Chapter 9

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Leaning against the wooden column supporting the ceiling, Medea looked out at the people resting in the courtyard. They, in turn, watched the five old men engaged in rather strange activity. Dipping broad, long brushes into buckets of water, they were scribbling poetry on the dry and clean slabs of gray stone. A very ancient custom, coming from somewhere in the East and carefully preserved in troubled times. The water will dry up, and the messages will ascend to heaven to please the gods. Perhaps the gods would take notice of those who wrote... Aristocrats, the vampiress thought. - Only they can waste their time on an activity as beautiful as it is pointless.

From somewhere in the distance came the sound of music, and a thin child's voice began to rumble on and on. Medea smiled indulgently and sadly. With each passing year, the skill of Singing was fading. She, despite her best efforts, could not oppose the decline alone. The general level of culture was falling, the ancient canons were being forgotten, even the classically educated members of the blessed clans were not reciting by heart, as in the old days, "The Tale of the Flying" or "The Song of Haara the Suffering." Temple dancers performed at feasts in violation of millennia-old regulations; poets wrote hymns to deities and inn songs with equal ease; stone carvers, in violation of all tradition, sculpted busts of disenfranchised merchants. There was no such thing before. There was art dedicated to the gods and available only to their descendants on earth. And there was low, mundane Art - a craft that was often lucrative, but served no more than to entertain the crowds.

The line between them was gradually blurring. The inevitable interpenetration of cultures so said her sister.

Medea, bitter as it was, was unable to fight the decline of tradition. She did not even know the Air Canon in its entirety, to say nothing of the other canons! In her long years of acquaintance with the masters of the ruling house, she had managed to learn a little of the Water Canon, but she knew that her voice belonged to a different element. She could never fully master the "water" range, she had a different timbre, not suitable for hymns dedicated to Derkana, she was not able to create and curb the dense, flexible squalls of sound with the same ease with which she weaves the finest lace of her element. Let the power of the gods cease to respond to the call of the mages - the singers, though not always, could still attract the attention of their divine patrons. High art has its power, inaccessible to measurement, no matter with what instrument.

Among the multitudinous crowd of those who flashed before her eyes in the hope of favor, there were seldom any worthy of attention. They pretended to be creators, unable to create something truly beautiful. Proud of poetry, not realizing that everything they created is not worth a single line of a long-dead poet. They staged performances, turning the heart-touching stories about love, betrayal, hatred into a farce... They threw away the old, not being able to create anything new. Medea despised them. But every once in a while, amidst the slag, a diamond was found. An uncut talent, capable of shining with its many transparent facets under the skillful hand of a master, instantly attracting admiring glances from connoisseurs. The immortal singer, who remembered the former world, patronized them, helped them with money, found patrons, and dragged them out of the many troubles that they were eager for.

In fact, she came to the palace for one of her favorites. Among other things.

"Illumined Medea..." The messenger, in the costume of Princess Rania, bowed deeply to his guest. "The Lady, whose virtues have been granted by the gods and are comparable to them alone, wishes to see you."

The beauty nodded in response, with a slight wave of her fan, expressing her readiness to accompany the princess. It was such a pleasure to hear exquisite speech... Year by year, the language had changed, simplified, absorbed words and phrases from savage dialects. Only here, at court, was it still spoken correctly, caressing the ear with correctly composed forms and clear pronunciation. In many ways, that was why she longed to return to her native tongue, to communicate in the language of her youth.

Her essence was known, but Medea tried to be cautious. Approximately every twenty years, the undead would go on a long journey across the country to return in the guise of her own daughter. Of course, such a primitive masquerade did not fool serious people. However, decorum was maintained, and she could continue to lead her beloved life. "Spiders" didn't mind; Celesta, too, was glad of the opportunity to make an extra inspection of the communities under her control, so that the forced business trip sometimes dragged on for decades. Then the play would start all over again.

Princess Rania favored Medea. In her youth, the high-born lady had inexperience become entangled in an elaborately woven web of intrigue, and only the intervention of the vampiress, who provided some extremely curious documents, allowed Rania to keep her reputation and status untarnished. It was the time when the undead, or rather Celesta, first dared to support one of the court factions. Until then, they had only carried out orders and did not interfere in political struggles. Nevertheless, the Night Mistress took a risk by betting on the young princess, and won, finding an ally in the highest echelon of power. There was a heavy price to pay for interfering, and the vampires rarely asked for help, but it was worth it.

"Great happiness, goodness, and joy are bestowed upon the undeserving!" Kneeling, Medea prostrated herself before the exaltation. "She sees the beautiful face of the blessed by the gods!"

"My countenance ceased to be beautiful thirty years ago," remarked the old woman sitting on the small throne self-critically. "At any rate, that was the last time anyone tried to seduce me, not for favors or money. But you, Lady Medea, still look as beautiful as you did when we first met... And there's not hard to confuse you with your late mother."

Rania chuckled softly at the joke, and the two ladies, seated against the wall, covered their faces with their fans. Etiquette did not permit open expression of feelings, nor was self-irony encouraged, but the princess had long since transcended convention. Her young attendants, on the other hand, judging by their slightly tense postures and increased acuteness of movement, appreciated the hint from her mistress and were now nervous. Apparently, they'd heard enough horror stories about the undead.

"My mother, who had passed on to a better world, would have been happy to know that the blessed mistress remembered her," Medea replied respectfully, smiling faintly. "She had always been proud to know the royal person. Truly her destiny had been fortunate, for the meaning of a subject's life is to serve those above. Could I, unworthy, compare to her in any way?"

"And you try," the princess suggested with a serious look. "I promise you that your efforts will be appreciated."

"It breaks my heart to see such grace!" The vampiress exclaimed, wringing her hands theatrically. The guard at the wall stepped back, irritated as he was, but no one paid him any mind. "The kindness of a mistress, even among equals, shone like a star in the night sky. Who but she deserves to be immortalized in the memory of posterity? Should not her perfect features serve as a symbol of humanity and compassion for the shortcomings of others, which she lacks?"

Rania raised her eyebrows in surprise.

"Do you suppose I need another portrait?"

"Paint and canvas cannot capture the greatness of a messenger of the gods," Medea assured her cheerfully. "Only stone. There is a craftsman skilled enough to dare to carve the face of the blessed one."

"Is that so? And who is this unknown stonecutter?"

"Seisan of Soldova. He is still young, but he has made a name for himself by decorating the Temple of the Dancing Birds and working on the decoration of Baron Tokori's palace."

"So, he's also an architect."

"His work as a sculptor is much more interesting," the beauty remarked in an expert tone. "It is in this capacity that I have dared to present him to the mistress if it is her will."

"Why not," the princess shrugged slightly."I'm not ready to talk about my statue, but recently the Son of the Sea, may he rule for a thousand years, gave me a palace in Zonn. It requires repair. Bring your craftsman, perhaps I can offer him a job."

The vampiress touched her forehead to the floor again.

"There is no forgiveness for me! The unworthy neglected to mention that poor Seisan is imprisoned by his jealousies on charges of embezzlement! The wretched wretches, unable to appreciate the depths of his talent, refuse to let the creator go free. And this although I have paid all the debts! They say they've turned to Lord Laar for help," she added, remembering her instruction to plunder the chief of the Secret Watch wherever she could. "And he, for reasons unknown, saw fit to ignore the law."

"Well, that's not a problem."

Obeying a sign, one of the maids of honor quickly scribbled a few lines on expensive "tiger" paper. Rania read the note, signed it, and then another of the ladies stamped it and handed it to Medea with a slight bow.

"Give the order to the prison warden, get your protégé cleaned up, and don't worry about a thing."

"The mercifulness of a lady knows no limits!"

"It's nothing," the old woman brushed her off. "Perhaps you wish to match me with someone else? Don't be shy, ask!"

"Alas, Messena," sighed the undead. "There is no one else I would dare recommend to you. There are enough of the usual artisans in Zonn, and, as far as we know, there will soon be more. Much more."

"Do you suppose?"

"I am sure."

Rania pondered, staring at her companion, and then made a sign with her hand. In obedience to the gesture, the maidens hurriedly withdrew into the next room, followed by the bodyguard with a distinct reluctance. The princess and the undead were left alone.

"My closest associates have taken the Oath of Undying Loyalty and are not capable of betrayal, but it is better not to tempt them unnecessarily. Am I to understand correctly - you have something to tell me?"

Without too many eyes, they could afford some departures from etiquette, so Medea simply nodded in response.

"My older sister is worried. Many signs are pointing to impending turmoil. There are rumors of an impending rebellion..."

"There's been talk of a possible change of ruler for a long time," the old woman said with a chuckle. - But no one is in a hurry to get to the point. Though, unless my nephew changes his mind, he has no hope of retaining the Throne, Cup, and Mirror. What do you have to worry about? The undead has proven themselves useful to the dynasty."

"We fear that religious considerations will override the voice of reason," Medea grinned grimly. "The Temple of the Sun has gained an extraordinary amount of influence. The priests are interfering in the affairs of the state and the undead... The ideology of the self-proclaimed Servants of the Light demands the fighting of the undead, and we are in their way. Celesta has ordered new caches to be prepared and intends to send the young men and some of her most loyal servants out of the kingdom. We believe they will want to get rid of us."

Rania was in a pensive state of mind. The old age and the "weaker" sex did not prevent her from remaining a major player in the palace arena; the old woman knew the political realities very well. Her influence remained steadily serious - even her grand-nephew, the autocratic Son of the Sea, did not always dare to argue with a quiet elderly relative. Perhaps the reason was the princess's stubborn unwillingness to join any party and her ability to balance the fine line between independence and rebellion.

The undead was always well-informed. And they had a rare flair for trouble.

"I am aware of the reshuffle in the Secret Guard," Rania spoke at last. "It seems that the chancellor is satisfied with Laar's work. Don't you think you overestimate the threat the priests pose?"

"When the same information comes from different sources, it's hard to doubt its veracity," the vampiress pursed her thin lips. "Rakawa needs allies in the political arena and is willing to make some concessions for them. Especially if those concessions cost him nothing."

The princess nodded, tacitly agreeing with the chancellor's personality assessment. The undead seemed confident in their prognosis...

"Do you need any help?" A direct question. At her age, you can do without the excuses.

"Yes," Medea bowed her head slowly. "Help. Of a political nature."

She agreed with her friend's plan. If there is no possibility to rely on the usual state apparatus - it is necessary to enlist the support of at least one of the power groups. Getting an ally if not the best but in the current situation the only possible. It was just that the level at which she would have to play from now on was a little frightening. Medea had previously revolved in circles high enough, but in the world of the ancient aristocracy rarely appeared. She emerged from the darkness to perform specific missions and disappeared back into the shadows, making connections, acquaintances, leaving behind a trail of rumors and whispers. She had no contact with anyone in the ruling family except Rania, even though she was introduced to many.

"I ask to arrange a meeting with His Highness Prince Kono."

The Academy of the High Arts, or, more simply, the Academy of Magic, was founded by Duke Dinir, who was gradually acquiring the features of a legendary demigod. But the word "founded" does not quite accurately reflect the situation. Before the catastrophe, the buildings and part of the Academy's funds belonged to the University of Taleya, where some of the faculty and administration also worked. Using this rather powerful base, the Duke created an extremely successful and unparalleled hybrid of a school for noble offspring and a research center.

Combining into one cumbersome structure many elements completely different from each other, with completely different tasks, was not from a good life and was in many ways forced. There were several reasons for this. The main one was the desire to preserve and develop the remnants of magic, which continued to work at least somehow in the changing world. But considering the sharply negative attitude towards mages on the part of ninety-nine percent of the population, the newly created research center needed good quality protection at least to exist. Not to mention work. Besides, numerous descendants of noble families, most of them with a gift, also needed protection and training. Finally, there was a rather considerable circle of specialists who were not capable of research activity for various reasons, but who had experience in educating young people.

To guard all these people, the enormous library, the repository of valuable materials, and various relics of a vanished era, not to mention laboratories and polygons, required a mass of soldiers and money. The state was short of resources. So it was only natural that the Duke wished to reduce spending and collect everything of value in one place.

There were other reasons. The heirs of the aristocratic families were held hostage under one roof. The nobility dared not rebel, knowing that in the event of disobedience, their children would be the first to suffer. Mages appointed as tutors-prisoners were unlikely to pursue their policies and try to pressure the parents of their wards, understanding that the survival of the Academy and academicians depended on their loyalty and usefulness to the ruling dynasty.

Naturally, at the head of such a powerful and diverse project should be an extraordinary person. A smart, experienced person who is connected to the dynasty by strong ties and at the same time is guaranteed not to try to take the position of a "gray cardinal". Nothing is surprising in the fact that the first and only rector of the Academy since its founding was the blessed Tairan.

One of the greatest wizards in the world, aged long before the Plague came, wielded tremendous influence. If he had wished, the Court would have danced to his tune for centuries. However, he was only interested in knowledge, so Tairan left politics to the whims of stranglers, focusing on understanding the changing laws of the world and educating new generations of mages.

Now he probably regretted it.

The cloaks of the priests, who had rarely appeared in the stronghold of witchcraft in years past, had recently been all but abandoned at the Academy. So the students looked around in astonishment at the two leisurely strolling figures engaged in polite small talk. The event was made all the more poignant by the fact that the companion of the deity's servant was the teacher, Master Hustin, widely known for his affiliation with the servants of the Dark One. No one called him a vampire to his face, and such rumors were suppressed by the administration, but it was impossible to conceal the truth from the inquiring minds of teenagers.

"I'm sorry, Master, but you're asking the impossible," the priest sighed in feigned frustration. "The temple regulations forbid such relics to be shown to the uninitiated. Only those favored by the Son of the Sea are exempt, but no edict has yet come from his chancery."

"Is the Sovereign's will unchanged?"

"The Sovereign's will is invariably done," the guest rolled his eyes respectfully toward the sky. "We are only his humble servants."

"Of course," Hustin nodded. His attitude toward the dynasty was far less awe-inspiring, but he didn't show it out loud. "It couldn't be otherwise. But my question is, is there no circumstance under which I, or one of my colleagues, might be counted in the favor of the Council of Elders? The Temple of the Sun is known for its kindness to the needs of the faithful."

"You have not been seen to have the power of religious sentiment before."

"That's exactly the effect the Tablets have on me," Hustin assured the priest with a stony face. "I am willing to make many sacrifices to touch their sanctity."

"Aren't you afraid of getting burned?" The fat man licked his thin lips faintly.

"Not at all. Unlike most of my colleagues, I am ready to meet an artifact of Light."

An artifact of True Light, the warlock mentally clarified. How the thing carrying the pure energy of Illiar had come into human hands remained to be seen. The children of the night, especially the oldest of them, had always paid close attention to all forms of occult power, especially the so-called Primordial. The term had been in use since ancient times among mages and priests, and referred to a pair of higher gods, as opposed to others unrelated to the natural elements. Over the past three hundred years about the Primordials had gathered morsels of information, but enough to gauge their possible prospects. Huge.

However, Hastin would not humiliate himself in front of a priest just for the sake of an artifact. He knew how to flatter, if necessary, he flattered himself before the powers that be, threatened, persuaded, referred to the authorities... Not as well as Celesta did, but in general not bad. That is if he saw that circumstances forced him to compromise his pride a little, he did so, and he was not ashamed of it. As the Chancellor commented smilingly, "with age and experience, a reassessment of values is inevitable". But the vampire had always considered whom he was dealing with. And the junior abbot of one of the temples of the Sun of the capital clearly lacked the weight among his people to talk to him on such a delicate subject, and about something serious to ask.

Celesta was simply interested in the priest's reaction.

Holiness Tanistas was relatively calm towards the undead and had served as a mediator between the temple and the Children of the Night more than once in previous years. Ideological differences did not hinder negotiations when it came to large sums of money or a sudden intersection of interests. The hierarchs easily compromised or even cooperated when they saw an advantage. Now, however, the priest was stubborn. It seemed that the top hierarchy was serious about confrontation. Neither a bribe nor an offer to share the results of his research or to help resolve some issues in the merchant community would make Tanistas cooperative... It seemed that everything had been resolved among them, and the rebels were not seen as possible partners. The undead has been written off as expendable.

There will be a war.

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