Chapter 15

* * *

The reality was not like a fairy tale.

The village tales or the priests' sermons portrayed the undead very differently. Some believed that the risen lived in deep, filthy caves, in dark cellars, with rats and spiders, in cemeteries, in the ancestral crypts of the rich, among the dust and ashes of cracked urns. They would go out at night to the streets of the cities to catch the late-night travelers and suck their blood. Other stories, not encouraged by adults, spoke of powerful demons, all-seeing and all-powerful, doing their secret work from the depths of underground palaces. Tricky and beautiful, they laughed at attempts to harm or deceive them, but they could also help if a mortal impressed them with their courage, honesty, or intelligence.

The truth was that Vador spent most of his time underground. He slept, did his mentor's lessons, and occasionally went to the surface on minor errands. The rest turned out to be not so much a lie - just that the legends didn't even mention that he would have to learn so much. Immediately after Egard recognized him as having mastered the alphabet, they began to drum the basics of theology, geography, biology, mathematics, and other sciences into the illiterate country boy showed him the basics of weaponry and began to prepare the ground for mastering the mystical disciplines. At the same time, all classes were firmly tied to practice. About the gods and the will of the Dark One an old minister of the Morvan cult spoke to him, explaining by example the reasons for the return of some people from the realm of death.

A close associate of the mistress herself told him a great deal about the place of vampires in mortal society and about the second chance given to the undead. Geography was taught by a merchant cultist, who knew a good deal about the history and provided information about the flow of goods, their prices, and the places where something of value remained from earlier times. The doctor taught how to give people first aid, and talked about diseases, poisons, and antidotes. The master swordsman made them memorize the vulnerabilities of the most common small demons and humans.

All of the newbies were pushed very hard. Not out of a desire to mock, no. It was just that for the first ten years, as long as the body remained somewhat alive and the mind remained elastic, it was necessary to use it to the maximum. Then it became harder to learn, and it was impossible to perceive new knowledge and concepts at the same speed. So the teachers tried to impart as much as possible to the young risen one.

As a result, there was no free time left. Egard did not seem to let him out of his sight for a single moment. The mentor was deciding what and how to teach the young risen while introducing him to the night world of the Capital. Not only occult but also criminal. The methods of action of the guards and their perennial opponents - bandits, the channels of smuggling, the names of atamans and their predilections, pirate captains, bribed judges, the structure of Morvanite sects, and the theological differences between them. Temples and just the most influential priests, holy magic, and the training of temple guard fighters. Prices of drugs and alchemical ingredients, stalls selling forbidden goods. Acquaintances, introductions, polite smiles, faces, faces, faces...

"You have to be able to communicate with humans," Egard said the first night. "Talk to them in their language. Understand what they want, and how they think. Guide their thoughts in the right direction."

So far, it was not going well. A teenager from a poor family who had no idea about etiquette was timid in the presence of strangers.

But he clearly caught the moment when the tension of the class had decreased. At first, he couldn't believe his luck (he thought it was another test from his mentor), but Vador looked around and was surprised to find that the teachers didn't have time for him.

"Isn't Mr. Firam coming today, Master?"

"He left the city." The older vampire didn't take his eyes off the documents, scribbling and making notes on the papers as he spoke. "His trading house is moving to Lascaris."

"Master," the teenager said uncertainly. "I've noticed that many servants and helpers are leaving Taleya..."

Egard shook his bowed head:

"You must have heard about the captured strangers, right? We are waiting for their master. And the authorities are unwilling to take our warnings seriously and at least step up patrols."

"I thought that's not why merchants were sent away."

The master took his eyes off the papers: "And why is that?"

Vador swallowed the "well," with which he used to begin almost every sentence, and from which he was barely outwitted, and began to share his views.

"They said it had become harder to work. There is less order, officials demand bigger bribes, and bandits began to appear on the roads - sometimes peasants, but more often noble ones. Now in those principalities where the lords have strong armies, it is more peaceful than in the capital!"

"Go on," Egard nodded encouragingly.

"And again, the timing is not optimal. I have listened to people - it turns out that our servants began to leave even before they knew about this Carlon. Only little by little, not like now."

"It's slanted, but it's basically right," the mentor said. "Did you come up with it yourself or did someone tell you?"

"I figured it out on my own."

"Well done, then. It's really getting unsafe at Taleya. The confrontation between the palace parties has entered an acute phase. And we wouldn't want to get hit. More precisely, we are trying to reduce the possible losses and so we transfer our servants to the outskirts or even to other states. The news of Carlon's arrival has only spurred the process. You, by the way, get ready-soon the last of the younger ones will be leaving the capital, and then their duties will fall to you. All right, go study."

The older vampire, standing slightly below the inner circle of the Mistress in the unspoken hierarchy of the risen, looked at the next apprentice. A promising boy. Limited, of course, and not able to work on himself, but not stupid and not lazy. The main thing was his inner guts, and we would teach him the rest. I should have sent him out of town with the rest of the youngsters, but it's too early for him to leave his homeland. The energy is not yet fully established...

The decision to get out of the control of the secret services was not announced to the younger ones. The elders, their closest assistants, and especially loyal mortals from the Mistress' personal retinue knew, and that was it. The rest, who did not believe in the supposedly caused by the appearance of an ancient vampire, were fed the version about the coming confrontation of the court cliques. Given that such a confrontation had indeed taken place and that all parties concerned were seriously considering an armed clash, even if the information reached the "spiders," it would not surprise them. The undead are leaving the kingdom? So be it! The leaders remain in the capital, and we'll finish the rest later. Had the Secret Service known the true extent of the risen' activities, Tulak would not have been so complacent.

Unfortunately for them, control over the most secretive and bloody part of the subjects of the throne was long lost by the secret service.

This time Medea awaited her sister's return, not near the mysterious wizard's house, but in a cozy room deep beneath the earth. Not that she didn't want to keep Celesta company, but she did! But she decided that the danger was minimal and that she did not want to irritate Garresh with a show of mistrust. Should it turn out that some unknown authority had ordered the old servant of the Light to finish off the overknowing risen woman, there would be a dozen Morvanites waiting in the familiar courtyard for that occasion. Ordinary people are more difficult to notice, and it is easier to present as an ordinary escort, due to their status.

"How was it?!" The beauty rose from her chair as soon as she heard the familiar footsteps in the corridor. "Did they agree?"

"How?" Celesta stepped through the just-opened door and tossed her weapon belt on the table. "Not good enough, I'd say. We've been denied support, but..."

The older risen sat down in a chair and nodded at her friend, inviting her to sit beside her. She smiled dryly.

"In another situation, I would have said we were lucky. Garresh offered to give a couple of lessons, which he said would give insight into Carlon's capabilities and even out our chances in a direct confrontation."

"Is he willing to share his knowledge?" Medea wondered.

"As far as I'm aware, they're not very valuable. By his standards."

"Wait, wait," the completely confused singer waved her hands in front of her face. "I don't understand anything. Let's start from the beginning."

"From the beginning... Well, look. As far as I understand Garresh's explanation, from his Order's point of view, Carlon is innocent. Or his misdeeds are not serious enough to interfere with current events because of them. But since the "big brother's" actions affect Garresh's interests and interfere with his work, the wizard agrees to help as much as he can, though he will not interfere directly."

"Another thing to keep in mind is that Carlon and Garresh belong to different factions. What exactly the relationship between the temples of True Light and True Darkness is, was not explained but there is no ardent love between them. The secrets of the Dark Ones - those of which he is privy - Garresh is willing to reveal without hesitation."

"It would have been better if he had killed the priest himself."

"Alas, events don't always go according to our plans," Celesta shrugged. "And I can't say I'm not happy. The opportunity to learn something about the oldest and most secretive organization in the world is expensive, not to mention the training methods. Can you imagine Hastin jumping when he hears about this?"

Slightly emboldened and relieved, Medea also smiled at the reaction of the fanatic of magic. Already without the hysterical notes in her voice, she began to pry details from Celesta, trying to understand the logic of strange creatures lurking under the human masks of priests Morvan and Illiar. Why didn't they consider organizing deadly epidemics a crime? Why do they almost never interfere in human affairs? What are their goals? What does the phrase "our possibilities are almost limitless within extremely narrow bounds" mean? There are no answers, not even convincing guesses.

The argument was interrupted by a familiar knock on the door.

"Come in, Latham."

"Messena, messena Medea," the aristocrat bowed respectfully to the ladies. "I apologize for disturbing you, but we have just finished interrogating the prisoners. I thought you might be interested to hear that pair were the only ones sent to Taleya. More accurately, three were sent in pursuit of the renegade, but one returned to the main group for fear of entering the city."

"And for sure this third one has already reached the master."

"Yes. Messena."

"How many of them are there?"

"There were five left, whose level I roughly estimate as equal to my fighters, and a dozen somewhat weaker."

"Plus Carlon himself. If I were him, I'd try to reach Taleya as soon as possible," Celesta remarked. "He knows we're getting ready for him. What else?"

"The information received from the prisoners generally confirms Calderan's words. The differences lie in ideology and..." Latam hesitated for a moment, trying to find the right words, "...assessment of what is happening. They don't seem to doubt the words of their leader and are ready to follow him to the end."

Mistress nodded slightly, indicating that she understood what was not said.

"No wonder. Maybe next night I'll talk to them myself - maybe I'll be able to get some out of them. Bring them to the right state of mind."

Latham, as usual, did not show his emotions in any way. He listened silently to the order, clarified a few details, and left carefully closing the door behind him. Sometimes it seemed to Celesta that her eternal bodyguard deliberately abandoned his own opinion, once and for all choosing the role of executor of the plans of the leader of the rebels. Her Mistress. Why the former heir of a noble family and a brilliant guard officer decided to do so, she did not know, though she guessed. But - she preferred not to check her conjectures. Not every past was worth dredging up.

Instinct said that Latham would give his life for her. That was enough.

"So, are you going to be visiting Garresh a lot now?" Medea returned to the interrupted conversation.

"Why not? The Great Exodus," the vampiress grinningly called the ongoing evacuation of the risen structures from the Capital and the country in general, "is going according to plan. Tulak and Laar leave us alone for a while, preoccupied with their machinations. The temples, too, have been quiet, though it would be fatal to let the stirrings within them out of our sight. Virtually all the factions are now building up their strength before the decisive clash, and I have time to concentrate on the main problem - the inevitable fight with Carlon. Not much. But there is."

"Aren't you afraid of him?"

To anyone else, Celesta would have lied. To Medea she answered honestly:

"Of course I'm afraid. He's a fanatic and a great magician, how can you not be afraid of him? I just don't believe in Carlon's chosenness. There must be some rational explanation for how he survived the hunt for the undead, escaped, wandered for three hundred years, and now, out of the blue, decides to come back. He must be crazy, though - he didn't seem mentally healthy from the first time I met him."

"What if he is possessed after all?"

Possession in the culture of the countries on the shores of the Good Sea was not necessarily considered a bad thing. The guardian spirits of a family, especially the spirits of ancestors, always acted for the benefit of their wards, so if there was a rumor that someone had received the attention of a guardian, his family was terribly jealous. In the epics of the various deities, there were often references to incarnations in certain historical figures, and almost all gods were considered reflections of the six major great powers. In short, the idea that a priest might be an avatar of the Dark One or one of his kin was taken seriously.

"The official interpretation is that anyone who rises is a dark spirit clothed in flesh," Celesta reminded her. "We're all possessed here. But if you want, you can hold a "Service to vanquish the heretics", sacrifice to Morvan. I don't have to do it, I've had enough of it once."

The rising women looked at each other with identical crooked smiles. They both remembered the breakthrough of the Darkness they'd made out of their meager wit very well.

Celesta was prevented from continuing the discussion by the familiar pressing sensation in the back of her head. She made an apologetic sign, got up from her chair, went to a small cabinet by the wall, and pulled out a small, elegant mirror in a gold frame. Someone not too experienced in the occult sciences was trying to talk to her. The vampiress habitually relaxed, gazing into her reflection and reinforcing with her energy the faintly formed connection.

"Talk."

"This is Vasto, Messena," came the hard-formed image. "Vasto of Kinik."

Assistant Elder of one of the southern cities. All of the younger risen - full evacuation was deemed impractical - were to be removed, leaving only those able to flee quickly enough when the priest and his undead flock appeared. There were a surprisingly large number of them, especially in the borderlands. Vasto, as she recalls, was not known for his magic, but he was good with a sword.

"I remember you. Tell me what happened."

"Yesterday a message came from a village near us. Something strange was seen there... Master went to check... There were vampires there, all slaughtered... even the cattle. The Master was wounded by the Count's soldiers... He's weak now..."

Mistress of Talea felt as if she'd been hit in the gut. She stifled a sudden flash of fear and formulated the thought question as clearly as possible:

"Did outsiders enter the city?"

"No... Straight to the north..."

"Thank you, Vasto. As soon as Olir can, have him contact me. Good luck."

It is unlikely that the assistant will report anything else useful, and keeping the channel was taking a lot of energy. Besides, the news had to be processed. No matter how much preparation, no matter how much glee in front of friends and subjects, she had to admit to herself that she wanted to avoid a meeting with an old and scary acquaintance. Carlon was perhaps the most frightening creature she had ever encountered in this world.

"It has begun," she turned at last to her friend, who sensed something wrong. "The vampires have slaughtered a village near Kinick."

Medea's face froze, and her eyes flashed red.

"When?"

"It'll be two weeks before they get here," the older risen correctly understood the question. "They're running on foot, sleeping wherever they can. I hope we can make it in time."

We have to make it in time.

* * *

If there were an observer capable of a bird's eye view of Taleya, he would surely be able to pinpoint the boundaries of certain quarters. The Golden Quarter was the seat of the aristocrats who surrounded the royal palace with an escort of fortified estates built before the Plague. The smoky and smoky Craftsman Quarter is walled off from the rest by sturdy walls and its busy, thoroughbred inhabitants. Port, wide and spacious, bright, smelling of the sea, salt, the scent of distant wanderings, and the dangers of daring pirate raids.

The heart of the Commercial Quarter was Five Ways Square. It was here that the headquarters of the richest trading houses and banks were located, and smaller merchant families considered it a matter of prestige to have at least a small office in one of the two business centers located here. No caravans came here, no carts of merchandise drove here, and even the shopkeepers, traditionally centered around the fountain in the square, were not too shouty. It was considered a sign of stability to have representation here, to visit the same tea-house year after year, to talk to the old-timers, to read the newspapers posted on the boards. Big money reigned here - bills of exchange and bags of jewels, chests of gold, and contracts for mind-boggling sums. And big money doesn't like fuss...

Few people paid attention to the small two-story outbuilding a hundred paces from the square. The place is prestigious, but not too prestigious. The house wasn't bad, but it wasn't worth the money. Much easier, cheaper, and more profitable to buy a separate shop nearer to the Five Ways - even if on the second floor, but among the merchant elite. So for two hundred years, the outhouse has been inherited, all the while belonging to one family who did not want to sell it.

In all these centuries, the study on the first floor had changed little. Oak cabinets stuffed with papers propped up the walls; a pair of candlesticks provided enough light to read the documents on the massive, shabby desk; the green velvet armchairs occasionally deteriorated and were swept away, and similar ones were brought in their place. The owner of the office was known for his conservatism.

He always looked the same, unlike most of the risens, having taken his second birth at a respectable age. He was a stooped old man with the large hands of a man used to peasant labor, with a wrinkled face and long thin hair, dressed in light shoes, dark pants, and a camisole without ornamentation. He generally liked dull, quiet colors, and the only white detail in his costume was a starched handkerchief. A large ring with a ruby on the ring finger of his right hand was also an eye-catcher, but that was the end of the striking details.

Slowly, as if through sheer force, Gardoman rose from the table and walked to the blinded window. He felt neither fatigue nor weakness; it was just that his once long-altered body continued to show weakness, and he did not consider it necessary to give up a useful habit. Show weakness where there is none... Outward decrepitude always worked.

It's a nice place. The thoughts of the Gardoman looking out on the evening street flowed smoothly from one to the other. The old risens thought long and hard and didn't like sudden changes. It would be a pity to leave it. Or would it be all right? Lately, life had been good - quiet, calm, well-fed. The bureaucrats are bribed, business is good, the "spiders" hardly poke their noses into things... I'm not Zervan. This one's getting squeezed, yes, but it's clear why. Maybe we shouldn't leave Taleya. A lot of people aren't happy, we're losing a lot of money. Ties are being severed, competitors are ripping up tidbits, security costs are going up... It's a mess, everything's falling apart.

Or not for nothing? You yourself complained about the growing taxes. Mistress is right to fear civil war. Until Kono was sent to the border, there was a chance the aristocrats wouldn't openly clash. But now the wronged have come to Zonna, and once they've reached critical mass (an apt phrase, I should remember), the rebellion will inevitably erupt. What then? Well, obviously, they will start to execute those involved - relatives, sympathizers, just the rich and not-so-relatives. How many of our interests are tied up in potential rioters? Not much, but not pennies. But the temple-affiliated structures will come into force, and we have enough enemies there. No, we really have to leave Taleya.

But. There are different ways to leave.

The rest of the elders wanted free rein. It's understandable. There are restrictions and serious ones, and getting around them is troublesome, expensive, and long. But in the old days, there was a pretty good life under the wing of the authorities. There were clear rules, under which the "spiders" guaranteed immunity, both from the court and all others. It was easier to work, and the covert, if it coincided with their interests, willingly helped, especially in neighboring countries. They introduced more than one agent with our help and received a dozen new channels a year. It was mutually beneficial cooperation, and they allowed it at one time because of its efficiency. Now there is no security. No matter how many bribes we give them, it's not enough. Nasty people, to tell you the truth. It is not clear when this situation will change, but it will change for sure - rottenness cannot rule the state. Isn't it better to wait for that moment? The present Son of the Sea, if he is not poisoned, will rule for another thirty or fifty years. Yes, be patient... And survive?

Celesta is smart, even though she's a little brat. She wouldn't raise the alarm unnecessarily. What's her instinct? Remember how she played you the other day. The plague is over, there's no food, no weapons, nothing to sow, your family only hopes for you... Your wife was frightened when you came home at night and knocked on the gate. Your sons, big foreheads, almost pissed their pants. They got used to it. He was not a city dweller - he kept his family in his fist, and that's why they survived. And when they got the hang of it, fought off the bandits, and scared off the undead, the Taleya men showed up. Important, noblemen, and a girl with a sword with them. You could smell the girl right away, but at first, you didn't place her too high. You thought she was a trained dog, ready to slaughter demons for food. She just called you into a quiet corner and started talking ..... She told the fool the whole story. She explained, how to behave, not to set up his own and not to warm himself in the sun.

Snake. Patient, calculating.

And now she is sure that the breakup cannot be avoided. We can only minimize the damage and try to keep the skins intact. Trouble is, you, former headman, current elder, and secret banker, think the same. You just hope for the best. You don't want change, drastic or otherwise. You're used to this place, this after-life. You'll have to get used to it.

It is not possible to leave Taleya itself. All undead are registered with a special office, and their movement in the country is possible only with the permission of the authorities. The older the risen, the more closely he is watched, and while the departure of the guerrillas is easy enough to explain, the quiet and modest tradesmen rarely travel. Well, someone from the mistress' inner circle leaving the city instantly causes gossip among all the initiates. Who should be sent to Bardi? It makes sense to make the center of a new trading house, or rather, a trading empire there - the mountains are unfriendly to invaders, several ways crossroads, and the political system is relatively stable. But he was wrong about the stability. So the first thing to do is to ensure the stability of the power of the right ruler, like his, Messe seems to be? Celesta ordered to work with him first. Gold is good for loyalty, resources are never enough. Also to throw a bone to the local community, but would require very paltry spending...

One of the kingdom's biggest homebodies has come to terms with the relocation.

* * *