Rapsamash ran headlong through the mazes of green gardens in the direction where, in her opinion, the edge of the large square should have been.

— Catch the cat-girl! We need her alive!

The voice of the Commander from somewhere behind, the clang of the armor of his guards, the cries and exclamations of the palace inhabitants, the deafening beat of her heart – the sounds mixed, interfering with rational thinking. Raps still couldn't fully understand what had happened, but she knew for sure: to survive - she needed to run! Run to her people! She didn't feel the pain from the shards of glass that cut her hands and face, she didn't feel the pain in her legs from the fall, she felt only the cold metal of the blade that she held tightly in her hand. Her only chance to escape from the palace.

— The Vizier's been killed! Guards! Guards!! The Shardines have killed the Vizier!!

Unexpectedly for Rapsamash, the gardens ended with a solid and high white wall: no doors, no windows, just another fountain in a corner. Right behind her, it seemed, the square should have started, she just needed to get over it. The shouts of the guards somewhere behind were getting louder, there was little time, she needed to do something...

— Come on, Suiravka, don't let me down!

The blade stretched out, becoming like a whip with a hook at the end, and continued to lengthen for a while. The voices were very close: they were looking for her, searching every bush in the garden, they would be here soon. The metallic but flexible whip suddenly froze. Raps closed her eyes, clenched her fist, and imagined that Suiravka became even bigger, but the magic blade no longer changed. It can't get bigger? Or did she exhaust its power, and it can no longer change? The girl mentally ordered the whip to shrink - to her relief, it instantly reacted. Hoping that the current length of Suiravka would be enough to throw the hook onto the wall, Rapsamash stepped back a little further, swirling the long metallic whip in the air, and, swinging with all her might, launched it at the wall. And why didn't she think before that the whip somewhat reminded her of dancing fan ribbons?

— She's here! You, stop!

Several guards in purple cloaks finally caught up with her when she had already reached the middle of the wall, climbing up the taut whip. She needed to move faster! Raps closed her eyes, hoping that the blade and her imagination would not fail her again... and they did not fail: starting to shrink rapidly, Suiravka pulled the girl holding onto it up, straight onto the wall.

— What the... Take her down! To the walls, quick! Stay here! — The confused guard commander was spinning down below, giving orders to the rest.

— Murderers! — Right behind their backs appeared five other guards, with feathers on their spears and helmets.

Something utterly unimaginable began: the Vizier's guards suddenly clashed with the Commander's guards, completely forgetting about the fugitive. Raps, pausing only for a moment, looked in surprise at what was happening below, and ran along the wall, towards the already visible square. Jumping down was dangerous: the walls were higher from the outside of the palace, so she decided to first cover some distance on top, assessing the situation and trying to calm her own fear and confusion. Down below, a multitude of people, guards, and servants were bustling: some of them were purple guards leading somewhere away, some skirmishes had begun, some of the purple ones were trying to follow Raps, running parallel to the wall, shouting something and waving their hands. On the opposite side of the wall, the Commander's guards also came into motion, starting to line up across the streets. How many of them are there?! Did he bring a whole army here?! If only there weren't more sorcerers among them...

A sharp whistle. Right in front of the fugitive's feet, a short crossbow bolt stuck into the wall. Without stopping, she quickly looked in the direction from where they were shooting: several soldiers lined up in a row, having finished reloading the crossbows, were aiming at her. Volley! Rapsamash sharply jumped forward, sprawling on the wall: one of the bolts still cut her back, but she managed to avoid a direct hit. For now. Not waiting for the next volley, the girl rolled to the right and darted down off the wall.

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Gedar approached the lifeless body of his comrade-in-arms, kneeling on one knee. A grimace of surprise was imprinted on Fridrod's face, his glassy eyes were looking somewhere beyond.

— Forgive me, old friend, but your service is not yet over.

The Commander carefully removed a tiny vial of dark glass from his waist leather bag, uncorked it, and poured a few viscous drops of dark orange liquid into the partially opened mouth of the sorcerer. Now he had to give him a little time. Gedar got up, looked around the empty hall, and listened to the screams that came from the depth of the palace and gardens. Something incomprehensible was happening: he expected that the guard and the townspeople might go against the will of the representative of Eklat's authority, but not so soon. Perhaps, it was not worth getting rid of Pares so abruptly: The Vizier was loved and respected in this city almost more than the King himself. The damned Vizier... Made them wait a whole week, tantalizing them with promises of giving them slaves after the celebrations... He should have pressured him right away, everything would have gone smoothly. Although now, when a Runic Blade was discovered... The Rune Blade might be even more important than the ritual. The Commander sighed heavily. It's a tough situation. The brand on his neck was burning and pulsating as if trying to warn of something. He was taking risks, big risks. He knew well what happens if you try to chase two hares at once, but he had already started this chase. This whole venture had been prepared for many years, all his service to the King was for this day, and if Eklat finds out about the Preacher's plans - there would certainly be another Purge. His co-religionists had to spend a lot of resources, effort, and influence to organize this whole "visit", and if he fails now... No, as long as the Will guides him, everything will be as it should be. Surely it was His Will that arranged everything so that he waited for the appearance of the blade. Now he must not fail Him. There was still time before the ritual began, he needed to find the girl: if she gets killed, they would have to wait a couple of more generations before they could get the blade in their hands. Behind him, there were rustling sounds and a wheezy, erratic breathing. It's time to act.

Stolen novel; please report.

— Fridrod! How unfortunate, my friend, that conversations with you will no longer be as entertaining.

The skin of the sorcerer standing in the middle of the hall turned grayish-white, his eyes sunken, the sclera colored dark orange against which the dilated pupils looked like two bottomless pits. Fridrod, or what he had now become, was coughing up blood, feeling the wound on his chest and the thinned skin on his face.

— Find the girl, Fridrod, find her! And I will take care of the rest.

The sorcerer nodded, trying to say something, but instead of words, he only made wheezy sounds. With his emaciated hand, he took a handful of some white bones and fangs from his bag, and scattering them around him, began to make smooth passes with his hands in the air. Around the bones, streams of black smoke began to rise, enveloping the sorcerer in a dense cloud in just a few seconds. There was a hissing sound, as if someone had tried to put out a fire with water, and a moment later the cloud dispersed. Before Gedar were two black dogs, as if woven from this black smoke, almost reaching up to his shoulders. Fridrod, struggling to move his legs, walked to the window through which the cat-girl had jumped out, picked up blood-stained pieces of a light-blue dress from the floor, and presented them to the black dogs to sniff. As soon as they caught the scent, the dogs silently dashed through the broken window and disappeared into the depths of the garden.

— Well done, Fridrod, well done. I leave the girl to you, and I will take care of calming the locals. May His Will guide us.

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Seeing the cat-girl fall from the wall, people began to shout and scatter. The braver ones decided to come closer, but as soon as they saw the blood-stained blade, they retreated. The girl struggled to get up. The sharp pain almost made her lose consciousness, but gritting her teeth, she endured. Her legs didn't obey, her head was foggy, but she needed to run, run and warn her kin. Limping and clutching her right side, covered in blood and dirt, in a torn dress, Raps crossed the half-empty street and disappeared into an alley between houses. To her luck, every next step got easier, the pain slowly subsided. Raps noticed that her wounds from the glass shards had already healed and were no longer painful. If it wasn't for Suiravka... The locals, looking out from their windows, whistled at her and called the guards. Raps sped up. She needed to somehow hide her appearance and get to familiar streets, through which they had taken her to the palace. Behind her, she heard loud cries and the clatter of armor. They were close, they were coming for her. Somewhere further on, from the direction of the square, sounds of a frightened crowd were heard. The city was turning into a disturbed anthill. Going further into the alley and turning left, parallel to the square, Raps, limping, broke into a trot. She was lucky enough to grab a cloak from a stall on one of the streets, baring her teeth and threatening the stupefied merchant with the curved runic blade. The merchant shouted some curses at her, interspersed with threats and calls for the guard, but the girl didn't care. Like the guards in purple cloaks, who were going from house to house, knocking on doors and taking people away. Wrapped in the gray fabric of the cloak, Raps carefully ran from house to house. Soon, she reckoned, she should get to the streets through which she was taken to the palace, and from there... A clear bell rang over the city. The girl froze for a moment: it was too early, too early! There's no time! She must run faster! No longer caring about being inconspicuous, she rushed forward through the alleys, trying to orient herself on the fly in the maze of streets. Why, what happened? The Commander had said they needed an hour! Maybe the guards didn't obey him? Run, run, run! Her people could fall into a trap if she didn't warn them in time. Mama, Arti, Uncle Sangar! She needs to save them!

The bell did not cease, rhythmically proclaiming the death of the ruler. She ran forward, ignoring frightened and confused people and even guards with feathers rushing somewhere across her path. Raps was about to attack one of them, to force her way through, when suddenly one of the townsfolk, frozen on the threshold of his house, began to scream hysterically, pointing somewhere behind the girl. She looked back for a moment: two huge black hounds, two dogs as if made from the darkness itself, were rushing down the street at high speed. Horrified, Raps ran forward with all her might, ignoring pain and disguise. Her cloak flew off her head, and several guards did notice her, but it was too late: she was already running past, and two monsters were rushing right at them. The girl managed to notice how they thrust their spears forward to meet the enemy, and a few seconds later the sound of impact, the crack of broken spears, the crunch of crushed armor, screams of horror reached her, all this under the incessant cacophony of the disturbed city's rumble and the distant bell toll.

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Gedar felt uneasy: the plan was suddenly falling apart, the brand on his neck was burning. Apparently, Pares' guard had reached the bell, and now the whole city would be on alert. It seemed that an open conflict was inevitable. He put on his plate helmet with a metallic spiked crest and left the palace to the square where his soldiers awaited him. Almost all the people he trusted, almost all those who obeyed him, shared his Faith. And the majority of those who did not - they were eliminated on the way to Derinrond. Under his command were almost six cohorts, and all of them were now here in the city, dispersed... but also scattered. He needed to quickly provide them with new orders before the local guard became a more serious problem. Messengers were needed. Right in front of him now stood three ranks, ten men each, well-trained and reliable fighters, ready for any deeds for the sake of their Faith.

— City map, now!

— Right away, sir!

One of the soldiers stepped out of the line, handing the Commander a rolled-up scroll. Gedaru unfolded it and began to scrutinize the map depicted on the scroll.

— Fain, how many men do we have at the gates?

— Thirty at each, plus ten at the western for checking caravans.

— Have you already sent messengers with orders to close the gates?

— Yes, sir, the messengers have already left.

— Send more, but first we need to deal with the guards - they have turned against us. Everyone who does not share our Faith - enemies. But! — The Commander raised his index finger and looked over the unfolded map, — Every life must become a sacrifice, and we need to preserve as many as possible for the ritual. And one more thing: where are the catfolks kept in this city?

— To the east of here, sir, about two miles from the palace where the mines start.

— Send men there, two dozen should be enough. Men can be eliminated, but do not touch any women or children, bring all to me.

— Yes, sir, as you command.

— Everyone else - seize the townsfolk, and everyone to the barnyard square! Ensure no one interferes with us. Discharged!

— Yes, sir! — the soldiers in purple cloaks chanted in unison, after which they split and ran in different directions in three ranks.

Gedar looked up at the sky. The noon sun illuminated the neat square houses with flat roofs with its rays. It was stuffy and hot in the armor. It's clear why the locals prefer not to wear plate mails. The Commander turned and briskly headed West towards the barnyard square, where Zerdraba should have already been preparing everything for the ritual. And by sunset, there would not be a single soul left in the city. Such was His Will.