Chapter 4

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People have forgotten much of the achievements of a bygone era; they have consciously abandoned much of it. From sewage and hygiene - they could not. To the great happiness of the townspeople, despite a large number of horses, one could walk along the sidewalks without fear of getting into a pile of manure, and the streets were cleaned quickly and promptly. Every morning, the janitors went through their sections, shoveling the accumulated waste into special places, from where it was partly taken out of town and partly washed into storm drains, only to find its way through the complicated paths to the nearest river. Sometimes, of course, there were exceptions; a horse would break a leg and then be slaughtered in the middle of the street and then wait a few days for it to rot before being dismembered into pieces. If the owner had a tag permit from the administration, the municipality would take care of the removal; otherwise, the costs were borne by the owner's purse.

Sometimes, however, things were simpler.

"They're having a party tonight," Celesta nodded at the flock of waifs swarming around the horse carcass. "They can eat their fill of meat, and sell the hide and bones to the slaughterhouse. They'll get dirty, of course, but they're used to it."

"Does Messena care about the realities of life for the commoners?"

"Messena vaguely remembers a society in which children were necessarily taken care of by adults. Street children did not exist at all."

Latham shrugged slightly. He had been indoctrinated with an entirely different morality; he saw nothing strange in the murder of the inferior by the superior, nor in the ragged children starving to death in the market squares. By his standards, the Mistress had, at times, shown utterly inordinate humanity. As well as equally inhuman cruelty.

"Dare I ask where we are going?"

"To the street of Northern Lights. I want to see what they're selling."

"Is it wise...?"

"Come on, Latham, no one will recognize us there. We're shielded from mystical vision, and the chances of meeting someone we know are slim. And even if they do, so what? It's nearly midnight."

For two elders, one of whom specialized in mental influence, it is not difficult to cloud the mind of a crowd or an individual. It's even easier for a crowd. In daylight, it might not work, but at night? The victim's magical powers won't seriously change the situation.

The street of Northern Lights got its current name after the mages who fled from persecution began to open trading shops on it. Many small nobles had estates left in the north, confiscated, ruined, or simply unable to get money from them, so they did what they could. Most, of course, went into the army to fight for the rebel prince, while the rest sought other ways to provide for themselves and their families. Trade was considered unseemly, and attitudes toward magic ranged from neutral to sharply averse. Nevertheless, some dared to sell weak amulets and alchemy of their own making.

There were few good mages among them. There are generally few of them, the average skill level is still woefully low, and children with magical abilities are sought after from an early age by priests whose status in society is more prestigious. And yet, it suddenly turned out that the crafts were in great demand and sold, despite the dubious quality. Looking at the success of the starters, they were joined by their colleagues - the same poor nobles who differed from the common artisans only by their origin and gift. Gradually the street grew, the skill of the artifactors improved and they became rich.

Despite the late hour, the place was bright. Every shop necessarily installed a powerful lamp in front of the entrance, which served, in addition to attracting attention, as a kind of warranty of quality. It showed that the local owner was strong magically and experienced enough to enchant an item. The neighbors didn't allow them to exhibit fakes or someone else's work - the locals tried to keep up their mark and gladly drowned unsuccessful competitors.

"Look how many people there are," Celesta said.

"Tradition, Messena. Nobles do not like to get up at dawn, their day is shifted to nighttime. Merchants are drawn to follow."

"Consider, too, that ordinary townspeople are not rich enough to buy candles or lamp oil regularly. If they had cheap light sources, they'd be in bed longer, too. Where do we go?"

"Where Messena wants to go, I have no preference."

"If that's the case, then to the nearest shop. Right here."

In Zonna, too, they hung "spirit bells" at the entrances, a set of tiny tubes that sounded like they were supposed to ward off evil. They did not affect vampires, unlike the signs that adorned the walls of almost every building. But it wasn't enough to scratch out the signs; they had to be placed in the right order, preferably in the right place, at the right time. A good caster will also recite an ancient incantation that imprints the symbols in stone or wood, giving them additional strength. Few people adhered to the rules, so it was generally easy for vampires to find their way into the marketplace. And, for unknown reasons in public places the symbols weakened quickly and lost their power.

"What can I do for you, sir, ma'am?" The pomaded clerk jumped up at once.

Latham looked at him with displeasure - he did not like the local fashion of men to paint their faces - and Celesta realized that it was up to her to communicate with the salesman.

"My uncle and I aren't looking for anything in particular," she smiled sweetly. "We heard a lot about the unsurpassed art of the Northern Lights artisans back home, so we thought we'd stop by and take a look. What have you got?"

"Oh, we have just about anything that might interest a young lady!" the clerk rolled his eyes. "This way!"

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While the "mask" was asking questions and going through the trinkets, Celesta herself was trying to assess the goods on display under the glass windows. An expensive pleasure, by the way - not many people can afford to install glass, even if it's cloudy. The Mistress was not a magician in the full sense of the word; even in blood magic, a section created by Hustin at the intersection of classical ritualism and vampire abilities, she had only mastered the initial stages. There was never enough time. But her knowledge and abilities allowed her to roughly check the workings of the artifacts, enough to give her a verdict.

Not very good. Not quite garbage, but not the highest level either.

The seller was not lying about the wealth of choice. There were about sixty poison-analyzer rings alone, in all sizes and to any taste. For men and women, there were gold and plain-looking bronze ones, with and without stones. Nearby were bracelets with the same function, similar ones, only with shield charms, pins to ward off the evil eye, and much more. A separate cabinet was set aside for elixirs, mostly cosmetic, though a row of universal ones lined the lower shelf - healing, stimulating, night vision. The vampiress bowed her head and whispered, her eyes narrowed toward Latham: "Do you have anything for combat? Preferably in a gift box?"

"Alas, ma'am," the clerk answered just as quietly. "We don't sell any of those things. At the end of the street, go to the Red Shield; they specialize in the sale of everything related to military affairs."

"I'll take this pendant to go with my blue dress, and this pretty bracelet," Celesta announced with a nod. "Uncle, I've got it!"

Without saying a word, Latham, who was standing bored at the side, came over, looked at the purchases, turned his gaze to the merchant, and raised an eyebrow questioningly. One, the right one. Merchant answered instantly: "Six gold pieces, noble lord!"

"Blessed," Latham corrected him. The clan magic did not abandon the undead son, the altar of ancestors accepted the sacrifices made, so the nobleman did not refuse the family name, even if he did not voice it aloud.

The bowed back sagged even lower.

"Please forgive the foolishness of the unworthy, the insignificant dust beneath the feet of the blessed of the higher good!"

"Your money," the coins were placed on the padded counter. "Come, Celia."

After picking up their purchases, the mistress and her faithful companion made their way to the recommended Red Shield. The seller was not deceived - at first glance this shop really contained everything necessary in the dangerous warrior craft. Armor, weapons, attacking, defensive and support artifacts, various potions for people and horses, enchanted harnesses, tents, and there was even a fortified wagon in the yard. Most of the work here was made to order, though samples hanging on the walls were sold without question. Mistress counted a hundred pieces of knives alone. The owners were justifiably wary of thieves - the merchandise was probably worth thousands of gold pieces, more expensive than many baronies - so they didn't skimp and hired a good craftsman to install an alarm system. Only it was not aimed at vampires, but simply at those who came with hostile intentions.

Latham was in earnest at this point. He did not need elixirs, his mages provided the guards with everything they needed, but he stuck to the weapon racks. Celestф did not disturb him. She, too, was quite good at weapons and armor, it just seemed strange if a girl with her looks started discussing the quality of enchantment of any sword or spear on a professional level. Strangeness attracts attention.

About half an hour later, she decided it was time to distract the helper.

"Uncle," sang the Mistress in a sweet voice. "Perhaps you should come here later and not alone."

Latham stopped in mid-sentence and looked around with mild surprise.

"Indeed. I think I will, Celia," he reluctantly returned the clerk a slightly smaller pair of gauntlets that fit him. "I will need to equip ten men. The order will not be ready until we leave Zonna. Can you send it to Taleya?"

"Of course, Messen, we often do that."

"In that case, see you tomorrow."

With respectful bows (the shopkeepers were quick to estimate the caliber of fighter they were visiting), they left the shop and headed further down the street. There were fewer people and no one was listening, so the risens spoke freely.

"While you were looking at the assortment, I got one of the clerks talking. The Red Shield's main customers are not so many noblemen as demon hunters. By the way, notice how the terminology has changed over the centuries: first, they were called monster hunters, then they were undead hunters, and now they're demon hunters. Though their prey is the same creatures."

"It's quite natural, Messena. At first, people remembered that the same wolfhounds or gobblers were of earthly origin and had nothing to do with mysticism. Then for a long time hunters were associated with the destruction of ghouls and those risens who dared to challenge your power. In recent centuries there have been fewer ghouls, on the one hand, while at the same time ordinary mortals see no difference between real demons and dangerous creatures with magical powers. Hence the confusion of names."

"I think so," Celesta agreed, and then she changed the subject. "So you appreciate the skills of the local spellcasters."

"Not really, Messena," Latham answered abruptly. "Compared to our artifactors from the Dark Guild, they are not much better. In addition, our mages originally create things taking into account the differences in physiology, so in general, the goods from the "Red Shield" even lose. However, the locals, due to a large number of customers and high competition, which we do not have, have discovered a lot of useful little things. Let me give you an example. I just saw a knife with an ice spell embedded in it. We make the same kind here, but here they've managed to add the ability to draw energy from the wearer in addition to the basic spells. A seemingly insignificant little thing that will increase the frequency of the knife's use. And so in everything."

"That's why you decided to provide the Guard with an extra set of toys. Rimnar will eat your brain with a teaspoon," Mistress foretold. "To both of us."

A risen named Rimnar belonged to Elder Gardoman's retinue, where he was responsible, among other things, for financing the Guard. He was an excellent specialist, reliable, a pedant with a perfect memory, but also a terrible nuisance.

"He'll have to put up with it. We are too few to skimp on equipment."

"Absolutely... Which begs the question - shouldn't we buy a couple of squads of hunters?"

Latham looked at the thoughtful Mistress with surprise: "I'm afraid my mind can't keep up with the twists and turns of my blessed Mistress's mind."

"Because they, my thoughts, constantly revolve around the Seven Rivers," Celesta confessed. "I hadn't paid much attention to the region before, and now I realize that I should have. A mistake on my part. If there really are as many uprisings as the rumors say, we must find out why. Vampires are few, less than two thousand for the three kingdoms and principalities. At least five thousand are necessary for the sustainable development of the race."

"No matter what the future course of events may be, it is necessary to send explorers to the Seven Rivers. If the campaign happens, if it fails, or if it ends with a complete cleansing of the risens, we will have to ensure that our wizards can work. Consequently, we will need guards. Cultists would be useless, and we have no great fighting force, but demon hunters would be perfect. So why not buy up a couple hundred beforehand? The one-time contracts you make when you need them won't work in this case; we're talking about long-term cooperation."

"A small army of mortals will do the job," Latham admitted. "But they'll be tied up with us in no time."

"As far as I understand the traditions of the Land of Blueness, no one will touch the hunters as long as decorum is maintained," the Mistress remarked. "I'll have to check with Medea. It seems to me that they will be based in Blueness, but they will be working in other lands, in Taleya, in the Sultanate, in the Archipelago. In the steppe and beyond. If we can find common ground with the local Vigilantes, they'll cover us, too."

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