Chapter 22

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Medea and Hustin's relationship was rife with so many nuances and pitfalls that outsiders tried not to interfere with it. It was not always obvious whether the two Elders were quarreling or cooing nicely. At the moment, however, the sorcerer and the singer seemed to be in a peaceful mood and were in no hurry to quarrel, so Latham preferred to stay and listen.

"No, my dear, the Son of the Sea investigators can't find the killers." Hustin even smiled at the question. "They might be able to calculate, but they have no proof and will not appear. Thank Messen Latham for the ritual."

"It's fair to say," the knight found it necessary to clarify, "the Old Families are familiar with rituals that allow them to override the lock I've put on. But I doubt they would be willing to intervene."

The warlock nodded affirmatively:

"Most heads of noble houses remember Dinir the Great, some were even born before the Plague. They see the appointment, and more importantly, the behavior of an arrogant upstart to one of the most important positions in the state as an insult to their honor. They will not seek out Laar's killer."

"But they could if they wanted to," Medea clarified quietly to herself.

"Of course. It's quite easy to feel the trail of the rises if you know how."

"You mean temple magic?"

"Not only that. In addition to appealing to the clan egregore, which we just discussed, there are several schools of working with imprinted information. First, a pure hypersensitivity. A strong scanner at the level of Mistress Celesta or a true ascetic who has reached sainthood is able to catch the echoes of memories hidden under the seal. They are few, very few, and their identities are concealed and they try not to be involved in matters without an urgent need. Second, the masters of true light and true darkness possess strange methods of which we know almost nothing. We could not fool Garresh, I suspect. The temples are doing research in this area, but they have had no definite success. Next, we must remember the Academy staff, as secretive as they are experienced. One never knows what the same Maestro Tyran is really capable of. And finally, the Blessed."

"What's the matter with them?" Medea wondered. "They've lost their power over the elements."

"Yes, but not the ability to communicate with the incarnations of the elements. Our Son of the Sea, for example, could call to the water and ask who was in a particular place at a particular time, i.e. in Laar's study, and get an answer. Another thing is that he won't do it himself - well, you remember his specific worldview - and he exiled his closest kin to Zonna."

"So we're not facing any charges," Medea draws a line under her lover's and rival's reasoning. "Praise the Darkness! I have enough problems right now."

The main events related in one way or another to the risens lineage took place in Taleya. The Capital community took the first blow. Here new concepts were being developed, new forms of interaction with mortals and with mortal authorities. Everyone's attention now turned to Medea and her retinue, the spontaneous diplomatic corps and everyone's available "face of the vampires".

Despite the agreement, the covert warfare did not stop for a moment. The most fanatical servants of the Light continued to search the catacombs for risens or their accomplices. The unwieldy machinery of the government investigative apparatus slowly, constantly distracted by outside tasks, began to turn toward the exploration of the networks created by Celesta and her assistants. The repression of the Morvanites was growing. Financial intelligence, previously focused solely on the capitals of large feudal lords and other states, intensified. Hunters of the undead reappeared in the city, but this time they were in no hurry to make contact...

Naturally, there was a response to human actions. Zervan's and Latham's subordinates periodically captured and destroyed squads of temple servants both in the depths of the dungeons and on the surface. The Mistress shuffled the pool of cultists and loyalists available to her, hastily building new layers between the risens and mortal society, effectively creating dozens of independent groups. Few of them would survive, but the rest would be able to work without the supervision of the "spiders". Medea was responsible for the greatest amount of work. She secretly met with influential aristocrats, argued with Tulak and his deputies, seductively flirted with officials from the administration, and intrigued, intrigued, intrigued. The rest of the elders became the community's stick - Medea showed the carrot.

There was a rustling sound from the next room, the sound of metal falling from a height. The three Elders instantly dropped their conversation and hurried to the door. Hustin's underground laboratory, where they were now located, was equipped with rooms for a variety of activities, directly or indirectly related to magic. One of them was for mind-control exercises or resting overstretched sensors. Exactly what Celesta needed after a heavy ritual.

The Mistress didn't look very well. Even worse than before she watched the stolen memories. It's one thing just to get the information, and another to process it. The second is much more difficult and requires more effort.

"Well, what can I say, my dear comrades..." Celesta gratefully accepted the goblet of wine and drank nearly half of it in one fell swoop. The risens, though undead, were in great need of liquid. "We'd underestimated the enemy. Until recently, Ruarchidh had been sitting on the "spiders" hooks and snitching them regularly."

"It can't be!"

Unlike Medea, who cried out, the men were silent. Hustin, because he had always stayed aloof and did not take the community's victories and defeats to heart unless they affected his interests. Though his attitude had changed slightly recently, the effect of his much more frequent and intimate interaction with the other risens. The knight was a different matter. This one froze as if petrified, reeking of such concentrated rage and lust for a murder that Celesta shuddered and pulled back.

"Calm down, Latham. After all, we expected something like this."

"He knows almost all our plans," the aristocrat hissed through tightly clenched fangs.

"Not lately. Besides, the state of siege had cut off his communication channel. His immediate supervisor, thanks the purges in the service, has retired, and he may not have had time to pass anything on to the new one. In short, there is a good chance that humans really believe in my demise, rather than playing their own game."

"He must be arrested."

"Right now." the Mistress agreed. "Just don't kill him by accident."

Latham bowed briefly and not walked out as rushed out of the meditation chamber.

"I don't believe it." Medea crouched on the edge of the fancifully shaped wide bed on which the weakened telepath lay, leaning forward slightly, lending credibility to her words. "Not Ruarchidh! He's one of the Oldtimers. We've tested him in every way imaginable!"

"It's hard to argue with facts," Celesta shrugged slightly. Medea stood up immediately, adjusting the cushions, sensing her sister's discomfort. "Ruarchidh is mentioned explicitly in two of Laar's memoirs that I have processed, and four more mentioned facts are known to a very limited group. Ruarchidh is one of them. I would like to know what he was caught up in..."

The warlock finally got down to business. He put a batch of vials on the floor, went somewhere for a while, returned with a goblet half-full of pure water, and began pouring the potions, preparing a stimulating mixture. In between, he remarked:

"Logic suggests that words can be interpreted in different ways."

"Not when the conversation is direct. Laar was unfamiliar with operational work and demanded that the real names of the agents be given to him."

Should she consider the information she had received sufficient? After a brief reflection, Celeste decided that it was. The multi-pronged and costly operation had not yielded the expected result. The risens still did not know the plans of the Chancellor and his henchmen. But they got the name of the "mole" who had been leaking information to the side for centuries. Now, in hindsight, some of the failures and unpleasant awareness of the former leaders of the Service in a number of areas of the risens become clear. But the traitor could have remained uncaptured for a long time: no one suspected him.

That's a shame. Bitter. Why didn't he ask for help? What was he hooked on?

We'll find out soon.

The morning left a tinge of disappointment on the tongue. The Ruarchidh that Latham had delivered (the Elder had brought it in a carefully packed bale. He didn't doubt for a moment that his Mistress was right) was locked up briefly, mostly because Celeste had threatened to chain him in a special "strict" cell and personally gut his memory. Not now, but in five days, when she'd fully recovered her strength and sorted out her business.

The story of betrayal was obscenely banal. First an extra date with relatives, then a framed victim, a beggar, recruitment, the first report, the second, more serious tasks, a rebel who died solely because of the denunciation of a traitor ... The one claw stuck and the whole bird was lost. Although there were personal motives. Ruarchidh, like many of his kind, considered himself unappreciated and counted on his place as an Elder in the Inner Circle. Of course, I deserve more. Yes, I'm sure. No, why? It's just that I'm smarter and stronger, and... I swear I didn't mean to! Why didn't I tell you everything, Mistress? Well, I thought I could get out of it sooner or later... Idiot.

It is not certain that the "spiders" had only one mole. More cause for worry.

After listening to the loser's confession, Celesta ordered him locked up and went to sleep. She did not have the strength to plan anything. She found out the main thing - Ruarchidh hadn't had time to inform his masters that she was alive. The rest would have to wait until tomorrow.

The time when the risens all slept together, crammed into the lowest levels of the catacombs and covering the only entrance to the filthy hole with a heavy slab of stone is not yet forgotten. The Elders know the value of comfort, unlike the youngsters who have come for everything. Though the depth of burrowing, figuratively speaking, has not changed over the centuries - vampires still chose the least accessible places for humans to hide out for the day. And they defended them with paranoid care, setting elaborate traps at the entrances, solidly camouflaged doors, and allowing the carefully arranged abode of the select few. It was often practiced to create false dwellings, slipped to observers from the "spiders" as the main dwellings. Even Medea, a seemingly ostentatious socialite, used the bedroom of her mansion exclusively for meetings with young men she liked. She rested in a real bunker, in the basement.

To enter a shelter without an invitation was to cause serious offense to the master. The risens jealously defended their territory and reacted nervously even to unexpected visits from elders. There are reception rooms, offices, some prototypes of public halls - and there are private chambers, where the closest and no one else is allowed. It was a rule crystallized over the centuries and was sacrosanctly observed by all. It was rarely violated.

Hustin, who brought an outsider to Celeste's secret hideout, must have had more than good reason for such an action.

Of course, the warlock did not go into the bedroom, but stayed in the large living room, a kind of vestibule for the few visitors. Place where she was at her most vulnerable, Celesta defended herself in every way she could. Both magical and mechanical. So for quite some time the Mistress did not react to the two risens sitting behind a thick layer of stone and three reinforced plates of armor, inadvertently called doors, and she rested well for the first time in a long time. Lying on the wide cushioned bed (the room was furnished by the ubiquitous Medea), she allowed herself a little slumber and no hurry. Thoughts of how things were going in the younger communities, of contacting Gardomann, of giving Zervan orders to lay low in his flock, of unnecessarily high losses, and of killing nearly half his retinue, rolled over lazily in her head. He's competing with Latham, he's got his hands on the "real business.".

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

The serenity faded away as if it had never existed, as soon as she heard the loud voices behind the first, outer door. Reality reminded her not to relax. Celesta didn't know what had happened yet, but a keen premonition of trouble made her freeze and listen. At that moment the Mistress, seen by an outsider, looked strikingly like a snake preparing to strike. Cautious. Clenched in a tight ball. Despite her outward stillness and dark eyes, she was feverishly calculating her options, trying to guess what Hustin might have wanted and why it was the sorcerer who had come to her, not Latham, her faithful nursemaid. The other one moved differently and didn't look like a bodyguard.

Hurriedly dressing and - just in case - taking a stimulant, Mistress left the bedroom.

"Hastin? Kalderan?" She looked even more alarmed at the sight of the sorcerer's companion. "What are you doing here?"

She was still ambivalent about the renegade. Kalderan turned out to be smart, strong, communicative, and able to keep his mouth shut and speak exactly as much as necessary for the cause. An uncommon personality. At the same time, he did not get too close to anyone and did not say anything specific about himself, each time deftly shifting the conversation to other topics. After the first outburst of frankness caused by his successful escape from the mad priest, Kalderan was surprisingly quick to calm down and be quiet, trying hard to understand where he was and what to do now. He did not impose, did not refuse to help anyone, and did not ask unnecessary questions that might arouse suspicion. Very thoughtful and very correct behavior.

Mistress did not consider him an agent of mortals. But she did not dare to approach him either, despite his obvious potential. He was a very murky man.

"Kalderan thinks the priests want to destroy the Academy," Hustin blurted out.

Celesta turned her gaze silently to the renegade. He bowed in a Southern manner, holding his right hand to his heart.

"I have reason to believe that a serious provocation is being prepared against the mages."

"Reasons?"

"The recent actions of several palace factions cannot be explained by other reasons." The risen watched firmly, with a willingness to answer for his words. "Moreover, there are several facts directly pointing to an imminent confrontation with the Academy."

Without saying a word, she sat down in an armchair and nodded to the guests on the low sofa opposite. Well, Hustin's condition is understandable. For him, the Academy is if not the whole sense of life, then at least half of it.

"The beginning of my line of reasoning was the story of a homeless man. He was drinking away the money he got from a benefactor in the tavern," Kalderan said at length. "A small sum, but a regular handout for no apparent reason. Altruism, which is not typical of rich people, attracts attention, and I decided to meet a generous man. He did not, however, respond. But I found out that in the last two months, in the port, as well as in the poorest parts of the city, there are people who gather gangs of hobos around them, occasionally giving them money, but without demanding any work in return. At the same time, there is serious ideological pumping, the leaders of the groups are actively preaching and are closely associated with young cults - the Blue Ang, the Sun, the Dragon of Heaven, and others of less importance."

Zervan reported them, Celesta recalled. But our sources in the temples didn't tell us anything concrete at the time, and then the oddities of mortals were no longer an issue.

"I was unable to learn anything of substance from the priests; my questions only aroused suspicion," Kalderan continued. "But I've counted the number of preachers, estimated the number of "meat" in each group, and concluded that the temples now have a core of ten or twelve thousand hungry people, which could create a good crowd of pogroms in a day. If they were armed, even with simple weapons, and the guards neutralized, it would be unrealistic to suppress the riots in the Capital before the troops arrived."

Mistress nodded faintly in agreement. The newcomer's face relaxed almost imperceptibly, and he, emboldened, spoke more calmly and confidently:

"Considering that there are three infantry and three cavalry regiments stationed around Taleya, not counting the guards in the capital itself and the cohorts of the closest feudal lords, there seems to be no need to worry. These troops are enough to suppress any rebellion, the more so as the garrisons of the neighboring provinces can always be brought up. All it takes is the political will. The Chancellor has no fear of blood; he would not hesitate to give the order to crush the rebels so, at first glance, there is no sense in starting a riot. That's what I thought until I found out about the latest reshuffle in the army."

"At the moment, absolutely all the units on the four-day journey from Taleya are commanded by people who are members of Rakawa's party and loyal to him. The noblemen's retinue can be disregarded - they are few in number and do not affect the situation as a whole. Over the past four months, the insufficiently enthusiastic warlords have either been reassigned to the outskirts of the kingdom or have been retired along with their protégés. Thus, it can be argued that the Son of the Sea, or rather his right hand, is able to conduct any operations in the center of the country unimpeded, and the opposition will not be able to interfere with them. Or, at least, not quickly interfere."

"The desire to take the army on a short leash is quite natural," shrugged Celesta. "Especially with the generals almost becoming fiefdom dukes. And I haven't heard the promised proof about the Academy yet."

"The undeserving only wished to show the noble Mistress which way his thoughts were flowing," Kalderan apologized floridly. Without much remorse in his voice, though. "So, on the one hand, the rogue mobs are waiting to pounce on whoever they're prey to, and on the other, the total control of a force capable of incubating a riot. This is an important point."

"Now why do I believe the operation is directed against mages."

"First, the purpose of propaganda. There is persistent gossip among the people that all recent events are directly or indirectly the fault of mages. The most ridiculous rumors are spread, accusing the teachers of the Academy of various crimes. All of the townsfolk's misfortunes are attributed to witchcraft and the divine wrath inflicted as punishment for it, with frequent references to the Cataclysm. The high priests of the three temples referred in their sermons to the Plague of the Magi, and there has recently been a joint prayer for the remembrance of the victims of witchcraft."

"Secondly, in the past month, eight relics, in fact, powerful artifacts previously-stored in other cities in the kingdom, have been brought to the city. According to Maestro Hustin, they can be used to overcome the protection imposed on the Academy. They are brought at the behest of the faithful, though they have never left their designated holy places before."

"Third, in the last six months, there has not been a single clash between supporters of different deities, although in the previous decade there were regular clashes. Apparently, the priests are holding back the flock. And finally, one last thing. The day before yesterday, Maestro Tyran did not receive an invitation to a meeting of the Royal Council."

Kalderan became silent, his shocking report finally over. The most frustrating thing was that almost all the information the stranger had voiced had already been reported to Celesta, only in an unconnected form. It never occurred to her to put them together. Probably inertia of thought - the Academy seemed to her something eternal, immutable. Mistress did not consider the option in which power would want to destroy one of its pillars; even now, after all, she had heard, she had to force herself to assess Kalderan's words dispassionately, rather than dismiss them as delusional.

The problem was that the individual pieces of the mosaic were adding up, coming together. The scenario seemed logical. Mages, as an organized force, hindered the current rulers of the country. That's why they decided to get rid of the mages.

"I wish I could mock you, but I can't," Celesta admitted dryly. "You sound disgustingly reasonable."

"Forgive me if I have distressed you, noble mistress," the Southerner bowed.

"You shouldn't be. If the riots had started suddenly, I would have been more upset."

"I think we should report everything to Maestro Tyran," Hastin interjected, sitting tensely. "Now. I'll call him on the mirror."

"Do you think he'll believe you?" Celesta asked skeptically. "As if you don't know how stubborn the old man is. I'll talk to him myself."

Come to think of it, the sorcerer gave his mistress a pleasant surprise. No matter how nervous he was, no matter how he felt about the Academy and the teacher, he still came to Celesta first. And now he sat, waiting for her decision. It was a pleasure.

It was also good that the first stupor had passed, and the brains began to work and begin reason. It looks like the academics will have to be pulled out - a natural ally, after all.

"If a final decision is made about the mages, only escape can save them. The temples, the army, some of the nobility, the support of the Son of the Sea... there's no way to withstand such an alliance. They must either flee to Zonna - Prince Kono is sure to take advantage of the situation to shelter the survivors - or flee to the neighboring countries. The second option is less fortunate: wizards aren't liked outside the kingdom. So it's Zonna."

"Hustin, find Merck, and together you will work out the route and logistics. More than a hundred people are studying at the Academy, and it will be very difficult to smuggle them all, so we'll start preparing right now. You're in charge of the catacombs. You know how much crap we've set there, and Latham's squad is too busy to clean it up. So you and your zombie are gonna have to take down the traps and exorcise the demons. Go on, then."

Emboldened by the realization that Mistress had taken responsibility on her frail but extremely resilient shoulders, the Elder leaped out the door. Now, with clear instructions and some certainty about the future, he was reassured and ready to act. For a moment Celesta envied the wizard - her position did not allow for shifting decision-making to others, and in general, the simplicity of existence was not assumed. Right now, for instance, she had to figure out what to do about Kalderan. In principle, there should be a reward for his help. But how? How can you reward a talented rebel, whose desires you know nothing about and whose loyalty you doubt?

"Kalderan, you seem to have saved us a great deal of trouble," Celesta said to the Southerner. "I'd like to return the favor. What do you want?"

"The noble mistress knows that I have nowhere to go back to. The city where I lived for many years is destroyed; the risens community has been destroyed. Here in Taleya, under the rule of the many-worthy, I hope to find a place that will make a new home for me. For nowhere else in the land do the undead feel such peace for their future. They are poisoned, hunted, forced to live in filthy dens, and destroyed upon sight. I want to serve someone who has managed not just to survive - but to survive by creating. You have created a state of the risens, uniting them into one people; mortals bow before you, they revere and love you; your will makes the rulers of men retreat. Only in Taleya have I met risens who do not merely wish to know their own nature, but who make real efforts to do so. Is there any place more admirable? And my merits, noble mistress, will be justly appreciated, and if you will use them as you see fit, that is the only reward I ask for."

Celesta generally liked the speech. He was moderately flattering (unlike some people who can go on for half an hour), reminded me of his plight and managed to save face, and mentioned his and the hostess's virtues. Indeed, he could become very useful. Only let the potential subject first answer a number of questions.

"Kalderan, you've been a guest in Taleya until now. A welcome guest, for if you had not told of our enemy's imminent arrival, there is no telling what he might have done. In any case, many men would have died, and many risens would have died a second death. The worst was averted, and that is why the whole community considers you our friend. But now you want to change your status, to become one of us. I am glad to hear that. But my subjects, especially those aspiring to high status, are subject to far stricter requirements than outsiders." Celesta paused for a moment and finished in a much drier tone. "For example, I am extremely wary of rebels who have dangerous secrets from me. The community should not have to pay the debts of others."

"Noble Mistress, all you have to do is ask a question, and I will answer it without uttering a word of lies!"

Well phrased. After all, in order to ask, you must first know what to ask. Well, let's keep trying.

"Hustin knows how to determine the age of the undead." Mistress was pleased to catch a slight flash of panic from her interlocutor. "Not very accurately, the range is about fifty years. However..."

The rest is unnecessary. Kalderan lied about his age, which both of his interlocutors knew. What would he do now? If he continues to insist that he's not hiding anything, there's nothing to talk to him about. But it would make sense to put observers on him, or even to send him out of town, offering to settle in any of the smaller communities. Will he start lying, dodging the truth? Well, it depends on what he says. Even outright lies can yield useful information. What Celesta wasn't afraid of at all was an attack. For one thing, the southerner avoided violence and preferred to get his way through intrigue and deception, and for another, she feared nothing at all in her sanctuary. After countless rituals and incantations, the stone walls were imbued with her power, forming one mighty protective harness. Neither man nor risen could harm her here, scattered to ashes by her mistress' magic.

To Kalderan's credit, he was quick to calculate his options.

"I swear that I have underestimated my real age without malice, Noble Mistress," he had the conscience to bow low in an act of shame. "Many of the risens I knew, when they heard that I remembered times before the Wrath of the Gods, were very distraught, or, on the contrary, looked at me as if I were a miracle. They expected revelations or incredible powers and were angry when I did not live up to their expectations. So I got used to hiding the truth. I beg you to forgive me for this mistake, which was made in good faith and out of habit."

Celesta nodded politely during her heartfelt speech, then remarked:

"It's very noble of you to care about the feelings of others. I suppose there is an equally simple and reasonable explanation for the other inconsistencies we have noticed in your biography, isn't there?"

"Of course it is. May I ask," the Southerner asked cautiously, "what particular ambiguities does the noble Mistress Celesta wish to know about?"

"There are too many to list individually, and I have yet to have a difficult conversation with an ancient and damn stubborn wizard. So we'll keep it simple." The ruler of the undead rose from her chair, and a tense Kalderan jumped to his feet. "I'm going into the next room to talk to Maestro Tyran through the mirror. And when I return, I hope to hear a full and frank account of your past, this time without any omissions or reticences. Then we will discuss your request again."

That's it. Not knowing what and how much Celeste knows, Kalderan will face a difficult choice: either tell everything as it is, withholding the bare minimum, or say goodbye to his desire to join the Taleya community. The terms on which he is accepted are clear. The mistress would not have put anyone else within such rigid limits. But given the Southerner's age, his abilities, education, survivability, and other qualities that had allowed him to create a new network of agents in months, and an effective one at that, she could not have done otherwise. This is not a green rookie who just rise.

The requirements for a potential candidate for the Inner Circle are much higher.

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