Chapter 11

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"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.

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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."

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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."

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