Chapter 17

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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."

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any 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...

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