Chapter 6

They were almost late for a meeting with a client. It turned out that since early morning in the port of Elvart, a regiment of imperial infantry was unloaded, sent to strengthen the border. Many streets were blocked to clear the way for troops and baggage. Marching hundreds filed through the city, singing in unison "As the Angels Soar," a soldier's ditty so old that anyone involved in the military knew it. After a fair amount of winding through the alleys, having spent a lot of time at the crossroads, the magician and the elf finally reached the hotel, which was completely rented by Baron Tarakatos. Valria introduced the master to the employer, who measured Carlon with a glance and, apparently, was quite pleased.

- You, at least, look like a magician, - the girl whispered to the master, when the baron moved away to give instructions to the loaders. - Beard, belly, red eyes... Not enough hat. Such, spiky, like the Archchancellor's.

- The Archchancellor wears that hat because there's a flask of booze hidden inside it, - Carlon snorted. He himself learned the basics of magic in one of the military schools, and did not see the Archchancellor, but the habits of the head of the Imperial University were widely known. - You would also offer me to put on a mantle, with moons and stars.

The master tugged at the sleeves of his black-and-silver doublet — terribly old-fashioned, frayed at the elbows, but handsome enough. All the same, there was nothing more decent in the wardrobe of a magician. Valria did without a formal dress, she looked great in her usual suit. True, the captain changed her thick leather gloves to thin suede ones, with a black floral pattern embroidered on spacious gaiters. A sword hung on the elf's hip, serving more as a decoration - anyway, before the audience, any weapon had to be handed over. For the same reason, Carlon did not take anything with him, not even amulets. There will be less fuss during inspection.

They advanced to the palace in a small caravan of two wagons and a dozen horsemen. One of the carts carried a cage with a two-legged lizard brought from across the sea. The lizard sat on the floor and showed no signs of life, but it still attracted attention. The baron's people had to wave their whips away from the carts of overly curious townspeople, especially children. Valria, who was riding stirrup in stirrup with Carlon, now and then looked gloomily at the cage. Finally, leaning towards the magician, she said quietly:

- It's not an animal.

- In what sense? - the master also looked at the cart with the lizard. The prisoner raised his head and their eyes met. The creature's round eyes were glassy, like those of a doll, and expressed nothing.

- In the sense that it’s not a beast, - the elf repeated. - He's like me. Understand? Not human, but… human.

- Where did you get it from? - Carlon could not stand it, looked away first. Lizard immediately lowered his head, again became indifferent.

- That's noticeable. - Valria shrugged. - I don't know how you can't see it. He is a human. Just…different.

The girl looked unusually confused, bewildered. Carlon seemed to understand her feelings. The magician said carefully:

- You're not going to let him out, are you?

- Of course not. But... it would be wrong if he was sent to the zoo.

- Let's think about it later, okay?

- Okay, I convinced you. - The captain sighed. The rest of the way she was silent - and this, oddly enough, did not please Carlon.

The ducal palace of Elvart was built back in the days of the old empire, as the residence of the imperial governor. Which, of course, affected the architecture and scale - white marble, arches, high domes, round towers, an abundance of stained-glass windows. The complex of buildings, surrounded not by a wall, but only by a forged lattice, included the palace itself, the temple of the One Creator, an ancient theater, a rectangular square with fountains, many outbuildings, from the guardhouse and stables to baths and an observatory. It was not possible to defend all this; in wartime, the ruling family moved to a castle specially built south of the capital. But the city residence looked incredible. Greatness, frozen in white stone - other, less banal words Carlon did not come to mind.

Behind the fence, the group split up. Most of the gifts, including the cage with the lizard, were sent somewhere deep into the palace. The baron's men stayed with the wagons. Then Governor Tarakatos set off, accompanied only by Carlon, Valria, and a couple of servants. The servants carried on silver trays covered with cloth those gifts that the governor of the overseas colony planned to present to the duke personally. A detachment of twelve palace guards met the guests at the gate, led them through the square and the corridors of the residence. On marble stairs and carpeted passages they climbed to the very roof of the palace complex, to the carved double doors. An officer in a gilded breastplate, who was waiting near the doors, stepped towards them and held out his hand. Having accepted the swords of the Baron and Valria, he also silently bowed and stepped aside. Two of his subordinates opened the doors, and the guests finally entered the throne room, leaving their escorts outside.

The ensuing ceremonial bows Carlon performed, repeating after Valria - the captain knew the etiquette decently. Fortunately, for the military, the rules of etiquette were common, and the combat magician was equated in status with an officer. Having made all the necessary bows, getting down on one knee and rising again with the permission of the duke, the master looked around not without interest, trying not to turn his head too obviously. The oblong throne room was illuminated by two rows of arched stained-glass windows. Guards and servants lined up along the walls through one. At the far end of the hall, His Highness the Duke of Elvart, Gustav the Seventh, sat on a simple, low throne. He was a lean, bald man who looked younger than his fifty years. Carlon remembered that during the war the duke personally led plate cavalry to attack, and was even wounded by a bullet in the thigh, although by luck he did not go limp. Behind him were two men. The master knew the stately, gray-bearded old man in a white caftan - he was Magister Friedrich, the archmage, adviser and personal doctor of the ruling family. Carlon was much more interested in the second - a heavy bearded man in silver armor. He could not be anything but a ducal guard. In Elvart, as in the Empire, the personal guard of the ruler was formed in a very complicated way. When the heir to the throne was three years old, fifty orphans of the same sex and age were selected throughout the country. In subsequent years, they grew up with the heir, passing through the strictest selection and the most difficult training. Too weak, too stupid, too self-willed, too proud, simply not converging in character with the heir, left the palace. When the heir came of age, the rest took an oath of allegiance to him and became guardsmen. The future ruler received a small, but well-trained and fanatically loyal group of bodyguards who could both protect him personally and lead other guards. This system sometimes failed, but still, in the eyes of those around them, the guardsmen remained very unusual people. In fact, they were the embodied will of the crown bearer - after all, they, in theory, did not have their own desires and interests. Now Gustav the Seventh had only three guardsmen left - some of the guards died on the fields of the last war, others were not spared by age. His daughter and heiress, Princess Christina, was guarded by eight girls who had already taken an oath several years ago.

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- And now, Your Highness, with permission, I would like to present the trophies obtained by my soldiers in the settlements of the Ludrian savages. - It was evident that Baron Tarakatos had lost the habit of court ceremonies, and was burdened by them no less than Carlon. Barely waiting for permission, he gestured for the servants. They stepped forward, pulled the cloth off the trays. Kneeling down, they put the trays in front of them. Gold glittered on silver. About a dozen fine gold jewelry - necklaces, rings, pendants. Golden figurine of a man with diamond eyes. Several bone figurines of animals, as if intertwined with gold wire.

- And this is the work of savages? - the duke asked with more curiosity than doubt. - I've heard rumors that they're skilled with gold, but I didn't think they were that good.

- It is true, your highness, - the baron bowed his head. - Forest barbarians don't know how to forge iron, they wear skins and make weapons out of stone. But their craftsmen process the precious metal no worse than the imperial goldsmiths. Some tribal leaders told me that this art was taught to them by a mysterious people living in the depths of the mainland, in cities where even the walls of houses are covered with gold plates.

- I suppose you wished to verify their words, Baron? - Gustav waved his hand with a smile. Two young pages took the trays from the servants of Tarakatos, brought them to the throne.

- Alas, now it is impossible - said the governor, without raising his head. - It takes an entire army, well-equipped and trained, to pass through the damp forests of Ludria. I hope to receive it from the emperor. In addition, our settlements on the offshore islands are constantly threatened by Coalition ships. If a…

The baron failed to reach an agreement. There was a sound that Carlon did not expect to hear in the throne room of the ducal palace. The sound of breaking glass. A round hole had formed in one of the stained-glass windows to the left of the magician. A small cylinder that flew into it fell exactly in the middle of the hall. And exploded. A white flash hit the master's eyes, a deafening thunder screwed right into his ears... And then it became quiet and dark.

The life path of a combat mage includes a lot of not very pleasant things. No experienced soldier experiences as many different painful sensations as a magician, even if he has never been injured. Simply put, Carlon already had a wealth of experience with shell shock, temporary blindness and partial deafness. Feelings began to return quickly enough. First, the master realized that he was lying on the carpet, and the pile was digging into his cheek. Then he saw this carpet - red, with yellow stripes. Iridescent halos flashed before his eyes, but in general, vision worked. In the ears, the silence was replaced by a ringing, but the master decided that for now, his vision would be enough. With a groan, he got up on all fours and sat down. He slowly moved his head left and right - for some reason it turned out to be easier to move his head than his eyes. Guards, servants, guests were lying side by side around… Only one person was on his feet. Which was not in the throne room before the explosion. A tall man in a gray suit streaked with black, wearing a woven mask with slits for the eyes. With a confident step, as if in no hurry, he approached the throne, on which the duke was limp. Carlon opened his mouth to shout, to divert the stranger's attention to himself - but he did not hear his own voice. The masked man approached Gustav VIII, took out a wide dagger with a blued blade from the sheath on his belt, hit the ruler in the neck. With three skillful blows, he separated the head from the body, threw it to the floor. With the same quick, but not hasty step, he went to the broken window, through which, obviously, he got inside. Carlon noticed movement behind the throne. Magister Friedrich rose to his knees, shouted something, silently gaping his mouth, threw both hands forward. The killer was enveloped in a translucent cocoon - the archmage only by an effort of will, without the help of a magic item, created a powerful protective field around him. The masked man paused for a second. And then he took a step and just walked out of the transparent prison, as if it had never existed. Glancing over his shoulder, he threw the dagger exactly at the master's throat. Jumped up on the windowsill. He grabbed onto something, probably a very thin rope. And slid down.

Carlon's ears popped, hearing returned to him - although the ringing did not disappear. The people around also came to their senses. The Duke's Guard was the first to stand up, staggering over to the headless corpse on the throne, falling to his knees in front of him. The guards and pages, rising, also hastened to the body of the duke, one by one. Carlon did not join them. Instead, he rushed over to Valria, stretched out on the floor to her full height. The golden-haired elf did not moan, did not try to get up. She lay on her back perfectly still, her wide violet eyes staring blindly at the ceiling. Squatting next to her on his haunches, the master raised his hand to the girl's half-open lips. He felt the faint warmth of her breath and calmed down a little. Elven hearing is much finer than human hearing. The explosion, which deprived people of consciousness, could have killed the elf. Or cripple - but the magician did not notice that blood was flowing from Valria's ears. Of course, until she came to her senses, it’s too early to rejoice, but it seems that everything went without injuries. Carlon closed the girl's eyes, wincing inwardly - before he had only done this with the dead. Whispered:

- Don't you dare die. You still owe money for the bath.

The high doors opened and the throne room filled with soldiers in a blink of an eye. The guards, armed with short halberds, took the mage and the elf into the ring - as, indeed, Baron Tarakatos and his servants. Carlon looked around at them with a wry, helpless grin, asked:

- Can I first call the doctor, and then go to the dungeon?...