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.
The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
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 Talунa. 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 Tрars 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...
* * *