment for the service rendered, the King declared that promises made to the undead need not be kept, and declared a hunt.

    They had to go into the dungeons, wrap up operations, and get the servants out of trouble.

    The mistress helped his enemies for the rest of his life. Everyone. She wanted to believe that she had made the liar bitterly regret what he had done.

    In some ways, today Mistress was closing a not-so-pleasant page of her long post-life. Or rather, not exactly closing, but rather sums up the last year. She had to decide what to do with the Zervan inheritance.

    Two men were sitting in front of her. Perhaps the most respected and authoritative of the risens, following in the path of the Beast. Of the survivors.

    She had long sympathized with the first, Krustyar, and regretted that he rarely came to the Capital. He was a loner by nature, preferring to retreat to the west of the country. He reminded Celesta of a hardy, self-confident predator, a big beast that had no intention of proving anything to anyone. Just lying in the den, listening to the rain, thinking about something of his own. Got up. Stretches. Walks out, and catches up with his prey. Killed it, ate it. Comes home. Lays down again. She would have loved to appoint him the new Elder, but, alas, his way of thinking is totally unsuitable.

    His neighbor, Alat, was much more sociable. He was formerly a member of Zervan''s retinue, but not of the inner circle. He was not particularly bad, had a generally decent reputation, had no conflict with the cult leaders, and the mortals did not complain about him. They rather liked him, though the latter was not an indicator - the adepts of the Beastly Paths had a bright, wild charisma that attracted people like moths to the light. A kind of "bad-boy aura," as Celesta sometimes called it. Just now Alat had led a large gang from the outskirts of the capital into submission, slaughtering some of the leaders who wanted independence and had appeared at his Mistress''s call, preparing to make excuses for a large number of dead bodies. She had no intention of scolding him - she remembered how she had worked in that environment, and she knew he could not do otherwise.

    "I can see why Krustyar didn''t leave. He probably wasn''t," Celesta nodded at the recluse, who smiled slightly and bowed his head in agreement. "Why did you stay? You were not the least of Zervan''s retinue."

    "I listened to him and decided to leave. My gut told me. He didn''t say outright that let''s go, the Mistress is not a low for us now. He was just hinting. I didn''t immediately understand what he was suggesting, I just felt uncomfortable. And then he went off the rails. It was reported to you. Zervan left the capital and I came back. I knew he wouldn''t come here."

    After the ornate verbal laces of the higher tongue, Alat''s simple speech was a true respite to the ears. He had to be weaned from foul language for a long time after the second birth to achieve the desired effect. But now it was much easier to communicate with him, especially since he had never lied to her. He understood that it made no sense.

    "But why didn''t you leave with him?"

    "I''m not a lawless man," Alat grimaced. "You can''t have no law at all."

    "It''s a pity that not everyone thinks so. Even here, not to mention the Seven Rivers. You, Krustyar, are going there."

    Risen grimaced. He didn''t like to travel, preferring to spend his time in the deep woods, which he regarded as almost personal property. But he didn''t mind, either- Celesta rarely gave him assignments and didn''t bother him over anything.

    "Why, Mistress?"

    "I need to have a clear understanding of what''s going on there. Is there someone there to talk to, or not? Based on current information, the Seven Rivers should be put out in the sun in droves, but it doesn''t work that way. On the other hand, in the recollections of the prisoner captured in Lascaris, I did not see a single decent person. So you have a long way to go. You will see, you will judge, you will report."

    "As you say, Mistress."

    "Just don''t break. They know how to corrupt, Zervan, as you can see, succumbed."

    Without words, Krustyar grinned dryly and contemptuously, more like grinning, expressing his opinion of the deceased. He and the former elder did not like each other. The enemy of the enemy.

    "Alat. What about gangs?"

    "I got the capital''s gangs," the new boss reported. "There''s still someone running around, but I''ll have it done in a week."

    "The other cities? Can you be a coordinator?"

    "As an Elder or something? No, I don''t think so. I''m sorry, Mistress, but I need a different kind of authority and more strength. Richard and Gepheon are not much inferior to me, and their arrogance will not let them obey me."

    "I''ll add power."

    "I won''t do it anyway. They''ll ignore my instructions, I''ll have to travel around the country, knocking on empty heads, it won''t be without bodies, and then it will come from you... I don''t want that kind of happiness."

    In fact, Celesta assumed that Alat would refuse. He''d never been particularly ambitious, never wanted to climb to the top, and he was sober about his abilities. Neither did he have any prospects. Those who follow the Paths of the Beast (she could hardly keep from blurting out "werewolves") are very sensitive about hierarchy, and would never follow anyone who was known to be less powerful. Or not for long. So assuming inevitable rebellion and, of course, casualties, Alat is absolutely right.

    "Sometimes valuable information comes in from the streets. I wouldn''t want to lose that source."

    "Mistress, no problem," the hunter replied without hesitation. "You just say that from now on you''ll take one cut by rumors, and everyone will be happy. Before, there were two cuts to the commonwealth - one to Zervan and one to the stooges, I mean, financiers. If you announce that now you take a cut of the information, the ringleaders will come kissing your feet."

    Krustyar smiled. Somewhat surprised by the passage, Celesta raised her right eyebrow slightly.

    "Well, I mean, of course, they will kiss and without it," Alat understood her in his way. "But not enthusiastically."

    After letting them both go to meet their difficult fate, the petite mistress of the undead and, according to some, the avatar of the dark goddess was left alone. She wasn''t expecting anyone else today, so she could sit quietly, thinking. In principle, the result was expected, except that Alat pleasantly surprised her by making a sensible suggestion. She would probably follow it.

    There is no more unified gang leadership. So be it.

    The traitor''s inheritance has been dealt with, except for the surprise from the king. However, such "greetings from the past" appear inevitably, it is impossible to foresee everything, it remains to try to even out the possible damage. That''s what she''ll do. If she''s lucky, she might get a chance to weaken the priests'' positions, or to give the king the idea of getting rid of some of his subjects by sending them across the Steppe.

    * * *

 Part 3 Chapter 11

    Part 3 Chapter 11

    * * *

    It is wrong to think of the Guardsmen only as fighters.

    Human rulers, not all, but many, turn some of their elite guards into perfect killing machines. They pump their bodies with elixirs, put them through expensive rituals, and subject them to a mental correction that allows them to discard the body''s natural limitations if necessary. Bodyguards pay for strength, dexterity, and loyalty with a drop in intellect and lifespan, which, however, is considered an acceptable price.

    Vampires are few. For vampires, narrow specialization is unacceptable.

    "So the guardsmen of the Night Mistress possessed skills that didn''t seem to belong to them at all. They knew how to investigate crimes, knew the basics of blacksmithing, and could lead a small convoy from one end of the country to the other. Of course, they knew the basics of various temple doctrines and the available magic. It was a background study" Reggie, for example, was often assigned to guard Maitre Hastin''s students, and gradually he picked up the theory from them, just to understand what they were saying.

    Of Lord Latham''s twenty subordinates, only two had been with him from the beginning, Reggie and Vantal. Many died, some were wounded incompatible with continued service, and some decided to move to a quieter position. The best sensor and the best searcher remained, and in time they grew to be commanders of their own units.

    When word got out that Lady Cache was to travel to the northern foothills, Reggie''s five were naturally assigned to accompany her.

    Usually, the guardsmen preferred to travel without an entourage. Yes, it is easier in the company of human servants - a voluntary source of blood at their side, they also take on interaction with innkeepers, and officials and in general make life a lot easier. After-life. At the same time, people are not always able to maintain the right speed. And as they grow older, their bloodlust weakens and it becomes easier to bear. Older vampires, standing in the second stage of development, can hold back a week without strain, as long as they don''t have to actively witchcraft. The time is quite realistic to stretch if you know some mystical practices or have a supply of elixirs at hand.

    Unfortunately, despite all her talents, Lady Cach�� was still considered a junior vampire. And, speaking of the magician, it should be particularly clarified that it is "considered" and exactly "vampire". Like most magicians, she was actively developing her energy, so her relatively young age of over a hundred years did not prevent her from getting some of the abilities inherent in the second step. For example, the need for daytime sleep was not particularly acute for her compared to her peers. The sun only burned her, not instantly turning her into a flaming torch and allowing her to run for cover.

    As for terminology, now only those who rose from death on their own were called risens. There were fewer of them with each passing century, and it was possible one day they would disappear altogether. True, this theory was contradicted by the presence of Seven Rivers, the White Bone Oasis, and some other lands, where the dead continued to return to un-life often, so maybe they would not disappear. In any case, the community of sentient undead was now more than half replenished by chicks, that is, children of older vampires. And they were called chicks either when they were very young, or by specifying, "chick of such-and-such," but they had never invented a separate name. At one time the term "converted" was used by analogy, but it somehow didn''t catch on.

    As the youngest chick of Maitre Hustin, Cach�� took much from her progenitor, and her careful training allowed her to develop the skills she had acquired during the rebirth. Nevertheless, she was still young, and so needed blood, preferably once every couple of days. Eating at inns from other travelers or servants increased the risk of exposure, and besides, it was unknown if they would have the opportunity to stay among humans when they arrived at the site. And it was inappropriate for a young lady to travel exclusively in the company of men. As a consequence, she was accompanied by three mortals - two maids and a coachman who was in charge of the horses.

    "Mr. Reggie," the fact that Cach�� was sitting in the creaking carriage, behind thick curtains, did not prevent her from talking to the sergeant on horseback beside her. "Why did they send us at all? I mean, you and me? There must be some special reason for sending five guardsmen to the frontiers of the kingdom."

    The sorceress chose to remain silent about herself. After their failed attempt to explore the Necropolis, their trio was swamped with dull, routine work, from which they had, for the time being, successfully shirked. Making elixirs, calculating and performing rituals, casting webs or shackles of allegiance on the mind, and teaching at the School of Paths were just a few of the things they had to do in the past month.

    Many things were solely the responsibility of the humble community of vampire mages. Both for safety reasons (human servants, even the infinitely loyal ones, were not told everything) and for the reason of possibility. The energy is different, and some ways of witchcraft are available only to the undead. In addition, elixirs and artifacts made by vampires were more effective in the hands of other vampires, so Maitre Hustin always had a pile of various requests from heads of communities on his desk. They were slow to get through - there weren''t enough mages.

    There were a total of eight vampires, possessing not only racial but also ordinary magical abilities. Subtract the Elders Hustin and Latham, who were engaged in administrative duties, and that left only six masters. For more than a thousand and a half tribesmen, overpowered by requests and, in the vast majority, willing to pay serious money to get their wishes fulfilled. Not surprisingly, mages were in great demand.

    A firm understanding of their importance was seamlessly superimposed on the irritation of not being able to engage in tasks that interested them personally. No, Mistress encouraged to research, but she demanded to provide the community with what it needed first. As a result, almost all mages had a grumpy, feisty, and sarcastic temper.

    Against their backdrop, Cach��, who respected the much older Guardsmen than she did, seemed the epitome of politeness.

    "Elder Kalderan''s office did the original reconnaissance, but they couldn''t get to the excavation, Lady Cach��," the sergeant replied. "There''s an entire city there, if you don''t know, abandoned during the Plague. Most of the buildings have gone underground, the locals don''t go there, they think it''s cursed. For some reason, the Saints are very interested in one of the temples. It''s up to us to find out what they discovered. They sent at least four "Foundrymen" there."

    "Wow," the magician was impressed. "I bet they''ve got alarms, too!"

    "We''re counting on you, Lady Cach��," Reggie nodded.

    Ignoring the questioning glances of the maids, who could not hear her sergeant''s answer, Cach�� leaned back on the bench and nervously tapped her hand with her fan. It was a disgusting habit from which she could not and would not get rid, for it gave her a more human impression. Foundrymen was a slang term for a member of the Archives and Development Department of the Holy Order of the Fire Saints; in other words, a theoretical mage. Or magicians-archeologists; they had to act in such a capacity as well.

    After the great catastrophe that destroyed the old world, almost all the gods stopped responding to human calls, and those who did respond did so reluctantly. Who was left? Few. The Lord of Hell, whose adepts often organized bloody hecatombs out of a desire to serve their lord, thus were under special control of the authorities. The Lord of Good Peace seldom condescended to his admirers and also demanded that they adhere to a strict moral code. Derkana the Changing, intervened in the affairs of the world only in response to requests from members of the ruling dynasty. And the deities of the clan cults of ancient families, who also helped only their own.

    The common man also needs a common god. One that does not require much and has a real return on the sacrifices.

    The founders and supreme shepherds of the first cults were magicians. They came from noble families, who managed to understand a little bit about the changing laws of the world, and put the crumbs of available opportunities at their service. If they had remained mere mages, they would have been burned or killed in any other available way. But priests were treated differently by the crowd. Gradually the cults grew, gaining power, their leaders sought and found functioning rituals, learned to channel the faith of mortals into a single direction, a single goal... The gods, at first no more than an abstraction, were becoming a reality. The collective unconscious of the mass of believers created supernatural beings, fleshing out the invented symbols.

    The Sacred Fire, worshipped by the saints, did not arise from anything. Its predecessors and progenitors are the cults of various hypostases of the Arcote Heart of the Flame, as well as the most ancient mysteries of Salline the Benefactor. Strange as it may seem, the primitive fertility rites continued to work, albeit with a great loss of effectiveness, so Salline was still revered among the peasants. It was from the Life-Giver that the fire priests learned some useful practices. They continued to do so to this day, to the greater glory of Fire, of course.

    The main developers of the new-old rituals, prayers, and appeals to their deity gathered in the Archives Department, and could often be spotted in abandoned ruins or even in cemeteries, studying long-forgotten writings. Because of their similar interests, conflicts between founders and the Dark Guild, or founders and vampires, occurred constantly. Cach��, of course, had also faced ideological opponents before. She didn''t like the process, so now, after Reggie''s words, she wasn''t expecting anything good from the upcoming meeting.

    "The foundrymen are waiting for us on the spot," she informed the maids. "At least four of them, full-fledged, ranked ones."

    "There was no grief," grumbled the elderly Sobire. "What do they want?"

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    "Probably the same as us. Trying to dig up something useful."

    "Are we going to fight again? When I think of Phyrexen, my heart starts to race."

    Don''t lie," Cach�� threatened with her fan. "There''s nothing wrong with your heart. You can''t breathe because you eat a lot of rolls, you''re too heavy, and the fat is hanging down your sides. When are you going on a diet?"

    "When we come back home."

    "That''s what you always promise!"

    "Forgive me, Lady Cach��," the junior in both age and position, Lesica, cautiously intervened in the altercation. "But if foundrymen are working there, they must have guards. Why are there so few of us, then?"

    "Well, first of all, no one is going to fight. We''ll come quietly, see what they''ve got, maybe copy or take what we need, and leave unnoticed. In any case, we''ll try very hard to make it work. Secondly, we should take you to Guardsman training. Just so you know what they can do. One squad for the security is more than enough, they can''t be stopped except by the highest magic or the prayer of a high priest."

    "But foundry workers fit both definitions."

    "Exactly! That''s why Sobire is angry."

    "It''s not that I''m angry," the maid corrected her. "but I remember what happened the last time. We were nearly caught by the whole Province, the garrisons alerted, and we had to hole up in the swamp for a month. Barely got out of there. Well, Mr. Reggie won''t take any chances, he knows his duties well."

    In the vampire community, personal servants had long since become a very special caste, with unique rights and responsibilities. They could speak on behalf of their masters, an attempt on their behalf was tantamount to an attempt on a vampire, with the aggravating circumstance of the frailty of human bodies, and they were allowed access to secrets that even the leaders of powerful cults couldn''t know. The explanation for this extraordinary position of mortals was simple: loyalty.

    The close servants, or, as they were called, the day retinue, had always come from families that had served the Masters of the Night for generations. From childhood, they were imbued with the idea that giving their blood to vampires was normal. They did not see them as monsters, and they saw the possibility of associating their lives with them as something between a higher good and a well-made career. In the worldview of the would-be intimates, religion was firmly intertwined with knowledge of the realities of undead society, so they revered but did not idealize vampires. In agreeing to the bonding ritual, the suites imagined their future fate fully, without illusions.

    The mortal, bound to a vampire, received a piece of his master''s power, creating in return a kind of imprinting, only at a deeper level. Servants loved their masters. But this did not prevent them from seeing their masters'' faults and even, depending on the relationship, from scolding them for their faults. Given their long lifespans - being a member of the day''s retinue allowed them to live up to two hundred years and remain active - some of the retinues treated vampires as if they were their children, and behaved accordingly.

    Of course, there were disadvantages, too, which meant that not all vampires approached mortals. The violent severing of the bond by the untimely death of a servant was hard on the master, affecting his body and setting him back for decades. If a servant fell into the hands of the priests alive, they could put a curse on his master, or simply find his whereabouts to kill him. Many were unwilling to take the risk.

    Sobire had been close to Cach�� since she was a child, and their bond was almost spontaneous; the ritual merely cemented and strengthened the existing one. She secretly considered the vampires her daughter. She allowed herself to criticize, argue, and in general, did not see Cach�� as a superior being, sent down to earth by the will of the Dark God to serve as a guide to His will. Her grumbling was taken for granted by Cache.

    The second maid, Lesica, had only recently entered the ranks and was inexperienced in every way, which she confirmed by confessing: "I once saw two of the seniors of Elder Zervan''s retinue fight. If the guardsmen are not inferior to them, then five is probably enough."

    "Don''t say that in front of them," Cach�� said, listening to how far away Reggie was. "They''d be insulted by such comparisons."

    "It''s understandable," Sobir�� lowered her voice. "How much evil Zervan''s pack has brought? Bless me, Dark One, but it''s a good thing they''re gone."

    "Sobire!" The magician hissed warningly.

    "I didn''t say anything," she didn''t seem the least bit embarrassed. "The people, the servants, and the others, almost had a party when they found out the Mistress had executed the Elder. All right, all right, I exaggerate! But it''s true that no one felt sorry for him."

    "So it is, LadyCach��," Lesica squeaked in agreement at the look in the vampire''s eyes. "He was feared, badly."

    "I''ve never heard of subordinate elders attacking their own. There was a case twenty years ago, but then the murderer was found and burned."

    "There have been rumors, lady..."

    "It''s much calmer to walk around the dungeons."

    "Sobire," the name sounded different this time, and the maid was momentarily silent. "Not a good subject to discuss. Let''s return to the previous one. Lesica, the guardsmen are very strong in their own way and have long learned to work together. Each of them has trained for hundreds of years, day in and day out, with and without weapons. Believe me, attacking them, even in the daytime, is insane. That''s why they were sent with us because they can handle any conceivable danger."

    After a moment''s silence, Cach�� added self-critically: "Just don''t get in their way."

    A convenient place for the camp was found about ten kilometers from the excavation, and the guide showed it to her. Who the frail-looking man in plain clothes was, an agent of Elder Kalderan''s office or a cultist, Cach�� wasn''t interested. She simply noted that he would look equally organic in the countryside and poor city quarters, and even in the back rooms of rich people''s mansions, and then went about her business.

    The village that had served as the starting point of the investigation was a little farther away and to the right, looking toward the abandoned town. They did not reach it - they turned onto an overgrown road, so narrow that in some places they had to carry the carriage in their arms. The mage squinted unhappily but kept quiet. She did not like the fact that in case of escape the carriage would have to leave, and at the same time, she knew that there were no quiet corners where they could leave the vehicle.

    The vampires made camp in the afternoon, taking a few hours to set up and scout the immediate area. By nightfall, at the time of their power, they were ready to act. The mages had long ago experimented with the effects of sunlight on vampires and had found that during the daytime the activity of the body was directly proportional to the thickness of the layer of ground above it. In other words, in very deep caves, even the youngsters did not need to sleep at noon. At night, the negative influence disappeared, the body spent its energy not on maintaining its state, but on moving, hunting, or using abilities, depending on the situation.

    This wasn''t the first time Cach�� had been on an investigation like this, first with the ma?tre, then alone. She knew what to do. While the servants together with the coachman set up the tent, inside the carriage the magician used artifacts to check the camp and surroundings for possible surprises. She had had an unpleasant incident in the past when a monster they hunted hid right under her feet. Now, given the presence of the mage priests nearby, anything at all was to be expected.

    "The priests have surrounded the excavation site with no less than two signal circuits," she reported to Reggie a little later. "We won''t have any trouble with the first one; it''s weak and clearly distinguishable in a mystical vision. It''s more like a habit. The second one is much harder, and it would take a little preparation to get through it."

    "What is required of us?"

    "Nothing. Just do as I say."

    On the first night, they weren''t going to sneak directly into the excavation; they planned only to watch. The six vampires had disappeared silently into the dark forest like night spirits. It wasn''t difficult to reach the first outline, or to penetrate it - Inhumans could see perfectly well in the dark without tricks. The signal, given by the priests, was gaping and they got through it without stopping. The second signal circuit took a little more time. It had to be hacked.

    They didn''t know how often patrols went around the perimeter, or if they did. Supposedly they should. Cache didn''t want to leave traces, but opening a passage by personal force was not a pleasant pleasure either. So, having hastily constructed a trio of suitable artifacts, she anchored the hole in the alarm system she had created. Now, no matter what happened to her, the passage would remain intact.

    The five figures glided on, leaving one guardsman to cover the way back. They only slowed their speed - the mage was checking for traps ahead, and they were wary of patrols. Which, by the way, was very well hidden, ordinary people almost certainly would not have detected them. It took them a full hour to reach the city borders, which was a long time by the standards of older vampires.

    There they split up. Two of the guardsmen remained to observe the frequency with which patrols passed and changed. Cach��, the sergeant, and another guardsman named Sojour went to watch the excavation directly. Frankly, even from where a couple of his subordinates remained, Reggie could sense everyone alive for miles around. However, it''s always better to see for yourself. Wizards can hide from sensory flair. It should be checked in person.

    Humans didn''t notice them.

    "The guards aren''t allowed near the excavations," Reggie remarked as he looked at the possible routes. "Look at the camps. Priests in the center, fifty light lancers each to the south and west."

    "It''s easier for us," Sojour replied. "There''s less chance of running into some sleepwalker with insomnia. Lady''s recovering."

    The sorceress really came out of her trance, and moved, gratefully accepting the cup of drink. Her eyes slowly filled with color, turning from milky white to plain black.

    "All three camps are protected, the central one, of course, is the hardest," Cach�� said, helping herself by pointing to the places she was describing with a twig. "There are six mages, but two of them have a weak core, apparently ordinary priests."

    "There''s nothing for ordinary folks to do here," Reggie countered.

    "I''m in the magical sense, I can''t say anything about the positions. So, there are six mages, and they are in the central camp. The other two alarms are tied to artifacts. Also in the central camp are three chimeras of some kind, I could not tell if they were combat or not, and a dozen people with a suppressed will. I suspect they are diggers. Since the guards could not be involved, but someone needs to haul the earth, they brought silent dummies."

    "Can you tell me more about the chimeras?"

    "I have nothing to add," Cach�� jerked her shoulder. "The defense is good, there''s not much more to see. Or risk being spotted."

    "We can''t take any chances," the older vampire shook his head. "Well, let''s hope they''re not bloodhounds. We''re not going into the camp, anyway. And the excavation is a long way off."

    "The excavation is the most interesting part. There is something down there, faintly felt traces of an unfamiliar force, and an entirely unfamiliar one at that. I''ve never seen anything like it before! I must go and check."

    She murmured the last phrase in an anticipatory tone. The guardsmen looked at each other and remained silent - they had to go and check, that''s why they had been sent here.

    "We''re not going in today," Reggie said in an emphatic tone, burying the witch''s dreams. "We''ll look around first, map out the approaches, look for traps. Sojour, see if you can climb that tower over there. I''d put an observer there, it''s strange that he''s not there."

    An experienced vampire is difficult, almost impossible, to spot at night. Unfortunately, Cach��, despite her age, paid insufficient attention to the art of concealment, so Reggie had to keep her safe at all times. He considered leaving her in hiding and going around the excavation himself, but the priests took care of their duties, not all the alarms they had set were noticed by the sergeant. Reggie made a mental note to himself: when he returned home, ask Messen Latham for training or to concern himself with some other way of detecting magic. The current skills were not enough.

    There were many traps. The only logical explanation for so many was the failure of the previous scouts. The priests were alarmed, so they were paranoid. It took the vampires a few hours to get a map of the excavation and decide exactly where they were going to go the next night. They left the city just before dawn.

    * * *

 Chapter 12

    Chapter 12

    * * *

    The training of the chosen cultists, or of the few people who, for whatever reason, were not Morvanites and found themselves among trusted mortals (as far as vampires were capable of trusting the living), necessarily included the basics of warfare. Not everyone was taught how to fight and kill thoroughly, but everyone was given the basics.

    The requirements for close servants were much higher, and their education was taken seriously. Even the young Lesika knew how to carry out guard duty, knew how to choose the right place for an ambush, and, very importantly, could bring a vampire out of a daytime sleep if necessary with a high chance of staying alive. So it was the servants who were on duty during the day - their lords sleeping off, preparing for the night ahead. Though it could not be ruled out that some of the guardsmen were quietly awake, with or without their commander''s approval.

    Waking up a few minutes after sunset, Cach�� was fed by Sobire and checked her pre-packed bag one last time. The unknown beckoned and stirred. The sorceress anticipated her encounter with the ancient mysteries and was a little wary of failure. She knew about her shortcoming, about the excessive enthusiasm, reaching mania of thirst for new knowledge, but she could not always control it. Methodical preparation helped to cool her head. So yesterday Cach�� sorted out the artifacts that could be useful and put them in a certain order, feeling at the same time contradictory feelings. What they will meet in the abandoned ancient temple, no one knows. To be exposed to unnecessary danger was not desirable, at the same time, the more artifacts they would need, the more difficult the task would be and the more information could be obtained.

    There were no problems with the first part - getting into the facility - just like yesterday. Only they had to spend an extra half an hour monitoring the humans. Fortunately, they had not been seen last night, and they had left no traces, so the guards did not seem alarmed. The priests were quiet, too. No new traps appeared, and the vampires, observing moderate caution, climbed into the excavated temple.

    It is more accurate to say that only one central passageway was free from the ground, the low walls were still hidden under a layer of soil. The complex itself did not look big on the outside - most likely, it did not make a majestic impression even at the best of times. But inside, the unknown builders managed to surprise their parishioners.

    "At least three underground floors," Reggie habitually determined. "What kind of walls are there to keep out our senses?"

    "It looks like regular marble," Cach�� looked closely. "Maybe there''s something under the cladding."

    They approached the section of the wall with the outer slab that had fallen off and made sure it was plain stone. The power wasn''t felt; it was most likely that something had been bricked inside during construction, something that interfered with the vampire''s senses.

    "The mosaics are interesting," the magician said. "The frescoes, too, and it''s a shame they''ve faded."

    "The fact that the Saints took much from Arcota is not news for a long time. The symbolism is almost the same."

    "Yes, but they have always claimed to have accepted the doctrine only from the light incarnations. But here, take a look for yourself."

    Reggie glanced at the long drawing, the centerpiece of which was a stylized symbol of Darkness, aka the letter "M" from the ancient Sylvian alphabet, and shook his head regretfully.

    "They''ll probably talk their way out of it. They''ll say it''s a temple of a different confession or something else."

    "��h! I hadn''t thought of politics."

    Carefully choosing where to step, the vampires surveyed room after room. They didn''t bother to clean the excavation, but they wiped the dust off many of the floors to get a closer look at the drawings. Cach�� stopped periodically, crouching down, sketching something in a notebook, trying to copy the signs as accurately as possible. A sense of pulsating energy drove her forward to the lower floors, but for now, she held back.

    The first underground floor was a common hall, where services had once been held. There was nothing of particular interest to the vampires there. There was a traditional altar, two massive statues of guards in the form of half-human half-beasts with traces of fire at their feet, and some well-preserved paintings on the walls. Obviously, there were many other things here before, in any case, the mounts on the columns were clearly intended for something massive, now stolen.

    The second floor consisted of six rooms, three of which were clearly of a domestic nature. Here Cach�� was stuck for an hour, painstakingly redrawing the sacred text carved on the wall. That is, she could not read it; the alphabet was unfamiliar, outwardly resembling the writings of Southern nations. Judging by the number of marks in front of the embedded slab, the priests had also paid special attention to the inscription, examining it not only by conventional methods. The vampiress did not risk using magic.

    But downstairs, on the third floor, which consisted of only two small rooms, there was something that amazed everyone.

    "Unthinkable..."

    "Lady Cache!" Reggie had to put his body behind the black flame that was blazing in the bowl, stepping forward in front of the bewildered wizardess. "Wake up!"

    "What? I''m fine! Do you see?! Can you see?!"

    "I see it, but I don''t understand what it is."

    "Unbelievable..." The mage arched her head slyly and stared at the fire as she poked her sergeant under the armpit. "We thought they''d disappeared. Maitre will be delighted!"

    "Lady Cach��. What. Is this?"

    "Part of an aspect. Or an elemental spirit, if you prefer," the vampiress straightened, stepping to the side to bypass the sergeant. The frantic expression was gone from her face, though the feverish glint in her eyes remained, so the man didn''t interfere. "They disappeared shortly before the Plague, suspected to have perished by ceasing to receive nourishment from their native plan. How had he survived?"

    "Was there something supporting him here?" Reggie suggested.

    "Most likely..."

    A deep and wide brass bowl, over which a ball of flame the diameter of a human palm danced, was exactly in the middle of the room. At a distance of half a meter from it, enclosing the bowl in a hexagon, stood square columns of carved figures, made of material unknown to Cache. The magician stepped closer and looked closely at one of them. It was the same writing as the one on the slab on the floor above. Some kind of sacred language?

    The whole room bore traces of humans, some of the artifacts the priests did not take away and they continued their work. The vampires tried to stay away from them. Nevertheless, Cach�� carefully pushed the couple aside, having previously memorized their location to establish her own. Lady''s excited state was reflected in the wide smile on her lips and the quick, honed movements of her hands, which placed the instruments at their calculated points with surgical precision.

    Reggie watched her carefully, not interfering. Sojour was in the next room, redrawing the writing on the walls, while the rest of the guardsmen stayed upstairs for emergencies.

    "It looks like a prison," muttered Cach�� to herself after half an hour. "Or some kind of cage. It keeps the spirit asleep and prevents it from disintegrating. But how?"

    The magician put some of the artifacts aside, took others out of her bag, and began to arrange them around the columns, muttering quietly to herself. Then she moved her hand from top to bottom, wrote something in her notebook, moved on to another column, and repeated the procedure. She stayed a little longer at the third one, checking something of her own.

    Things were happening so fast that Reggie simply didn''t have time to intervene. Cach�� herself didn''t notice how her hand crossed the invisible boundary of the cage just a little, literally with her fingertips. Here she was, concentrating on the sensations, tracing the power currents within the supports, waving her palm in the air. And suddenly - the flame rushed forward, instantly pulling into the tiny piece of skin!

    The mage was thrown backward; she twitched and wheezed, stretched out with her hand against her chest. Her eyes rolled back, and her mouth fell open, frozen in an ominous grin.

    "Sojour"

    The sergeant dropped to his knees beside Cach�� and piled on top of her, wrapping his arms around her back. Briefly, he threw to a subordinate who ran in:

    "Stimulator!"

    He immediately pulled a wide-mouthed vial from his belt purse, pulled out the cork, bit his vein, and dripped blood. He shook it and poured the mixture into the vampire''s mouth. She did not react to the elixir; after a few initial convulsions she froze in stony immobility, and now resembled more an elaborately carved statue than a conditionally living creature.

    "What happened?"

    "She trespassed, the fire soaked into her," Reggie answered briefly. He thought quickly about what to do next. "Let''s go. You carry the wizard. Tie her up, and I''ll clean up."

    Carrying a wounded vampire in a coma is dangerous. The undead instinctively reaches out to suck the life out of the nearest source, ignoring any interference. They might even claw at another vampire if they feel the blood in him. The vampire''s body was always bound with special ropes, including a gag in its mouth, before dragging its wounded companion anywhere. The ropes did not guarantee that he would not break free, but they did buy him time.

    While Sojour bound the mage quickly and carefully, Reggie, pulling on his special gloves, quickly stowed the artifacts in his bag. His features sharpened, revealing a quiet rage. He wanted to curse Cache for ignoring safety precautions, the priests who had no idea why they were invading an abandoned temple, and himself for letting his guard down. As if for the first time works with magicians! After collecting the artifacts of Cach��, he quickly and carefully put back the items of priests, restoring to the millimeter the former situation, then with the branches taken from the forest erased the traces of his knees and feet. If they were lucky, the wizards would not realize that someone had been down there, and would attribute the disappearance of the spirit to natural causes. Or their own actions.

    "Let''s go," he ordered as he left the room. "Did you clean this up?"

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    "Yes, it''s all clear. All that''s left is a sweep."

    "Go upstairs, I''ll do it."

    Throwing the wrapped mage on his shoulder, Sojour silently ran upstairs. The sergeant neatly all traces, took one last look around the hallway, making sure that nothing more could be done, and began to climb the stairs as well.

    He wanted to swear.

    * * *

    The Mistress of the Night Taleya paced the corridor, her gloomy visage causing those on her way to bow in hasty bows. It wasn''t that Celesta had punished anyone in the past for no reason - it was just that the cloud of angry energy surrounding her was an indication of her irritation. No one wanted to cause her displeasure inadvertently.

    As soon as she entered the laboratory, all present knelt on one knee. Only Hustin remained standing, scrutinizing the records made in the dungeon of the temple, and Cach�� was still lying motionless on the table.

    "Report, Reggie. What happened out there?"

    The guardsmen had just returned from the last parking lot, having warned her through the mirror of their imminent arrival. Celesta was swamped with other matters, so she was a little late. She listened attentively to the report, scanning Cach�� cautiously in passing and glancing at the silent Hustin. As nice as she was to the younger mage, she was no child of hers. Hustin was more deeply affected by what had happened.

    "That''s enough," she interrupted the sergeant when she understood the basics. "Sobir��, do you feel anything?"

    "Cold and heat at the same time, Mistress Celesta. I''m hungry all the time, Mistress Celesta. Very much so."

    The maid''s voice sounded tired, sad, and a little surprised. The latter was because she hadn''t expected the almighty head of the undead to remember her name. For Celesta, with her trained memory, keeping the names of all significant figures in her head was not difficult. At one time she had feared that after a certain threshold she would begin to forget past events, but so far there had been no sign of deterioration.

    Where the cold and hunger for food came from is clear. Cach��''s body is draining energy, using the master-servant connection. Why is there no attempt to pounce on people, and why is she lay still and unmoving? The vampiress spent three days in the carriage, lying in a special box in the bottom, and not once did she even twitch. She only drank blood because she was force-fed, literally poured down her throat.

    "Hustin?"

    "First we have to get rid of the spirit," the warlock took off his notes and threw the notebook on the table. "I have no idea where the elemental spirit came from in the temple, but the description matches perfectly."

    "Did you ever meet them?"

    "Once, back in my first life," the young-looking vampire inadvertently reminded her of his age.

    "How do you banish him?"

    "That''s just it, I don''t have any ideas. The spirit itself is weak, unable to resist. The problem is that it''s stuck to Cache''s subtle body core, and it''s literally dissolved all over her energy. I have no idea how to put it back together. So we''ll clear the core, but then what?"

    After another close look at Hastin, Celesta, too, began to calm down. If the situation was hopeless, if the mage did not know how to get the chick out, he would be much more worried. If he was generating ideas, it meant that he was intuitively certain that he could get the offspring out. Even if he doesn''t know the exact way.

    "Get up," she ordered, glancing at the vassals and servants. "Reggie, don''t blame yourself - it''s not your fault. Cache is no longer a girl and is responsible for her own actions. Sobire, you can tell the other servants not to worry. Your lady will be cured. Now go, all of you."

    Barely three people left in the lab, she turned to Hustin.

    "Do you think it makes sense to get into her consciousness? Just to see how damaged she is?"

    "It is dangerous. We don''t know what to expect from a parasite."

    "A parasite?"

    "In the temple, the spirit must have been asleep. The priests came, woke him up, he began to lose energy quickly, and soon he would have dissipated. But that''s where Cach�� stepped in. The spirit clung to the first suitable source of power."

    "It doesn''t work," Celesta questioned. "If he''s sucking the energy out of her, why is Cache not trying to replenish it? She wasn''t attacking the people around her."

    "Most likely, the spirit doesn''t let her. He can''t take the body himself, but he doesn''t want to give it back to the hostess either."

    "So he''s weak now?"

    "I guess so," the mage said with some doubt. "Okay, you''re right. We should go in. It''s the smartest thing I can think of. Let me back you up or something."

    In the art of working with other people''s minds, Hustin lagged far behind his mistress, but he could spot the threat and pull it out in time. The preparation consisted in tying Cach�� to the table (strangely, she was not fixed earlier) and ordering the assistants to bring two victims in half an hour. The mages had a cubbyhole underground, where they kept expendable material for experiments - the trash caught above, which no one would miss. For ideological reasons, they tried not to steal decent people, though Celesta suspected that sometimes people were caught. Usually, cultists were assigned to catch them, though, and they were zealous about their duties.

    They also locked the doors better so no one would break in.

    By "no one," Celesta meant Latham in the first place. The Captain, Bodyguard, and mere right-hand man quite rightly did not wish her mistress to expose herself to unnecessary risk. A ruler doesn''t have to do anything herself, her duty is to give the right orders. There are servants for everything else. The problem is that, as recent events have shown, personal power is still crucial in vampire society. Besides, specialists of her level simply weren''t available. A flaw, by the way.

    Breathe in. Breathe out. Set up.

    Cash��''s consciousness was unlike anything Celesta had ever seen before. It was as if it had the thinnest of threads, blue almost to black, long, without beginning or end, disappearing into a gray mist. Touching them burned at first. In the old days'' Celesta would not have been able to move on, so densely intertwined were they. Now she grunted incredulously, twitched her shoulders, and walked, ignoring the obstacles running through her body.

    It didn''t take much time to find the conditional center, the point of focus of the personality. Much less to figure out what was going on in it.

    The space looked like an endless room filled with multicolored mists, the walls of which moved away as I approached them. Exactly in the middle, in a hollow covered with green moss, lay a transparent egg covered with a kind of frozen lava drip. Thick ropes emanated from the lava, gradually disintegrating into the very threads that had given Celesta some trouble at the beginning of the journey.

    Mistress stepped closer. The petrified substance pressed against the cocoon that protected Cach��''s personality, but it lacked strength. Through gaps in the streams Celesta could see the face of the hapless mage, she lay with her eyes closed and, judging by her absent breath, in a trance. At any rate, that was how the older vampire''s mind interpreted Cach��''s current state. Well... It was good that the girl hadn''t lost herself or turned into some kind of monster, which would indicate mental damage.

    Now, inside, Celesta once again considered the possible consequences of her actions. By all appearances, the plans did not change. The threads stretched through the younger one''s energy, and there was no telling what their destruction would lead to. But the parasite, which for some reason appeared in a static form, is clearly unnecessary in this feast of life. The Mistress had met similar ones before, and she had dealt with them simply and understandably.

    Power and will. The energy invested in the order and the clear formulation of the task. Nothing else is needed.

    "Get lost."

    A verbal formulation makes it easier. Though one could do without it. Lava shuddered, trying to resist, but she couldn''t resist the incarnating concept and vanished, disappearing forever. Celesta looked displeased at the unraveling ropes, not planning to go anywhere, and curled her lips a little. So, we''ll deal with the problems in sequence. Now we should finish with the awakening of one fascinating person.

    Mistress tapped the shell, mentally transmitting the order to awaken, and immediately came out of the trance. It was unpleasant to be in someone else''s mind the moment it changes state, unpleasant and dangerous.

    The first thing she saw in the real world was mad, bloodshot eyes and a grinning mouth. Cach�� was tearing at her, eager to grab her throat. A clich��d reaction for an exhausted vampire.

    A good sign in their situation.

    "Hush, girl," Hustin slashed himself on the wrist, exposing the wound to the chick. "Hush."

    "I can''t help noticing that your descendants have inherited their progenitor''s intemperance," Celesta said with a frown as she watched Maitre feed Cach�� his blood. "Passion is good for a scholar, but only up to a point. Perhaps we should adopt the ways of the late Tyran''s upbringing?"

    Now, in private, when the crisis was almost over, she could tell Hustin what was troubling her. First of all - dissatisfaction with the slovenliness of the magician.

    "Already. It doesn''t help much. I''m inclined to regard what happened as an accident," the Elder answered briefly. "Which doesn''t mean she won''t be punished, though."

    "That''s good to hear. Try putting her through a cleansing ritual - that way there''s a chance the energy won''t mutate completely."

    The fact that the obsession would not go away without consequences was understood by both of them. The changes were already visible, Cache was already different. She hoped that the process was interrupted in time and that at least she was still a vampire rather than an unknown creature with unclear powers and a blown-off roof.

    "Cach��. Cach��!" Hustin leaned over the chick, "Look at me. Look..."

    "Ma... Maitre..."

    "She''s awake," Celesta summed up dryly, noticing the glimmer of reason in the younger woman''s eyes. "That''s fine. I''ll leave you two to coo. I''ll see you tomorrow night with the report."

    "Yes, Mistress."

    Behind the open doors of the laboratory, there was predictably pandemonium. People and former people, regardless of their social status, are always curious. They want to be kept up to date, to know what''s going on. To see something interesting in person, to share it with their acquaintances. And now, besides Hustin''s assistant, who had brought two victims, the walls were supported by Sobire, five cultists, two guardsmen, four vampires from different branches, and as many as two heads of these branches in the form of Latham and Kalderan. Celeste beckoned for the latter two to follow her.

    "Reggie had done everything right, but the worst-case scenario had to be assumed. The priests couldn''t help but be alarmed to see that the main object of their research was missing," she turned down the seldom-used corridor so she could talk without being disturbed. "I''m sure they checked and found traces of vampires. The question is, what do they intend to do next? Or rather, no, not like that. Is there something left at the dig site that they haven''t examined yet, or not? The Guardsmen and Cach�� discovered the spirit dungeon and went straight to it; it is quite possible they missed something just as valuable."

    "Does Messena wish to send another team?"

    "It''s dangerous, and there''s no point. They must have increased the precautions. Or they are urgently burying the temple back."

    "I will try to find out through agents from the saints, Mistress."

    "Yes, do that. Let''s sit down here," she entered a room of unclear purpose, which nevertheless contained a closet, a roughly chipped table, and five chairs. There were many such rooms on the lower floors. "Let us consider what to do next. We have an event, a fact: the Order of Fire Saints is engaged in research of the dark aspect, and has managed to find an exclusive thing for these times. An elemental spirit. Hustin thinks it''s left over from before the cataclysm. Is there any way we can use it?"

    "Saints have climbed into abandoned dark temples before," Kalderan remarked. "Everyone does that. They don''t advertise it, of course, but they don''t hide it much, either. We can''t blackmail them. Information about the Spirit seems far more promising. There are enough educated people among the priesthood who have read the old chronicles and are aware of the level of the civilization that collapsed. They understand the possibilities of accessing the elemental plans."

    "The spirit has lost connection with its native plane."

    "But the priests of the other orders do not know this. Besides, it is logical to assume that where there is one spirit, there is a second; where there is a second, there is a third."

    "Right." Mistress leaned back, ignoring the uncomfortable back of her chair. "Then it''s possible that we''ll be accused of kidnapping. And, from a formal point of view, the accusation is fair. The other players might think we have the spirit, and we''re trying to use it to get to a maternal essence."

    "So the information about the spirit can''t be used?" Latham half-affirmatively asked. "Do we hide it?"

    "The priests are watching each other as closely as we are," Kalderan responded. "There''s a good chance the information will come out."

    Celesta stifled the irritation that was rearing its head again.

    "It depends on how many people know exactly what was in the temple. They might be able to maintain secrecy. If there''s a leak... We need to get it right. So that they believe our story and not anyone else''s. Latham, visit Tar. Tell the Baron about the excavations and the temple, he doesn''t need to know that our people have been inside yet. Kalderan, monitor any gossip among the leadership of the major cults. I''m meeting with Baron Sae in ten days, by then I need to know if I should bring it up in conversation."

    After letting her subordinates go, Celesta sat for a while longer, putting her thoughts in order. By and large, nothing terrible had happened. It was just another unpleasantness, which could turn into a serious crisis, but was much more likely to end in nothing. And she wanted to make the best of a potential scandal.

    Ideally, it would have pitted the largest Taleya churches against each other, and information that the Saints were experimenting with forces that had left the world before the Plague would have been a good cause for scandal. It''s unlikely to work now. On the other hand, if it doesn''t work for her, it doesn''t mean it won''t work for someone else. The King will surely not mind weakening an organization that actively supports the Chancellor.

    Is it worth it? For just as Valier might prefer to weaken the vampires, as his ancestors often did.

    * * *

 Chapter 13

    Chapter 13

    * * *

    It is hard to say whether Taleya is a class or a caste society. Probably caste society, because no merit would allow one to enter the highest stratum of the aristocracy, one can get there only by birthright. At the same time, even a peasant''s son has a chance to become a minister (history knows examples), i.e. formally standing above the aristocrats. The same ones with whom outside the service he has no right to speak first.

    The nobility was divided into ranks, and the ranks, in turn, were divided into classes, each with its name, rights, duties, color and speech characteristics, signs on clothing, and ways of applying makeup to the face. The proper occupations differed, too, and greatly. A simple hereditary nobleman could personally attend to the affairs of his village, while a nobleman with a title, however inferior, was obliged to hire a steward. Trade was totally excluded, but the work of the captain of a ship, even an ordinary barge, was considered honorable, on the condition that the barge sailed on the sea. The post of secretary to a nobleman of higher status was regarded as a variant of vassal service, and the same position in a bank was the cause of gossip in the establishment.

    Entertainment, too, had a class nature. There were, of course, those appropriate to all, like the horse races or the rowing races that took place every spring and were partly religious. But in the same dice, there were games played by the poor and far more elaborate games for the nobility. And playing the latter was allowed only in institutions that had at least two floors, as well as having other features listed in a special ordinance. Theatrical plays, when written, immediately received a kind of rating, which regulated where it was allowed to be put and where it was not. The theaters were divided into eight categories, from the highest to the lowest, and while the latter was open to all (although the nobility never appeared in them), only persons of extremely high status had the right to get to performances in the highest category.

    The Grand Theatre Royal was considered the best in the world, though Medea was of a different opinion. The last time she visited it three hundred years ago, she swore publicly that she would never set foot there again, and she has kept her oath ever since. Given her widespread fame and authority among art people, the reputation of the theater was severely damaged. Ordinary mortals, however, continued to attend for the simple reason that every production at the Grand Theatre Royal was a status event, the presence of which spoke of the stability of one or another courtier''s position.

    Duke Lash had his lodge in the theater, where he was sure to appear when he came to Taleya. He hardly watched the performances, like the vast majority of visitors. He invited the right people to his place, discussed business with them, and in between acts allegedly bumped into people who should not have openly accepted his invitation. In short, Lash was doing what other theater-goers were doing, except for the younger ones, who were just bored.

    Of course, when the performance was over, which many perceived as a full-time job, there was a temptation to reward oneself for one''s hard work. For this purpose, there were several high-class restaurants located around Theater Square, capable of satisfying the most demanding clientele. They served everything from delicacies brought from the oceans to common meat cooked on an open fire. A special pride of the restaurant owners was the wine list, each restaurant had its own, which included rare varieties from all over the known world. A bottle would cost a customer the price of a small estate, but the local public could afford such expenditures.

    The observers were not surprised when, after the performance, Lash did not wish to go home. His carriage made a small circle around the square and stopped near one of the restaurants, where, of course, there was a cozy office for a couple of people for the silent ruler of Lascaris.

    In the cabinet, the Duke was waiting.

    "Messena Celesta," Lash bowed respectfully to the risen who rose from her chair at his arrival. "Words cannot express the joy I felt at the sight of your letter. The anticipation of seeing the blessed Mistress deprived me of sleep and prevented me from thinking of anything but the slow-moving minutes."

    "A great descendant of a glorious family should not doubt that my joy is no less great. It''s been a long time since your last visit to Taleya, and I''ve been looking forward to the next one."

    Celesta told the plain truth - there were many issues she had accumulated over time that she wanted to discuss with her strongest ally. The vampires had close ties to Lascaris. Trading houses, effectively run by Gardoman, helped the Duke''s servants evade taxes through gray schemes; Lash''s vassals provided cover for their partners'' machinations in the courts and state institutions; in times of strained relations with Lanaka or Sineva, Celesta''s smugglers kept the goods flowing that fed the economic capital and its master from collapsing.

    Of course, the Duke and the Mistress met often. Whenever Rikarid came to Taleya, they had something to discuss. The level of trust felt by their partner was evidenced by the fact that they communicated in private, without an obligatory mortal bodyguard.

    While Lash quenched his hunger, Celesta sat opposite, sipping wine from a crystal glass, and shared a little gossip. A small bonus to her partner, a trifle to her, and a possible advantage to a man of high society. The Duke listened attentively, sometimes inserted remarks that showed a good understanding of the topic, and could add something himself, correcting the picture of the affair under discussion.

    They moved on to serious topics with dessert. To sweeten the bad news, so to speak.

    "I must tell you, dear friend, that we have had, or are about to have a major change. The royal authorities have found out who really owns the Southern Water Company, and we are forced to close it down."

    "It''s sad," Lash grimaced. "The route to the free polis was making good profits."

    "The fleet will be pulled north anyway, and there will be no one to escort our ships. Medea is now trying to negotiate with the admirals of Blueness, but there is little hope for them. We''ll have to pay the pirates."

    In exchange for preferential supplies of rigging, provisions, and a bribe to senior naval officers, the Company of the South Seas received special attention to its needs. Its ships did not sail alone; they were always accompanied by the military. In addition, in major ports, the managers of the Company made contracts with privateers, allowing them to put temporary markings on the hulls of their ships, assembled a small caravan, and, under the supervision of military sailors, sailed south. There the cargo was quickly sold off and in a short time, a new caravan was formed for the journey home. Everyone profited: the soldiers who got extra money, the company making extra profit, and small merchants who avoided meeting with pirates this way. Now, after the treaty with the Archipelago, Taleya''s fleet no longer had the right to sail further than Cape Smoky Nose, the usual "roof" would soon disappear. They must find another or pay tribute to pirate captains. Either way, the costs will rise.

    "The impending decrease in income makes one ask - is there any word from the west? Sattar reports another ambitious chieftain has appeared on the steppe. It would be very unpleasant if trade stopped there as well." Celesta said.

    "The usual redistribution of nomads. The last three years had been dry, some tribes had been forced to move their flocks to the pastures of their neighbors, who resented them and began to fight among themselves. One of the tribal alliances was fortunate enough to squeeze out the others. In five years the balance will be restored, but until then, special attention will have to be paid to the frontier. The bad thing is that trade with the far west risks ending completely dead - it is impossible to drive caravans, all the roads are cut."

    "You say unpleasant things, Messen Rikarid."

    "Forgive me, Messena Celesta. I swear I''m as upset as you are!"

    Without allowing a slight hesitation to reflect on her face, Mistress decided to take another step toward the future Holy Crusade. Avoiding voicing the very idea, she began to lead the future figureheads to it.

    "I must confess that I have some thoughts about reconnecting with the Far West," she admitted. "I''d like to kill a few birds with one arrow. Trouble is, that would require the participation of the priests, who wouldn''t take kindly to any suggestion from your humble servant''s lips."

    "It would be interesting to hear."

    "It''s too early to tell," Celesta said with an apologetic smile. "But I promise that the blessed one will be the first one I turn to if I get the chance. Until then, we''ll have to watch warily for the dubious antics of vile hypocrites and hope for the highest wisdom."

    The wording used by the diminutive risen contained enough instruction that the duke was surprised and intrigued. The Mistress accused the priests of violating the divine oaths. There was no doubt that the innuendo would not be enough, and Lash waited anxiously to hear the details.

    Celesta did not disappoint him.

    "People have become accustomed to the fact that priests easily violate the provisions of their own faith. You don''t have to go far to find an example. The Saints of Fire have recently excavated a shrine to one of the darker aspects of Arcota the Flaming, under Nemmist, and are actively studying it. I''m sure they will find some way to utilize the artifacts they found there, and the knowledge they have gained. But they''re also getting involved in politics in a very active way!"

    "Not long ago I came into possession of a document, a large money transfer from the Custodian of the Voice of Silence. Guess who the final recipient was?"

    "I''m afraid to even guess."

    "You are doing the right thing, Messen. A pillar of Goodness from the Triad of Righteousness. There is indeed a long chain with many intermediaries, but I managed to trace it."

    "Does the Son of the Sea bribe his opponents?" the Duke suggested.

    "No, he doesn''t. He doesn''t know anything. His servants have begun their investigation, in which we are involved."

    "Perhaps the Custodian is up to some game of his own?"

    "He certainly did," Celesta nodded in agreement. "But why did he choose Prince Sakir''s prot��g�� as a partner? This kind of clandestine contact is dangerous, even to those who are not privy to the realities of Court life."

    Lash, who knew a lot, if not everything, about the undercurrents of high society, nodded in agreement. Joint affairs of ideologists of two, in fact, opposing factions cannot but raise suspicions. They should not communicate at all without at least a couple of witnesses. What to say about money?

    "If I happen to know anything, I will be sure to notify you, Messena," the Duke promised.

    Celesta thanked with a slight bow. The promise should, of course, have been divided by ten, but he would certainly share some of the information if he could find it. It is not customary among aristocrats to lie outright and break promises without a good reason, which does not mean, however, that they always tell the truth and keep their word. So Lash, if he finds out anything, will be sure to share - maybe a tenth of it, maybe half. He won''t tell the whole thing for sure.

    They parted towards morning when dawn was breaking in the east. Having assured each other of mutual respect and friendship, having solved some of their problems and puzzled their partner with new ones. Personally, Celeste was leaving satisfied. The duke would probably take a minute to parse their conversation today, techniques of memory work had been hammered into him since he was a child. And when he did, he would demand answers from his Bringers of Answers, the very answers to a couple of unpleasant questions. First, what happened under Nemmist and why doesn''t he know anything about it? Second, how are the two highest hierarchs of the rival churches connected, and why, again, does he know nothing about it?

    This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

    The spies, having been given a scolding, will get to work. In this case, their patron personally, one might say, has a vested interest in getting the result - dirt on his main enemies. Logic dictates that the largest feudal lord of the country must have the most difficulties in his relations with the royal power. Conflicting interests, the emergence of conflict points, and the levels of division of competence inevitably lead to tensions that may well lead to open revolt. However, the appanage ruler of Lascaris and his sovereign could be said to have been friends. Too often they were united against the Chancellor, who relied on the Saints of Fire, and against the side branches of the Dinir dynasty, whose individual members somehow saw themselves as more worthy to sit on the Azure Throne. The Triad of Rightness, it should be recalled, supported such efforts.

    With great luck, the spies will find enough to cause a major scandal. If they don''t, they''ll just divert attention. In any case, no one would think of the vampires; the blood kin would be out of the picture.

    There was never any class-representative institution in Taleya. In Lanak there was a Veche and a Council of Princes, in Archipelago the Council of Captains had considerable influence, in Birat the local aristocrats invented a Senate that limited the power of the supreme ruler. With the Taleya, formally, the king himself decided whom to appoint as minister and what laws to pass.

    Upon close examination, it became clear that the system of checks and balances not only exists, but it also works, and it works effectively.

    The basis of the limitation of royal power was the provincial assemblies of the nobility. The country was divided into fiefdoms, which consisted of provinces, each province, in turn, included four or five counties. Thanks to the turbulent events of four centuries ago, and some decisions of later living sovereigns, the assemblies got a lot of rights that were in no hurry to give. Legally it was difficult to put pressure on them, and trying to act by force was dangerous, so gradually a peculiar practice of representation developed when the top of the provincial nobility sent their second or third sons to the capital, where they occupied the positions of officialdom. It was an evolutionary process, the result of which satisfied both sides. The central government was assured that the provincials would not "rebel" without a very good reason, the barons and earls, who ruled in assemblies, attached relatives in the capital, who secured their interests.

    By the time of these events, three of the four middle-ranking officials were firmly connected to non-capital groups. Nepotism? Absolutely. Everyone knew that the second deputy head of the Department of Transportation was a creature of the Counts of Cossa and that the head of the Department for the Welfare of the Poor was exclusively a descendant of the vast family of the Barons of Molinari. Exceptions were rare, though talented and unconnected loners made it to the level of department heads.

    Ministers were appointed from the heads of departments. The ministers, in turn, dutifully submitted a list of candidates, from which the Son of the Sea chose a chancellor to lead the entire government.

    Could the king appoint a person to the position of a chancellor who was not on the list? Easily. He is, by the letter of the law, an absolute monarch, the possessor of infinite power, given to Him by the gods. That''s why he could make anyone his chancellor. However, the new head of the government soon discovered that although the orders given by him are executed with all diligence, for some reason there is no effect. For a while, the cart of government was still rolling by inertia, but slower and slower with each passing month.

    After a couple of governance crises that nearly turned into full-fledged civil wars, the kings preferred not to take any more risks. They acted cautiously, if necessary, first pushing people loyal to them personally into ministry, and then resigning the head of government. Thus, a new chancellor was appointed from among candidates suitable for the throne and in full accordance with tradition.

    Not long ago Celesta concluded that the current Chancellor did not suit her. Until recently there had been a little complaint against him - he had not sought to interfere in the affairs of the night kin or the structures controlled by the servants of the vampires. Now the situation had changed. Mistress was diligently creating the conditions under which the major religious organizations would be forced to send their representatives west, ideally to slaughter. One of the obstacles to the plan was the Chancellor. So he had to be removed.

    Mr. Darth assumed his position at the behest of the previous Son of the Sea over twenty years ago. With Valier''s assumption of the attributes of power, the Chancellor''s position wobbled somewhat, but the new King did not remove him. Apparently, he felt it was too early. The coalition of provincial nobles, some large trading houses, and religious sects supporting Earl Darth, among which the Saints of the Fire stood out, could have caused serious trouble for the young King, so he decided not to rush into it.

    Valier the Second Celesta understood perfectly, his reluctance to act sharply sympathized. But she needed a chancellor who had no strong ties to the Saints. Not willing to support them.

    "You are determined to destroy the Seven Rivers, Mistress," Kalderan remarked as he listened to her calculations. "Such insistence is both surprising and gratifying. Dragons must be crushed while they are still lizards. Ideally, the clergy will get rid of our crazy brothers. If they don''t, we will damage the reputation of the largest cults and weaken their influence on politics. For now, we can''t deal with Celestial Purity and the Triads, because they have the attention of the Royal Services. Radicals like Marr the Swordsman or the White Masks are not independent in this matter, they will do as the Big Three tell them to do. But nothing prevents us from striking a blow to the Saints, weakening their support at the highest levels of power."

    "It''s not going to be easy to do. The Chancellor is not so easy to remove."

    Murder was out of the question. Vampires avoided committing high-profile murders because they were always followed by raids, persecutions, guards getting a scolding from their superiors, and remembering their duties. What measures mortal will go on, having found a corpse of the representative of the nobility and when the investigation will lead to the children of the night, it is impossible to predict in advance at all. Therefore, if the case concerned the elite, they tried to act delicately.

    "I understand," Celesta agreed. "We''re not the biggest predator in the woods. Any suggestions?"

    "Well, since we are not limited in time," the spy said with a half-questioning intonation, looking at the Mistress who lowered her eyelids accordingly, "and we can''t throw Darth off by ourselves, then we can help whoever can throw him off. I''m sure the Son of Seas would like his man in command."

    "Absolutely. Now of the fourteen ministers, six are the king''s men."

    He needs at least two more to get a list of candidates he is satisfied with. The process of replacing ministers can be accelerated. Remember the "Flower Girl case"?

    "Of course."

    Celesta took her commitments seriously, especially if she accepted them voluntarily. She didn''t mind being called an avatar of the dark goddess, so in her mind, she had to fulfill the duties attributed to the deity. In particular, to punish evil and administer justice. It didn''t always work, but she tried.

    It is not true that vampires controlled all worshippers of the Dark One. There were enough cults that worshipped his most destructive impersonations, acting on their own and in secret. Of course, they were sought out, found, adjusted the charter if possible, and included in the woven structure, if impossible, simply mopped up to a single person. Sometimes, however, things got messy.

    Fifteen years ago a series of disappearances of young girls selling flowers on the waterfront rocked the city. The investigation was not very thorough and would have ended in nothing if one of the flower girls had not attracted the attention of a rather influential person who put pressure on the city guards. They began to dig. They traditionally blamed the Night Mistress, whose servants responded by tacitly joining the search. They found a cemetery with a dozen disfigured corpses, and the priests, who examined the bodies, howled when they discovered the symbols of dark cults on the skin.

    The investigation has passed into the hands of the "spiders".

    It was impossible to catch the top of the cult. Even Celesta, using her resources, could not find out who was in the real leadership. She had her suspicions, of course, but there was no way to verify them. Those she could reach died suddenly, the rest either fled the country or sat so high that they did not dare to press charges. Thus, only the "little fish" suffered, and after their show executions, the case was closed.

    Then Heliar Matalest, the second son of the Earl of Ulcon, came under suspicion. He is now in charge of the Department of Service and Personnel.

    "A serious position."

    The Mistress knew at once what the Elder was referring to. Several key positions in the government offered a tremendous advantage in office games. Matalest held just such a position. He belonged, of course, to the Chancellor, and he complied with the Chancellor''s slightest wishes, helping his patron to crush his rivals. To climb up the career ladder, officials are no strangers to dirty tricks.

    The Chancellor''s position would inevitably be shaken if a stranger were in charge of the personnel department.

    Five years ago I managed to place an agent with Matalest," Calderan continued. - He couldn''t find anything incriminating. Or rather, there is some dirt, but for the nobility, it is such a trifle that no one will pay attention to it. But he noticed that about once a month Mr. Head of the Department meets with his friends, including several persons who were also involved in the "flower-girls'' case". We checked the dates of the meetings - they fit the Konda-Akania scheme. The last time the group met was at the Matalest Golden Glade estate, about a day''s drive from town.

    "So, they rejuvenate... Basically, you have nothing but speculation."

    "Yes, Mistress. All the evidence is circumstantial. So I ask you to send Mr. Vantal to Golden Glade. There is no guardian spirit on the estate."

    "Okay, I''ll give the order to Latam."

    One of the oldest guardsmen, Vantal had a personal ability to communicate with rodents, cats, dogs, bats, and wolves. Foxes understood poorly, though also canine. If something needed to be sniffed out somewhere, and Kalderan''s spies couldn''t manage it, Vantal was sent. They didn''t like him very much for that. The only places a vampire couldn''t get into were the houses of ancient families, protected by guardian spirits. There were also difficulties in mansions built with the right rituals, with the right words, with signs embedded in the walls, but at least there you could try.

    "That''s taken care of. Do you have any more news, or am I going to argue with Rimnar?"

    "Yes, Mistress. First, an observer reports that several priests and guards have left the excavations at Nemmist. At the same time, there are new faces in the vicinity, which I attribute to the activities of Baron Tar, who is actively spreading rumors about the temple. The priests are still silent."

    "Too little time had passed for a reaction. Oh, he''s so vindictive, isn''t he?" Celesta rejoiced at Baron''s predictability. "Good luck in his endeavors, as long as they don''t tie him to us."

    "I''m afraid our contacts are no secret to informed persons," Kalderan shook his head with what seemed to be genuine regret.

    "Yes, you can''t argue with that. What''s the second thing?"

    "I think we''ve found out how the information leaks to the Archipelago, Mistress."

    The cheerfulness of the undead ruler was blown away. In the armchair, a snake, crouching before she threw herself, stiffened, peering out at her victim''s carelessness. In a moment the obsession was gone, and Celesta relaxed again, leaning back defiantly, with her hands on the armrests and folding he palms in a Gendo gesture.

    "Finally! Give me the details."

    "Verification, as the blessed lady knows, has been going on for a long time. We gave the suspect information and watched to see where it came up. Gradually all but Captain Datsat and Shepherds Simondo and Paltin were cut off. The captain has major trading partners in the Archipelago, and the shepherd cults have branches there. We acted on a standard pattern and informed them of the ships allegedly carrying new artifacts made by Maitre Hustin. The missing ship was the one Simondo knew about."

    "Anything can happen at sea," said Mistress. "I''ll check on all three of them."

    "A wise decision, if the opinion of the undeserving means anything."

    "Don''t belittle yourself, Elder. I always listen to you, even when I shouldn''t," Celesta snorted. "Have you restored the network to Shaar?"

    "Not entirely, Mistress."

    Although Kalderan did not allow displeasure to break out in his voice, his companion considered emotion and saw fit to clarify: "The guardsmen will begin working in Lanak from the border with Shaar. I would like them to have a chance to escape in case the prince or one of his cronies decides to break the treaty."

    "I have spoken to Hatsu on this subject. He will help if necessary, Mistress."

    Celesta nodded and returned to the conversation about the Archipelago. The failure of the spy network in the Highland Principality of Shaar nine years ago was the greatest blow to Kalderan''s ego. And this failure was caused solely by the actions of the spy himself. Both did not like to remember it, but it was impossible not to. Then it all began with a mere trifle, with the failure of a minor operation, caused by not quite ordinary circumstances. Later it turned out that the agents had withheld some information in an attempt to whitewash themselves. But Kalderan suspected treason from behind the scenes and took actions that made things even more unstable. Conflicting commands from the center led to clashes between vampire-controlled factions.

    The Elder was completely convinced of his suspicions. In an attempt to retain his remaining influence within the principality, he enlisted Hatsu, the second in the Bardi hierarchy, in a hastily devised operation. Grudgingly, he provided the resources he needed.

    The situation in Shaar took an unpredictable turn. Panic reigned in the Intelligence Department, the department that dealt with the Farizah Range states was frantically looking for a mole in their ranks. Kalderan, who''d come to believe in the actions of an enemy intelligence service (but whose, most likely Lanak''s, was unclear), concluded that the enemy could not have succeeded without help from on high, and accused Hatsu of treason. An irritated Gardoman intervened in the erupting squabble. Whatever complicated relations he had with Hatsu, the banker was not going to give up his assistant. Especially since Shaar was relatively close to Bardi, and the natural revolution taking place there had shaken the stability of the financial center of the web woven by vampires.

    It was great luck that at this point Celesta had ordered everyone not to get too excited. Just gave the command to stop any action, the survivors to lay low, and began to thoughtfully understand what was happening. It took her three months, with the help of guardsmen and personal agents to draw an accurate picture of the mess. And what was more, she did not immediately believe her conclusions. For another month she checked. It was then that she began to think that Kalderan''s professional deformation had gone too far and something had to be done with him. But what? His position doesn''t allow for vacations. Neither, come to think of it, does resignation.

    It was very difficult to cool down the frayed passions and reconcile the quarreling top leadership. The only good thing was that the last total inspection brought to light many small sins and even outright violations in the mountain communities. So everyone got a piece of the action. Nevertheless, the story left a residue, and the fact that Kalderan had now contacted Hatsu himself, and the latter had not rejected his support, pleased the Mistress.

    * * *

 Chapter 14

    Chapter 14

    * * *

    "I can''t get used to this silence," complained Hustin. "It''s completely unnatural."

    "It''s as if the rest here is natural," the Mistress looked at the gray, lifeless landscape with a completely unreadable expression on her face. "At least it''s safe near the border."

    "The mortals say you have a palace in the center."

    "They say a lot of things," Celesta twitched the corner of her lips dismissively. "I''ve heard their tales. They say I have a throne, continuous orgies with sacrifices, demon acolytes, and young boys in transparent pants. Hustin, the matter is still disintegrating in the center. Not as actively as a hundred years ago, but still!"

    "What are you telling me? As if I haven''t seen it myself," the mage grimaced. "The last time we went deep was about eight months ago, testing a new version of the defense. It was a failure. Remember, Cache? Does it feel the same, or has something changed?"

    Standing beside him with a dejected look, the chick listened to herself and shook her head.

    "It''s almost the same, Master. The sensation of expiring energy, only with an added fiery component. A phantom feeling of heat inside, though there were no burns." She raised her hand in proof. "Perhaps not enough time had passed?"

    "I don''t think anything will change," Celesta replied. "Well, let''s wait. We''ll sit on the ruins over there, Hustin, get the blanket."

    Ma?tre dragged a large piece of cloth from his shoulder bag, voicing his thoughts in passing: "Not a good place for a picnic."

    "In every sense of the word," the Mistress pushed the human skull away with the toe of her sandal. The rest of the skeleton bones had long since crumbled to dust. "At one time bandits used to throw living people in here. It was an execution for their people who had done something wrong. Just think about it, Cache, when you''ve just balanced the Seal and have plenty of other things to do, and suddenly you have a full-fledged victim, and a sapient one! I can''t count how many of these freaks I had to kill before the rest of them remembered not to feed the Abyss."

    "I remember you said there are still some smart asses left, don''t you?"

    "Hustin, there are far fewer of them now, and the Seal is firmly in place. It''s not like it used to be."

    The first twenty years of independence in Celesta''s memory merged into an incessant nightmare. The constant skirmishes with the fanatics of the temple bands - then, after the Curse, there were unusually many of them. The pressure of the authorities, even in the difficult years of civil war, sought ways to interfere with the risens. The separatism of individual communities that wanted autonomy. The deaths of trustees, the broken structure of government. Time was constantly in short supply, and the need to monitor the integrity of the seal made me want to grit my fangs and curse myself for the deal she had made.

    On the other hand, did she have a choice? What would the true priests of Morvan have done if they had heard the refusal? And the price they had paid... There was no telling how many mistakes she and Hastin would have made in creating the ritual of turning a mortal into a Child, if not for the knowledge the true ones had passed on. In fact, all blood magic came from them.

    Another positive aspect of the agreement was the possibility of blackmail. It was never voiced out loud, but Celesta knew it was always taken into account by those in power when making decisions. They didn''t immediately believe that the vampire ruler controlled the spread of the Tyranus Curse, but once they did, they became much more cooperative. They had to be told, however, about the inner workings of the perfectly black orb, which killed every living thing that entered it. Had the royal mages benefited much from this information? Well, they know now that exactly in the center of the curse is gradually shrinking failure in the Abyss and surrounds it completely empty area of a hundred meters radius, where there is not even the dust. What''s next?

    "How long do you think it will last?"

    "If the rate of shutdown doesn''t change, three hundred years," Celesta answered without hesitation. She had long ago calculated how much longer it would take to finally close the gap. "The last year seems to be recovering faster, so I hope it''s less."

    "When you were in Zonna did you have an unmotivated desire to return? It is not clear to me whether the distance to the Seal in its current form makes a difference."

    "No. That call that used to turn me back when I tried to leave Taleya is gone. So either Zonna isn''t far enough away, or the distance doesn''t matter. Rather, I had the urge to stay away for a long time."

    Celesta felt she could open up and speak frankly in Cach��''s presence. The younger vampiress, for one thing, was a chick of her close friend, an associate, meaning she was growing up before her eyes. Not a daughter, but, in a sense, a niece. Secondly, the warlock proved by deed that, despite a certain flightiness, is far from stupid and knows how to be silent.

    If she were a little less enthusiastic, she''d be priceless. However, both of Hastin''s descendants are such fanatics of the magical arts. Just like their ancestor. Sometimes that fascination comes back to bite them in the ass, like now. Cach�� sat grimly, hunched over, wearing a light dress that looked out of place in the gray gloom of Cursed Zone. Here energy left bodies very quickly, relatively long inside could only older and those of the younger vampires who had mastered the practices of power control at a high level. But even mages, even Celesta, could not avoid the bone-chilling cold.

    "Cach��." The girl raised her head in silence. She had been almost constantly silent lately, limiting herself to answering questions. "Maybe that''s enough?"

    The magician smiled miserably and shook her head.

    "If we may wait a little longer, Mistress."

    Celesta moved closer to her, looked into her eyes, and gently took her icy palms.

    "Darling, no matter how long you''ve been sitting here, you can''t completely eradicate the power of the spirit. Such gifts remain forever. Don''t object - exactly gifts!" she raised her voice. "You''ll understand that when you learn to use yours. For now, just accept it. Or are you afraid you won''t be able to enchant anymore?"

    Judging by the changed expression in her eyes and the trembling aura, she guessed correctly.

    "Of course, you could. Your master faced the same problem in his time. He and his mentor had to find new ways to use his inner energy because it changed so much after he became a risen. But they got through it, and pretty quickly. It''s going to be the same for you. Provided you don''t run away from the problem and start solving it. Right now. Go ahead, start."

    At first, she just made her straighten up. It took a while, but with her back straightened she didn''t look like a beaten dog. Then came the simplest of exercises, which she didn''t get to do right the first time, but after a few successful attempts, her face seemed to lighten. She didn''t seem to believe she could do anything. Hastin, who was monitoring her condition, slightly complicated the tasks, changing them depending on the reaction of the chick''s body, looked at the result and with satisfaction commanded: "That''s enough for now. You have almost no energy left. We''ll continue at home when you''re fed."

    "��h? Yes, Master!" It was as if the mage had come to her senses, not at all like the wise vampiress whose age was over a century old. The prospect of losing her powers seemed to have terrified her.

    "We''ve been sitting for an hour," Celesta determined, guided by her feelings. "That''s a good result. Did she get more strength?"

    "It''s more likely that Cach��''s energy is more "viscous" now, it leaches out of his body more slowly," Hustin thought to himself. "We''ll take that into account while training."

    "You should know better. Are we all set? Then let''s go."

    The return journey did not take long. On the surface, the Sphere of the Curse was surrounded by a high wall, and work began almost the day after its appearance. At first, people were simply afraid that the death zone will grow, and leave the Capital, and a few responsible officials bombarded the higher-ups with letters and posted on the main approaches guards. The bolder ones. Then, convinced that the sphere was stable and not expanding, the palace decided to demolish all buildings within ten meters and build a wall as high as possible. Plans were thwarted by the outbreak of war, construction was slow and did not end until fifteen years after it began. The vampires treated the wall as an element of scenery and nothing more - there were enough passages under the ground that led inside the sphere and were not at all affected by it.

    Already at home, near the lab door, having sent the chick away and surrounded them with a sphere of silence, Hustin thanked quietly: "Thank you."

    "Don''t thank me," Celesta refused. "Cache is no stranger to me. You should get her in shape and make sure she doesn''t make any more mistakes like that. You magicians are playing with such powers that you can''t be careless."

    "I''m sure she''s learned her lesson well," grinned the ma?tre sternly.

    "Let''s hope so. She''s had enough adventures, and I don''t like surprises, even if they''re nice."

    "All''s well that ends well. Cach�� survived, became more experienced, and, hopefully, wiser. In a way, I''m even grateful to the priests - if they hadn''t dug up that temple, the girl might have considered herself invulnerable for a long time."

    "The girl? You''ve been guarding her too much. I hope you don''t swing the other way now, and try something like this with the other students," Celesta joked. "Who else out there likes digging through old ruins? Triad or Purity?"

    "Both of them. Strange, because they have access to the archives of the ruling dynasty."

    "Greed and unwillingness to give an advantage to the competition. Such a pity they hate us so much more."

    * * *

    Vantal did not like working outside the city walls.

    It''s not that, as some morons whispered, there aren''t his favorite rats in the countryside. There are, and lots of them. And rats are not his favorite, he had the best feeling about hamsters. The attachment remained from his childhood, when his mother, whose face he had long forgotten, but well remembered the warm hands and the feeling of safety in the soft embrace, gave him a cage with a funny little beast. Well, he didn''t like villages for another reason.

    He has long been one of the best masters of his chosen path of the Beast. It is rather amusing: the right (or left, as the case may be) hand of the Guard Commander and the first Blade of the Mistress walks a path whose unspoken head is considered to be Lord Latham''s worst enemy. He used to be considered. Vantal''s unusual and, in some ways, the unique ability has led to him often being sent to steal documents, eavesdrop on important conversations, plant something in the master of the house just before a search, or perform other, similar tasks. And while in most cases there were no surprises with city houses, it was impossible to predict in advance what to expect from country estates.

    The fact is that in the estates the magicians were not restrained. In the cities, they had to take into account government decrees, local ordinances, and numerous regulations and standards, but in the villages, their activities were much less controlled. If the estates stood secluded, the Son of the Sea''s commands could be ignored as well, putting up defenses as the creative itch dictated. Of course, the general basis was preserved, ritual is ritual, but the same power signs or northern rune chains could be made in very different ways.

    At least this time he won''t have to break into the old family''s estate. That''s a good thing. Even without a guardian spirit, they usually get up to a lot... A hundred years ago it was necessary to steal a document from the house of Baron Conghese, then to accomplish the task, it was necessary to involve Master Hustin and the Captain. The estate of one of the highest state officials is also well protected, but not so much.

    Heliar Matalest took his safety seriously. The forest around his estate was patrolled by rangers, the only road leading to Golden Glade was always guarded by a dozen soldiers, and the territory inside the fence was guarded with dogs. All this was quite solvable - even if people all hung with amulets, any of the five guardsmen had enough skill to fool their heads. Vantal was far more concerned with mages. There were four of them, one of whom was definitely in the manor at the moment, and the signals from the scanning curtains must be relayed directly to him. Too bad - when the alarm is connected to the artifacts, there''s a chance the operator will get distracted or just think it''s a false alarm.

    Out of the blue, he suddenly remembered one of my maitre lectures. When the Guardsmen were learning the basics of blood magic, he often came by, demonstrating techniques, helping, and explaining nuances. "Initially, right after the Plague, we thought magic was gone for good," Hustin said. "A few years later, we were wrong-something was left. Just a tiny fraction of what it was, but still an advantage. As time passed, more and more of them became available, the explorers discovered patterns, old families discovered the locked archives, and the scouts looked for and found the bearers of the forgotten knowledge. By the time the Academy collapsed, a full-fledged system had emerged, albeit one in need of final refinement. It was through this system that the mages who escaped from Taleya scattered across the world, giving rise to the individual schools. The development continued, however, not so much in-depth as in breadth. Now the art of magic is experiencing a second birth, and you, along with the other students of the School of Paths, are a direct confirmation of my words."

    It''s a pity Miss Cach�� isn''t around. She was usually the one sent along with Vantal; the mage was very talented at detecting barriers of all kinds, from signaling to cloaking. Alas, rumor has it, she will not recover soon. The other mages are busy, so he will have to do it himself.

    The area around Taleya is habitable, with many roads and villages. There are four distinctive "service" towns, one of which is located on islands and is considered a resort - in warm weather here love to gather the rich, many of whom have personal homes. To get at least a semblance of privacy, you need to get away from the borders of the Capital for at least a day''s journey. On the one hand, it is far enough that no one bothers you for no reason, on the other hand, it is still the center of the country, not some backwoods place, and security is high. There are relatively few bandits and they behave quietly, and the monsters are found and destroyed quickly.

    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    The guardsmen did not need a guide. They knew approximately where Golden Glade was, so they turned onto the country road leading to it in time to pull off into the woods a half-kilometer later. Two were left with the horses, two followed with the commander to cover him while he was busy doing his business and sitting in a trance.

    The subordinates didn''t even smile as they watched Vantal put the fat rats on his shoulders. They were used to it. The animals stared intently around them, occasionally squeaking to draw attention to anything suspicious.

    "It''s a good thing we didn''t take any humans," remarked Hadan, who was walking last.

    "Why?" Vantal wondered. "Do you think they would interfere?"

    "That''s not the point. It''s boring with them. Lately, I catch myself thinking that I can predict in advance almost all their lines of conversation, reactions to events, to actions."

    "What, all of them?"

    "No, of course not," the guardsman grinned. "The priests are not so simple, and there are many extraordinary personalities among mages, too. But we don''t talk to them much, because we''re not in the same line of work."

    "Sometimes you can listen to the writers," Kammal, the youngest of the risen in the guard, interjected. "Most of them are nothing, of course, but sometimes they have fresh thoughts."

    "Age," Vantal threw in briefly. "What is it like for the oldest among us? Mistress, Maitre?"

    There was no need to explain anything. Exactly, age. A long, active, eventful post-life was taking its toll. The older vampires weren''t getting smarter-they were much more experienced. They participated in various situations, from banal trading in the marketplace to organizing palace coups, they tried on dozens of masks, saw hundreds of events, and talked to thousands of interlocutors. Consciously or unconsciously, as they grew older, vampires learned to understand people. Surprising them with each passing century became more difficult. That was why they valued so much those few who could think outside the established patterns, who broke through the boundaries imposed by society. Even among their enemies.

    "We''ll stop here," Vantal finally decided. "It''ll be midnight in an hour, and the rats will have time to make it."

    "Good luck, commander," wished Hadan. "Don''t worry about the rest - we''ll take care of it."

    In Kammal''s opinion, there was nothing to talk about, so he kept silent.

    Vantal chose a dryer spot, lay down on the carefully placed blanket, and closed his eyes. The two rats, which had jumped off his shoulders and swung about his feet, froze for a moment, absorbing a piece of his master''s mind, then turned and darted off toward the manor house. It was a long way, almost two kilometers, for short beastly paws, but it was safe because the vampire, watching their eyes, could spot possible enemies beforehand.

    The first obstacle was two hundred meters before the fence. More precisely, the dense thickets of special shrubs were designed for humans and did not even deter the rats, but Vantal made a mark in his mind. The plants required special care and regular watering, they did not grow in the wild, so whoever was in charge of guarding the manor, approached his duties carefully.

    The fence enclosing the territory did not make a serious impression. Yes, it was tall, yes, made of real logs. What else to make it out of - metal or something? The Elders said, before the Plague did so, then metal was cheap, but now in the villages not every family has a good knife. The fence was designed for humans with magic traps on it - too, so there were a lot of cracks and undermining. Small animals from the forest were caught by local dogs. Rats scurrying toward the buildings met a trio of dogs on the road and ran past them without lingering. The dogs, curiously enough, didn''t even turn their heads in their direction. If Vantal could have, he would have smirked.

    The mansion was a two-story stone structure in the shape of an elongated wide letter "H" of the inferior alphabet. The high and the highest operated with hieroglyphs, but the inferior one was more convenient and was therefore used more often. The house looked rich, its walls were decorated with numerous bas-reliefs, wishes of health, wealth, and wisdom, in small niches on the facade there were statues of gods. Protective symbols were skillfully hidden between the decorations, and it is quite possible that under the layers of paint there was something intended to make life difficult for an uninvited guest.

    The rats sat on their hind legs and scratched their noses simultaneously, keeping their eyes on the mansion. Based on the appearance, the western or northern forms of protection were built, the others, including the recently popular celestial form, are less profitable in terms of energy consumption. For this type of house, of course. Vantal, because of his specialization, often dealt with architects and could consider himself a professional; in fact, he once built a castle for a baron in the borderlands. It turned out well, they say, and the neighbors were jealous.

    So, back to defense. Each form has different vulnerabilities, and each must be overcome in different ways. The best way, of course, is underground... And why not underground? One rat broke off and ran toward the stables. Where there''s food, there''s sure to be kindred.

    The second rat also ran, but in the opposite direction, to the right. If his assumptions were correct, there should be a vulnerability on the right wing side that the beast could slip through. The rat''s eyes flashed dimly scarlet, switching to mystic vision, its sleeping host in the distance noting the location of weaknesses and canceling the sorcery as quickly as possible. Vantal had long worked with the same rat nest: selecting the toughest individuals, feeding them with his blood, training them, caring for them, cross-breeding the best, and producing offspring that suited his purposes. However, the vampire''s power affected the animals too aggressively and led to their deaths, which he did not want at all.

    The first rat, meanwhile, had found his kin''s hole in the stable and had ducked into it. The inhabitants reacted weakly to the intrusion - the two small rats encountered barely twitched at the sight of the intruder, and then, with a friendly squeak, ran on their way. It took Vantal some time to find the right path to the central mansion, but then his instincts led him confidently through a complex maze of underground utilities. The rat''s nest turned out to be large. Halfway down he paused, feeling the flicker of protection, glanced again for a moment with his mystic vision, and decided to wait - the protection was working here as well. Or maybe he''d better look for another passage, deeper.

    At the same time, the second rat was engaged in something not quite usual, from the outside observer''s point of view. It seemed to walk back and forth along an invisible, but the well-felt border, trying it on. When it made a few steps, it stopped, stood on its hind legs, examined something, returned to the same place, or ran away from the house. Finally, stopping for the last time, she braced herself, leaped forward, jumped again, only three of her full height, squeezed into a tight lump. She darted to the wall and froze there, listening intently.

    The rat under the ground is also frozen in complete immobility.

    It was ten minutes before any of them moved. The one below. It shook itself, rubbed its nose thoughtfully with its paws, and went in search of another passage, hoping to bypass the defenses at the bottom. The builders, or rather the mages who directed them, were supposed to put other signs in the foundations, not sensory ones, but ones that made the structure a fortress. This could have been taken advantage of.

    While the first rat ran around the dungeon, the second, after waiting another twenty minutes, decided to take action. It found a small basement window, ajar for daylight saving time, and snuck in. Vantal knew the approximate plan of the building, he had taken it from the scouts, and he was particularly interested in two rooms - the ritual hall in the basement and the master''s office on the second floor. Logic dictated that if something forbidden was hidden in the house, it would be stored there.

    The official is smart, though. He might have known to hide his tools in a hiding place outside his territory. He doesn''t use them much, does he?

    Mentally marking to search the woods in case he didn''t find anything in the house, Vantal began to search the mansion. There were enough voids or vents in the walls, so the rat successfully made it to the second floor unnoticed and even let out a scornful squeak at the locals. Only two people, both on the first floor, sleeping in small rooms.

    While the other rat, having reached the cabinet where she had stumbled upon unusually high-quality protection, sat in contemplation, her friend did not doze off either. She managed to find a passage that led directly into the ritual hall of the mansion. There were rooms for practicing magic in all noblemen''s houses, and they differed in wealth, quality, and focus among themselves. In other words, the poorer ones contented themselves with a room in the basement, while those who could afford it created real underground bunkers, with altars, altars, and silver-wired symbols on the marble floor. Most nobles, at least in Taleya, regarded magic as a "proper occupation", roughly like singing, poetry, or swordsmanship, so ritual halls often turned into a kind of status indicator. They were displayed, and they were proud of them.

    It is true that in the last hundred years, attitudes toward magic have begun to change - the nobility has become convinced that it has practical benefits, and quickly enough. Before, only a small number of enthusiasts, or those who planned to make a living at it, had learned to enchant at a good level. Most felt it wasn''t worth the effort: ten years would pass before you could get any real results - wouldn''t that time be better spent learning fencing or horseback riding? In the latter case, by the age of twenty, you could be an officer, a man of wealth and reputation in the community, while your peers, immersed in magic, were considered mere students.

    The ritual hall at Matalest''s wasn''t there for decoration. It certainly had a lot of money invested in it. The stationary seal of the Nine Circles alone, with its large sapphire storage units, cost a lot, but the small signs indicated that the room was in use. There was little dust, and fresh scratches on the floor, and the back room with the cupboards were frequently opened. A rat also got into the utility room, and no problem - there was no protection on it. Apparently, the boss thought rationally that if someone got into the room itself, there was no point in bothering him any further. But the solid wood cabinets themselves were locked with mortise locks, which, when Vantal discovered, made him feel his spirits rise. He could squeeze into a couple of cabinets through the gaps between the aging boards, but how would he test the other three? He don''t want to gnaw - it would be dawn by the time you chewed through that wood.

    The second rat, meanwhile, was running around under the attic. The ceiling in the study was lined with panels of precious wood, my intuition told me not to touch them, but the beams of the builders had not been enchanted. And there were plenty of passageways and various technological holes in the walls. After twisting around for half an hour, the rat found a thin partition of plywood, making a hole in which it slipped down the inside of the wall. It hurt its hind legs, but it was worth it - by bending back the baseboard, the beast got into the room.

    The stream of consciousness Vantala, who was in charge of the top rat, looked around the office and quietly noted that, if he had remained human, he would have been jealous. The Head of the department had arranged it well, he hadn''t skimped on the decorations. A single desk would cost thirty pieces of silver, which was a lot of money, and there was plenty of other furniture and trinkets. The vampires didn''t care much about money, though - even the greedy financiers had been treating it as a tool.

    With an experienced look around the office, the rat began a search.

    Meanwhile, the first beast had finished inspecting the back room. The cabinets he could not get into had to be checked with mystical vision. The procedure was painful and bad for his health, but Vantal found no other way. It was a shame that the pet suffered in vain - there was nothing, particularly compromising inside the cabinets. That is, there were a couple of artifacts lying there clearly darkly, but a cursory inspection showed that they had not been used for a long time. Many nobles have such family heirlooms, so there''s not even a fine for keeping them. Failure. Perhaps it makes sense to go back to the ritual hall and examine it again. Here he checked everything he could.

    A cursory examination of the office revealed three places where interesting items might have been stored. A safe and two hiding places, one in the wall and one in the desk. All three were carefully protected against tampering, both by mechanical devices and magic.

    The stashes were of no interest to Vantal at the moment. Yes, of course, there must have been papers that would find an extremely attentive reader among Elder Kalderan''s subordinates, but that was not what the guardsman was here for at the moment. He was looking specifically for evidence of the official''s practice of forbidden branches of magic, in other words, artifacts, specific tools, or literature of the appropriate sort. The caches didn''t reek of blackness, and they were small in size, so there wasn''t much he could cram inside. A pack of letters, a couple of books maybe, but not a proper sacrifice kit or a thick grimoire with step-by-step instructions for raising a pet bodyguard from a human fetus. But there''s a lot you can put in a safe that''s half the height of a human being. But how to get into it?

    The gray intruder, squeaking softly, slowly walked around the perimeter of the ritual hall. Echolocation, in general, is characteristic of bats, not rats, and it is bad for searching voids in the walls, but if it''s really necessary... Besides, rats'' sense of smell is much sharper than humans. It was only natural that very soon the little beastie stopped at an unremarkable stretch of wall near the entrance to the hall and began to examine it. Suppose he had found a hidden door. Now the question was, how to open it? Inwardly wincing, Vantal once again used his mystical vision and, with some relief, found no magical locks. Pure mechanics, then. That''s good.

    Clawing at the small rough spots, the rat began to examine the wall to the right of the door. People are prone to formulaic solutions; in most cases, they place the key to the unlocking mechanism under their right hand at adult eye level. Why would they change the habit? Faint traces of human scent emanated from the bas-relief depicting a minor deity from Derkana''s retinue, the deity''s eyes slightly protruding inward when pressed. One rat wasn''t strong enough to squeeze both eyes at once. He''d have to call for a second one.

    Especially since Vantal had no ideas about the safe. Except to get into the main body himself, so to speak, which he didn''t want to do.

    It took almost half an hour to find the way from the second floor to the basement. The ritual hall was separated from the main rooms of the mansion by a layer of stone, and the local rats avoided gnawing through it because they felt sorry for their teeth. He had to search, poking around the dungeons, asking the stupid natives to show him the way. The natives were glad to help, they just did not understand what was wanted from them the first time. At last, the proper passageway was found, and with some difficulty, the second rat squeezed its way out of the burrow reserved for much smaller congeners. However, it was only because of the small size that the hole had not been found and caulked, so no one complained.

    While the other made his way downstairs, the first rat continued to explore the floor and walls around the secret door. Sometimes some tricksters like to set traps. A poisoned needle near the keyhole, a falling floor if you don''t fix the mechanism beforehand, and the like - whatever you can think of. Fortunately, there was nothing here.

    There were enough other difficulties.

    Rats are light. They are strong, stronger than humans per kilogram of weight, but they are light. It is difficult for them to develop pressure roughly equal to that of a human hand. He barely managed, grasping the protruding part of the bas-relief with their paws and tail, straining their muscles as hard as they could, to find the right pose, to press the right points with teeth. He did not succeed on the first attempt, and when he did, he found out that he had to press the points at the same time. Only then there was a quiet click in the wall, and part of it turned slightly, moving away from the main mass.

    The rats collapsed on the floor, trembling with fatigue, and looked at each other doomfully. They would have to push the door open by themselves.

    Luckily for the rodents, the builders knew their job - the thick door was so well-balanced that it twisted at the slightest touch. Not wanting to be accidentally locked inside, Vantal ordered one of the rodents to put something in the opening. A small rug lying by the entrance served as a prop; nothing more suitable was found.

    While the first rat stayed outside, the second climbed inside. The passage was narrow and long, about ten paces deep, but at the end was a prize: a room about five by six meters, lined with shelves of various kinds of magical objects. Vantal did not venture into the room itself. He could see the symbols burned into the stone jamb without any mystical vision, and he could well imagine how the rat would end up trying to cross the threshold. But he didn''t need to. They hadn''t put an inner door on the place, so the old minion simply crawled up to the ceiling to see what he could see. He didn''t look into the cupboards, of course, but what was on the shelves was enough.

    Artifacts made with human sacrifices; a set of very peculiar-looking knives; a statue of Olanna the Desecrator, whose cult was forbidden even by the ultra-tolerant rulers of Zonna, were found on the floor in the corner. However, not everything had to do with forbidden practices. There were plenty of things whose value was measured in four zeros or those whose possession was restricted to persons belonging to the ruling dynasty.

    In short, he can look no further. What he already found is at least enough for a strangulation execution. The rat, with a triumphant squeak, jumped to the floor.

    The last problem that had to be solved before leaving the manor was locking the door. It turned easily, of course, and the hinges were fine, but the lock would not latch. They pulled the door and then pushed it shut with one accord and heard the long-awaited click of relief. That was it. Now they could run away. The eldest was waiting.

    * * *

 Warlock

    Warlock

    * * *

    Frankly speaking, it was not necessary to get into the necropolis. All that was needed was to move two minor corridors to preserve the layout.

    But the risens wouldn''t have lasted this long in the underworld if they''d relied on blind luck. Yes, the chamber they''d dug up was half-buried, the only way out of it permanently blocked by the collapsed ceiling. So what of it? It is possible that the rest of the duct system is still intact and is regularly used by the servants of the dynasty. It is necessary to check it, so as not to get a sudden blow in the rear.

    Besides, Hustin, who knew a lot about necromancy, had a good idea of the kind of guards one might find in an ancient cemetery. And he didn''t want to see them awaken on one not-so-great night. Especially since the symbols he''d unearthed reeked of a truly ancient time, from a time when the Taleyan dynasty had not yet accepted the service of Derkana and had buried the dead in the earth rather than in the sea. That''s probably why the necropolis was sealed, so as not to stir up the past. Or has it not been sealed? We''ll have to find out.

    And, of course, Hastin was piqued with curiosity. He wanted to touch magic, long forgotten, long gone before the Plague, to try to unravel its mysteries. That''s why the mage was now standing in the dug-out room, inspecting the pattern he had drawn on the floor one last time.

    "I''m a little uneasy," Vador confided to his mentor. "I''m not sure if we''re about to walk in and there are some dead people on the rampage."

    "It''s as if you were very much alive yourself," answered Hustin mockingly, not denying, however, the very possibility of the situation described.

    "No, master," the apprentice even raised his finger in the air and waved, making his words meaningful. "There is a difference. I am an ordinary risen vampire, a creature not at all legendary, one might say, an everyday creature. There are plenty of them, and sometimes it seems that no matter how hard you spit, you''ll end up with one of our kind. And who the craftsmen of that time could create is an open question. One must also consider one''s origins. Of course, the Dark One brought me back by his own will, but let''s be honest: deep down I was a peasant''s son, and I still am. I''ve only matured a little, and I''ve learned a few things through your efforts. Over there," he pointed to the aisle, "are those who have been buried in full ceremony. With sacrifices and invocations and seals of name obliteration and bestowing flesh upon the elements and whatever else they had to do. They were originally stronger than I was. And whether they were weakened by the passage of time or vice versa is unknown."

    Hustin could have argued about the second point because Vador had learned a lot, but he did not. The assistant was right about the main thing - it was impossible to predict what awaited them after the removal of the protection. Now, the protection created by ancient mages acted in two ways, on the one hand, deafening any magical means of research, and on the other - keeping the sleeping in some kind of energy circuits in the depths of the tombs. More precisely, magicians were able to get close to one single sarcophagus, closely "probe" it, notice the dormant spells and reasonably assume that in the other coffins as well.

    The mage optimistically hoped for the best. According to his calculations, after sensing the presence of intruders, the protective spells would simply go out of hibernation and would not manifest themselves until the sarcophagi would be opened. But if the worst-case scenario happens, they''ll stop the ritual and put the protection back in place. They should. As a last resort, the Mistress is here today, she''s plugged up more than that.

    It was because of her return that he decided to take the chance. Because he knew that if things did not go according to plan, there was someone nearby who could tame the raging dead. Or, at least, bring them back to their former sleepy state.

    As a mage, Celesta was neither strong nor knowledgeable. Her advantages were her access to the energy that bound the Curse, enormous administrative resources, and caution squared away. Perhaps this caution was another reason why Hastin acted alone, without warning. If the Mistress knew of his plans, she would begin to think, calculate, consider various options, consult with the descendants of noble families, and gain access to their archives ... Sooner or later, of course, they will get inside. But how long will they have to wait? Centuries? Okay, that''s a bit of a stretch. But it would still be a long time.

    What''s the point of delaying? All possible precautions have been taken, what can be foreseen is foreseen.

    "Let''s begin," the warlock commanded.

    Four of the eight vampire mages participated in the ritual. The fifth was Vador, who had no proper magical powers, but who mastered the Paths, including the Path of the Blood Force, better than anyone else. The three were outside the room. They were to protect the ritualists and pull them out if necessary, while the maestro and his apprentice were in charge of the removal.

    A coarse, heavy force flowed through the contours of the drawing, responding to the measured recitation of the quatrain. The energy of the elements cannot be used for seven hundred years, only a few are allowed to touch the otherworldly sources (I mean, everyone can, but most only once), and the risens have not dared to siphon power from the living through sacrifice. Who knows how the occupants of the sarcophagi would react to near death? Hustin had to act the old-fashioned way, using internal resources, shaking at every drop.

    "Bingo," Vador said without opening his eyes. "You can fix it."

    Ma?tre had a sense of "bingo," too. The ritual he had devised seemed to lift the protection of the necropolis, leaving free one of the areas closest to the tunnels the vampires had dug. The one where the sarcophagus, partially free of earth and stones, stood. Now they should consolidate their condition so that they would not be distracted by the maintenance of the dome, and they could do what they liked to do.

    That is, not to rob the grave, but to engage in the venerable development of magical science.

    "It''s done," Vador said, putting the smokestacks in their proper places. What he did now was only a temporary thing, they would set the final version of the ritual''s anchor points from valuable artifacts later, after checking the scheme. "Let them go, master."

    Hustin obediently stopped charging, stepping cautiously toward the exit just in case. His apprentice, characteristically, did the same. They''re not fighters, but intelligent beings who don''t like to be stupid and are always ready to give it a second try.

    "It seems to hold."

    "It''s holding," Hustin confirmed. He raised his voice and called out: "Cach��!"

    "Yes, Maitre?!" The assistant responded from afar.

    "Note: the ritual was successful, the pressure on the circuit is within the calculated limits, and the level of recharge is stable. We proceed to the second stage."

    "Noted, Maitre. Good luck!"

    The teacher and the apprentice looked at each other and entered the chamber. Time had not spared the ancient structure - the collapsed ceiling had destroyed most of the paintings on the walls, shattered the precious mosaics on the floor, shattered the jars, and felled the racks with expensive weapons. However, it also preserved the interior, allowing it to remain relatively intact.

    Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    The sarcophagus looked perfectly intact. It did not show that it was even slightly damaged.

    Over centuries of acquaintance, the risens had learned to understand each other without words. Vador stepped aside and watched, tracking the energy fluctuations in the sarcophagus with his long-trained instincts while his mentor and a senior colleague tried to examine the contents. To do so, Hustin simply took off his glove and placed his palm on the lid, outwardly doing nothing more than that. From the outside it looked as if he were just standing still, thinking about something of his own.

    Fifteen minutes passed when Vador suddenly spoke:

    "I feel a strengthening of the field. Increase in activity... I observe the emergence of structure. It is unfolding."

    At the first words, Hastin withdrew his hand and stepped back, watching the process himself. He couldn''t figure out what his actions had awakened the guard. He did nothing of the sort, only watched. He had to wait a little while until the complex spell noted the disappearance of the external influence and went back to sleep.

    For the first time in millennia, the guardian, a cast of the soul of a servant of the family sacrificed to serve his lord in the afterlife, had an opinion about "''falling asleep".

    "Master, something''s wrong," Vador said tensely, finally throwing off the trance. "Let''s go."

    Hustin trusted his apprentice''s instincts, his accuracy they had tested with practice, so both immediately left the burial chamber. Alas, too late! The guardian, fully formed, emerged from above the sarcophagus, and instantly, without giving a warning, launched himself into the attack. From the side, it looked as if a glowing black ghost, a humanoid figure with no face and blurred outlines, had silently appeared above the lid to rush toward the sacrilegious intruders who had disturbed the dead man''s rest.

    He paid no attention to the fact that the undead were not human beings in front of him.

    The first blow was taken by the shield Vador had put up. A thin, dark plane, clearly purple, appeared in the ghost''s path. It slammed into it, bounced back, let out a mental cry that made the vampires wobble, struck again, tried to go around... It failed. Vador moved his fingers slightly, forming a technique, the skin on his wrist parted, releasing a thin stream of blood that swiftly became thick and, more like dense smoke, rushed toward his attacker.

    The guard didn''t like the greeting, and he screamed again, dark stains rippling across his body where the blood had touched. However, the risen''s attack didn''t have much effect - the wounds were healing on the fly.

    "Master!"

    "Now..." Hustin barked. "Done! Get ready!"

    The Necromancer exorcism spell was the strongest in Hustin''s arsenal, and in terms of its use, it was to be feared by any undead. In other words, it worked on vampires, too. So the maitre drew back a little, giving Vador time to prepare and to shield himself additionally. The hesitation nearly took advantage of the ghost, sensing the threat and therefore changing the target of the attack. He was almost in time.

    With a hand in a final ritual gesture, Hastin let the formula off its leash. In a fraction of a second, the spell, set free, scanned the invisible sphere, sensed two suitable objects, ignored its creator, clawed at them with invisible claws, and began to crush them. Screams erupted again, but while the guardian was still uttering a wordless mental groan, there was an audible swearing from the apprentice who was struggling mightily to keep up the shield. The elder vampire still had some control over his creation, so he focused his spell on the wraith, hoping in his heart that Vador would be all right.

    Once again, the student lived up to the teacher''s expectations, lasting as long as necessary.

    Groaning one last time, the tomb guard vanished into thin air, leaving behind not a shred to examine. Hustin quickly dispelled his spell and almost without interruption created another, scanning type. Clear. Whatever the ghost was, it didn''t run away, didn''t hide - it lost its structure completely and died doing its duty to the end.

    "That''s it," Hustin informed his apprentice. "You can take it off now."

    With undisguised relief, Vador removed the shield. He took the stimulant vial out of his belt pocket, hooked the cork with his fingernail, and tipped the contents into his mouth. He stood there, waiting for the elixir to be digested before he spoke up:

    "Strong creature. I don''t understand what we did wrong."

    The elder mage did not have time to answer.

    "Ma?tre! Vador! How are you?"

    "We''re done here!" shouted Hastin. "Come here!"

    Turning toward the entrance to the burial chamber, he confessed:

    "Neither did I. I''m sure we did everything right, the guard shouldn''t have woken up."

    "But something provoked it, didn''t it?"

    "Let''s explore the sarcophagus, maybe we''ll find some clues inside. By the way, did you notice how well the Blood Shield performed?"

    "The exorcism worked better, the ghost seems to be more sensitive to this type of the influence."

    Shoving and elbowing each other, three vampires burst from the corridor into the room, and there was no room at all. Ma?tre began to give out instructions:

    "We''ll block the entrance to the burial chamber until we get some ideas about the ghost. It''s something new, and it''s going to take a long time to deal with it. Kynalan, the ritual of deposition of protection showed itself well, so start making artifacts for a stable structure. The others are getting ready, tomorrow we will finally dig up the sarcophagus and rewrite the external patterns from its surface."

    "We can do it today, there''s nothing to do!"

    "Cach��, your old master would like to think about what he''s seen today. And he can''t leave you alone for fear that you''ll climb inside and wake someone else up!"

    Those present had the decency to act embarrassed. They knew their sin, they knew it. The vampire mages who were curious about the necropolis were the ones who explored it; the rest preferred to do other tasks for the community.

    After loading his students with work, Hustin headed back to his quarters. He had to walk for a long time, he once again thought about the possibility of instant travel through space, which existed before the Plague, then his thoughts jumped to the rapid return of Celesta, involuntarily remembered Zervan... Mages always stood apart, in any society, and Hastin was no exception. While keeping a distance, willingly and unwillingly, from the daily life of the community, he was nevertheless aware of its affairs, and as an elder, he was privy to secrets the rank and file could not know. He communicated with all the upper echelons and understood better than they did the motives behind their actions.

    Zerwan''s betrayal did not surprise him at all. Rather, he was amazed at how long he had lasted.

    A person either has a backbone or does not have one at all; in the second case, the person will inevitably bend. It will fall. That was what his father had taught him as a child, and time had proved the long-gone blacksmith right. Zervan, for all his strength and fury, had no backbone. Hustin did not feel a strong will in him, that was why the animal elder had obeyed his Mistress once because he could rely on her, could take shelter behind her decisions. True loyalty to the chief had never been felt in him. Celesta felt the same way, but she sometimes treated those around her too well and saw the good even in those in whom it made no sense to look for it. She once quoted some forgotten philosopher as saying "there are no bad people". There may be no bad people, but there are plenty of weak ones.

    In short, Maitre had no regrets about Zervan, and, in a sense, he was glad he wasn''t and wouldn''t be around. He was tired of giving the fool a hard time without his mistress knowing. He did not like to disturb her.

    Hastin''s attitude toward the petty Mistress was a mix of many things. Respect for the Mentor who initiated him into the basics of the second life; reverence for the Head of the family, into which he was reborn through death; admiration for the ability to speak as equals to the powers that be, even on her knees; slight awe at the widest outlook and constant willingness to self-improvement. The misunderstanding of certain decisions-sometimes Celesta thought in unfamiliar categories that smacked of foreignness, and at such moments it seemed to him that the rumors among the cultists about her unearthly origins had a rational basis in them.

    He knew for a fact that no one else could rule vampire society. For the simple reason that no society would exist. At best, in some places, there were small communities, struggling to make ends meet, avoiding the slightest attention from the authorities. No army of mortal servants, no underground shelters as lavishly decorated as palaces, no scholarly activities, no students... Medea, his irritatingly irritating lover, rightly argued that they owed Celesta everything.

    Though they did not consider the little mistress sinless, unlike the slightly crazy Merc. Because they stood by her when she made mistakes.

    As far as he understood from the communication through the mirror, the mistress was up to something big again. And unusual, it seemed. A good sign - lately it was as if she had been in a half-sleep, forcing herself to work. The question was, shouldn''t he be frightened of Celesta''s ideas beforehand, like in the old days? But they did work, almost always.

    Of course, Hustin trusted her; in fact, he trusted the leader more than anyone else. He just did not always understand her logic, and it was terribly annoying.

    Whatever adventure she has in mind, there will be a place for him, Hustin. As it happens, he was involved in all the serious projects of the community, and this one will be no exception. So, he should collect the accumulated debts beforehand, so that he would not be distracted by secondary tasks. That''s what he and his students are doing right now.

    * * *

 Chapter 15

    Chapter 15

    * * *

    Existing in a hostile environment has its positive aspects. There are more negative aspects, which is why every rational (and irrational too) creature strives to provide itself with as much comfort as possible. However, the undoubted advantage of the constant threat to life is the obvious need to evolve. Vampires did not need to be persuaded to grow stronger - they understood that there was no other way to continue their post-death existence. Those who stopped, frozen in their greatness, would inevitably be found by the priests someday.

    And kill.

    They did not want to leave to meet their adored Patron; as a consequence, the vast majority of vampires sought to develop their strengths and cover up their weaknesses. The upper echelons of society, led by the Mistress, welcomed such intentions: learning was encouraged, the exchange of knowledge flourished, and the elders, engaged in the education of the risen youth, enjoyed high status and many benefits. The founding of the School of Paths was a natural progression of the process.

    In the documents of the Department of Finance, the school went under the abbreviation FHEI CN, that is, "the first higher educational institution of the children of the night". Celesta suspected that the name was a kind of revenge financier to mages in general and Vador in particular, appointed director of this FHEI. At the initial stage of its existence, the School required serious investments - for teaching aids, for research, and creating a network of underground classrooms and lecture halls. Vador''s estimates were approved without complaint, and Gardoman''s staff made no attempt to argue with her, so they chose to express their dissatisfaction in this way.

    The teaching process was organized simply. The following paths were constantly taught: blood magic, ritualism, animalism, strengthening, and mentalism, and there were both beginner and advanced groups. If there were those who wanted to study something else, for example, often asked about healing or shapeshifting, the directorate collected applications, and when there were more than three potential students, organized courses. There were always teachers for the courses, if only for the reason that Celesta did not shy away from pressuring relatives who avoided sharing their knowledge without a good reason. She herself taught mentalistic to those who surpassed the level of the advanced group, and she monitored the situation around the School.

    There have been mishaps. There were times when mentors, for personal reasons, refused to teach a particular student. Sometimes the older students knew as much about the subject as the instructor, and then the lessons turned into a kind of experience-sharing seminar. The directorate received applications that had little more than nothing to do with the post-vampire lifestyle. Why did three heads of communities in Lanaka wish to learn a lost version of the hieroglyphic writing of a vanished tribe on the edge of the Oikumene? Well, they wish to, and they did. The scouts found an old human specialist especially for the three of them, worked him over, looked for an approach, persuaded him... Convinced him.

    Most newbies were not admitted to the School. Young risen continued to be attached to their personal tutors, and it was up to their parents to raise their chicks. It was the older vampires who became students, most of them seniors who had moved up to the second level. They were busy and experienced personalities, who knew exactly what they wanted; they valued their personal time highly, and so they came to Taleya for a short time. And not only and not so much for the sake of studying. Though, of course, it was an important factor. For example, if a vampire from a small town on the border with the Land of Blueness went to the Capital, to the School, the head of the community instructed him to negotiate the terms of orders for controlled companies, to persuade Maitre Hastin to issue artifacts out of turn or send someone more experienced to the local branch of the Dark Guild, to ask the scouts for dirt on officials recently appointed from the capital, and so on. In general, the vampires who came to Taleya usually stayed there for a long time.

    The contingent in the provincial communities ranged from outright slag to vampires who were talented, unconventional, only incapable of living within the rigid limits set by Celesta. As long as the actions of local heads had no effect on the common cause, the Mistress turned a blind eye to minor violations of the law, wisely allowing her subjects to indulge in the illusion of autonomy. But when someone''s stupidity turned to trouble, they were in no hurry to help: you made a mess of it, you fix it. The established rules of the game suited everyone, no one wanted to change them.

    Valquerius, head of the community of Rassegai, ruled his city long and successfully. An old risen, he might have been among the ranks of the elders had it not been for two qualities that prevented a successful career. Valquerius was lazy and misanthropic, and the latter applied not only to mortals but to his kin as well. Otherwise, he was a near-perfect head. Strong, law-abiding, and his intellect worked perfectly. The small community of Rassegai was happy with their lord, who carefully minimized any attempts to communicate with them.

    As for laziness, only Celesta, who had found the right way to communicate, was occasionally able to overcome it. When she needed something from Valquer��us, she would summon him to her office and, after annoying him with some trifle, intimidate him. Then came the offer, the "last chance" to rehabilitate himself in the eyes of his superiors. Frightened by the prospect of leaving the quiet cozy town, where everything went on as usual and where no one bothered him, Valquerius mobilized, brilliantly performed the mission entrusted to him, and then with a deep relief ran far away from the cruel Mistress, who forced him to work. For the next twenty years, he was untouched.

    This time Valquerius came on his own. There were too many issues that forced him to get out of his seat.

    First of all, he was inquisitive and took a keen interest in the work of the School. In fact, Vador was one of the few individuals with whom the head of Rassegai maintained a friendly relationship and whose presence did not annoy him. They often discussed the discoveries made by the Path masters, considered ways to improve the learning process, and together berated the herd of gray philistines around them. As the strongest adept of the Path of Illusions, Valquerius tried to gather knowledge concerning his favorite subject from everywhere. As a consequence, the appearance in the School of new information on the necessary subject could move him to the hard decision, i.e. - to travel.

    Second, now he hoped to dispatch some of his wards to Celesta. The fact that there were fewer risen rising with each passing century did not mean that there were always fewer of them. The theory of probability had not been abandoned. This year, four young vampires had appeared in Rasegae, and it was difficult to train them at once. There weren''t enough mentors in town. So Valquerius expected to send at least three of them to Taleya, under the strong wing of the Mistress, as soon as the "newborns" grew stronger and loosened their ties to their homeland. The arrangement had to be made in advance.

    Third, for the first time in a long time, he had difficulty interacting with people. With the city''s top leadership, to be more precise.

    "Mistress, words can''t tell you how tired I am of him!" The vampire complained, raising his hands. "He was chasing me around the city, waving his sword and wanting to do the deed! If it hadn''t been for the guards, he would have broken his own neck. And I can not kill him. He is the Count''s heir, his Dad would be offended. I ended up putting him on a libido stimulator, and now he''s stuck in brothels all the time. But it''s not forever! He''ll be cleansed at the next feast in the temple!"

    "How does he know where you live?"

    "I accept petitioners in the cemetery on the last Monday of the month," Valquerius brushed it off. "What? Mistress, that''s very convenient. One night you suffer, and the rest of the month you''re free. All the newcomers, instead of disturbed people asking questions, know where to find me. Well, the old clients interact with my deputies and don''t cause any trouble."

    "You dumped the work on the deputies," Celesta said affirmatively.

    "Just divided the zones of responsibility," the guest agreed without shame. "It''s very convenient. Everyone knows exactly who does what, and they don''t bother me for a trifle."

    "But since you''re here, it''s not a trifle that happened, is it?"

    "Exactly, Mistress. Petty Countess, it''s not a problem. We have a conflict with the local monastery of the Triad of Righteousness. They''re stealing the meadows from our merchants."

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    The rest of the story revealed the following. The local dynasty of merchants, who had been loyal supporters of the vampires for generations, owned several tracts of land in the city''s outskirts, the most valuable of which was the flood meadows. The medicinal herbs that grew in the meadows brought in a good profit, which is why the land was repeatedly tried to be bought or taken away. Until recently, attempts were successfully repulsed. Unfortunately, the meadows were now under the eye of a "heavyweight" - it was said that the monastery had the patronage of a prince - and the bribed officials from the local administration were either unable or afraid to help.

    "I''ll find dirt on the monks," Valquerius explained. "The very usual - failure to pay taxes, seizure of land, dubious sorcery in the name of a loyal subject, and all that sort of thing. There are no first-degree felonies, so the investigation will fall apart. But while it''s going on, the priests will get away from the merchants. The problem is that if the monastery does have the support of someone from the dynasty, then the interference of the administration of the fief, or even the capital is not ruled out, which would not be desirable."

    "The princes have no time for trivialities," said Celesta quietly. "The branches are preparing for a fight between them. We provided some information to the special Cabinet of the Guardian the other day and their leader was happy to return the favor, hinting that the Son of the Sea has no great affection for his kin. So go ahead. If there are any instructions from high places about you, we''ll hold them to that."

    "Thank you, Mistress," bowed Valquerius.

    "For the next, five to ten years, consider that any action to degrade the reputation of the three largest cults in the country will have my approval and support," the ruler finished without changing her tone.

    "Any?"

    "Any. Knowing you, I''m sure you''ll know when to stop."

    In giving out a kind of carte blanche, Celesta had no doubts. Valquerius was not the kind of vampire to abuse her trust - he would rather lie on the couch surrounded by books and do nothing at all.

    So she intended to spur him on.

    "As for your new recruits, bring two. Another one you will choose a mentor from among your deputies, and you will train the last one yourself."

    "Mistress!" Valquerius howled in a natural voice. "For what!"

    "For a reason." Celesta smiled meekly, not deceiving Valquerius in the least, for he shut up immediately. "So you don''t get moldy in your hole. Tell me, when was the last time you did something new? Not to improve the skills you''ve already mastered, but to learn something you didn''t know how to do before. You can''t? You have nothing to say, Valquerius, because you don''t remember when you stopped developing yourself. You don''t do anything, you don''t try to change anything, you just lie in your den, and little by little you start to degrade! I''m not satisfied with what''s going on with you, I don''t want to see you slowly sliding downhill. So I take you out of your comfort zone. Remember that term? That''s great. And mind you, I chose to be gentle, taking into account your past wishes."

    "Which ones, Mistress?" Valquerius marveled.

    "You complained that you are surrounded by dullards and mediocrities. Here''s almost a clean slate for you - take it, bring it up as you see fit. The psyche of the young risens is shaken by the new state, and the suggestibility is high, so in this case, the student will become what the teacher will make him. Everything is in your hands."

    "As it pleases the Mistress," sighed the sloth.

    "If you want, you can go to Zonna, Medea needs a resident in the Sultanate. Or we''re planning an expansion of the guard, and you''re not a bad fighter, I remember," the subject shook his head in horror at her alternatives. "No? We''ll stick with the ward, then."

    "Keep in mind, I''m not going to be lazy and personally check what he''s learned. And if I''m disappointed with the result... It''s going to be difficult for you to rest in your next position."

    * * *

    "Have you ever thought that the life of a ruler is a series of small, or not small, betrayals of himself?"

    "Why are you suddenly so interested in philosophy?" Medea''s mental voice was full of surprise.

    "Vantal visited the house of an official, Matalest, and found evidence of life-transfer rituals there. The remnants of my morality demand that I personally intervene and execute Matalest and his accomplices, not just kill them, but think of something special. But I know I will not. I will sell the dirt to the Son of the Sea, who will probably offer the official a deal. It is even possible that he will turn a blind eye to the crimes because blackmailing the Chancellor''s closest associate will allow him to throw the latter out and appoint his own man to replace Darth. The child killer will not be punished. I feel like I''m breaking myself - for the umpteenth time."

    "I remember. You told me that in your world, children are untouchable. Honestly, it''s hard for me to imagine that society."

    "Well, not that they''re untouchable... Violence against them is treated much more harshly than here. I seem to be used to the local order and put up with it, but some concepts are the basis of my personality, they cannot be changed. They come out at the most unexpected moments. And when they come out, you have to break them - with a crunch, feeling how you break yourself. It''s not a pleasant feeling."

    "If the matter is so important to you, don''t say anything to the king," the connection brought with it emotions of sympathy, desire for support, and slight perplexity coming from my sister. "You are Mistress. No one can question your decision."

    "I can''t. There is too much tied up in the king''s position. It has recently emerged that people have been clever with the information they received from Zervan, and have learned more about us than we thought. It takes time to get rid of disclosed structures, and Valier can give it. Besides, don''t forget - it depends on him whether the campaign to the Seven Rivers will take place. His vote is decisive."

    "I thought you were counting more on Lash?"

    "The Duke is certainly important, but the monks will not lift a finger without the Son of the Sea''s permission."

    "You still haven''t told me the final plan, by the way," Medea remarked from afar. "Everything I know about the Sacred Crusade was told when you were staying with me. I mean, the merchants go to Lash, Lash goes to the King, and the King grants his permission. The Orders and cults gather together and go to fight the Seven Rivers. It''s a bit vague, don''t you think?"

    "I don''t have a detailed plan," her sister said with a laugh. "I don''t have one, and I can''t have one. There are only the control points you listed, and that''s what I secure. You know yourself - too complicated intrigues inevitably fail."

    "Well, that''s true..."

    "So it makes no sense to make concrete plans, we need to work immediately on the final goal. You see: the question of merchants is easily solvable, although just in case we should enlist the support of the priests of Lucal, here I do not foresee difficulties. The Duke''s consent, on the whole, is also assured. He speaks of the impossibility of trade with the West with evident regret. Further difficulties arise. How to convince the King to declare war on an unknowable enemy, a good cause, pleasing to the gods?"

    There are three most influential cults in the country and a dozen minor ones. We don''t take the latter into account: there are many fanatics who are bruised in the head and the authorities would be happy to get rid of them. But it''s more complicated with the major ones. The Saints of the Flame, if they lose fighters on the march, will increase their reputation among the bulk of the nobility, which the Son of the Sea doesn''t need. That''s because they''ll recruit new fighters quickly enough. Consequently, the Saints should not increase their reputation but restore it.

    Valier would be only too happy to weaken the Triad of Rightness, but the princes will be a united front against him. Does he need more tension with his kin? Not anytime soon, definitely not. So, the princes either have to agree to participate from the start, or they must not be able to object. The latter is undesirable because too strong a power of the king is not beneficial to us.

    And, finally, there remains the Celestial Purity. They have few "holy warriors," and if necessary, they use state security forces, from the army to the guards. It would seem that the "lawmen" should not object to the campaign, but! They realize that if they succeed, the main benefit will accrue to Lascaris, with whose master they are traditionally at knives. Their objections are sure to be heeded by the king.

    I have a rough idea of what to do with the Saints. They got screwed in the excavation story, we have dirt on their leadership, and besides, after the current chancellor is removed, the cult''s capabilities will be weakened, so it will be relatively easy to get it back on track. The other two are difficult. Actions against Purity will cause displeasure to the Son of the Sea if revealed, the hierarchs in the Triad are watching each other closely and it is unclear how to put pressure on the top. We must also remember that some of the princes are not so much benevolent as hostile to us. We wouldn''t want to hurt their proxies.

    "There! Now you know how I feel!" Medea exclaimed exaggeratedly and pathetically. "That''s how we live in Zonna! We live like rabid squirrels in a wheel. You can''t ruin an enemy''s life, because you can''t hurt an ally''s. You should know how many terrific chances we''ve missed... It''s easy for you, diplomats behave themselves in Taleya. The Sultanate is looming over us, and it''s such a serious factor that it can''t be ignored. Southerners interfere in politics all the time."

    "It''s good that you reminded me. Any progress in Azar?"

    "How, Celesta?! You were the one who demanded that relations between Blueness and the Sultanate deteriorate. It''s one or the other. And we can''t act as mediators - the niche is tightly occupied by the Principality of Raganza. Those neutrals are well set up, sitting in the mountains and not letting anyone in their plots. I don''t want to quarrel with them."

    "Pity. I wouldn''t want to build a route to Birat via Deep Harbor right now. Just because we found leaks doesn''t mean there aren''t others. Hastin was quite right when he said that magic wasn''t the problem."

    "Who would have thought it, Hastin was right!" Celesta saw her sister''s lips curl up in an annoyed grimace as for real. Then, after a short silence, there was a feignedly nonchalant question. "How are they? Has poor Cache recovered at all?"

    "She looks cheerful, although it will take her a long time to recover. She''s become more composed. It''s not nice of me to say this, but it seems this incident has done her good."

    "Maybe she should come to us. We have better healers."

    "Preferably with a mentor?"

    "No, that''s one I''m not ready to see yet!"

    "I like that "yet." I''ll be sure to please Hustin with it."

    * * *

 Part 4 Chapter 16

    Part 4 Chapter 16

    * * *

    Truly momentous events rarely occur loudly. Even those that later make it into textbooks and whose dates schoolchildren are forced to memorize with hatred, begin quietly, inconspicuously, hidden from prying eyes. Decisions on wars are made long before armies cross borders. Coups d''etat takes place in cozy offices. Expeditions for gold and spices are rooted in the childhood of captains who found a shabby old map in their father''s shop.

    The change of authority in Taleya was imperceptible. And how can you speak of a change if nothing has changed outwardly? The Son of the Sea Valier still sat on the throne, the second of the bearers of that name by the Grace of the Waves; the government was led by the same Chancellor Darth, appointed to his position by the previous ruler; the army regiments and naval squadrons remained in their bases, commanded by their former commanders.

    There was a wave of dismissals among the generals, which is true. The knowledgeable people linked it with the accident that sent Prince Ticamara to his grave - the poor fellow was unfortunate enough to be thrown by a horse bitten by a gadfly. The horse was, of course, sent off after its master, which should serve as a small consolation in the afterlife. The generals, who had lost their patron, suddenly discovered that, now that they were alone, the inspections of their units were very different, and they were in no hurry to be accepted at Court. Personal merit was not enough, the branch of the ruling dynasty controlling the army was in disarray, so many heeded the highest hints and preferred to give the way to the young. Thereafter, they were not touched - unlike those who proved too stubborn or incomprehensible.

    It must be said that a system has long existed in Taleya where various departments were tacitly or explicitly "patronized" by different branches of the royal family. In practice, this resulted in a kind of dual power. For example, the Son of the Sea, as Commander-in-Chief, could not always appoint a regimental commander bypassing the Chief of General Staff, his third cousin, the blessed Tikamar. Traditionally, his father''s place should have been taken by his equally worthy son, but now, due to a series of events that remained unknown to the general public, a much closer relative of the king sat in the chief''s chair.

    The situation was roughly the same with the Navy, only no one died there. Prince Sakir confessed his long-standing desire to devote himself to the spiritual path and asked his master for the grace to allow him to go to a secluded monastery to spend the rest of his days in self-improvement and thinking of higher thoughts. This permission, together with the appropriate words of regret for the parting, was granted to him.

    The king''s younger brother came to the post of Pointer to the Captains. A purge began in the fleet.

    For what reason the prince in charge of the Secret Service had resigned, public opinion was at a loss to say. The Palace Ministry published an announcement as colorful as it was empty, and no further statements were made on the subject. Even for those prone to keeping their mouths shut, such silence was uncharacteristic of the "spiders," and the high society was filled with anxious whispers. The discussion took place in small circles, no one dared to do more - excessive attention to the affairs of the ruling dynasty could end up in receiving a silk noose as a gift. The former head of spies himself sat in his palace and, according to Celesta''s agents, often communicated with officers of the royal guard who visited him.

    The changes in the country''s top leadership were gradual, and slow, the Son of the Sea trying to avoid unnecessary publicity. Celesta was far from immediately aware of what was happening. On the surface, everything looked very decent, putting together a set of disparate facts into a single picture only two months after the first events.

    The king removed his kin from power.

    The operation was astonishing in its level of competence. It must have been prepared in advance, for a long time, more than a year. It is possible that the plans were made even before Valier ascended to the throne. The Mistress was unpleasantly struck by the fact that the Son of the Sea''s men had been able to maintain complete secrecy. Of course, now that the vampires knew what to look at, the minor shifts at the top and the odd decisions fit into the scheme, but before, neither she nor Kalderan had contemplated such a course of action on the king''s part.

    As far as they could tell now, for a beginning, Valier had skillfully pitted the branches against each other. He didn''t have to do much, because the Dinir dynasty was a nest of scorpions. Dozens, if not hundreds, of princes, princesses, third cousins, and fourth cousin grandmothers, all want honors, money, a bigger palace, an important position, and to do nothing. And their number is growing, but the budget pie is not getting bigger, the receipts into the treasury for the last hundred years are approximately at the same level. Even the father of the current ruler was forced to publish the "Regulations of the Highness of the Dynasty," which dealt with an extremely delicate subject - the financing of members of the enlarged royal family. The measure of maintenance was determined by the degree of kinship, so distant relatives felt deprived and were happy to get involved in various intrigues, taking advantage of the official immunity.

    Conspiracies against the Son of the Sea were so commonplace that even participation in them was not always punished. However, the quality of the organization of those conspiracies... It was impossible to take them seriously, so the punishment of the participants was purely symbolic, in a family way.

    After the blood princes had finally quarreled, Valier began to remove the most odious one by one. At this stage, he had to act quickly and very carefully at the same time, in order to divert suspicion from himself. On the surface, it looked as if the branches were framing each other for accusations of disrespect, indecent behavior, breaking the will of the head of the clan, and the like. The only ones for which members of the dynasty could actually be punished because criminal cases were not brought against them, financial embezzlement was forgiven, and which magic was black they decided for themselves. Princes and princesses who could not get away with it usually received punishment in the form of exile or time in a comfortable prison, often followed by "forgiveness", everyone assumed that this time the case would end the same way. No attention was paid to the number of those convicted, and if it was, it was attributed to natural causes.

    That''s when Valier used vampires. Perhaps something had gone wrong, and he needed outside help. Perhaps he was quite right in thinking that whatever dirt Celeste''s servants found, spinning the money-transfer chain, she wouldn''t have time to use it. In any case, his calculation was correct - the investigation received the information it needed, the pace of the operation was maintained, and it proceeded without hindrance.

    It was only at the very end that the most influential heads of families were taken off the board. A final step that put an end to the hidden confrontation. A brilliant result of painstaking work that made the top vampires judge their actions more harshly. More critically.

    "We have no sources in his entourage," Kalderan muttered at the meeting. "We oriented agents against monasteries, cults, and their patrons, that is, against the princes. No one could have guessed."

    The chief scout took the events of the past three months as a personal failure. It was completely in vain - Valier had outplayed everyone, the mistake was collective.

    He wouldn''t have thought of it himself. He''s a ruler, he''s not familiar with operational work, and he thinks differently. Even if the idea belonged to him, there must be someone who directly managed the process. But who? I don''t see a suitable candidate.

    "It doesn''t matter now," Celesta interrupted his self-abuse. "Sooner or later we''ll figure it out, or it''ll come out on its own. The question is, what do we do?"

    "So far the Son of the Sea has not acted to threaten our position, Messena," remarked Latham, who was also there. "On the contrary. I think we should not expect any aggression from him in the near future. He has other priorities now."

    "Yes, absolutely. His relatives left him too problematic an "inheritance," and until he deals with it, all his attention will be focused on the newly subordinated structures. The available pool of managers is limited, and in general, the resources are not that much. For a year and a half, he won''t have time for us. And then what? Will he replace the chancellor or come after us?"

    "It makes more sense to start by taking control of the government," Kalderan opined.

    "The royals have their logic. I think it makes sense for us to take precautions and get rid of some of the interests in Taleya, just in case Valier decides that we''re interfering with him. We won''t take any drastic measures, but the minor tasks will become the main ones. Latham, you will go to Lanaka. Together with the guardsmen who are already operating there, you will travel around the country and decide which communities should be strengthened and expanded, and in which cities new ones can be founded. We had planned to do this later, but circumstances force us to start now."

    "I obey, Messena."

    "Kalderan, direct all resources to the Archipelago. Even if you move there personally, the position of the community in Deep Harbor must be sustained. We begin our expansion into Birat."

    "Perhaps I will, Blessed Mistress," the scout bowed his head. "The situation in Harbor compels me to do so."

    The variety of factors that prevented the vampires from establishing a foothold in the Archipelago was unpleasantly striking when reading the reports of the failures. First and foremost, of course, was the effectiveness of the intelligence, or rather, of several intelligence agencies, keeping an eye not only on the aliens but on each other as well.

    Geography was a factor, in every sense. The undead did not fare well on the islands, surrounded by a vast reservoir of salt water, except for the older ones on the central, largest island. Where outsiders were reluctantly allowed in. Only full citizens had the right to reside in the capital; all others had to make do with residence permits of a limited duration. It was a closed society, wary of foreigners, and it was impossible to enter the upper strata from the outside. The noble families were bound together by mutual responsibility. A very complex system of governance and appointment to key positions, opaque to the outsider. A strong school of magic, partly based on another in comparison to the Taleya principles. A state-supported cult of Green-haired whose priests were renowned for their mental skills.

    Standard methods did not work in the Archipelago. Creating a community there required a fundamentally new approach.

    "Okay, we''ll discuss it later. I''m waiting for your suggestions, maybe I missed something. Now let''s go, we have a lot to do."

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    What has changed? By and large, nothing.

    Valier had proved smarter and more cunning than his predecessors, and he had proven that it was better to be friends with him. That was exactly what Celeste was going to do. If the Son of the Sea did not want peace and preferred confrontation, it would be a wonderful time of enmity. Preparations for this scenario had already begun. The vampire community is used to acting under constant pressure from the authorities, the last forty years were uncharacteristically quiet, so they relaxed. Zervan''s betrayal shook the community, and forced it to pull itself together, so if a new blow follows, they will meet it fully armed.

    So far, nothing has happened that would make Celesta give up the idea of defeating the Seven Rivers.

    The Mistress of the blood kin watched with mild enjoyment the growing confrontation between Lash and the Church of the Saints. The Duke was pleased with the fall of the princes'' sworn enemies, but he had no intention of stopping there. Now his men were targeting the chancellor''s faction. It is unlikely he would be allowed to seriously interfere in the government (not now), and the composition of ministers would not change. However, to ruffle the nerves of his opponents Lash will be able. In fact, he has already started. Rumors of dubious rituals practiced by the Saints were circulating in the society, and two government newspapers came out with notes about the reopening of investigations into old cases which had been closed for lack of evidence. From somewhere information about the excavations at Nemmist had surfaced, gossip about the latter being willingly shared by Baron Tar with all those who wished to listen. Everything was going the right way in this direction.

    What was not covered were the "lawmen" and the Triads. The fate of the latter cult seemed doubtful - its patrons at the top had lost influence, and the king did not initially view them favorably. They still had monasteries, churches, and land holdings, and the majority of parishioners continued to attend services, but there was a serious exodus of the nobility and rich merchants. It is unlikely that the Triad will finish. They would take away the most tidbits, get rid of the most respected hierarchs on plausible pretexts, and cut off access to valuable information. But to destroy it completely? What for?

    By the way, Celesta found out why one of the top officials of Celestial Purity would pay a colleague from the Triad. The story turned out to be simple and trivial, the most common blackmail. The Voice of Silence used his position to place mental seals on wealthy prisoners, coaxing secrets from them, forcing them to sign documents of his choosing - figuratively speaking, having as much fun as he could. He lost all fear. The evidence of his activities fell into the hands of the rival leader, who refused to publish the papers, preferring to "milk" a lucky stray cow. The moral principles of both were similar. During recent events, they were arrested and, after grilling and interrogation, quietly executed. The information they gave him led to the exile of several of the king''s relatives, not to mention the executions of dozens of lesser men.

    In the current circumstances, it seemed unwise to intrigue against the Celestial Purity Society. On the other hand, right now, with their attention diverted to a weakened foe, it made sense to work prospectively. The seeds of a future fall are planted at the moment of greatest triumphs, Celesta had witnessed the maxim from personal experience.

    The Mistress had no intention of hurrying; she preferred consistency in her dealings. She had more than enough time. Therefore, she calmly sorted out the routine, waited for the situation to settle, communicated with agents, read reports, and in general did things that she had no time to do before. She met with trustees, for example. She had an old acquaintance to whom she always listened, though she did not always follow his advice.

    * * *

    Old towns are shrouded in mystery, surrounded by a mystical veil of legend. The old-timers are happy to tell about the town governor''s daughter who killed herself with unrequited love and became a ghost, or to show from afar a cursed house, whose owners necessarily die a painful death, for each storyteller is different. The Taleyans react to other people''s tales with a contemptuous snort. They, who live under the Curse, do not need to prove anything to anyone.

    Many of the capital''s legends have to do with Celesta itself, but not all, far from it. It was said that a spirit who knew the future lived in an abandoned park near the riverport. If you come to him at night with an offering say secret words, and perform a simple ritual, with luck you can get an answer to any question or advice leading to wealth and happiness. The methods of attracting spirits, of course, differed with each storyteller.

    Adults didn''t believe in silly fairy tales, unlike children and romantic teenagers, and they didn''t wander around the parks at night unless they absolutely had to. There was enough danger in the city without all the mysticism. A late-night passerby could be robbed and killed by dashing members of numerous gangs - or not even gangs, just idle drunks with itchy fists. At night, beasts of prey would come out of the dungeons, and though the vampires would kill them at every opportunity, they could never quite eradicate them. And it was unlikely that they ever would. Neither should the servants of the Mistresses themselves have been caught, for though they were forbidden to kill for food (the provisions of the Night''s Code were no secret, moreover, they had been specifically told to mortals), sometimes things did go wrong.

    The guards and priests of the surrounding temples did not believe the story either. They knew. A little more than ordinary people, but they knew. The park by the riverport had a bad reputation with the local gangsters, and the homeless people avoided it, and it was never a gathering place for crazy street kids. Those who lived in the park woke up at night. In the morning, the first passersby found dead bodies; gray-haired people claimed to have wandered the dark paths for days, unable to get out of the invisible maze; the poor people next door had had lucid dreams that came true too often to ignore. Prayers and ambushes by holy warriors did not help; magicians and servants of the gods searched in vain for the cause of the strange phenomena.

    Celesta didn''t question it - the City had no secrets from its Mistress.

    Silently treading the sandy paths, she walked confidently to the far corner, where, in times immemorial, the architects had placed an artificial grotto on the bank of a tiny pond. Since then, nature reclaimed the positions taken by people, the grotto overgrown, it now looked more like a low hill. Occasional workers who came by paid no attention to it, as if they didn''t notice it. Celesta did not encounter a single person along the way.

    Before she reached the grotto, the vampiress lifted her chin a little, took a deep breath of the night air, and twitched the corner of her mouth in irritation. Again.

    "Again, Chesta!" Instead of greeting, she exclaimed, quickly approaching the scruffily dressed man who was sitting on a short wooden bench by the pond. "How many times have I told you!"

    "It''s a strange day. It''s like I''m tripping and I don''t know if I''m going to catch myself or not."

    For a moment, Mistress lost control of herself, her face turning into an unreadable mask. She took two steps forward and crouched down beside the body spread out on the sand.

    "She''s not stiff yet. Who is she?"

    "Beautiful," the man looked away from the cloud-covered sky and at his Mistress. "Unhappy."

    "That''s why you killed her," Celesta realized. "Unhappy everywhere?"

    "Everywhere. Lots and little. It''s good now. You look like a noodle."

    "Why?"

    "Thread. Thread!"

    Taking advantage of the fact that no one else was around, the diminutive undead squinted irritably at her feet.

    "Thank you, man, for turning Hustin away from the way of the Seer! If you hadn''t, he would have been the same way."

    Chesta chuckled abruptly and then suddenly stopped talking. His gaze was blanketed in a silver film, and the madman asked calmly: "Don''t call him. He will hear you."

    Seeing Chesta like that was painful. The insanely talented, surprisingly open r������l had become something of a personal student of Celesta''s. She set him apart from the rest of the youth. His amazing empathic abilities, coupled with his high intelligence and curiosity, led Chesta to master a number of unconventional paths in a short time, settling his final choice on the path of the Seer. Mistress cursed the day she allowed Hustin to train him. At the time the idea of having a pocket prophet seemed appealing to her; she did not realize the price to be paid for the opportunity to look into the future.

    The young vampire failed, his mind lost in different versions of reality. Chesta saw the present, the past, and the future in hundreds of ways, no wonder his mind became clouded. The attempt to return the madman to ordinary thinking almost ended in the death of Celesta herself, although she achieved some success - the student stopped degenerating, and his condition stabilized.

    The worst thing is that he was still kind in his own way. It''s just that his criteria for evaluation were now completely different. When he saw a girl whose future fate he felt compassion for, he might well decide that by killing a mortal he was doing her a favor.

    "Where are your servants?"

    "They are already dead. Or they haven''t been born yet."

    "I mean the ones I''ve assigned to you."

    "Writers," the vampire remarked dismissively. "The empty shells."

    "That''s their responsibility. They record everything you say and try to decipher it. So, wait..."

    Celesta quickly contacted Merck, ordering him to send a team on duty. Normally she would have a guard escorting her into the city, but now almost all of them were in Lanak. There was only one five left, the one she''d escaped from. The constant sensation of another''s gaze, despite her habit, was slightly annoying, and Mistress enjoyed the rare feeling of being alone.

    "Let''s go," she pulled Chesta by the hand. "Let''s stay out of their way."

    The prophet got up from the bench and walked beside Celesta. He didn''t seem to care where they were going or what they were going to do.

    "You''re getting out on the surface more often than before."

    "You finally have a throne."

    "Not yet, it''s still being carved."

    Mistress quickly pondered the answer. She asked why Chesta had begun to leave his underground shelter, where he spent most of his time, and he replied by mentioning that arrogant-looking thing in the central hall. Was he disturbed by the construction? But it seems to go far enough. Or is the throne one of the markers that allow him to navigate the chrono-flow, for better or for worse? More likely the second, but just in case, we should check which ways the materials are carried and the workers walk.

    "The palace is beautiful. It''s nice."

    "Medea worked hard; she sent the best architects."

    "Eternal Wind. Coming to visit soon."

    "Soon, when is that?" Chesta smiled uncertainly. "I see. I hope you''re right. Until I know what to expect from Valier, she has nothing to do in Taleya."

    "Ooh! Valier the Second! The Holy Crusade! The Silver Spring! Excuses are the lot of the weak! The Coast of Stone Bones!"

    "The hike is going to happen after all," Celesta grinned harshly. "That''s good to hear. Where are the Stone Bones?"

    In order to understand Chesta, you had to understand the images he was thinking about. He would have been happy to help, to answer questions, but his answers were even more confusing to those who asked. Only those who had the time and patience were able to hold a conversation with the prophet and translate his remarks into a code that was acceptable to the common mind. The Mistress was certainly one of them.

    They spent an hour and a half in conversation, difficult for both of them. Despite her experience, Celesta had difficulty deciphering her companion''s speech, while the latter strained to remember how he thought, existing in one "here and now". Several times Celesta forgot or simply could not find the right words, and then he transmitted the images directly into the mind of his Mistress. Someone else would be driven mad by this mode of communication.

    Despite the hardships of the Taleya community''s very existence, Chesta was also of great benefit. For one thing, it served as a visual aid to those vampires who were thinking of mastering any form of working with time. Not just divination, but in general. These sections of the paths were considered closed, and after meeting Chesta, outraged aspirants understood why. Many abandoned previous plans and chose to focus on other, less dangerous ones. Secondly, a vague outline of the future, certain elements of it the top vampires received. Far from taking the prophecies as a guide for action, they were still given a starting point for analysis, which made planning much easier. It was worth remembering, though, that Chesta had his scale of values, and what she considered important to him might mean nothing at all.

    There didn''t seem to be any war with mortals in the near future. At least, that was Celeste''s impression. Before Zervan''s betrayal, Chesta tried to warn his mistress about something, but he did not insist and generally believed that nothing serious would happen and that all would end well in the end. On the other hand, he emotionally praised the underground palace, tried to advise on how to set it up, and even promised to give it a separate room. Considering how much the prophet avoided any society, this was an unusual request.

    Celesta left him slightly relieved, having once again made a promise not to kill.

    "It''s their life, Chesta. Let them decide for themselves. If they want to, they''ll leave, if they don''t want to, they''ll tolerate it. You don''t have to interfere. You don''t have to help."

    "Apples grow differently. Some are red and some are rotten."

    "I don''t feel sorry for the rotten ones. Just, please, don''t get caught."

    * * *

 Chapter 17

    Chapter 17

    * * *

    The Cuckoo''s Feather Restaurant was not one of Celesta''s favorites, and she had only visited it once. It was only because a troupe from the other side of the Good Sea was performing there at the time, and the vampiress wanted to talk to them. She was gathering information about distant countries, hoping one day if not to visit them, at least to establish colonies in them. And she was just curious.

    The restaurant was divided into two levels, a common hall, and a gallery. Downstairs the public sat in the common room and on the platform the artists sang. On the second floor, where a separate staircase led, the nobility and rich merchants preferred to watch the bustle of life from above. "Cuckoo''s Feather" was not an elite establishment, but it enjoyed a good reputation thanks to the delicious cuisine and the invitation of talented performers, often from other countries. Celesta could not appreciate the taste of the food, and she was generally unconcerned about the music - a singer didn''t falsify, and that was fine. She only came here because Medea insisted on seeing the troupe that had come from Bardi.

    Of course, just enjoying an evening of nice music and good company didn''t work out for Celesta. She hadn''t done anything with a single purpose in a long time. Though the company was, shall we say, unusual.

    "I did not expect to be invited here, Messena," Baron Sae looked quickly and carefully around the room and his neighbors, lingering his gaze on a couple of guardsmen sitting at a nearby table. "For some reason, I thought you preferred a more private setting."

    The last time, the guide had led him through long subterranean corridors, and at the end, he was met by a short girl sitting in a chair that was too massive for her. There was absolutely no desire to smile, though. Now the same vampire led the lieutenant to an ordinary medium-sized establishment. Decent, not some den.

    "Most of the time that''s true," Celesta agreed. "But I can afford a little whim, can I? Besides, a member of your profession is accustomed to ignoring social customs. Have a seat, Baron."

    "Humbly thank you, blessed Mistress. As for customs, I dare say our whole life consists of them. It is impossible to ignore customs, but one must remember that in every company they are their own."

    "That''s right, too," the vampiress agreed. "We''re all social creatures, so we have to play by the rules imposed by society. The individual hermits don''t count. You should order a thicker piece of meat; you need something to eat."

    "Do I really look that bad?"

    "Black circles under your eyes and you reek of stimulants. A person won''t smell it, but we''re better at picking up odors."

    Sae dictated his order to the waiter, while Celesta stared blankly at the three girls dancing on the platform. The music was fiery, and the number was unfamiliar and attention-grabbing. Looks like she didn''t come here in vain. She should listen to Medea more often.

    "You seem to be a regular here," the Baron reflexively tried to siphon her for information.

    "You mean the staff looks at me without surprise? How is that, a young noblewoman and no escort?" The Mistress grinned. "Not at all. I do not wish to be looked at, and I am not looked at. It is not even so much skill as experience."

    Experience and Will. Mentalistics is not limited to the ability to dissect another''s consciousness in order to view the memory or to turn the enemy into a submissive puppet. At a certain stage, a skilled master begins to create real illusions that sprout into reality. Celesta was at the very beginning of her path, but even what she already knew was enough to fully alter the perception of the mortals around her. There were no strong mages in the restaurant, and ordinary people resisted the influence weakly.

    "I once had the honor of speaking with the blessed Sirtash," the Baron nodded. "He said that with age, those who have the gift acquire abilities that seem to be magic, but have nothing to do with it."

    "Exactly. It''s like the way a warrior who has long learned to wield his body performs tricks that to a rookie would look like miracles. The prince understands the matter - he is probably by far the strongest mage in Taleya. Of mortals. Sitting on his estate, doing what he loves, ignoring any attempts to draw him back to the Capital... I envy him. Or has his way of life changed recently?"

    "In the hour of grievous upheaval, no one of the dynasty can stand aside. He who sits on the Azure Throne has commanded his beloved kinsman to appear before his countenance, so that he may reverently accept the high dignity of the burden."

    "Which one?" Celesta wondered.

    The lieutenant''s words signaled the return of Dinir''s oldest descendant to date to court life. Sirtash had been born in the reign of the Idiot. He remembered the kingdom as one, not split in half, and was extremely skeptical of the kin who occupied the throne. He was, in fact, even less skeptical of the other princes. He stayed out of politics and experimented in his secluded estate, thanks to which he successfully kept his head on his shoulders for four centuries. Hustin corresponded with him secretly.

    "Our lord and master, filled with great wisdom, intends to create an institution for the offspring of noble families where they can receive proper education and training," Sae said in florid language. "They will be devoted to the service of their country and will acquire the knowledge that will enable them to fulfill their duties well. The blessed Sirtash, may his bodily strength never leave him, will preside over the institution."

    Celesta very carefully put the cup of tea on the saucer.

    "You want to revive the Academy, don''t you? The priests will be against it - all of them. Even Celestial Purity would be against it!"

    "No, no, Messena, not at all! Just a school for the faithful sons of the fatherland. It is no secret that other families of impeccable origins are deprived of the opportunity to give their children a decent education. Alas, the nobility of blood does not go well with the ability to increase or simply preserve wealth! Despising the aspirations of his subjects, the bearer of divine grace decided to take upon himself the care of the next generation."

    "And this will give him a personnel reserve that depends solely on him... The only question is, why so late? That should have been the starting point."

    "Alas, the unrighteous advisors convinced the high-sitting lord that the existing schools were sufficient and that there was no need for a new one. They suffered the punishment they deserved for their insolent deception."

    Mistress nodded, quickly comprehending the introductions she had received. There was a network of colleges for all tastes and incomes, and the most prestigious were attended by the children of the petty and middle class who planned to pursue a military career in the future. Future army and navy officers. The upper nobility preferred homeschooling or sending their sons to major monasteries if they foresaw a spiritual path for them. There was no place like the old Academy, and there never had been. The noble families remembered how the previous rulers had held them by the throat and forced them to send their heirs to school. In addition, thanks to the Curse, the name itself had become taboo, and the slightest hint of the possibility of an institution of higher learning where mages would be trained caused the joint hysteria of the leaders of all the country''s cults.

    The Royal Mages'' Guild had its school, but the number of students there was small, the education was highly specialized, and the staff was kept on a short leash, subjected to frequent inspections.

    So Valier decided to create a personal forge of human resources. It is clear that he will not be able to revive the Academy in its former form - the country has neither enough financial nor human resources. And he doesn''t need it in its former form. The king wants a pool of people loyal to him personally, with little or no connection to provincial factions, who in the future will be able to occupy middle and senior-level bureaucratic positions. In the beginning, the number of students would be small, but later, when the inevitable mistakes at the initial stage are corrected, they would grow to hundreds. That is why Sirtash was invited. He remembers how the old system worked and will help adapt the best elements of it to the present, and he is a prince! Criticizing him should be done with great caution. The opponents of the school will at first be very numerous. To prevent them from destroying the undertaking, someone of uncommon political weight must stand at the head. The oldest representative of the dynasty with an untarnished reputation is ideal.

    That''s clever.

    Why did the Baron tell her that? Information is valuable, one might say, exclusive, since its sources did not even bring any rumors. Accidentally blabbing, he is not capable of purely physical, not with his experience as a kingpin.

    They need agents in the inner circle of the Son of the Sea. Only how do we get them? There''s more than one version of the Seal of Allegiance on everyone.

    "If your sovereign can rebuild at least some of what Irrhan and Irrhan''s successors destroyed, the kingdom will be reborn," Celesta said slowly. "I doubt it will last, but at least it will. He''s off to a good start. In fact, the only obstacles to his plans were the Saints of Fire and the other light-focused zealots."

    Sae started to say something and immediately stopped when he saw the waiter approaching with his order. Another marker, by the way, that revealed him as a spy - ordinary noblemen considered servants as something like furniture and didn''t hold back in their presence.

    "My sovereign cares for the good of the state and believes in the purity of the intentions of holy men. They may be mistaken at times, but they are sincere in their errors. The Son of the Sea believes that he can show them the right path to prosperity, it only takes time to convince them. True greatness is not achieved by the sword, but by love and peace! Friendship and affection are what the chosen one of the gods carries to his neighbors, wishing to behold the same aspirations. He is all the more perplexed by the rumors from Lanaka about the servants of the blessed mistress who have appeared there."

    "What''s wrong with them?" Celesta didn''t understand. "Their actions have nothing to do with what happened at Taleya."

    "I will not argue, though the strengthening of Lanaka is in itself a threat to the security of the kingdom," the baron remarked as he prepared to begin his meal. "The Lord of the Mirror and Sword is surprised that, while destroying nests of malevolent monsters in a neighboring country, the Night Folk do not do the same in their homeland. Friends don''t do that."

    "The Principality pays generously for our services. Besides, you are mistaken - among the aristocrats, there are enough sane people who can distinguish the truth from lies and ignore the gossip spread about us. So we work in the kingdom, too."

    "However, Nosy Mountain still spews out of its bowels crowds of monsters."

    When he finally told her what he''d come for, the spy swiftly started to move his fork. Despite his carefully observed manners, he felt hungry.

    In Nosy Mountain lay one of the few remaining deposits of tin, a valuable and rare ore in modern times. The problem was that there was also a large nest of unclassifiable creatures that were happy to consume the miners for food. Clearing them out seemed difficult and expensive, and the mountain was owned by several landlords who could not come to terms with each other. The vampires had no intention of going there. The owners included the Monastery of the Triad and a direct vassal of the king.

    Let us assume that the monastery has lost its lands or will lose them shortly, the king''s men will persuade the other owners. What''s it to the vampires? There''s no desire to risk an un-life without payment. All the more so because of the confiscations underway, the throne has money. To succumb to blackmail was not desirable at all. But until the process of the sale of the notorious companies and the creation of new personalities for the loyal people was not completed, there was no need for a conflict. We will have to fulfill the "requests" of the Son of the Sea

    At the same time, no one forbids haggling.

    "Your sovereign''s servants are not doing their job well if they have not conveyed to him the complexity of the task of clearing the mountain. Destroying a lair of this size is no longer a question of money."

    "What money can we talk about when we are talking about friendship and partnership for years to come? Especially in view of the gracious gesture of the sovereign, which I mentioned at our last meeting."

    "It would be easier for me to lose three large companies than my Guardsmen," Celesta retorted. "The creatures of Nosy are dangerous even to the strongest of us, and I do not intend to risk my subjects thoughtlessly."

    "Such care does honor to the blessed Mistress of the Night Folk! But what risk do you speak of? Maitre Hustin''s wares protect against any threat."

    "Maitre Hustin is busy with important things, I don''t intend to distract him..."

    Negotiations were hard. The lieutenant, taking advantage of his advantageous position, pressured, and Celesta snapped, trying to find out how much the mortals knew. By all accounts, not much. Of course, some of the mutual connections were impossible to hide, but overall, the intelligence of the Special Cabinet had found less than the vampires had feared. But Sae''s use of the information was masterful.

    And both Mistress and her opponent were well aware that in the end, she would agree to "help out of friendship". The undead did not wish to antagonize the authorities, and, moreover, the undead cannot antagonize the authorities. They would be crushed, no matter what their losses. And if an illegal group (including those made up of ordinary people) has the resources to confront the official authorities, it shows the complete weakness and the possibility of the state''s disintegration. Taleya has not reached such a state.

    At a moment when negotiations seemed to have finally reached an impasse, Celesta called out quietly: "Vantal."

    "Messena," the guardsman appeared silently beside her. Just a moment ago he was sitting at a nearby table, pretending to be watching the performance, and now he was standing next to her. No powers, no magic, just speed.

    "Write down what artifacts you saw in the secret room in Mr. Matalest''s house. In detail."

    "I obey, Messena!"

    "It is clear that in the near future your lord will wish to remove the chancellor," the vampiress said to the tense lieutenant. "Their confrontation, as far as the word goes, is inevitable. I''m willing to make it easy for you to find compromising materials on the chancellor''s associates, on a few conditions."

    "What are they, Messena?"

    First and most importantly, we agree to help with the cleansing of Nosy Mountain but just help. We have neither the ability nor the desire to completely destroy the lair. The second thing is that you buy out our share in Quail for a decent price. I do not like the situation surrounding this trading house after the death of Prince Messeran. Since the company causes you such a persistent interest, so be it, we will not sell it to the Lanak people, but do not expect to get "Quail" for next to nothing. Third. Hold the priests back. Their rhetoric is becoming more and more aggressive as they seek to prove their usefulness. Please, as much as you like, but not at our expense.

    This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    "The Blessed Mistress of the Night understands that only the highest authority has the power to make such important decisions, especially the last. The servant privileged to speak to her is no more than his master''s mouth and ears."

    "Of course," Celesta held up her hand, into which a piece of paper was immediately placed. "Take a look. Mr. Matalest has amassed quite a collection, and you''ll know where to find it. If you agree to my more than modest offers."

    * * *

    What will Valier do?

    Now he is busy tying the vassals taken from his kin to him. It is not enough to issue an order that the nobleman so-and-so, formerly in the service of the late Prince Whatever-the-Name, henceforth submits himself directly to the throne and swears a personal oath to the Son of the Sea. Not a word of honor, but an oath. The man must be persuaded to serve, to ensure his loyalty, otherwise, Valier simply gets a potential traitor close at hand. So the king holds meetings with the nobles, listens to them, delves into their problems, speaks affectionately, and promises, promises, promises. And, remarkably, he tries to keep his promises - otherwise, there is no point in his activities.

    What is being asked of him? Mostly the judgment, although often they are also talking about large projects, which alone or even a bunch of ordinary noblemen can not pull off. A big bridge to build, a dam, help with the irrigation of an arid region. This week it became known about the creation of a network of canals designed to ensure the drainage of the Morsh bogs - an old project developed back in the united Taleya and postponed for lack of money.

    The army requires special attention. While it was led by princes who were actively lining their own pockets, the level of training had fallen severely, ammunition was frayed, and desertion from units was commonplace. Soldiers often looked like tramps, just as ragged and hungry. Regiments were poorly supplied, theft and embezzlement flourished, and officers did not appear at their duty station for decades. High combat effectiveness demonstrated only border units, but they were maintained by the local nobility, and to whom they were loyal - an open question.

    The fleet must be rebuilt in the same way, though there is less destruction there. After all, with such an irritant as the Archipelago of Dragons at your side, you''re bound to start carefully monitoring the state of the fleet. Perhaps the vampire-owned structures were left alone because they helped with ship repairs and provided extra money for crew training. Still, reforms are needed - many admirals and officers are inadequate, there aren''t enough ships, and some of those that are available should be scrapped due to obsolescence.

    There are other, less obvious concerns. The central roads of the kingdom are in good condition, but secondary roads are often in need of repair. The construction of the bridge over Tamsin has long since stopped, though merchants are willing to bear some of the costs. Because of the raids of the northern highlanders, the famous Odel Workshops, once the largest industrial area in the country, are deteriorating. Four colleges for people of different estates open at once, and their organization and financing will fall on the treasury. Tax revenues are becoming smaller, and trade with both the West and the East is shrinking.

    In addition, the Son of the Sea commanded the restoration of the abandoned naval base on the Pair Islands. Taleya has two pieces of land at sea, with a lighthouse and a dozen soldiers as a garrison. The pirates don''t attack them, there''s nothing to take. Soon barges with stones and earth will go there, and the islands will be filled in and a full-fledged fortress and port and wharf will be built. The Mages'' Guild is already baffled by the work to be done, and the wizards and architects are running amok.

    It is impossible not to approve of the king''s intentions; what he has planned will certainly benefit the country, even if partially fulfilled. But one is tempted to ask - where will the money come from? Projects require good funding, and the treasury is not in the best condition. It is not empty, just not enough for everything.

    Celesta saw exactly two possibilities - someone to rob and borrow from someone. She didn''t like both, since vampires were among the main candidates.

    Now the Son of the Sea faction was "assimilating" the princes'' inheritance and busily trying on the assets of the Triad of Rightness. That the confiscations would be successful, Celesta had no doubt. On the other hand, it was unlikely to last long, with all that spending. And when the money ran out, the ruler of the state would be faced with the question of where to get more...

    The richest group in the country is traditionally the landowners, that is, the nobility. The first to be remembered is Lasch, who heads the informal party of the old aristocracy at court and who benefited most from the collapse of the party of the king''s relatives. However, the duke, firstly, is needed as a counterweight to the chancellor and his clique, secondly, is firmly connected to the steppe, vampires, and the major trading houses of the north, and, thirdly, his personal army is well-trained and armed. Robbing such a man is troublesome.

    It is possible to increase the tax burden in general throughout the country, but then the discontent with the authorities will increase, and riots are inevitable in some places.

    The idea of coddling vampires was bound to cross someone''s bright (in every sense of the word) mind. All the more so because it''s easy to accuse a lot of people of having ties with the undead. That''s why Celesta is withdrawing money from the country because she''s afraid of that option. At the same time, the Son of the Sea understands that vampires are vengeful, able to wait, and prone to strike stealthily. And whether the resources taken from them will be enough is not clear. That is, a situation may arise when the relationship is spoiled, and the declared goals still loom in the distance unattainable.

    To force the priests of the various religious movements to pay more, to impose additional taxes on merchants? No doubt it would be done. But we must remember that the former is always linked to local elites, while the latter, after calculating the losses, may decide to move to neighboring countries with a friendlier business climate. In other words, you cannot go too far.

    It is commonplace to carry out reforms with borrowed money. Rulers are constantly borrowing; some courts live off loans alone. The difficulty is that sooner or later the borrowed money will have to be returned, and with interest, which one does not want to do. But there are a lot of lenders, because among the bankers the King of Taleya is considered a good borrower, and they are ready to lend him not only their own but also other people''s money. There is an opportunity to choose the one that offers the best terms. Vampires own enough banks with large funds, if properly pressed, they will provide a low rate. And the period of repayment will be gradually pushed back into the distant future until the loan is written off as a loss for good.

    Unpleasant option.

    Celesta didn''t like to share what she''d gained honestly; resources were hard-won, not falling from the sky. In addition, when she imagined how Gardoman would react to news of the impending losses, the Mistress of the Night and Mistress of Taleya would be sickened - the elder would eat her brains with a teaspoon. So, after some thought, she decided to share her future worldview with a dear ally who might have the same problems.

    The moment looked good.

    "Your precious ruler should not be considered evil or cruel," Celesta summed up as she finished explaining to the Duke her vision of why the Son of the Sea is forced into conflict. "The logic of events compels him to act in a certain way. The country is not falling apart, of course, but the situation in some areas is deplorable, and reforms are needed to fix it. Reforms require money. The money has to come from somewhere. Why not from us?"

    "We''re not the only ones," Lash pointed out.

    "Of course, the Chosen One of the Gods has a wide range of choices. But I would not like to hope, but to know clearly that there is no threat hanging over my servants. At least, not more than usual."

    They met in the same restaurant as the last time. The place belonged to the Duke and was checked by his intelligence, and here he could speak without fear of strangers'' ears. Over the past half year, Lash had time to travel to his homeland, wage a little war with the nomads, meet with Prince Kidji, and return to the Capital to watch the flurry of change up close.

    "I daresay, Messena, that you would not speak of your fears without a way to turn them to smoke?"

    "Your wisdom is well known, Messen Rikarid, your thoughts hit the target like a skilled arrow in a squirrel''s eye. Yes, I have a suggestion of sorts, and it arose after I learned of the construction on the Pare Isles."

    "Have you ever wondered why there''s even a base there?"

    "To tell you the truth, Messena, all I know about the Pair Islands is that they exist," the Duke confessed. "And that they give the Taleya rights to a large portion of the waters of the Good Sea."

    "Exactly. That''s why the garrison sits there, displaying the flag, they''re good for nothing else. Trade routes aside, the area is small, and the water source is shallow. There''s no strategic value in case of war with Archipelago or Lanaka."

    "One cannot help but wonder why the Son of the Sea, hitherto so radically rational in his thinking, would build a base there. My man has seen the blueprints, and he describes the project as a well-fortified fortress with a port and large warehouses. It is not needed there."

    "I consulted some of the servants in charge of maritime affairs. According to them, the only thing these islands are good for after the work is done is an intermediate waypoint. A place where merchants could rest, wait out the storms, replenish supplies, and repair ships."

    "But where would they go?" Lash hesitated. "The Archipelago is to the south, Lanaka is to the north, and it''s easier to reach them along the coast. The other side of the Good Sea is empty, and the savages aren''t of much interest to traders."

    "I thought so, too, until I looked at the map. Please, Messen," Celesta spread out a wide piece of parchment on the table. "Do you see this place called Stone Bones? According to the sailors, it''s in a convenient cove, where deep-water ships can come almost right up to the shore. There are no large tribes there, no strong monsters either, and the climate is slightly less disgusting than that of its neighbors. At one time Bones even considered establishing a colony but refused due to the complete pointlessness. Now it makes sense. See this dotted line? There used to be a river here, but after the Catastrophe, it shallowed and dried up completely. Now there''s a valley leading to the spurs of the White Mountains. The same mountains that the Goatskin tribes claimed as their own fifty years ago."

    The Duke had been standing by the table for a long time, looking at the map and stroking his chin with his hand. His brow was furrowed with deep wrinkles.

    "A new trade route to the east..." he muttered quietly.

    "Quite right, Messen. A new trade route to the east," the vampiress agreed. "A rival to the southern one, from Mekram to Dinglegil. Can you imagine the volumes that would flow if the Son of the Sea were to succeed?"

    Lash walked along the table several times without taking his eyes off the map.

    "They''re pulling a regiment away from the Desio border," he said as if he didn''t quite get it right. "It''s a similar climate, as far as I remember from my geography lessons. They''re good scouts, familiar with fortifications, and face monsters all the time. Relocate them near Mewaro."

    "The base of the fleet, from which it is so convenient to send expeditions to the northern waters," Celesta reminded him. "Here are those who will pave the way."

    The Duke did a couple more laps with a thoughtful look.

    "Suppose," he finally stopped. "Suppose, Messena, you''re right. But what does this have to do with us, with our problems? Are you suggesting that we invest voluntarily in the project? I doubt the Overlord would let anyone near it. It is much more profitable and logical for him to leave access to the path exclusively in his hands."

    "Absolutely, dear friend. No one would want to lose his monopoly. That''s why I propose to go further and continue the road, to turn it from a road to the East into a road from one end of the continent to the other. All we have to do is clear a path to the West!"

    From the outside, Celesta looked calm, even relaxed. She was half reclining in her chair, leaning back comfortably and sipping wine from an elegant crystal glass. Inside, she was pounding, her stomach pulsing in a tight clump of energy, looking for an outlet.

    Mistress risked throwing in the idea of the Holy Crusade so early; her preparations had been designed for longer than that. She had originally intended to spend five years destroying the reputation of the priests, assembling a single pool of merchants willing to pay for the venture, swamping Lash with debt, and looking for courtiers willing to support the campaign and influence the king''s opinion. Valier''s actions had overturned her plans, completely reshaped the country''s political landscape, and forced her to hurry.

    Now it all depended on whether she could convince the Duke.

    Celesta could hardly resist the temptation to slightly influence the man''s mind. She couldn''t. Only words.

    "No one has yet succeeded in destroying the Seven Rivers."

    "No one tried," Mistress dismissed the argument. "The steppes don''t count. What can they do?"

    "Do you really intend to send your warriors to war with members of your own race? Forgive me, Messina, I find it hard to believe."

    "We do not intend to show our participation. And, please, Messen Rikarid, do not compare me to this rot on the face of the world. Such a comparison is insulting."

    "I offer my deepest apologies, Blessed Mistress," the duke bowed immediately, palms folded in front of his forehead, expressing sincere remorse for what he had said. "By the gods, I beg your forgiveness and ask you not to hold a grudge."

    "It''s given to you."

    "Thank you, Messena. But I must point out that the intent of the worthy one is still unclear to me."

    "What looks complicated is in fact simple. We are hampered by the Seven Rivers - the Seven Rivers must disappear. The Blood Kin cannot destroy it with our own forces, nor can your armies do it alone. It is not so many warriors that are needed in Seven Rivers, but mages and priests. To go on a campaign together would be to expose Lascaris to the charge of adherence to the dark way, forbidden in Taleya. Consequently, we need someone capable of crossing the Steppe and skilled in fighting monsters. The monasteries are full of such men."

    "No, no, I know what you''ll say. That most of the monks are cold to you, constantly accusing you of unlawful witchcraft, writing denunciations to the Son of the Sea, and won''t even sit down next to you. Unless, of course, someone offers it to them. However, I would like to remind you of a few points that change the whole picture. Firstly, there are enough fanatics in monasteries who are ready to go to the ends of the earth for the sake of the mythical approval of higher beings. Secondly, it is not necessary to be limited to holy men. There are enough experienced mage warriors who can trouble even my servants for a good price. And, lastly, and most important of all. The support of the Son of the Sea. Once he has proclaimed that the destruction of the Seven Rivers is a good deed, a correction of the crooked and return of the natural order, then all objections of an ideological kind will disappear by themselves. Moreover - the priests will have to stand under your banners, or they will be accused of not zealous enough service to the light gods."

    "Will Valier agree to support our proposal? It depends on how it is presented. He cannot fail to understand the prospect of Taleya becoming a crossroads for the world''s greatest trade routes. Those who can do so will have a special value in the eyes of the king..."

    "What if the Seven Rivers can withstand it?"

    "It is highly doubtful. But in this case, both the kingdom and you and I stand to gain. Our most ardent opponents would die. As far as I understand, fanatics are disturbing the Son of the Sea."

    "Preparing an expedition will take time and money," the Duke remarked.

    "The main thing is to get consent to organize it. Then we will go from being possible prey to being useful allies, which, you will agree, is treated very differently."

    Both knew perfectly well that no alliance was involved. The Son of the Sea is not a figure who would recognize even Celesta as his equal, let alone his vassal. And no matter what titles or forms of address his envoys use. The lord of the land looks upon all who live in his land either as interferers or as tools. It cannot be otherwise.

    From Celesta''s point of view, the fate of a useful tool is far better than that of a nuisance. She has survived for centuries, and she will survive now.

    "I am ready to provide the necessary finances," the vampiress continued. "The heads of the various trading houses and abbots of the Lucal temples have repeatedly lamented the severed ties with the Western states. If they see that the enterprise has a chance of success, they will agree to invest money in exchange for future preferences. Give them small incentives and they will line up in front of your treasury."

    Listening intently, Lash shook his head slightly, leaving the unspoken "why should I give anything to anyone" hanging in the air. The possible benefits of restoring the path westward were well understood by him, regardless of whether the colony on the Stone Bones would be established or whether Celesta was wrong in her assumptions. At the same time, the difficulties and risks were equally obvious to him.

    The Duke''s strengthening may frighten the King. Lash is already very powerful and influential, in addition, organizing a campaign to destroy the country, openly ruled by the undead, will give him a certain immunity in the eyes of part of the population. He is now being blamed for his ties to dubious cults, and for his excessive tolerance; if the campaign is successful, the accusations will subside. Master of Lascaris has enough enemies at court who will happily interpret his offer in the way that suits them. That the king will refuse is half the trouble. It''s half the trouble if he suddenly turns out to be a traitor.

    Lash had no intention of becoming a rebel. He might have thought about putting a more loyal Son of the Sea on the throne. But his reverence for the title was twofold, and he knew that if he did so, every faction in the country would unite against him. In addition, the first thing Valier did after his ascension to the throne was to strengthen personal protection, and achieved considerable success in it.

    "I should ponder your words carefully, Blessed Mistress," the Duke bowed politely.

    "Of course, I don''t expect an immediate answer," Celesta nodded. "It would be unwise to make such an important decision without thinking it through."

    The etiquette was not to say goodbye immediately, so they continued to shower each other with pleasantries for a long time. It was about ten minutes before Celesta, wrapped in a broad, dark cloak, slipped out the back door of the restaurant. She was silent all the way to the nearest entrance to the catacombs. The guardsmen who accompanied her dared not interrupt her thoughts.

    She told Lash the plain truth - she wasn''t expecting a quick answer. Frankly, Celeste would have preferred to wait, to play a few more intrigues, to form the right opinion in advance, both with the Duke and with the Son of the Sea''s closest associates. Alas, the king managed to surprise. Circumstances forced him to act prematurely.

    On the other hand... Suppose she now hears the refusal. Well, the Duke will not dare to adventure and prefer to act with caution. What will change for her? In principle, nothing. She has withdrawn money, people, and structures from the country, and will continue. As she followed the priests of various sects and representatives of the special services, she will continue to do so. To besmirch their reputations, to quarrel with each other, to bribe them, to implant agents. She had been living like this for a long time, or rather, unliving and the foiled plans were not a reason to change her way of unliving.

    Her determination to destroy a hostile risens culture will not diminish. She just has to find a different way. It''s okay - plans have to be adjusted in the process.

    * * *

 Chapter 18

    Chapter 18

    * * *

    Alat generally liked the current situation.

    It took him four months to get over the initial difficulties. He could have done it faster, but he couldn''t kill too many people, and neither the bandits nor the guards would understand. Therefore - first negotiations, then the incomprehensible to the nail, no other way. There were some rough edges, but on the whole, the neighborhood gangs returned to the firm hand of the vampire community without too much fuss.

    Alat did not change the structure that existed under Zervan. There was no need. The city was still divided into districts, and each district had its overseer, who was responsible for the Coffers and didn''t get involved with gangs. Vampires had been the only Watchers before, but now, with the staff shortage, about a third of the badges with the eye symbol was worn by humans. Alat considered inviting his friends from other cities but then decided against it. We''ll do without strangers.

    The "big boss" did not sit permanently in Taleya, still preferring to wander around. The work is established, and the deputies can handle it, in case of incidents, there is a mirror communication, which even the younger ones know. Then, however, the head hurts, and he is thirsty. Witchcraft skills are bad for those who walk in the path of the Beast, it takes a lot of strength, and he is not Master Hustin, and especially not the Mistress, even capable of reaching Zonna in the daytime.

    That''s not to say that there are no difficulties at all. He''s still not so much at enmity with the guardsmen, but close. How else could it be, when they look at you like you''re shit, all of them! Good thing he''s on good terms with the mages, Vador put in a good word. Otherwise... It would have been bad, really. He''d seen what they were capable of.

    Well, humans do shit on a regular basis too. There is nothing to be done about it - those who have brains, rarely go to gangsters. The fighters usually mess up on the small stuff, and it''s the bosses who deal with their mistakes, so if something got to Alat, it means that the levels below the responsible failed and serious effort is required. There have been two occasions when he couldn''t fix it himself and turned to Merk for help.

    A gut feeling told him that today would be the third time.

    The Squint''s gang was running the Right Bank Market and a few outlets near the former Gold Quarter. The curse had swapped the upscale neighborhoods of Taleya with those of the poor, and the map of the city as a whole had changed dramatically. Only the palace of the Son of the Sea still towered haughtily on the cliff.

    What had happened with Squint, Alat did not understand - the fighter from the neighboring gang, who ran straight to him, did not say anything clearly. His leader sent messengers to all possible places where Alat could appear, with the order to tell about the big mess at the Right Bank. It seems that the mages there have fought and killed someone important because the guards are swarming and there is a total raid. The vampire listened to the message, cursed profusely, and rushed to meet the trouble.

    By the time he arrived in the market area, something had cleared up. Not in terms of visibility - it was the middle of the night - but about what had happened. Yes, indeed, there had been a fight between mages, but not two, but more. And while one side was more or less clear (high-class mercenaries, who were often seen in the local taverns), the other had never been seen in the area before.

    "The faces are well-groomed, they''re covered with trinkets," the petty goon described them, standing at attention in front of Alat. "There were three of them and a dozen swordsmen. They''ve been taken to Vislo''s shop and won''t let anyone in."

    "There are a lot of guards," the ringleader added to his report. "The spiders are here, too, I recognized one of them, he had a conspicuous face. And someone else, I don''t know who, but they''re all lowering in front of him."

    "I see," Alat tossed a coin to the shining boy. "Are the mercenaries gone?"

    "I don''t think they''ve all been killed," the younger bandit said. "It''s a small unit, about twenty men, they''re well known here. They''re strong if they''re hunting demons. At least someone must have survived. You want me to look?"

    "Yeah, find them. I want to understand what the heck is going on here."

    Clashes between two units with magical support within the city limits, even if not in the most prestigious area, are not frequent, so the fuss made by the guards had an explanation. What Alat didn''t understand was who the mercenaries were fighting. Anything happened in the Capital, sometimes in street fights the nobles'' squads came together and it was necessary to involve troops, and even the Royal Guard, to separate the enemies. Before, however, it had always been clear who was fighting whom. Now the locals could not determine one of the sides. The guards clearly knew something, but they preferred to keep quiet.

    The surviving mercenaries were found quickly. It only seems easy to hide in the city; if you know who to ask, and you''re authoritative enough, you can find anyone. An hour later, Alat was standing outside a ramshackle house, practically a barn, and sniffing around, trying to determine how many people were inside. It smelled of earth, dampness, cat urine, and old shit. It smelled of blood, too, along with notes of medicinal tinctures. At least two hearts were beating inside the house, and my intuition told me that there were actually more people, only they were covered by magic.

    The vampire grimaced. Mages, until you punched them in the face, liked to show off.

    He walked into the courtyard without hiding, approached the symbolic porch, and swung the door open... The events then proceeded apace. Behind the door, an elderly but sturdy man jerked his hand sharply forward with the amulet clutched in it, and the vampire was simply swept backward. The impact was so swift that the body flew through the air for three meters and then rolled on the ground, stopping just outside the gate in the street.

    A human would have died on the spot. The younger vampire would have gotten away with broken limbs and perhaps a brief loss of consciousness. Alat pulled his face out of the dirt and roared angrily, feeling the world turn violently bloody.

    The paths of the Beast give those who follow them extraordinary strength and a range of abilities designed to strengthen the physical body. If an outsider were here, he would have seen the vampire''s fangs lengthen, his shoulders bulge beneath his rattling clothes, and the muscles in his naked arms swell up in knots. Alat shot himself out of the way, traversing the ten paces that separated him from his foe in the blink of an eye, crashing headlong into the blue light of his nimbly erected shield. The shield vanished. The next blow, not quite as hard, struck at the thin outline of the mage''s defense, which also crushed it. The mercenary, however, immediately jumped back, throwing his arms up in the air and shouting:

    "Peace! Peace! Redemption! Peace!"

    Not that his shouting stopped Alat, but he held back another blow. The hard slap only knocked the mage to the ground, not knocking half his head off as it might have. The man rolled deftly onto his back without rising from the floor, covering his legs and one hand with the other as he fumbled for something on his chest.

    "Peace!" he finally pulled his hand out from behind his groin and held it up, revealing a red glass on a leather string. "Elder, peace!"

    Alat looked closely at what he was poking at, snorted, stepped closer, and kicked the man. A little, as a prophylactic.

    "Get up, you scum. Who are you?"

    The man showed him what he called a "gratitude" amulet, an amulet that used the freely given blood of a vampire to create it. It was a simple thing, showing that some elder had cooperated with the mercenary before and was pleased with the result. There was no particular preference for "gratitude" amulet owners. It was just evidence that you could do business with this particular mortal. The amulets had no protection against falling into the wrong hands, so they were made of glass to be broken more often.

    "Nestorius Kraas, platoon leader of the Steel Squirrel Free Squad," the mercenary got to his feet with a grunt. He staggered. "Don''t hold a grudge, Senior - I wasn''t expecting you."

    "And whom?"

    "Guild mages. They put our squad down, I don''t even know who else got away."

    "The Guilders?" Alat asked again. "The Royal Mage Guild, was it?"

    "Yes, these ones."

    What the Royal Mage Guild did, the vampire was vaguely aware of. As it happened, he had no dealings with them, and neither did the other servants of the Mistress. The Guild as an organization was tightly bound by numerous prohibitions, its members were under constant supervision of the government and "voluntary helpers" in cassocks, and there were no strong specialists there. Intelligence seemed to be keeping an eye on them, but Alat didn''t know the details.

    "Let''s go," he nodded at the doorway leading inside the house. "Tell me what they want from you."

    There was a thick smell of blood and human sweat in the room. It was clear at once why Nestorius was the only one fighting - the other two simply couldn''t get up from their beds, so badly wounded they were. Three out of twenty? They had been badly beaten. Maybe someone else is hiding in other places.

    "So what did the guilders want from you?" Without asking permission, Alat sat down on the only stool in the room, ignoring the wary glances of the wounded.

    "I don''t know. They came in the evening, asked the commander, and went up to a private office together. Well, not exactly an office - there''s a cubicle in the inn on the second floor for a private conversation. I mean, there was. Fifteen minutes chatting, then a crash, the commander ran out, something hit him in the back, ours grabbed for swords. The inn went up in flames, then someone hit me with the Staff of Wrath, and the walls came tumbling down. I got out, grabbed the lads, and was off," the mage, slumped against the wall, speaking tiredly, not trying to be coy. He was eager to talk. "My contract with the Guild was up a few months ago, covering an expedition in the Rhyn Mountains. They''re a quarter of what we were promised, the bitches."

    "What they were talking about, of course, you don''t know."

    "No, of course not," Nestorius shrugged. He thought for a moment and grinned wickedly. "And anyway... Red Hey said he sensed one of yours in the guild''s castle."

    "Tell me!"

    "We received the payment at their branch near Ivyanki, about a day''s trip south, such a big village."

    "I know it. Next."

    "The Guild has a castle there. So when we were standing in the courtyard, Red Hey said he smelled a vampire. He had some sort of instinct for yours. It wasn''t even magic, but a natural ability. But it worked. He went up to the commander afterward and whispered to him about something for a long time."

    The commander believed him and decided to try to blackmail the guilders a little, mentally added Alat. In vain. The wizards were foolish, too, underestimating the mercenaries, or they panicked and thought of nothing better than to start a fight at once. In any case - the story is interesting, the Mistress will surely want to hear it.

    The vampire gathered his spirits: "Mistress!"

    "Alat?" As always, he felt as if someone huge was standing behind him. Invisible, exuding cold. "Is something wrong?"

    "I''ve got mercenaries fighting guild mages near the Right Bank Market. I''ve got the mages dead, but there''s not much left," the vampire said in a low voice. "Well, one of the survivors says his friend, who was killed, got a whiff of us in the mage''s castle. They have a castle near Yvianki, where the mercenaries were paid off."

    "Interesting," came the reply after a short silence. "Where are you now?"

    "At the corner of Peat and Second Creek."

    "Take the survivors to the shelter under merchant Kashkala''s house, on the third level. I''ll be there in a few hours."

    After the connection was severed, Alat rubbed the back of his head in relief. This mysticism wasn''t for him. It''s a useful thing it''s true but he''d rather have a sorcerer do it.

    "Get all your things," he commanded. "You''re coming with me."

    "Where to?" the mage took his hand from his apparently head, still ringing from Alat''s slap. He and the wounded tensed when they heard that they had to go somewhere.

    "Where to! Wherever you have to go, that''s where you''ll go," the vampire mocked. He wasn''t angry at the soldiers, though, but rather sympathized with the plain and simple people, seeing them as kindred spirits, so he explained. "They want to talk to you. Don''t be afraid. If you weren''t a liar, we''ll let you go, and even fix you up. You did not lie, did you?"

    "What am I, a complete fool?"

    "Well, if that''s true, then don''t make a fuss. Come on, get your things together."

    * * *

    For fun, Celesta occasionally imagined herself sitting in a deep armchair, stroking a huge smoky cat in her hands and uttering pompous truths with a villainous look. Alas, the mood for goofing off passed quickly, and she remembered that the animals were afraid of her. She could, of course, make the cat sit on her lap, but the feeling was not the same - she admired the graceful, freedom-loving animals too much.

    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    They should have admitted that they had missed the situation at the Mage''s Guild. Now, when it suddenly became necessary to obtain specific information and check the unpleasant suspicion that had arisen, it turned out that they had agents only in the capital''s branch. And they are more "outwardly" oriented. Why this was the case, Celesta understood perfectly well. The Guild was tightly controlled by many organizations, had almost no influence of its own, and its specialists were weak. Mages who showed good ability quickly defected to the Zonna or ended up in the entourage of aristocrats. In a word, it was an unpromising direction from the point of view of intelligence.

    And there are different people there, too. Some are very ambitious.

    The memories in the mercenary''s mind made her think. On the surface, the situation looked clear: the wizards had cheated the free squad of money, and the commander of the latter learned that one of the branches contained a captive vampire and decided to blackmail. The attempt ended in a skirmish in which three, not the weakest wizards, and almost the entire squad died. The event, by the way, made a lot of noise, even an official from the palace arrived, in front of whom everyone was jumping on their hind legs.

    Why is the vampire a prisoner? Because neither she nor Kalderan sent anyone there. The assumption that one of her subordinates would be in contact outside her area of responsibility with the Guild has a right to life, but let''s just say it''s unlikely. An outsider? There was no place for an outsider. The assumption had to be checked, and checked quickly, while people were at a loss.

    Hearing that Celesta wished to go to Ivyanki in person, Vantal dared to object for the first time in years: "This could be a trap!"

    Merck, who was present during the conversation, nodded in agreement.

    "Maybe," the vampiress agreed. "It''s classic baiting, tossing the bait in first, then attacking the ones who fall for it. The mortals know we always check our information, so they may be waiting for us beneath the Ivianki. Only," the Mistress grinned harshly, "they''re certainly not waiting for me."

    "The captain will kill me," muttered Vantal wistfully.

    "He won''t. Scolding will be a long time, of course," Celesta smiled. The prospect of stretching had put her in a good mood. "You can blame it on me. You look sad and complain that you couldn''t stop me."

    The sergeant would not comment on the advice.

    It would take all day to get to the right place. To avoid driving along the tract in the bright sun, unprotected by night, the vampires left the city through a secret passage and used the abandoned roads, where the danger of ambush was minimal. As a consequence, they arrived at the Guild''s branch after midnight. The poor horses had to be given an elixir of night vision to prevent them from breaking their legs.

    The Guild estate was nothing special - a piece of land with a wooden fence, a regular two-story stone house, and outbuildings. The only strange thing about it was the absence of dogs and the number of alarms set up around it or strung around the fence. Celesta had neither the time nor the inclination to remove the magic of others, so she did something simple: she subdued the janitor''s mind from afar and forced him to let the uninvited guests in. It took her half an hour to get the result she wanted, but it was faster than if she had been untangling a complicated tangle of someone else''s spells.

    The man, of course, after such abuse of the mind died.

    The fact that they hadn''t come for anything was clear to Celesta from the time she''d turned the gatekeeper into a puppet - she''d been able to find three consciousnesses in the basement of the central house that exuded pain and hopelessness, clearly belonging to her kindred. One was bright and awake, two were barely perceptible. So she wasn''t going to be ceremonial with the other local inhabitants. The Mistress sent the guardsmen a plan of the house with an indication of the living, singling out the three brightest in the mental for capture. The others were to be destroyed.

    Celeste herself was on her way to the prisoners, and, of course, they would not let her go alone. Vantal personally escorted her, opening the doors and removing unnecessary obstacles, such as the guard who peeked out of a side room. Surprisingly, the dungeon was very well protected - the corridors were blocked by fortress-enchanted bars, and the floor on which they walked was a complex artifact that tried to kill the intruders suddenly grew stone spades, and even alarmed. True, no one heard it anymore, but the fact itself! Few people in the modern world could create something like that.

    The door to the first cell could not be kicked in at the first blow. Celesta didn''t bother to find out how strong it really was, and the enchanted oak wood crumbled to dust at the slightest movement of a small maiden''s hand. Stepping over the threshold, the Mistress pressed her lips grudgingly together and nodded sharply back to Vantal - on the wall, crucified by his arms and legs, with a gag in his mouth, hung a vampire. The younger one. Weakened to the point of losing his mind, completely subjugated to his instincts. It was pointless and dangerous to free him in his condition, so Celesta accepted a mug and a large bottle of wine from her returned vassal. She first filled the mug halfway, then ran her fingernail over her wrist and dropped a few drops of her blood into the wine. The prisoner stammered, twitching, smelling the tantalizing scent.

    Quickly pulling out the gag, the vampiress held up a mug, offering the younger one a drink.

    As she watched the greedily choking prisoner regain his human features, she noticed: "I had never seen him before."

    "I think they were bringing the risen unnoticed by us, Messena."

    "Most likely. Are there any survivors? We still have two more to free, and this one could use some live blood."

    She was too hasty in ordering a full sweep. She didn''t consider that the prisoners would need power. Her mistake.

    "I''ll take a look now, Messena."

    The guardsman quickly left the room. Waiting for the younger man to swallow the last drops, Celesta set the mug aside. She noted the meaningful and wary expression in his eyes and asked: "What is your name?"

    "Archlan, Enlightened One."

    Enlightened One, wow. She had not been mistaken for a priestess of the official religions for a long time. Guided by a bad feeling, she clarified:

    "Archlan, who do you think I am? Can you feel me?"

    "N-no, Enlightened One..."

    Celesta felt like cursing. No vampire would confuse a sibling with a human, it was an instinct that came with rebirth. It disappeared during a period of extreme exhaustion or after long magical influences of a mental nature, the consequences of which are long and difficult to correct.

    "I am a vampire, a risen just like you. Now I will set you free."

    The chains burned when she tried to touch them, so Celesta simply vaporized them, summoning a piece of the seal''s power. Leaving the younger one in the cell and ordering them not to go anywhere, she moved to the next cell. Things were much worse there. Despite the wine and blood, the second prisoner''s gaze remained blank and meaningless. He did not attempt to clutch at his Mistress''s throat. His mind seemed to have been severely affected.

    Vantal returned, dragging the groom who had spent the night there from the stables. The mages were the only survivors of the house, bound and unconscious, so the sergeant sent two of his guardsmen to search the rest of the manor for servants. The groom was drained by Archlan, Celesta hesitating to give the madman a drink.

    In the third cell, an armless, legless stump was hanging from chains. Mistress wondered, at the sight of him, whether she should kill him. If his body was accustomed to its new state and didn''t try to regenerate, then the vampire would forever be invalid. Immortal, perhaps insane. It is very doubtful that Zonna will be able to repair the damage caused. The wizards had a lot more to complain about, especially the as-yet-unknown mentalist.

    They shouldn''t have ignored the Guild.

    While the guardsmen carried the mages and their freed kin into the hall (the second, still unconscious, was left tied up), Celesta strolled through the rooms in Vantal''s company. She wasn''t interested in gold or jewels-if the others wanted it, they could collect it for themselves. Among the older vampires, wealth was treated as a tool. They knew they could always make money if they needed it. Exceptions were rare. So Mistress searched for papers that pointed to the patrons of the local researchers - letters, ledgers, contracts. It was quite obvious to her that without substantial outside support, what was going on under Ivianki would have been revealed long ago. Laboratory logs and records of experiments were also to be either seized or destroyed. It was unlikely that Hustin would learn something new for himself, after all, some of the vampires sentenced to execution had ended up on his desk, but what if something came in handy?

    "It will be dawn soon, Messena," reminded the sergeant. "Wounded juniors should not be transported during the day."

    "What do you suggest?"

    "There''s a cave half an hour away where the Morvanites used to hold rituals ten years ago. It''s a secluded spot, and our party can fit in there with the horses."

    "I guess you''re right. We''ll wait there, and I''ll interrogate one of the wizards as well."

    The house should have been set on fire to hide the traces. The good idea was hindered by the nearby village, where the fire would surely have been noticed, rushed to help, and made a completely unnecessary fuss. The authorities would have been informed, a raid would have been organized, and all that sort of thing. They didn''t want to just leave, either. So they made a compromise: one of the guardsmen took some chemicals from the broken-in lab and mixed them into a couple of compounds, which he used to make an incendiary bomb with a delayed timer. It was supposed to go up in half a day, though the amateur chemist made no guarantees.

    If they find it sooner, it''s not their fate. Nothing better could be done in their situation.

    Finally, after cleaning up the most obvious signs of the night''s slaughter the vampires with some difficulty loaded their prey onto their horses and left the deserted manor. Celesta considered sending in cultists but then decided not to leave any unnecessary threads for the inevitable investigation. The guild belongs to the Son of the Sea, a slaughtered branch means a slap in the face to the highest authority. It''s probably more appropriate to confess and press charges first - her subjects suffered, after all, she''s entitled to revenge. Of course, the king is unlikely to agree with this interpretation. Well, there''s no hurry, it''s better to wait and see how events develop.

    After walking along the road for a while leading their horses under the bridles, they soon turned into the woods. The guardsmen often operated around Taleya, so they knew the routes by heart. The Mistress had often dealt with conflicts between Latam and Zervan''s subordinates in the past, and hand on heart, the sides were worth each other. The Guardsmen justifiably considered themselves elite, and they didn''t hesitate to remind everyone of this, sometimes in a harsh form.

    There were enough secluded corners around the capital. Travelers seldom strayed more than a dozen paces from the roads, and farmers also preferred not to go deeper into the woods. And it was not because of the occasional captured small monsters or packs of wolves, in the famine years approaching the cities. The land belonged to the nobility, and the boundaries of possessions were very arbitrary. No one wanted to be caught by a huntsman and get the penalty. Hence the appearance is not far from the city of the glades, which literally for centuries did not set foot of man.

    The cultists were very good at hiding. The men in the guards didn''t change the fact that caution and secrecy were indispensable. Those who forgot this simple rule lost their heads - and it was a good thing if they were alone. Places for meetings and prayers were carefully chosen based on proximity to roads, crowd presence, escape routes, and much more. Often the Dark Guild and vampires were brought in for extra camouflage. After all, most of the cultists were from less educated backgrounds and were ecstatic about the simplest sorcery.

    The cave Vantal recommended was one of those shelters. Not abandoned - they just found another, more comfortable one. Servants still came here, cleaning up, praying before a crude altar in the shape of a stylized cross, and restocking. They came infrequently, so the unit found no one inside which was more than satisfactory to the vampires.

    Celesta left Archlan alone for the time being and did not ask him anything. She saw no point in talking yet. He was, first of all, too weak, secondly, in shock after his release, and thirdly, the guardsmen had enlightened him as to who had freed him, which had put the boy into a complete stupor. All he could do was stare at Mistress with round eyes, and at least he kept quiet.

    Dawn came. The younger ones fell asleep in the far corner of the cave, safe; the guardsmen were setting up camp, sluggishly arguing over the order of duty. Celeste prepared to gut the first of the wizards. The captive mages had been given a sleeping elixir which they would not awaken for another twenty-four hours. Now would be a good time to probe their memories. It would be better to act at night when the sun''s rays do not weaken the vampires, but the subtle ways, in particular, mentalistics are the least subject to the hostile influence of the light.

    As always. Bound, though unconscious, the body of a man. Insurance from Vantal and another senior by his side. Trance.

    Mistress acted carefully, not yet determined how she would deal with the mage. So she watched carefully, moving gently from association to association, trying not to damage the fragile underlying layers of another''s consciousness. She was probably the only wizard in Taleya and neighboring countries capable of working with other people''s minds so accurately. There were other memory-readers, but the traces they left behind were impossible to hide.

    Two hours later, Celesta sighed softly and straightened, moving her shoulders. Vampire''s muscles get tired, too, and they want to stretch them, just not as much as humans.

    "Vantal, have you ever wondered why humans never have enough?" she asked the sergeant, accepting the obligatory goblet of drink.

    "It seems to me, Messena, to a certain extent, greed is rather a good thing," the vampire replied. "It stimulates us to develop, makes us go forward. That''s why the Dark One gave it to us."

    "That''s a wonderful way of putting it. You refuse to preach in vain."

    "Thank you, Messena, but that''s not at all what I would like to do."

    "It is for this reason that it would be worthwhile. As we age, the mind becomes ossified, no longer flexible, and no longer accepting new concepts. And stagnation, as we know, means death. The best way to change is to put yourself in an uncomfortable environment," Celesta said familiarly. She''d been having a lot of such conversations lately, preparing her comrades-in-arms for the twists and turns of fate. She had no concrete plans yet, but she knew clearly that she would not allow them to degrade further. Those around her sensed the change and were wary.

    "Would it not be impertinent of me to ask what you saw in the mage''s memory, Messena?"

    "It''s a joint project of several groups. I don''t know yet, though, whether it''s all of them or individual representatives, I''ll have to look at the others. I didn''t even think they were capable of agreeing on anything!" Celesta wondered slightly. She had seen all sorts of alliances in her memory, but priests of different cults, aristocrats, and royalty had never gone in the same harness before. "Immortality turned out to be the prize that united the natural enemies..."

    "What are we going to do, Messena?"

    "I haven''t decided yet. Son of the Sea and I are running a complicated game right now, I don''t want to add any variables to it."

    Seeing that Mistress was lost in her thoughts, Vantal, too, became silent.

    The elite has always tried to find immortality. How long can a human live? An ordinary nobleman would live about a hundred to a hundred and fifty years, an old noble who had been subjected to complicated rituals since childhood could live to two hundred. Mages who consciously developed energy and helped the body to mutate in the right direction, lived up to three hundred or three hundred and fifty, the strongest of them passed the four centuries. Much depended on the lineage, on the unique knowledge accumulated, on one''s own persistence and diligence. It was a long road that did not suit everyone.

    They wanted everything, all at once, and not to exert themselves.

    They couldn''t help but pay attention to the vampires. Here it is, the coveted eternal life - just stretch out your hand! The moral and social aspects did not embarrass them; men of power always consider themselves above the accepted norms. Much less interested in immortality were satisfied with other aspects of being undead: the necessity to drink blood and sleep during the day, indifference to usual human pleasures, and vulnerability to sunlight. That the very process of a mortal being reborn as a vampire remained a mystery was irritating and frightening. After all, religion played a large role in the worldview, and this world knew no atheists.

    Morvan''s anger stopped some people. Some didn''t.

    Celesta would not have been able to stop the research if she had wanted to. At first, she had no possibility - she was not allowed to participate in the experiments conducted at the Academy, and her position remained precarious at that time. She would have survived on her own. Then, gaining her freedom, she established an order in which the missing were looked for, found, and pulled out of the clutches. For her subjects, she took revenge, as ostentatiously and brutally as possible. It didn''t always work, because those responsible for the abductions often held very high positions, but she tried.

    The situation with the "outsiders" who did not manage to get under the supervision of the communities was somewhat more complicated. They were not known, they were counted on their own. And, from the point of view of the existing system of relations, they were not subjects of Celesta, that is, she had no right to protect them. That''s why one of the heads'' main duties was to find the young risen and take them under her wing as soon as possible.

    Somebody''s going to pay for it, Mistress made a mental note. Especially if all three are caught in the same region

    * * *

 Chapter 19

    Chapter 19

    * * *

    Studying was hard. The new energy required new not yet existing, methods of working with it, and the lion''s share of time was spent on monotonous semi-theoretical investigations. That is to make up an exercise, to do it, to fix the result, to change it a little, to do it again, to fix it again. I practiced it endlessly. The maitre, who had once gone through something similar, was a great help, and Cach�� was insanely grateful to him for his support.

    The few good fortunes inspired optimism and spurred the desire to work. All the more so, the prospects were encouraging - her obsession with the spirit endowed her with unique abilities. Which, by the way, have already found practical application.

    "The fifth and eighth meridians are overlapped by spirit-based structures, to a lesser extent water and earth," the magician dictated, sitting in the lotus position, folding her fingers into the "yag" mudra and closing her eyes for better concentration. "The structure around the upper node, on the right side, is very complex and incompletely formed."

    "No so far," murmured Vador, the recorder. "Good."

    Further work was interrupted by the door swinging open and Alat bursting in.

    "It''s not a good time," the older mage said without taking his eyes off the task.

    "No matter how many times I come to you, it''s always bad timing," the bandit wasn''t embarrassed. "And I didn''t come here in vain. Here, you owe me a tenner."

    Vador caught the skinny bag thrown in his direction, where he immediately checked.

    "Cach��, break," the warlock looked up at the old supplier and, well, mate. "Where did you get it?"

    "You have to know the places," smirked Alat. "The good people shared, you might say, voluntarily. Hello, Beauty. Are you still suffering?"

    Without saying a bad word, Cashe exhaled a tongue of flame at him. He only smirked at that, shaking his mane of black hair. Alat was respectful of witchcraft, but not afraid. He was easy to talk to, though, of course, any older vampire wasn''t easy, and Alat was no exception.

    "You''re my godson, aren''t you?" The bandit turned his attention to Arkhlan.

    "Don''t scare the boy," Vador grumbled quietly under his breath. "Let him recover."

    His intonation was most casual, and he did not take his nose out of the bag. Nevertheless, Alat, who was on his way to the table where the newcomer was squirming timidly, turned aside and sat down in a chair. He''d known the warlock for a long time and had learned when it was better not to argue with him.

    "Why the godson?" Cach�� asked.

    "Oh! You don''t know!"

    The story Alat told was replete with gory details, berserk mage fights, the betrayal of honorable war workers, and the nobility of one particular patron of the weak and oppressed, known for his honesty and bravery as the boss of all Taleya bosses. Without waiting for the end, the mage turned her head toward Vador: "What do you think, Senior? He lies a lot?"

    "Almost everything," he said without thinking. "He must have learned the information from one of his men and told the Mistress, and that was the end of it."

    "That''s not true," Alat said with his hands behind his head, his fangs gleaming. "It was a fight. It''s a murky story, and it''s not over yet. Do you know why I''m here? Because the guards upstairs have been raiding the place, shaking things up block by block. It''s been a long time since they made such a mess. Look, kid, your freedom has cost us dearly."

    "T-thank you, sir."

    "Not us," she couldn''t resist, "but you. Your bandits."

    "That''s where you''re wrong," the dark-haired man shook his finger. "Mine are in the bunkers, waiting for the storm to die down. It''s mostly the poor, mere mortals who suffer. In a month or two, I bet you''ll have a lot of people pouring into our cults. All right! I heard they found three. I see one, where are the other two?"

    "Who did you hear it from?" Vador put the bag aside.

    "Tikka said. So?"

    Tikka was the chief of health, in charge of all medicine, supervising the two hospitals and the pharmacy network owned by the capital''s community. Most of her patients were mortals; vampires with injuries were either quickly cured or sent to Zonna. It was only natural that she and the Maitre would examine the trio of former prisoners. If they had been in better condition, they would have been under her care.

    "They were too badly hurt," Vador replied, reassured that no information had been leaked. "They took longer to process than the Arkhlan. Mater sedated them, now trying to figure out what to do and whether they can be helped in principle."

    "It sucks," Alat sympathized peculiarly. "The boys suffered a lot. Where''s the money?"

    After the bandit left, the wizards finished examining the younger one. He was lucky, in fact - in the month he''d spent in the dungeons, they''d managed to put some of the restraining spells on him and get deep into his subconscious. It sounds scary, but it''s fixable. Previously Arkhlan lived on the northern border, was a vassal of a minor nobleman, and died in a skirmish with bandits. He was reborn and caught by the priests, and the priests had him arrested, and he woke up in the clutches of the mages.

    Now he needed help not so much magical as psychological. Too much had fallen upon him in a short time. Vador, who sympathized with the boy, hoped that Mistress would be able to find a mentor who could restore Arkhlan''s self-confidence. He would not dare take on such a responsibility.

    The fate of the other two was much more doubtful. Mentor and Messena Celesta are undoubtedly specialists of the highest qualification but the damage to the victims is very great. The disturbances in the mental sphere are especially alarming - consciousness is easy to break but it is difficult to heal. If it had been limited to ordinary energy, they would have sent a couple of them to Zonna, where medics have recently even been growing limbs. Although I guess the maitre will be going there soon anyway.

    Remembering Lady Medea, Vador grinned. How did Alat put it back in the day? "That thing between our legs is just for beauty now. But when I see Medea, something moves in my pants." Rude, of course, but it couldn''t be more accurate.

    If the mentor leaves, he will have to take the burden again. Of course, Maitre will take Cach�� with him. Well, he''ll be able to get away with leading the Dark Guild, which is largely formal. But on the subject of alchemy, they would still go to him, Vador. He''d have to give the Mistress the idea of training courses with a simultaneous reduction in the number of requests for potions - let each community have its alchemist, leaving the large centers of exceptionally complex orders. It''s about time for decentralization.

    * * *

    The state has a tremendous reserve of durability.

    History, tradition, legislation, and the recognition of oneself as a great nation - a direct heir to ancient Salvatia - have set the country apart from other modern states and at the same time united the people. The loyalty to the dynasty was not shaken even by Irrhan''s hapless reign, and the title of Son of the Sea continued to be held in the highest esteem. However, even the greatest power must be replenished. The walls of the greatest of fortresses periodically need repair.

    Which is what the current ruler is doing. He does the right thing. He is not satisfied with the greatness of his ancestors, he does not consider himself infallible.

    Unlike him.

    Four hundred years ago, he''d been sitting here, in this very spot, choosing his way forward. That inn burned down, a new one was built in its place, then there was another owner, another, the furnishings were changed more than once... Finally, the risen bought it back and gave it to the Morvanite family, with the instruction never to sell or change the furnishings. An unforgivable weakness for a scout, but at the time he thought he could afford it.

    Was it the first of a series of mistakes that led him to his current position, or had he not noticed the earlier ones? No need to lie to himself - he had shat himself. He lost his touch. Acted like an amateur. He was once one of the best pros.

    The very first decision he made here turned out to be the right one. He never regretted his decision to stay, his offer of service, and his loyalty to the local ruler. His position in the inner hierarchy grew, his status steadily rising until he was among the elders - there was no higher place to grow, and no reason to. The place the Mistress occupies is unique, no one else could... could do anything. It was something to be proud of. And he was.

    Arrogance is a mortal sin. Interesting who she is quoting?

    Then he chose for himself. Now it has been decided for him. Can you call it punishment? Hand on heart, it is a strange exile. He remains an Elder, only his sphere of responsibility is reduced, and he will be responsible not only and not so much for intelligence, but for the region. The Archipelago, Birat, the colony on the Stone Bones in the future. He wouldn''t be offended if the Mistress made him a regular mid-town master. Not after all the failures. Not after Shaar, not after his unsuccessful attempts to infiltrate Deep Harbor, Zervan holds a special place in his memory and will do so for the rest of his life. Total failure, utter failure. Such a miscalculation!

    When he hastily planned the little intrigue, all he was going to do was give the savage a little flick on the nose. It never occurred to him that it would end... then it did. They had lost an awful lot through the fault of a deranged beast Elder, and they would not be able to recover some of their losses for the foreseeable future. He acknowledged that he deserved to be executed. Shame ate away at his insides, and at times he considered going and confessing a mistake. Not in stupidity - a mistake, which made it even worse!

    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    It is unclear why such strange conditions. Why infiltrate under the guise of a priest? In any other country - it is a logical, correct, tried-and-true move, but in Archipelago? With its restrictions on religious cults, and any but state cults? The other conditions, too, look anything but rational. The order not to engage in operational work for a year directly contradicted all his experience. The prohibition on any but mirror-like communication with his subordinates for the same period was more like a preparation for resignation.

    A chief always has to monitor the situation in his area of responsibility, that''s obvious. But if Celesta had wanted to take him away, she would have acted differently. Her teachers were just as good, and she had more experience, and her style was completely different - he''d had time to learn it over time. Maybe that''s the calculation. No, too complicated. There''s something different here.

    Mistress''s motives were at times confusing. Not just him - all of them. Her unexpected decisions and actions supported the legend of her divine origin. And sometimes even he wondered if the rumors were true. Medea clearly knows something, but she is and will remain silent. In any case, Celesta''s thinking is unconventional; she evaluates victories and defeats based on her own scale of values. And she sets goals based on her priorities. The Sacred Crusade, why? Why spend so much effort and resources trying to destroy barbarians who are practically strangers and have little contact with each other? Yes, perhaps they will become enemies in the future. Or, to put it mildly, competitors. But right now there are more pressing problems that require urgent solutions, so wouldn''t it be better to focus on them?

    She cannot fail to see the other danger of the crusade. Taleya has always been more of a sea power, but it has stayed away from the steppe, limiting itself to controlling the mountain passes. What if the elite wants to change direction? Or is that what they hope for?

    One cannot help but think that Mistress knows more than she is saying. It''s quite possible - she has her own sources. But no matter what information she has, she can''t argue with objective reality. The Seven Rivers is simply too far away, and it would be irrational to fight it now.

    He even tried to communicate with Chesta, though he could never understand him. The seer gave him two metal balls and advised him to think less. No, Celesta''s idea of the Holy Campaign originated outside Taleya; her actions were not caused by prophecies.

    What was he to do? Maitre Hustin, whom he approached for advice (he was seeking advice!), shook his head and said he was looking in the wrong place. Wizards are always difficult to understand, and those who are rightfully called great ones are even more so.

    Kalderan, born and risen in Nasan, did not know what to do. Life experience advised him to flee. The same experience demanded that he forget his usual standards when it came to the Mistress.

    He sat until dawn, ignoring the host''s anxious gaze and slowly sipping his long-cold tea. The southerner still did not accept local wines. The realization came late. Running away was pointless. He simply could not live anywhere else. Not after intricate intrigues that toppled rulers and enthroned puppets. He would not be able to avoid comparing his new abode, whatever it was, with the grand halls of the new palace or the long catacombs of Taleya. Inevitably he would think of a full-fledged state with a government, laws, its symbols, wars and diplomacy, citizens and borders, however uncharted... He would always remember that he was at the head of this country and that perhaps he had fled it in vain.

    Sooner or later the uncertainty will drive him crazy.

    Therefore, there is no choice. He, Calderan, once of Nasan now an Elder of the Inner Circle in Taleya, will follow his Mistress''s orders. His Mistress - there are oaths important to him, after all. He will go to Deep Harbor. He will waste a year. He will not find out what his former subordinates are doing He will carry out the rest of his orders without understanding their meaning.

    And whatever happens.

    * * *

    The ordinance "About the Trust Betrayed" stirred up a storm of emotions in the community.

    Spiders or a Secret Cabinet, one of them had long been collecting evidence of lawbreaking at the Mages'' Guild. Nothing else can explain the speed with which they began to make arrests after the clash at the Right Bank Market. At first, the capital''s nobility didn''t understand what was happening, and with the relatively recent reshuffle in the higher echelons of power, it looked downright threatening. If members of the dynasty were not spared, it was frankly foolish for lesser nobles to hope for mercy.

    The discord that had begun was thwarted by the published ordinance of the Son of the Sea. Behind the flowery language and the elegant language of the highest vernacular was a simple description of the experiments that had been conducted in the Guild, and conclusions were drawn. First, those who supervised the mages had lost the highest trust and would be punished for it. Secondly, not a word was said about the dissatisfaction of the Chancellor, the government, certain cults, the provincial gentry, or any other group of persons united on the same grounds. The anger of the monarch was directed at specific individuals. Thirdly, the investigation was specified to be conducted openly, that is, any sufficiently noble person could come to the investigators and ask them questions, to which they were obliged to answer. The latter was entirely uncharacteristic of Taleya''s culture, which was prone to backroom squabbles and led to confusion among gossipmongers, who were used to scratching out crumbs of information.

    The final blow was the appointment of Prince Sirtash as head of the Mage''s Guild, answerable personally to the Son of the Sea and no one else.

    Celesta could not help but marvel at the elaborate sophistication of the king''s plan. Until the reforms of the army and navy were completed and loyal men were placed in key positions, Valier could not act against powerful factions of the state. An attempt to put pressure on the chancellor and the government would lead to unrest among the provincial nobility that supported them; limiting the power of major religious organizations, primarily the Saints of the Fire, could develop into a full-fledged revolt of the lower classes, which there was nothing to pressure. The aristocrats are the largest landowners and are closely connected with the large trading houses; a feud with them would instantly affect the revenues of the treasury, which it cannot afford at present.

    It is not possible to weaken any one faction, but nothing prevents us from weakening them all at once. The nobles are feuding with one another, the nobles have been taking revenge for generations for the wrongs done to their ancestors. What the holy fathers do for the sake of an opportunity to undermine a colleague, does not want to describe at all. The investigation gave a perfect excuse to settle a score, and the people concerned immediately took advantage of it. The vampire experiments were patronized by many influential personalities, of course, with a large number of enemies, and now these enemies were carefully keeping the scandal alive.

    The branch near Ivianki was not the only or even the main one where the forbidden research took place. The main base was another one in the Rin Mountains, far away from prying eyes. Checking there revealed four more vampires and a few dozen mutated humans. Celesta saw no way to free her kin, and besides - what would she do with them if they were in the same condition as the two nameless from Ivianki? Humans did not interest her at all.

    On the other hand, Hustin was very eager to learn the results of the research, and he knew how to be persistent if he wanted to.

    "How do you imagine that?" She tried to understand his logic. "I''m not prepared to ask Sae to give us copies of the experiments because Maitre Hastin is interested, you see! Impertinence is a blessing in disguise, but only up to a certain limit."

    "Well, maybe steal it?"

    "Later, when the attention wanes, maybe. Certainly not now."

    The scandal was gaining momentum, compromising folders were being pulled from under the cloth, and old sins were being recalled. Rumors of an ancient temple unearthed by the Saints not so long ago resurfaced, and Celeste took the pleasure of stirring things up by throwing details at the more orthodox priests. She was more than happy with the prospect of the cult splitting into two branches.

    Life was hard for people, and the constant stress was wearing on their psyche. As a consequence, many people were going crazy. The simple mores quickly and fatally rejected anyone who deviated from a certain average, but the crazies with a religious bias were treated sympathetically by local society. The fanatics had a good chance of living to a ripe old age and dying, surrounded by honor and glory as zealous believers.

    By order of the Mistress, one of them, the most authoritative, was assassinated after a public debate with an opponent from the same cult only less orthodox. Of course, the disciples of the deceased were instantly agitated and accused the leadership of the cult of ordering the assassination. They were not expected to do otherwise; they were not bright, but they fought all the time. Celesta anticipated a public showdown, with mutual accusations of betrayal of ideals. However, the get-together turned into fistfights between the "active" cultists, clashes broke out in the markets, the capital''s guards were not strong enough and the troops had to be brought in.

    Three army regiments, along with some noblemen''s brigades, brought order within twenty-four hours, shedding blood on the streets and plunging poor quarters into silence for the second time in a short time. On this occasion, the vampiress had to endure an unpleasant conversation with an envoy of the Son of the Sea, who suspected her of organizing the riots. Fortunately, they had no proof.

    "Stop it, Baron," Celesta waved her hand as if to dismiss something unimportant. "What happened is of no benefit to me at all. I don''t deny that any weakening of the Light Cults is to our advantage, not to mention the simple pleasure of seeing our enemies ruin their reputations. But this massacre was not part of the plan. Why should we? Why don''t you respect my intelligence and leave it at that? Tell me what your lord said about our last offer."

    "Outline, the bearer of the divine will is ready to accept it," the lieutenant replied with a slightly displeased look, not so much sincere as demonstrative. "However, I would like certainty on some issues. For example, the price of "Quail". How much exactly do you want for it?"

    "Well, I''m not going to do it myself," said Celesta in amazement. "Send your specialists, we''ll bargain."

    "When and where, Messena?" Sae nodded, expecting such an answer.

    "Use the current channel of communication. My financier needs ten days to prepare."

    "Thank you, blessed Mistress, ten days is enough for us as well. My sovereign would also like to know what you know about the fire that broke out at the Mage Guild estate near Ivianki."

    "Wasn''t that an attempt to confuse the investigation into the forbidden rituals?" Celeste lied without changing her face. "I have to say that I, too, have a vested interest in the outcome of the investigation. My subjects have suffered."

    "The risen we discovered are young and do not belong to your subjects, Messena."

    "First, we don''t know who burned at Ivianki," the Mistress pointed out. "Secondly, we haven''t had a chance to talk to the risens whom the servants of the Son of the Sea, may he rule in perpetuity, found in the Rin Mountains. How would you like me to send a representative to make sure that the younger ones in question are really not part of any community?"

    "Alas, Messena," the man was suddenly embarrassed. Barely noticeable, but still. "The state of these vampires prevents both conversation and trivial identification."

    Celeste had seen a lot over the centuries, and she was pretty numb. She''s done atrocities herself, more often than she''d care to admit. To say that she was horrified by the Baron''s words, or that something just trembled inside, would be an exaggeration. Nevertheless...

    "And this is us you call monsters?"

    "Mages sometimes go too far in their thirst for new knowledge," Sae shrugged.

    "Knowledge has nothing to do with it. The dream of immortality obscures the eyes and forces them to violate the natural world order. Mortals do not understand that not everyone can bear the burden of eternal life."

    Risens often went mad or turned into blood-obsessed animals. The nurturing system created by the psychologists of the Secret Service and Celesta partially solved the problem, but in time a new one emerged: the undead grew tired of their existence. It needed to experience vivid emotions to stay active. It was easier for vampires, originally reincarnated as fledglings, to think in terms of eternity.

    You are quite right, Messena. How pleasant it is when the lofty thoughts of my sovereign coincide with the words of his wise ally!

    Mistress was inwardly amused. The lieutenant spoke the highest language perfectly, but he didn''t belong to the most ancient clans, so he wasn''t familiar with some of the nuances. "Exalted" was called true priests, servants of the Abyss and the Good World, who had survived the touch of patrons. The Son of the Sea was certainly not one of them.

    Besides - since when are they in a union?

    They argued, bargained, and discussed their common interests for a long time. Tell her, a year ago, that the vampires would be doing business with the highest authorities in the land, and Celesta would have laughed at the absurdity of the assumption. Now, as the lieutenant left in the morning, they hadn''t resolved half the issues. True, the conversation had provided more than enough food for thought. For instance, Sae had mentioned that Lash had no intention of leaving the Capital, and had made an appointment to see the Son of the Sea to discuss the steppe raiders'' increasing frequency.

    Nomads have indeed been attacking more often lately. And they will keep on attacking until their power redistribution is over. The duke, on a plausible pretext, was about to discuss something else. Celesta hoped he had weighed her suggestion about the Seven Rivers and now intended to probe the ground by gauging the ruler''s reaction.

    * * *

 Chapter 20

    Chapter 20

    * * *

    Gardoman''s shortcomings stemmed directly from his virtues. The old man was always stubborn, rigid, inflexible, did not like innovations, and considered only one opinion correct - his own. At the same time, he never made decisions without considering the situation from all sides, and his intelligence, coupled with natural caution, allowed him to choose the best of all possible options.

    Only a few could break the banker''s established beliefs.

    "We have no guarantee that the project of the way to the East really exists," Celesta explained to the "mountain elder" over the mirror link. "All the evidence is purely circumstantial. At the same time, there is a lot of it. If we are not mistaken and we manage to be among the main figures from the very beginning, we will get not just money - we will get influence. Not to mention access to states in far-flung regions."

    "I''d rather focus on Birat."

    "We can''t expand into the Principality without establishing ourselves in the middle ground," the Mistress repeated the point they both knew. "There''s been some progress lately, Kalderan is personally working on it. But we have a long way to go. However, until the course of events in Taleya is determined, we will do nothing."

    "I don''t believe in the friendliness of the Son of the Sea," the old man grumbled. "Kings have often betrayed us, and I''m not just talking about Taleya."

    "This one looks smarter than his predecessors. Besides, he''s got a lot of other things on his mind right now."

    "Which doesn''t stop him from siphoning money out of us."

    "Exchanging money for serenity suits me fine. However, the withdrawal of funds to Lanaka will continue. I''ve already told Latham not to hurry back and to make connections with the local nobility - we''ll need the goodwill of the top brass, and a short action against the monsters isn''t enough to form a stable opinion."

    "Mistress, I fully agree and have long said that Lanaka must be taken!" Gardoman burst out with emotion. "Only in this country, it seems that in order to achieve stability, we have to take power and rule ourselves. Every couple of generations they have some kind of war over some silly issue and then we have to restore our lost ground from scratch! How many did we lose twenty years ago? The communities are three, the dead servants of men cannot be counted. Not to mention the confiscated lands and businesses."

    When the elder was done speaking, he was silent. He wasn''t very good at talking through mirrors, and he wasn''t very good at any sorcery-related techniques at all. You could tell that Gardoman wasn''t interested in developing as a vampire and was focused on making money if weren''t for one exception. The old man created unique artifacts when he was in the mood. His products had nothing in common with the creations of magicians, functioned according to some rules of their own, but amazed by their unorthodox capabilities. They were certainly not superior to the things made by master artifactors - just a different school, with different advantages and disadvantages.

    "So far, there are no signs of another of their national pastimes. Then... we''ll see. If we can weaken the lightest cults, our position in Taleya and the Land of Blueness will be strengthened. There will be more room to maneuver."

    "Damn "if," she could have sworn she heard a grunt. "Mistress, I understand you''re hoping to prove to the king that it''s more profitable to be friends with us. But men are irrational! He may simply not want to."

    "I''m not going to argue. But we don''t have much of a choice, do we?" Celesta asked rhetorically. Without waiting for an answer, she continued. "Let''s discuss the specifics. Rimnar handles Quail''s sales, do you have any special instructions for him?"

    "He and I have already discussed everything."

    "Great. What do the bankers say about the campaign in the Seven Rivers?"

    "They are cautious, although in general, they like the idea. The main issues revolve around duty discounts in Lascaris. Mistress, if the Duke gives good discounts, we''d be better off inviting no one from outside and financing the project ourselves. Have you heard from him at least something?"

    "Tomorrow Lash will have an audience with the Son of the Sea, I think, just about my proposal. The king won''t give him a definite answer, but at least we''ll know his first reaction."

    "Nothing changes and we''re still waiting, I see," Gardoman grumbled again. "Then let''s move on to the Archipelago. The smugglers there are making good money, and your Grakhor is doing well. Will anything change there? We won''t have to change schemes because of Kalderan or something?"

    "Not anytime soon. He will contact you himself."

    "All right, I''ll wait. Then there''s this..."

    Having finished his conversation with Celesta, the old risen sat motionless in the chair for ten minutes, coming to his senses. The pain in his head was gradually subsiding. Hustin advised him to exercise more, and he was right - before the consequences of communication through the mirror lasted longer. Today Gardoman, one could say, got off easy. It is convenient to talk with Celesta or wizards through the mirror, they both keep in touch and send clear images. He does not give him mentalism, and it''s a pity, a pity.

    Slowly, shuffling a little, the elder left the office. He followed a long corridor to the last door, which looked like it led to a back room. Behind the door was another corridor, shorter, ending in an exit in the next building. After taking another dozen steps, Gardoman entered the study without saying hello, walked to the armchairs by the fireplace, and sat down in one of them.

    "They''re rushing around again."

    "Until the new Son of the Sea is established on the throne, it will be so," said the master of the cabinet, who was also seated there.

    "It''s been two years since the coronation, it''s about time."

    "So be it. Better that than with his grandfather."

    The two most influential risens of Bardi and the rest of the Highland Duchy grumbled equally. The relationship between them was very uneasy; at first, when Gardoman had just moved from Taleya and began to sweep up the local communities, it almost came to a fight. Mistress couldn''t leave her town and sent Latham. The aristocrat did not kill anyone, nor did he use force at all. Nevertheless, no one wanted a repeat of his visit, and the two leaders had to coexist in a shared den.

    Over time they shared responsibilities and major conflicts came to naught. Slowly mutual respect sprouted; they began to talk more often, not exclusively on business, but simply for fun. Neither of them would call the other a friend; nevertheless, the habit of gathering once a week by the fireplace and looking at the fire, discussing the latest news, came from somewhere.

    "The campaign will take place."

    "Does the king agree?"

    "He''s still thinking. It''s going to happen anyway."

    "Will he be persuaded?"

    "Yes."

    They sat in complete silence for another ten minutes, thinking about their things. Then Hatsu asked lazily, more as a conversation starter than for an answer:

    "When they come back, they''ll try to take on us. With new experience."

    "Will many of them come back? The Son of the Sea doesn''t need them here," the two old risens chuckled dryly after Gardoman''s words. "If he doesn''t want them, the Mistress will care. It''s one thing to catch a savage in the woods, untrained in anything. It''s another thing to look for one of our own in the city. With magic-covered lairs, trained, with the support of mortals, with connections among officials and priests. Only fools get caught. No pity for them."

    * * *

    Shifting half a step to the side, Celesta smoothly raised her sword, intercepting Ranilkar''s attack with the tip of her blade. Locking the other man''s blade, she gave him acceleration, preventing him from attacking herself, then with a sharp brushstroke, she struck for herself. Right into a conveniently placed throat. Three - zero.

    It is obvious that of the two fighters, the one who devotes more time to training, preferably under the guidance of an experienced mentor, is the most skilled. There are individual geniuses who only need to see a move once and master it in a couple of days, but they are few and far between. There are legends about them. The guardsmen were all excellent warriors, who gave much time to their development, they did not consider it shameful to take experience from mortals and were skeptical about the concept of a "fair fight". Nevertheless, they routinely lost fights to Celesta, both group fights and duels.

    The reason was banal - Mistress was faster.

    The connection to the seal on the Curse provided her with a steady stream of body-changing energy. The body of any vampire changes from a material form to an energetic one as it ages. It is possible that after thousands of years of existence, a vampire will turn into something like a tangible spirit. The speed of the transformation depends on the quality and quantity of the power received, which Celesta has never lacked (except in the first days after rebirth). In addition, all mentalists at some point mastered the so-called "accelerated perception", the manipulation of personal time, a technique that allows them to process information dozens of times faster.

    In the art of working with her mind, Mistress was deservedly considered the best. And not only with her mind. Therefore, she managed to figure out other people''s attacks, feints, and tricks before the opponent had a chance to realize them, not to mention their use in battle.

    With a sign to Ranilkar that the training was over, Celesta put the training sword in a stance and headed for the exit. She''ll take her bath in her chambers. Vampires don''t sweat, but there are some secretions from their skin, and dirt settles in.

    "What''s the matter with you personally coming to the war room that you don''t like so much?" She asked Hustin, who rose from the bench as she approached.

    "Not so disliked," the magician shrugged. "I work here, too."

    "Once a month, when the mood strikes."

    "More often it is not necessary. What''s the point of swinging a sword when simple telekinesis will ensure victory faster and more reliably?"

    "Not so," Celesta argued. "Magic doesn''t prepare you for real combat. It''s the psychology of the newcomers that lets them down, they get lost, and they forget what they''re supposed to do. And they get killed. Fighting with weapons can, to a certain extent, prepare you for a real fight."

    "Let''s not argue," Hustin grimaced. "We can''t convince each other anyway."

    "Let''s not. So what did you want?"

    The warlock lowered his voice and put on some kind of sound-altering shield.

    "A reminder about the crypts. Six months have passed."

    "Really," Celesta grimaced. "Don''t you want to wait?"

    "There''s no sense. We can''t get to the dynasty archives, and looking elsewhere would draw unnecessary attention. We can only get data for analysis ourselves."

    Mistress sighed. Several attempts to touch such a specific area as the ancient funeral rituals of nobles made by her recently proved Hastin right. All, absolutely all potential sources of information reacted extremely nervously even to hints.

    "Except for the direct participants, no one must know," she stipulated.

    "It''s a deal," smiled the warlock.

    After parting with Hastin, Celeste took her time to go about her business. Which, contrary to her habit, she did not have much to do today. There was a pause on the political fronts as the parties licked their wounds and concentrated their energies. The Son of the Sea party needed a moment to recover what they had gained; the Chancellor''s supporters were counting their recent losses and looking suspiciously at their allies; the noble families were wondering if now was a good time to sting the worst of the enemy. Lash, incidentally, sent word that his offer had been received without negativity. Of course, they didn''t give him an answer right away, but they didn''t reject him out of hand, which was good.

    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    After the ideological defeat of the Triad of Rightness and the internal turmoil of the Saints of the Fire, the Society of Celestial Purity was supposed to be at the forefront of religious organizations. After all, it was a staunch supporter of the throne, supporting the king in his hour of need. In practice, the " lawyers" were shaken by a series of petty scandals, the hierarchy and the middle ranks were involved in illegal human trafficking, corruption, and other crimes. To be fair, Valier cleansed the ranks of his ideologues quietly, without any fanfare, sending some into exile, some on extended leave for health reasons, and the most brazen died in accidents. Not a single one went to jail.

    In short, a lot was going on and nothing going on at the same time. The most interesting processes, from the vampire community''s point of view, were monitored by the executors, who submitted a short report to their master every night so that Celesta herself could do things that had never been done before. Or whatever her soul asked for.

    In other words, she was now focused on the Morvanites and the construction of the palace.

    Traditionally, there were many different cults operating in Taleya for all tastes. The authorities fought against destructive cults, forbidding human sacrifice, but they treated the balance doctrines with equanimity. Serving the dark gods was not a crime in itself until a certain point, and the priests were imprisoned for violating the Criminal Code. The situation changed under Irrhan, who not only wanted to ban Morvan cults, he wanted to eradicate the very tradition of worshipping him.

    The vampires happily approved of the initiative. Previously, their sphere of influence included not the most pleasant cults, whose members have consistently aroused the interest of the state security services. Because of, so to speak, an active life position, densely mixed with destructive ideology. Now, the authorities have forced far more sane believers to go into hiding. Who did not consider it their direct duty to bring the death of the world, or at least a rotten society. Many then fled to neighboring countries, but there were those who could not flee - Celesta welcomed them with open arms. They readily accepted the tenets of her Code, which forbade the killing of children, proclaimed the triad of knowledge-power-improvement as a guide for life, and considered the world a wholly material world of cause and effect.

    Now she mentally divided all the cultists into three categories: the rabid, the peaceful, and the valuable. The first was the hardest to deal with. They were always getting into trouble, but with the right guidance, they dreamed of dying for her glory. And they could fight for this honor. The peaceful ones lived quietly, worked hard, raised their children, earned money, scolded their superiors, and did not jump over themselves. They were no different from the same hardworking neighbors. They simply attended occasional Morvan services and occasionally complied with the easy requests of their shepherds. There was a little mystery in their lives that tickled their nerves pleasantly, and that was all they needed.

    The second category served as a supplier of human material for the third. The smart, active, ambitious ones were selected from an early age, trained according to their inclinations, and became scouts, merchants, and officials. The luckiest became wizards or personal servants of vampires. Some of them were valued more highly by the Mistress than her non-dead subjects.

    Most cults are small, with no more than five active members and up to three dozen ordinary members. There were exceptions, though. Some pastors managed to create large organizations, full-fledged hidden networks that operated in more than one state. Covering them from the watchful eye of spiders or temple spies was more difficult; at the same time, they were much more useful.

    If watching over the Morvanites was like a job, usually troublesome and sometimes amusing, what the palace had become to her, she was at a loss to articulate. A humble challenge? In agreeing to design the project, she did not know how long she would remain confined to the Capital. Then she thought with grim humor something like "if I''m already destined to be in prison, why not make it comfortable?"

    The result exceeded expectations. Inspired by the complexity of the task and the sums offered for its execution the architects designed a huge underground complex, unparalleled in beauty and size. Functionally, it was divided into four parts: the public section, which was to house the administration and admitted visitors; the right and left wings, intended for various services; and the palace itself, whose center was the three-tier throne room, designed for the simultaneous presence of two thousand people. Or rather, sentient beings.

    Originally, the left wing was supposed to house scouts and financiers (on different floors), while the right wing would be occupied by mages and guardsmen. In the right-wing they even arranged a ritual hall, observing the smallest requirements for such premises. However, after a particularly strong explosion in the laboratories, it was decided that they would do with a library of rare manuscripts, and the mages would remain in their present place and would not move anywhere.

    Hustin personally dealt with the problem of lighting. The living fire was no good, chemical or biological lights failed quickly or did not shine brightly enough for weak human eyesight. In the end, the mage created lamps with hybrid technology, not particularly bright, but practically eternal. They lit up corridors and public spaces. Where a lot of light was needed, they made do with purely magical lamps that needed frequent maintenance.

    The project turned out to be very complicated and costly. First of all, in terms of security. The vampires had to get into areas previously unknown, such as the construction of large buildings in the city limits. Garbage and waste must be removed, right? They had to. They had to create a company, provide it with contracts, and protect it from disgruntled competitors. Only after all that, under the guise of legal activities, they had to support the underground construction. There were enough other problems - the purchase of materials, the need for rest for some workers...

    It must be said that the project had to be made much more complicated because of the humans. Vampires, for example, did not go to the bathroom, unlike mortals who pooped. That''s why a full-fledged sewer was laid during construction, which had to be looked after and repaired, to fix the inevitable leaks. The housekeeping department consisted of two vampires who had a large staff of zombified mortals or dead men raised by Hastin - the mage''s interest in necromancy had faded, but the skills remained. Why weren''t humans assigned to the positions of stewards? Intelligence protested fiercely, imagining the secrets they would gain access to.

    Celeste''s future abode, her chambers, was in the farthest part of the palace. Medea had already taken a promise that she would decorate the rooms herself - her sister rightly feared to see the dwelling furnished in an ascetic and minimalistic style. A couple of rooms and a dressing room, reserved for the Singer''s arrival, were also there. Mistress herself would have had one room with a closet and armory, but secretaries, guests, an office for work, a small archive... Suddenly the three-story rooms were not enough.

    She grew to love wandering around the construction site, casting a veil of inattention, and watching the construction workers at work. In a sense, history was being made before her eyes, and this creation appealed to her in its bloodlessness. It was an unusual sensation. Celesta caught herself that the unfamiliar feeling of creating something eternal appealed to her. Yes, she had created communities before, developed trading and manufacturing companies, and built bridges and roads at her behest, but they were all perceived as tools in one way or another. They were for something, for a purpose. The palace, it would seem, was also planned as a government center - but it could not be seen as a utilitarian structure. A symbol of power, a symbol of new life. A house from which she would not want to leave.

    Will she be able to protect it?

    The rules of the game in human society were changing again, smoothly and at first glance unnoticed. What the relationship between the vampires and the supreme power would be, was now being determined. Mistress had sent enough signals to the Son of the Sea that she did not want enmity. Would he accept them? His predecessors had spoken to intelligent undead solely in the language of force.

    In any case, there was nothing more Celesta could do. She just had to wait.

    * * *

    Living beings in general, and humans in particular, do not hide their emotions well. It takes long training and rigorous drills to learn how to control facial expressions, keep the body relaxed at all times, regulate the heart rate with an effort of will, and communicate with a calm smile, ignoring the frenzied cocktail of hormones in the blood. Few people can afford this kind of training, and most people don''t need it.

    The elite, especially the very top, taught their children well. The theme of preserving and multiplying the positions achieved by the clan was the most important in the upbringing of the heirs, and from a very young age, they were taught the necessity of maintaining status. Not everyone could withstand it - some drank, others began to feel like gods and went on the rampage, and others turned away from family affairs and retreated into books, religion, or travels to distant lands. Those who coped with the strain gained positions, titles, and increased wealth.

    The current Duke of Lascaris received the best education possible. A little strict, a little easy, a little promiscuous - his teachers knew their business. With age came the experience that allowed to blossom planted in childhood, which turned a simple shallow man into one of the most dangerous intrigues of the country. It was difficult to calculate him.

    Sometimes Celesta thought of getting inside his head and reading his most vivid thoughts. Alas, the dreams remained unfulfilled. No matter how good she was, the Duke was a powerful mage in his own right, and he was covered from head to toe with artifacts.

    At least, he didn''t keep her waiting and told her the main thing at once:

    "The blessed ruler supported the idea of reconnecting with the countries of the west. He is oppressed by the idea that nations deprived of the pattern of virtue will slip into barbarism and lose their true way."

    Without commenting on the last sentence (in her opinion, the sample from Taleya is so not good), Celesta closed her eyes, reliving the victory. The Son of the Sea agreed. His decision wasn''t final, it could still be replayed, but it was a start.

    "Did he express any "wishes"?"

    "Of course," Lash smiled dryly. "He insists on careful preparation, so he has introduced me to several men of the highest confidence, whose advice will benefit the common cause."

    It would be naive to believe that the King would not provide observers for the project.

    I''m sure you''ll be able to use them properly.

    "It is good to hear that the blessed Mistress has faith in the strength of her good friend. I should like to share that faith," the Duke joked. "However, Messena is probably right - the participation of the King''s representatives will ease the inevitable obstacles and remove the objections of some circles. Maybe, indeed, it will be possible to meet the deadline of five years."

    "Where did the deadline come from?"

    "The Bearer of the Divine Will believes that shocks to social tranquility are unnecessary. In his opinion, for the next three years, the country must learn peace and good. During this time, he expects to restore the Mages'' Guild, decide whether Chancellor Darth is worthy to remain in his position, remind the priests of their humility, and get rid of some of the conflicts in relations with his neighbors. It will take another two years directly to prepare."

    In other words, Valier is busy shortly and orders not to disturb him. Most likely, he is going to change the chancellor, although there are other options. Celesta has already realized that the king prefers to act quietly, preferably with other people''s hands, along the way blaming someone else for what is happening.

    "Do you think we might not have enough time?"

    "A lot depends on how soon the redistribution of power in the steppe is over. The chiefs are just getting the hang of it," Lash sighed. - Besides, I foresee funding difficulties. His Highness thinks it would be unseemly for banks and trading houses in other lands to be involved in the crusade. In his opinion, Taleya must show its power and cope with the challenge imposed on it solely by itself. He has no objection to the participation of certain foreigners."

    "Does the silly woman understand correctly - the trading houses of the mountain principalities will not be able to participate?"

    "So it is, Messena. The glory of a perfect deed must belong to one country."

    Where there is fame, there is money. Celesta understood and somewhat supported the government''s logic of the royal demand. If only their people finance it, then the reduced duties are given to them. Merchants gain a competitive advantage, grow, transport more goods, and pay more taxes - not only direct taxes at customs but also indirect taxes like the road toll. The problem is that the vampires have either withdrawn or have already withdrawn their finances from the country; the remaining funds for the collection and maintenance of the army will not be enough.

    "One little-known philosopher once said: "everything that doesn''t kill us makes us stronger". It''s a beautiful maxim, and we''ll soon put it to the test. I''ll think of something, Messen," the vampiress promised the man.

    The Duke nodded, accepting the promises. After thinking for a while, he reported: "It is estimated that at least ten thousand holy warriors would be required."

    "Should we pay nomads, too?"

    "It depends on what we agree upon. I''ll keep you informed of the negotiations and let you know the results immediately, Messena," he promised.

    "Thank you, I look forward to it," Celesta took the last sip of wine and placed it on the table. "Well, let''s consider it a start."

    "Let it be considered, blessed Mistress!"

    After saying goodbye to the duke, the Mistress stepped outside. She stood looking thoughtfully in the direction of the nearest entrance to the catacombs, turned around, and went into another. The Guardsmen who had followed her made a sign to leave, and when they tried to guard her covertly, she took their eyes away. She wanted to be alone.

    What could have threatened her? Despite the night, the streets were crowded, the lanterns were lit in front of the shops, and guards often patrolled the city center or noblemen with weapons strolled by. And on her own, she could fend off any conceivable danger. Then again, it was considered very bad luck in Taleya for bandits to attack teenage girls walking alone in the dark; they could get a beating for that.

    The news needed to be thought through.

    Nothing is over yet, of course. The king''s plans may change, he may "change his mind" and withdraw his consent to the sweep of the Seven Rivers. But even if his decision remains unchanged, a long, difficult work of creating an expeditionary corps, gathering the necessary information, diplomatic support, logistics... And the vampires will have to act in secret.

    You can''t ask too much of fate. She is already incredibly lucky that instead of decades of preparation, they will make do with years. Her plans fit well with those of the upper mortals, otherwise, the wait would have been much longer. Frankly, it is not certain that the plan would have come to fruition under the current ruler - the more she gets to know Valier, the higher she values him.

    However, a century earlier, a century later...

    The unpleasant demands made by the Son of the Sea were of little concern to Celesta. She wasn''t in it for the money, was she? The threat of the hostile ideology of the Seven Rivers must be neutralized, the other goals are secondary, and their achievement will serve as a pleasant bonus and nothing more. The second reason -she could admit it to herself - was revenge. Zervan, with all his faults, had been at her side for nearly seven hundred years. She hated those whose apprentice had pushed him into treachery.

    A large number of important projects was a bit disturbing and promised a headache. Mistress didn''t like to spread her energies thinly, and it was impossible to do otherwise. First, the Sacred Crusade. Second, the looming expansion into Birat. A breakthrough with the Lanaka authorities would also require resources. Medea had hinted at pleasant news from Azar during her last conversation. It might be necessary to create a community in the Stone Bones. Where would vampires come from? Not all are eager to work, to hold responsible positions, many prefer to dump decisions on others and live quietly in the provinces without any reminders of themselves. Like that bastard Valquer��a, from whom she hasn''t heard anything for some reason. She should check how he''s doing, and give him a preventive shake-up so that he doesn''t relax.

    Sometimes she envied him. Celesta hadn''t had the opportunity to stretch out on the couch and lie around with a book for a couple of days in a long time.

    She knew she would not be resting anytime soon. A strong ruler had finally ascended to the throne of Taleya, and the country was about to undergo changes that would inevitably affect the vampire society that was hidden from view. There was no way she could stay out of it.

    At least they overcame the internal crisis. External threats are easier to deal with.

    * * *

 Epilogue

    Epilogue

    * * *

    Celesta gloomily looked around at the trio standing before her.

    "I hope I don''t look too stupid?"

    "Not at all, Messena," Latham was the first. "You look wonderful!"

    "I''d say in your place," added Hustin, making the captain nod in agreement.

    "You just need something on your head," Medea squinted, looking at her friend like an artist at a just-finished painting. "Something... Slim, elegant, a headband of some kind..."

    Celesta couldn''t stand the hint of the high priest''s tiara and stood up from her throne.

    The construction was finally over. Finishing work was still going on in places, but Medea, who was overseeing it, claimed that the repairs could go on indefinitely, and urged Celesta to hold a celebration on the occasion. Singer had moved to Talea three years earlier for the opportunity to decorate the palace to her own taste, in effect leaving Zonna. She''d come home for a few months, causing confusion in the high society there, and then she''d come back again.

    Her greatest pride was the central hall. The walls were snow-white, the decorations slender and uncluttered, the floor and ceiling the same. A black platform with eight steps, and an obsidian-lined back wall. A scarlet throne.

    Celesta, despite the assurances, suspected that she looked ridiculous on the throne. The thing was too big, her petite figure should supposedly get misplaced in it. Though her hands are comfortable on the armrests, and her feet are on a stand, not dangling in the air. In any case, she wasn''t going to sit there very often. Let the heads of the old clans sit on their thrones - the Mistress of the Undead had enough work to do.

    "Did you get any news from Reggie?" she asked, walking to the right door. There were seven exits from the hall, four on the first tier and three on the second.

    "He will be delayed, Messena. He was offered an extra contract, and I agreed, keeping in mind that you have no plans for his five."

    Mistress nodded in agreement, approving of Latham''s decision. Indeed, there was nothing for the guardsmen to do in the capital now. After the swift and bloody cleanup of Nosy Mountain five years ago, which had made a tremendous impression on the royal officials watching, orders of that sort were coming in frequently. The Son of the Sea seemed to appreciate the quality of the vampires'' work. Almost always Celesta went along with his wishes, charging a low price for their services - it was to their advantage to demonstrate their usefulness to the supreme power.

    She couldn''t get rid of her wariness toward Valier, and she didn''t try to. Her previous experience with the Taleya rulers had given her plenty of reason to be mistrustful. Though the current sovereign seemed to have decided that it was better to deal with one sane pack than a dozen out-of-control loners from whom one didn''t know what to expect. Mistress was careful to maintain that belief in him.

    So far, there was no cause for alarm. The Son of the Sea took advantage of the vampires'' vulnerable position and pressed, but he knew the limits, and he carried out his agreements fairly. He had the impression that he regarded the Children of the Night as an additional structure of government, responsible for the dark side of society. Therefore, he allowed Celeste a lot of things, such as a personal palace and royal trappings. He understood - the leadership of a complex fanatical contingent required a special approach. When the priests discussed the idea of the Holy Crusade among themselves and began to argue that, so to speak, why go somewhere if the undead abounded at home, it was Valier who stopped attempts to sit out. Of course, he acted out of self-interest, but still. Speaking of the Crusade:

    "Homie."

    "Yes, Mistress."

    "Did they reach the border?"

    "Even crossed it, Mistress. The Duke met with the chiefs, and they escorted him with honor. There have been no incidents."

    "In that case, go back. It''s not up to us from here."

    "Yes, Mistress."

    How many extra years of life had she given him by making him her first and only personal servant? Hardly many. Homie was already old, his body would not have time to reorganize itself for Celesta''s power. She should not have delayed in making the connection.

    Now Homie was in the Duchy of Lascaris, seeing off the troops leaving for the steppe. He would not go to the Seven Rivers - there were other agents for that. Two hired hundreds of monster hunters whose commanders served Celeste were part of the army, and about a hundred "volunteers" legally joined other units. Krustyar was waiting for them all on the spot. The old vampire returned from reconnaissance angry and determined, bringing much useful information, and as a reward asking permission to return and oversee the burning of the land of the undead who had lost their constraints.

    Preparing the campaign was easier than the Mistress feared. Encouraged by the blessing of the Son of the Sea on the one hand, and by religious pumping on the other, the nobility was actively signing up to join the Holy Crusade. More cynical and calculating people were just as enthusiastic on the sidelines discussing the privileges the duke had announced. After all, it was hiped! Medea''s aides organized the collection of donations, in exchange for a tenth of a share of the largest private bank in the country, conducting all operations of the creating army through its accounts. The sums swirled wildly. There was enough money for the ammunition for fifteen thousand men, to supply the expeditionary corps, and to bribe the steppe-people who at the sight of rich gifts wanted to participate in the cleansing of the Seven Rivers. Initially, the nomads promised only free passage through their lands and a few other minor things. They were afraid to go deep into the cursed land.

    The bribes did the trick. The chiefs agreed to reinforce the army with the blades of the clansmen.

    Given the number of priests, monks, holy fighters, and monster hunters on one side, and the disjointed crowd of not particularly skilled risens on the other, we can safely consider the Seven Rivers to be extinct. Along with the undead, the living population will be slaughtered as well, otherwise, they don''t fight now. What would happen next was of little concern to Celesta. There was talk of creating a viceroyalty, some suggested that the land be given to temples, and some were preparing to build forts and inns to serve caravans. Let the people decide for themselves, Mistress had no plans to interfere.

    She had enough to worry about.

    "Medea, are you sure Cach�� should go?" As she continued to walk down the corridor leading to her old rooms, Celesta asked over her shoulder. "You doubt the adequacy of those cultists."

    "According to their customs, whoever has touched the Scarlet Heart and survived is untouchable," the beauty broke away from her pique with Hustin. "They start every meeting with me by asking when the Chosen One will return. There will never be a second chance."

    "I don''t like the idea of risking our only mage capable of awakening pre-Plague era artifacts."

    "You can''t keep her in Talea forever, either. The danger is minimal," Medea reiterated, "we''ll do everything we can to keep her unharmed."

    The story turned out to be anecdotal. A rather influential cult from Azar had brought a particularly revered relic - an ancient artifact that controlled the weather at a decent distance from itself - to Zonna. They wanted to please the coreligionists. Cach��, who was also being treated in the Hall of Flesh and who was rummaging through the archives of the Academy at the same time, sensed the presence of an object that resonated with her energy, and immediately jumped at the call. The artifact itself went to her hands, responding to the slightest commands. Appreciating the shocked faces of the priests, the magician quickly figured out to return the toy to the owners and quickly escape. Soon she was back in Taleya, oblivious to the fun episode.

    From her point of view, nothing much happened. The unity with the spirit restructured Cach��''s energy, giving it traits that allowed her to affect the old artifacts associated with the fire element. Not all of them - certain parameters had to be matched, the higher the better. Few suitable artifacts survived, only a few remained in working condition, and they often gave results not intended by their creators. The Scarlet Heart was one of them.

    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    The Southerners, of course, were looking for Cach��. Perhaps they would not have been so zealous, had not the short acquaintance of the vampiress and the relic not disrupted the latter''s attunement, and the Heart would not have stopped responding to the priests'' actions. For the top of the cult, the question of finding the Chosen One was of the utmost importance! But by the time the priests came to Medea''s house with their requests, the sorceress had long since left Blueness. They simply didn''t believe that the sacred subject had chosen the undead.

    For Medea, the opportunity to gain an agent of influence in the Sultanate''s rather peculiar religious upper echelons meant a lot. The vampires were slowly entering Azar society, finding their niche and growing stronger in it, but the process was slow. The Taleyans'' and Azarans'' worldviews differed greatly, hence the different attitudes toward the non-dead, with the Southerners being far more negative. Although the Sultanate disliked all outsiders.

    They reached Celeste''s chambers, now unaccustomedly crowded. In short, the place was crowded with sapient people with boxes and crates, giving the impression of a kind of organized chaos. In the center of it, Merck, whose voice could be heard from afar, was giving orders with a commanding look:

    "No, we''re not touching the cabinets yet. All the furniture stays here. Right now we''re just moving the papers."

    "How about taking the safe away, Master?"

    "No, Arkhlan. There''s a built-in one in the wall, and the Mistress will carry the contents herself."

    The move took place in stages. The office and the new workplace were finished, probably because Celesta quickly decided what she wanted, and she didn''t interfere with the decorating process. Unlike Medea, who did the bedroom, the living room, the second living room, the bathroom, and something else, as well as her sister''s clothing. As a result, the decoration and furnishings of personal rooms have changed several times, while Singer was trying to achieve the ideal that she alone understands. From Celesta''s point of view, the options differed slightly, for her the difference was immaterial.

    She shook her head as she looked around at the mess they had made: "Let''s stay out of the way. Let''s go into the living room."

    A heavy door with soundproofing gently chugged against the jamb, a heavy drape draped the aisle. A common precaution and comfort measure. Vampires'' hearing is much thinner than humans, and it''s no big deal for them to overhear other people''s conversations. Therefore, the walls of their dwellings were always covered with sound-absorbing signs, and the passages and vents were additionally blocked with material barriers.

    "Have a seat," Celesta suggested, heading for the small bar in the corner. She took out four goblets and a decanter of wine, and as hostess, she began to pour the beverage. "This might be the last time we''ll be here."

    Medea lowered herself onto the wide sofa, unconsciously assuming a gracefully provocative pose and giving Hustin a promising look.

    "Have you decided yet what you''re going to do about the premises?"

    "I''m going to mothball it for now. I''ll leave it as an emergency shelter. We can''t let strangers in here - Vador threatens me with promises to finally master psychometry and read the memory of other people''s affairs."

    "Actually, it''s quite realistic," remarked the warlock. "So take your personal belongings with you."

    "I''ll take it," Celesta agreed, setting the tray of glasses on the table. "I don''t have a lot of that."

    She sat down next to Medea. Her sister leaned closer, barely noticeable.

    "Fetista is thrilled with Vador and the School and says she wishes all her mentors were like that. She asks permission to continue her studies."

    "Do you mind?"

    "It''s time for her to become independent. She''s not a chick anymore," Medea admitted sadly. "You''ll look after her, won''t you?"

    "Be sure."

    Medea will return to Zonna after the construction is finished, and Hustin will probably follow her. He will postpone the research of the necropolis, they are unsuccessful anyway and leave. Of those close to her, one loyal Latham will stay. With other risens of comparable age, she did not get along, and young vampires see her as a Mistress or even the incarnation of the goddess.

    Gardoman will never forget the way she once crisply broke his will long ago. He acknowledged her rightness, agreed to obey and did not think of betrayal. Nevertheless, she and the old man will not become friends.

    With Kalderan it is more complicated. At one time it seemed to her that the scout had finally lost the ability to trust people and was sinking deeper into Darkness with each passing year. But something had happened to him recently that caused him to look at the world and himself differently. It is unlikely that the peculiar "vacation" that she gave him. It must be something else. In any case, Kalderan now sits in Deep Harbor, writing philosophical treatises and finally stepping away from the leadership of intelligence. But he made a chick, and there are already four vampires in his community. You could say that he has completed his task of opening the road to Birat, but now there is no one to follow it. Money, people, and vampires are busy on other fronts. It would take ten years before there were any resources available. Though... let''s see how quickly the colony in the Stone Bones begins to develop.

    Change is inevitable. Life is a series of ups and downs. Non-life, too, as practice proved. Celesta was well aware that if she had chosen a different path in the past, her fate would have been different. Had she rejected Cardae''s offer at the time? Had she not been caught, she might well be in a very different position now, along with Medea. Less eye-catching, figuratively speaking. Her name would not have frightened children. She would not have been asked for her blessing, her opinions would not have been considered by the rulers of the major powers in the region. They would simply live quietly, surrounded by a few faithful servants, and... And that would be it?

    The thought caught her, a chill ran down her spine as she imagined centuries of misery. No, an immortal needs a purpose. No matter what kind, everyone chooses for himself, but without the incentive to move forward, degradation is inevitable. The swamp of ordinariness sucks the one who has no interests, who does not force himself to learn something new. For Celesta, the anchor of salvation was first personal safety, then responsibility for the new race; Medea adores intrigue and art; Hustin is interested in magic in itself, beyond its practical application. Latham has found his ideal in service, and God forbid he should ever be disappointed in her! Absolutely any vampire, sooner or later, either finds an activity that compels him to act or slips down. Turns into an animal.

    They talked until morning.

    It was not a discussion of work plans or the current situation, but it was not what you would call empty talk. It was a conversation of powerful individuals, jumping from topic to topic and making important, sometimes momentous, decisions in passing. They were used to this style of communication.

    To Celesta, the spontaneous meetings seemed like a sort of farewell. How many centuries had she spent here, in these chambers? Almost four, a little less. Since her independence and her quarrel with the Irrhan government, all vampires had mandatorily changed their sleeping quarters, and she was no exception. That move was a milestone in the fate, not just of Celesta, but of so many of the living and not-so-living. It is quite possible that the current change of lodgings also draws a line under the next stage of the symbiosis of intelligent undead and their mortal servants.

    Well, it''s time to stop lying to ourselves: vampires have created their own state. Even if it has no official territory, it has everything else. The government, the power structures, the education and health systems, the economy, and culture. The population, with a share of hostility to the surrounding countries and loyal to the ideology of the ruling elite. Now they even have a ruler, de facto recognized by the neighbors. Communication is unofficial, but before only Blueness recognized Celesta as a fully-fledged partner. All others sought to destroy at the first opportunity. Now they have reconciled, realized that it is impossible to destroy vampires, and therefore, some kind of communication is necessary.

    First Latham, who had remembered his business, left the Mistress''s quarters. Then Hustin decided that he had sat long enough and left on a plausible pretext. Celesta, a little removed from the conversation, watched with mild amusement as Medea deftly and inconspicuously persuaded the men that they wanted to leave. If she hadn''t known her sister so long ago, she wouldn''t have noticed.

    "So," the door closed behind the warlock, and the beauty turned to her, "what''s with the melancholy? Why so gloomy?"

    "I''m not gloomy," Celesta smiled. "It just occurred to me that things might have turned out differently. We could have missed Cardae, could have turned down his offer, could have escaped later, could have done a lot of things. And I wouldn''t have spent four centuries chained to Taleya."

    "You don''t know if Taleya would have survived," her sister protested. "She would have died out from the Plague or the Curse. Don''t be sorry! What we did is what we did. Not in the best of ways, but it''s over now and you''re free."

    "I have no regrets. Sometimes I just want to go to a desert island and not see anyone at all for a year."

    Medea giggled.

    "Merck will start bugging you in a week!"

    "That''s the only thing that stops me. And it''s a little scary. Imagine if I were gone - would you be able to hold on and not let everything we created fall apart?"

    "I won''t even think about it," Medea replied firmly, even harshly. "To the Dark One, such thoughts. In fact, get a chick and you no longer have the urge to philosophize."

    "I don''t see a worthy candidate."

    "Yeah, you can''t make anyone a prince," my sister thought to herself. "All right, all in good time."

    After placing the glass on the table, Medea kicked off her shoes and crawled under Celesta''s side with a contented sigh. Once she was comfortable, she continued:

    "You''re moping because you don''t see a clear goal. Remember when you promised me that everything would work out? When we first met? A home, serenity, and faithful servants. First, we got that, then freedom from people was slowly won back, then, for the longest time, you waited for the seal to settle. Then, like a bright flash, Zervan, and the Holy Crusade you planned. And now there are no serious matters left, they are all completed, and you can relax.

    That''s what''s nagging you.

    Don''t worry, everything will be fine. Life is always like this - one thing ends and another begins. Before you know it, there will be new challenges to solve and new problems. And you''ll deal with them. You always do.

    I believe in you.

    We believe in you."

    * * *