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."

Maître 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 Caché'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. Caché 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.

"Caché." 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."

"Аh? 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 Caché'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 maître 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. Caché 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 Caché 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.

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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.

* * *