Chapter 14

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Taught by bitter life and post-life experience, the undead never had a clear center of power (unless you count the entire city of many thousands of people as such a center). Each elder arranged a shelter to his liking, his subordinates and the mortals associated with him were involuntarily drawn to him, and various storerooms, archives, and the like were set up nearby. In these underground complexes, not badly fortified, lived and conducted business, trained youngsters and made large deals, met with allies. And here, on the lowest levels, captured enemies were held in improvised prisons.

Over time Celesta spontaneously formed three offices, combined with meeting rooms and living quarters. Taleya was a big city, and her interests required her to be present in various neighborhoods.

"Messena..." Good news should always be delivered first, and Latham dared to intervene in the conversation between his mistress and Gardoman. "The strangers have been captured. By tomorrow night, they'll be cured and ready for questioning."

"Amazing," Celesta nodded. "It's about time. Have a seat; it might be good for you to hear, too."

The former headman, now a banker and merchant, said interesting things. He received an enormous amount of information from the counterparties and could keep track of important topics for the community of the undead. And it must be said that Gardoman - the head of financial intelligence was no less useful than Gardoman - the head of the trading house. Therefore, his reports were highly valued.

"In short, the Dark Blades are on their way to the city. Five large detachments have been invited to visit Taleya, and some have been paid in advance."

"Who is the client?" Latham immediately asked.

"The nobles associated with the Chancellor."

"Rakawa decided to give us secret support?"

"I'm not sure," Celesta muttered. "Listen to this."

"In addition, the supply of real estate has jumped," the merchant continued. "Many homeowners are trying to get rid of their property. Prices for land and buildings are falling, but buyers are in no hurry to part with their money - they are waiting for more. Next. The temples of minor deities withdraw large sums from their accounts, take out loans, or unseal their treasuries, and it's still unclear where the money goes. They spend some of the money to reinforce the guards, but the main sums cannot be traced. The gold is not leaving the city and the rhetoric of the influential courtiers has not changed... But there are illogical and unclearly caused disruptions to the food supply. My men are now trying to find out what it is."

The Mistress was not pleased with the news.

"We need to know what's going on." She sounded annoyed. "I get the impression that the chancellor intends to pull some kind of intrigue of his own on the upcoming ruckus. It would be very unpleasant if it were directed against us."

"Hunters could have been hired against outsiders," Gardoman clarified, rather than objected. "You asked for help, didn't you?"

"Of course, but they might as well have been hired to hunt us," Celesta chuckled wryly. "Latham, you know some of the commanders. Try talking to them, carefully."

"Yes, Messena."

It couldn't be said that the various types of darkness fighters were much of a nuisance to the undead in the kingdom. Vampires were rarely hunted, only when the undead lost caution and began to kill the common folk outright. Or when the victim of a bite was someone powerful and from the highest levels of society. Because of Celesta's rigid stance, which included "do not kill for food," she insisted on upholding the laws she had established, incidents did not happen often. On occasion, the young risen went mad. Occasionally, some of the city's community leaders decided to play the game of autonomy and defiantly ignored the orders of the Mistress of Taleya.

Punishment was always immediate, though it took different forms.

If for some reason, Celesta was unable or unwilling to punish the renegade in person, either the "dark blades" or the "holy warriors" of the many cults would step in. Though small and well-trained, they tended to roam the countryside or small towns, slaughtering the creatures that had proliferated during the Dark Age. In large cities of more than five thousand people, the "holy warriors" were rare. Firstly, there was little work due to the strong guards, and secondly, there was a rather nervous reaction from the "spiders". The influence of large monasteries or sects increased from decade to decade, and the Security Service prudently considered it necessary to keep the fervor of religious leaders at bay. Let the monks pray - the secular authorities were not about to give up control of military power.

Thus, most vampires died at the hands of mercenaries. There was a layer of people, experienced, often proficient in some basic magic, well-equipped, who made demon-hunting their main source of income. They charged a lot for their services, but they hunted in all kinds of ways, and they had no hardened moral code. On the bright side, though because Celeste also occasionally made use of their services. When she needed to support her fighters or didn't want to show undead participation in certain events. But she watched the Templars closely and did not lose vigilance. Right now the priests were squabbling among themselves over congregation and proximity to the court - in time the situation could change dramatically, and the undead would be in the center of hostile attention. An organization is always more dangerous than ill-connected loners, even if they are professionals in their chosen craft.

---

The Craftsmen's Quarter, as in the old days, was considered a relatively safe place. Relatively - because a lonely girl could be robbed, raped and killed even in front of the royal palace. We are talking about ordinary townswomen, of course, the daughters of noble families were not allowed out of the house without guards. Violence against members of the lower classes was not considered noteworthy. It was commonplace for a group of five or six drunken nobles to have fun with a woman seized in the street without any legal consequences. Such a thing was not considered a crime. Besides, Taleya was awash with various gangs and gangs of robbers, and the guards could not cope with semi- and organized crime. And, frankly, they didn't want to.

In short, if Celesta hadn't had long practice at diverting the gaze and hiding in the smallest hiding places, she would have had her adventures.

He said the doors were open at all times. - The risen stopped outside an unremarkable shop and looked around carefully. - Let's hope he's not setting any traps.

Medea cried out when she found out who her friend was about to meet. The past three hundred years had had no effect on her desire to stay away from the priest of the Father of Light - rather, on the contrary, the feeling had become more enduring and sharper. The only way to convince her of her reasonableness was to remind her of Carlon's imminent appearance. The former chieftain the beauty feared more than anyone else. So now she, at the head of a squad of a dozen Morvanite fanatics, waited in a one-night rental house nearby and prepared to intervene at the first sign of danger. If Celesta wasn't out of the house in an hour, the assault would begin. The men were brought in because of the patron powers of the man - the man? - to whom the mistress was now on her way, had a very negative effect on the undead. They were much more tolerant of mortals, on the other hand.

The door swung open invitingly, and a deceptively frail figure slipped into the shop. The rebel habitually dodged the bundle of trumpets that hung at the entrance, designed to protect the owner from evil spirits - a silly superstition, revered by the people - took a step, another, stopped, and deeply bowed to the old man who was sitting near the small table. As knowingly standing higher in the hierarchy, albeit someone else's. The rule was for the petitioner to bow down, but Celesta was in her territory and was not about to give up her position.

"I am honored to receive the legendary Night Mistress in my humble abode," the host also bowed without rising. "Please be seated. I have prepared a fine tea of oga root, please try it."

Thank you," nodded the risen.

She didn't feel the taste, but it is not worth refusing.

In solemn silence, they drank the first cup, watching each other surreptitiously. What the priest saw in it, Celesta did not know. She was struck by the sharp contrast between Garresh's gray, unremarkable appearance and the impression of power that came from him. And she hadn't noticed any visible manifestation of it - an aura ordinary, belonging to a common man, small height, small fists, friendly face... And a soft, enveloping warmth that made the hairs on the back of her neck move.

"I hope my presence does not make you uncomfortable?" The priest suddenly inquired. "The power I serve is not always friendly to your kind."

"I'm fine, thank you," she put the cup on the table. "I was expecting a colder reception."

"Why should I? You haven't done me any harm, and people speak well of you."

"Are we talking about the people of this city?" After a short silence, Celesta clarified.

"Oh, there are more than enough gruesome rumors," Garresh smiled. "But it's easy to separate truth from fiction if you're willing. Especially since I'm familiar with the situation in other countries and can make comparisons."

"You're pretty well informed."

"It depends on the area."

The undead decided to hold off on asking, though the short dialogue gave her a lot to think about. The priest seemed to have a friendly disposition, which should be taken advantage of.

"I should probably apologize," she bowed briefly. "I once barged into your house instead of just coming and talking. I still don't understand why the servant of the Light would react so calmly to risen from the dead."

"Well, our acquaintance in absentia was too long ago to remember it now-" Three hundred years ago, Celesta thought. "And you've been hurt worse by it. So let's forget the past and talk as if we were meeting for the first time now. Though I have to admit, I'm curious, how did you find me? I tried very hard not to draw attention to myself."

"Accident," the risen admitted. "Accident and luck. I thought you died during the Troubles of Molvlar, I even saw the corpse. I didn't realize you'd changed bodies."

"I was covering my tracks," the priest smiled. "I sensed an interest from the spiders in my person, and decided to hide more thoroughly."

"Did Cardhe know of your existence?"

"He guessed," Garresh said briefly. "At the time, they were looking for any manifestation of magic that worked."

Celesta nodded understandingly. She, Medea, and Hastin had survived in large part because of that interest - albeit not exclusively.

"But I remembered the feeling of the protection on your house well," she continued. "So when I felt the traces of light power on some people again, I remembered very quickly where I'd encountered something similar. True, you remained completely elusive-no logic in the actions of the unknown servant of Illyar was visible, and my observers did not notice suspicious faces. Besides, I didn't want to take the risk of being frank with the agents."

The man pressed his hand to his heart, expressing his gratitude. Celestф had spoken the truth - Garresh, or rather, his true occupation was known to a very limited circle of her closest aides. The leader of the undead had no intention of giving the rulers of mortals an unfair advantage and informing them that an experienced ancient mage lived here, right under their noses. A representative of an order that had existed and accumulated knowledge for thousands of years. And, it seems, continued to be successfully engaged in its obscure affairs, despite the world catastrophe.

Well, eight years ago I met you, Mr. Garrêche. It was a relatively quiet year, and I finally decided to solve a nagging mystery. I walked around the city, mapped every instance of Illyar's power, and began to check one version after another. First I looked for a merchant who occasionally left the city, then for a peasant from the suburbs, then... Long story short, I bumped into you in the street and hid in the nearest hole out of sheer surprise.

The corners of the priest's lips twitched slightly upward. Just a little, but Celesta knew he had. He remembered.

"At first I didn't connect Master Garresh, who lived in the cottage on Leatherman Street, with the servant of the Lord of Light Garresh, who died shortly after the Plague. There was no reason to think of them as one person. But then...." the eternally young undead remained silent. "I don't know. The thought just popped into my head and refused to go away. I couldn't explain it."

"Honestly, it's my fault," the man admitted. "I should have changed my outward thought pattern a long time ago. You're a strong empath, aren't you?"

"It's hard to say. According to my feeling, the one of the best in the kingdom."

"So I guessed right." Garresh sighed, changing his pose to a more comfortable one. "The emergence of the undead was something of a welcome surprise. The soothsayers thought it highly probable, but they could never have imagined that the uprising would not be the result of elaborate rituals, but of natural causes. You are as much a mystery to us as we are to you."

Celesta squinted. On her way here, she had prepared herself for all sorts of scenarios - ambush, coldness, a long bargain. But the farther she went, the more she felt like she was banging on an open door.

"Do you propose to quench each other's curiosity?"

"Will it work?" The priest stretched out with regret. "Our order is very secretive, we have survived for thousands of years only through secrecy. And many of my answers you simply wouldn't understand. It takes a wide range of knowledge in very specific areas to understand the goals and reasons for the actions of the priests of Light or Dark."

"But we must try," she assured him. "It is literally a matter of life and death for me to know the capabilities of Morvan's servants. I've been out of breath for a long time, but I don't want to leave this world."

Garresh looked surprised: "Well, there's nothing wrong with death. And why would you be so adamant about it?"

Celesta spoke at length. About how she had met Carlon, about the madness that had possessed the undead monk, about fleeing from a patron who had become too dangerous. Of how for centuries she had thought him dead, and of the tidings brought by the stranger. She had to pause to go outside and reassure a worried Medea, then she returned and finished the story. Garresh made no comment on the pause; he did not make a sound or move at all as he listened. There was silence. At last, the risen could not stand it and asked:

"Help us. After all, our enemy serves Morvan..."

"I serve Morvan to some extent, too," the priest hummed, sipping his tea thoughtfully. "The Temples of Light and Darkness are not at war with one another, no matter how much anyone might claim otherwise. Rather, we operate under a unified charter..."

He was distracted again, and the room fell into silence. It wasn't long before Garresh broke the silence: "You bring sad news."

"I am so sorry."

"So do I," the man sighed. "Despite the strictest selection system, sometimes novices don't stand the test and break down - psychologically or spiritually. It's rare, but you can't avoid it altogether. It's unfortunate, because there have always been few of us, and since the Plague, even fewer... Are you saying the epidemics in the South are his doing?"

"This is what the defector claims."

"His words might well be true." The priest thought for a moment, then clapped his hands together decisively. "I must report our conversation to the elders of my tradition before I can give a final answer."

"I understand."

"Would you mind coming back tomorrow at the same time?"

"I will."

Celesta didn't expect Garresh to immediately agree to help her, and she prepared herself for a long wait. One twenty-four hours was a hell of a lot faster.

After saying goodbye to her unexpectedly hospitable host, the vampiress left the house. As she stepped outside, she was relieved that the pressure on her shoulders was gone, and she allowed herself a slight smile. Whether Garresh was friendly or not, he remained a strong servant of the Light. Being in his company, or simply in a dwelling attuned to his energy, had a depressing effect on the undead.

Medea couldn't stand it - she jumped out into the street as soon as she saw her sister approaching. The tense guards followed her. These cultists, unlike the usual brainwashed "meat," had the special attention of the mistress. There weren't many of them, but each had the privilege of a personal conversation with the Night Mistress of Taleya, regularly received serious ideological pumping, and would not hesitate to give his life at the first order. They saw and knew more than others, considered themselves - and were - the chosen among Morvan's worshippers, possessed some occult knowledge, knew about poisons and politics. They were almost all skilled in the use of weapons, though they seldom engaged in open combat. They were valued not for their fighting prowess but for their loyalty.

"I told you there was nothing to worry about." Celesta smiled slightly, amused by her friend's eagerness.

"You never know what's on his mind!"

"As you can see, all is well." Mistress looked approvingly at the men who continued to watch the deserted streets. Their admiration for their proximity to the two supreme beings did not prevent them from performing their duties. "Thank you all for your service. I cannot, I have no right to say why you were summoned today, but believe me-the knowledge of the near help has greatly sustained me in the past meeting."

A kind word is good for the cat, and even more so for people. Celesta would never have achieved her position if she had forgotten that little maxim. She'd learned how to manipulate mortals for a long time, consciously and from the best, so now she said some things automatically, though with steady success.

Only when she'd sent the Morvanites away did she finally tell Medea the details of the negotiations. The beauty listened eagerly, her eyes gleaming feverishly and not even gesturing, forgetting her usual play of the touchy-feely woman.

"I don't believe it!" After asking me everything to the end and making me repeat some points three times, my friend finally spoke up. "It doesn't work like that. It's too good!"

"I got the impression..." Now that the first euphoria was gone, Celesta partially regained her ability to reason about events in a detached way, and she was formulating her thoughts aloud: "...That Garresh sincerely does not see us as enemies. But he doesn't see us as allies either. As if there were no points of contact, interests lying on different planes."

"He could have deceived you!"

"Well, with his experience, it's not hard," admitted the eternally young girl. "But why? As much as it disgusts me to admit it, Garresh is the master of the situation."

The beauty growled irritably, bared her fangs, grumbled embarrassedly, and covered her mouth with her palm. This little incident seemed to take her mind off her worries and bring her peace of mind back. The older vampiress laughed:

"Don't worry. Since he ignored us for so many years, why would he suddenly want to change his habits? I'm more worried about the result of his conversation with his superiors. Will they agree to help?"

"What do you think?"

"I don't know," Celesta's smile disappeared from her face. "I can't really say now."

---

The silver earring wiggled in the ear, causing a slight pain and a pleasant irritation. A metal that every undead hated. At least it showed who was the eldest because no one would dare wear such a piece of silver jewelry! They're afraid of the poison, snot-nosed kids.

Zervan kicked a body curled up in the road dirt. The man groaned.

"Are you awake, meat?"

The mortal was moving, so that the Elder considered him ready for dialogue.

"Listen to me, punk. You were told to watch the neighborhood, you got the tag. The boys reported to you. Right? I can't hear you!"

The man mumbled something in the affirmative.

"Then why the fuck would I find out from another person that some outsiders go around the barracks and sign poor people up for obscure things?"

There were two reasons for Zervan's bad mood. First, it was not he who was sent by his mistress to catch the strangers, but that peacock Latham. That is, Zervan and his boys are not trusted. Secondly, the businessmen have been acting high-handed of late, not in a big way, but it's not much fun either. Orders were carried out with delays, weekly payments were delayed and brought in installments, obviously withholding pieces, they arbitrarily divided the districts among themselves. Lately, many unwilling gangs had sprung up, unwilling to submit to the undead. They used to operate only on the outskirts, ratting out the little things, and so they were ignored. Now all this racket was trying to get involved in serious business, and they didn't want to pay their share.

One or two can be punished, turned into a lesson for the rest. What to do if everyone rebels?

No, in some ways they are understandable. The guards are disgusting, the "spiders" and the aristocrats are intriguing each other, and the merchants don't give a damn about other people's problems as long as they're not touched. Absolute freedom - do what you want! At this rate, the Dark One himself tells them to pinch the losers. And the risens, according to the will of his mistress, they do not give much to lose, they need peace ... If not kept Zervan mortals in an iron fist - and gangs, and consequently, and the blood, the outrage in Taleya would be more. To be honest, he wouldn't mind making some changes himself. The merchants, for example, could be gutted more often, and the tribute on the craftsmen's quarter is not enough, it should be increased. And why shouldn't he drain the "cows" to the death? There's enough meat on the streets, no one would notice the loss of a dozen whores. But you can't argue with the Mistress.

The annoyance resulted in a new blow to the victim's ribs.

"Who are they? What do they want? Answer me, meat!"

"I don't know," the overseer of one of the poorest parts of the harbor muttered. "They just recruit people. They give them water and food and sometimes a small amount of money. They promise a good piece of loot if they're followed at the right time."

"Couldn't you get them to talk?"

"They were tricked, they don't know anything! In the temple after the service the holy man came up - go, he said, help those who are suffering!"

"What temple?"

"The Sun."

This is more serious.

"Why didn't you tell me right away?"

"Well... there was nothing to report."

"Yes?" Zervan jerked the mortal to his feet, held him by the scruff of the neck, and turned him to face him. "Or did they give you coins? Fifty silver, at the Red Crayon the night before last. Why don't you say something, you scum, eh?"

"Have mercy," the strong one and nor cowardly man, squeezed out hoarsely. "The Dark One mess with me".

"Don't speak of the Master in vain, he doesn't like it," the vampire repeated an expression he'd once heard from Celesta. "You'll give me the money. I'll cut down your territory. These, from the temple, you show to my boys. You understand, don't you?"

"I-I got it, Elder. Thank you. I'll never forget it, Elder."

"Well, if you get it, crawl out of here."

After letting the bandit go after an unusually easy scolding, Zervan whistled to his men and headed for the exit. The showdown was taking place in the courtyard of a small house on the edge of the Craftsman Quarter, with some half-decayed barracks nearby, and the people who lived there preferred not to poke their noses into others' business. And even if they did, three risen would be enough to deal with a bunch of idiots.

Scar was nestled, as always, on his right hand. The faithful helper had been mischievous on the roads in his lifetime and had a reputation as a lucky ataman who had more than once escaped the trickiest of traps. In fact, it was his excessive luck that got him into trouble. Once he got more money than he was supposed to, the central authorities got interested in his gang and raided it. They rounded up the outlaw in the hope of buying off his own execution by handing over the chief criminal to justice. Scar, not being a fool, didn't wait to meet the executioner and learn the refinements of modern ideas like pouring molten lead down his throat or imposing a stake on his body, and took his own life. He slit his wrists with a sharply sharpened piece of brick. It must have come as a great surprise to the jailers when, three days later, he rose undead...

Since the case took place in a neighboring kingdom and Scar had no sins against Taleya, he decided to change his place of residence to a quieter one. The fact that he managed to keep his sanity, escape, leave his second birthplace immediately after the uprising, and reach his destination was admirable to anyone familiar with his story. Zervan immediately noticed the clever guy and soon made him his closest assistant. Just after the accidental death of the old one.

"What's a holy man got to do with "meat"?" As if to the side, he remarked. "In secret?"

"You don't believe Illyar told them to do good?" The two savage predators both smirked in the same way. "They're up to something. And you can't ask them..."

Zervan gritted his teeth. The risen had no right to "work" the nobility or the priests, and it was annoying. It was annoying. There was a lot they couldn't do, to be sure, but if he was okay with some of the prohibitions, like leaving bodies out in the open and staying out of politics and such, then this kind, which kept him within the boundaries set by the "spiders," like a strict collar, just pissed him off.

"What are we going to do?"

Zervan ruffled his thick hair:

"You can ask those generous men yourself. Maybe they'll tell you something useful. Actually, you should know that there's no time for them right now."

"Yeah, we're waiting for what's-his-name, Carlon. Who is he, anyway?"

"I don't know, but Medea shakes when she hears his name. He used to be in charge of the town, but he didn't agree with his mistress, and he flees."

"Looks like he didn't get far."

"He's holed up somewhere," Zervan nodded. "But he must have been pretty sick in the head to come back here."

"Do you think the mistress is going to kill him?"

The fourth oldest risen in the kingdom was silent, pondering his answer. He wanted to say yes, but the memory of Medea's panic prevented him from doing so. And the Mistress seemed very tense when it came to the lunatic priest. Not frightened, no, she didn't reek of fear, but as if she were preparing to face a powerful enemy.

"She should," he said at last. He felt Scar's leering glance on his skin and suddenly became furious. "She'll break him, all right! We've met some tough ones before, and more than one!"

The deputy didn't answer. He just shrugged his shoulders and stepped back, not wanting to get under the hot hand.

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