Chapter 19

* * *

Studying was hard. The new energy required new not yet existing, methods of working with it, and the lion's share of time was spent on monotonous semi-theoretical investigations. That is to make up an exercise, to do it, to fix the result, to change it a little, to do it again, to fix it again. I practiced it endlessly. The maitre, who had once gone through something similar, was a great help, and Caché was insanely grateful to him for his support.

The few good fortunes inspired optimism and spurred the desire to work. All the more so, the prospects were encouraging - her obsession with the spirit endowed her with unique abilities. Which, by the way, have already found practical application.

"The fifth and eighth meridians are overlapped by spirit-based structures, to a lesser extent water and earth," the magician dictated, sitting in the lotus position, folding her fingers into the "yag" mudra and closing her eyes for better concentration. "The structure around the upper node, on the right side, is very complex and incompletely formed."

"No so far," murmured Vador, the recorder. "Good."

Further work was interrupted by the door swinging open and Alat bursting in.

"It's not a good time," the older mage said without taking his eyes off the task.

"No matter how many times I come to you, it's always bad timing," the bandit wasn't embarrassed. "And I didn't come here in vain. Here, you owe me a tenner."

Vador caught the skinny bag thrown in his direction, where he immediately checked.

"Caché, break," the warlock looked up at the old supplier and, well, mate. "Where did you get it?"

"You have to know the places," smirked Alat. "The good people shared, you might say, voluntarily. Hello, Beauty. Are you still suffering?"

Without saying a bad word, Cashe exhaled a tongue of flame at him. He only smirked at that, shaking his mane of black hair. Alat was respectful of witchcraft, but not afraid. He was easy to talk to, though, of course, any older vampire wasn't easy, and Alat was no exception.

"You're my godson, aren't you?" The bandit turned his attention to Arkhlan.

"Don't scare the boy," Vador grumbled quietly under his breath. "Let him recover."

His intonation was most casual, and he did not take his nose out of the bag. Nevertheless, Alat, who was on his way to the table where the newcomer was squirming timidly, turned aside and sat down in a chair. He'd known the warlock for a long time and had learned when it was better not to argue with him.

"Why the godson?" Caché asked.

"Oh! You don't know!"

The story Alat told was replete with gory details, berserk mage fights, the betrayal of honorable war workers, and the nobility of one particular patron of the weak and oppressed, known for his honesty and bravery as the boss of all Taleya bosses. Without waiting for the end, the mage turned her head toward Vador: "What do you think, Senior? He lies a lot?"

"Almost everything," he said without thinking. "He must have learned the information from one of his men and told the Mistress, and that was the end of it."

"That's not true," Alat said with his hands behind his head, his fangs gleaming. "It was a fight. It's a murky story, and it's not over yet. Do you know why I'm here? Because the guards upstairs have been raiding the place, shaking things up block by block. It's been a long time since they made such a mess. Look, kid, your freedom has cost us dearly."

"T-thank you, sir."

"Not us," she couldn't resist, "but you. Your bandits."

"That's where you're wrong," the dark-haired man shook his finger. "Mine are in the bunkers, waiting for the storm to die down. It's mostly the poor, mere mortals who suffer. In a month or two, I bet you'll have a lot of people pouring into our cults. All right! I heard they found three. I see one, where are the other two?"

"Who did you hear it from?" Vador put the bag aside.

"Tikka said. So?"

Tikka was the chief of health, in charge of all medicine, supervising the two hospitals and the pharmacy network owned by the capital's community. Most of her patients were mortals; vampires with injuries were either quickly cured or sent to Zonna. It was only natural that she and the Maitre would examine the trio of former prisoners. If they had been in better condition, they would have been under her care.

"They were too badly hurt," Vador replied, reassured that no information had been leaked. "They took longer to process than the Arkhlan. Mater sedated them, now trying to figure out what to do and whether they can be helped in principle."

"It sucks," Alat sympathized peculiarly. "The boys suffered a lot. Where's the money?"

After the bandit left, the wizards finished examining the younger one. He was lucky, in fact - in the month he'd spent in the dungeons, they'd managed to put some of the restraining spells on him and get deep into his subconscious. It sounds scary, but it's fixable. Previously Arkhlan lived on the northern border, was a vassal of a minor nobleman, and died in a skirmish with bandits. He was reborn and caught by the priests, and the priests had him arrested, and he woke up in the clutches of the mages.

Now he needed help not so much magical as psychological. Too much had fallen upon him in a short time. Vador, who sympathized with the boy, hoped that Mistress would be able to find a mentor who could restore Arkhlan's self-confidence. He would not dare take on such a responsibility.

The fate of the other two was much more doubtful. Mentor and Messena Celesta are undoubtedly specialists of the highest qualification but the damage to the victims is very great. The disturbances in the mental sphere are especially alarming - consciousness is easy to break but it is difficult to heal. If it had been limited to ordinary energy, they would have sent a couple of them to Zonna, where medics have recently even been growing limbs. Although I guess the maitre will be going there soon anyway.

Remembering Lady Medea, Vador grinned. How did Alat put it back in the day? "That thing between our legs is just for beauty now. But when I see Medea, something moves in my pants." Rude, of course, but it couldn't be more accurate.

If the mentor leaves, he will have to take the burden again. Of course, Maitre will take Caché with him. Well, he'll be able to get away with leading the Dark Guild, which is largely formal. But on the subject of alchemy, they would still go to him, Vador. He'd have to give the Mistress the idea of training courses with a simultaneous reduction in the number of requests for potions - let each community have its alchemist, leaving the large centers of exceptionally complex orders. It's about time for decentralization.

* * *

The state has a tremendous reserve of durability.

History, tradition, legislation, and the recognition of oneself as a great nation - a direct heir to ancient Salvatia - have set the country apart from other modern states and at the same time united the people. The loyalty to the dynasty was not shaken even by Irrhan's hapless reign, and the title of Son of the Sea continued to be held in the highest esteem. However, even the greatest power must be replenished. The walls of the greatest of fortresses periodically need repair.

Which is what the current ruler is doing. He does the right thing. He is not satisfied with the greatness of his ancestors, he does not consider himself infallible.

Unlike him.

Four hundred years ago, he'd been sitting here, in this very spot, choosing his way forward. That inn burned down, a new one was built in its place, then there was another owner, another, the furnishings were changed more than once... Finally, the risen bought it back and gave it to the Morvanite family, with the instruction never to sell or change the furnishings. An unforgivable weakness for a scout, but at the time he thought he could afford it.

Was it the first of a series of mistakes that led him to his current position, or had he not noticed the earlier ones? No need to lie to himself - he had shat himself. He lost his touch. Acted like an amateur. He was once one of the best pros.

The very first decision he made here turned out to be the right one. He never regretted his decision to stay, his offer of service, and his loyalty to the local ruler. His position in the inner hierarchy grew, his status steadily rising until he was among the elders - there was no higher place to grow, and no reason to. The place the Mistress occupies is unique, no one else could... could do anything. It was something to be proud of. And he was.

Arrogance is a mortal sin. Interesting who she is quoting?

Then he chose for himself. Now it has been decided for him. Can you call it punishment? Hand on heart, it is a strange exile. He remains an Elder, only his sphere of responsibility is reduced, and he will be responsible not only and not so much for intelligence, but for the region. The Archipelago, Birat, the colony on the Stone Bones in the future. He wouldn't be offended if the Mistress made him a regular mid-town master. Not after all the failures. Not after Shaar, not after his unsuccessful attempts to infiltrate Deep Harbor, Zervan holds a special place in his memory and will do so for the rest of his life. Total failure, utter failure. Such a miscalculation!

When he hastily planned the little intrigue, all he was going to do was give the savage a little flick on the nose. It never occurred to him that it would end... then it did. They had lost an awful lot through the fault of a deranged beast Elder, and they would not be able to recover some of their losses for the foreseeable future. He acknowledged that he deserved to be executed. Shame ate away at his insides, and at times he considered going and confessing a mistake. Not in stupidity - a mistake, which made it even worse!

It is unclear why such strange conditions. Why infiltrate under the guise of a priest? In any other country - it is a logical, correct, tried-and-true move, but in Archipelago? With its restrictions on religious cults, and any but state cults? The other conditions, too, look anything but rational. The order not to engage in operational work for a year directly contradicted all his experience. The prohibition on any but mirror-like communication with his subordinates for the same period was more like a preparation for resignation.

A chief always has to monitor the situation in his area of responsibility, that's obvious. But if Celesta had wanted to take him away, she would have acted differently. Her teachers were just as good, and she had more experience, and her style was completely different - he'd had time to learn it over time. Maybe that's the calculation. No, too complicated. There's something different here.

Mistress's motives were at times confusing. Not just him - all of them. Her unexpected decisions and actions supported the legend of her divine origin. And sometimes even he wondered if the rumors were true. Medea clearly knows something, but she is and will remain silent. In any case, Celesta's thinking is unconventional; she evaluates victories and defeats based on her own scale of values. And she sets goals based on her priorities. The Sacred Crusade, why? Why spend so much effort and resources trying to destroy barbarians who are practically strangers and have little contact with each other? Yes, perhaps they will become enemies in the future. Or, to put it mildly, competitors. But right now there are more pressing problems that require urgent solutions, so wouldn't it be better to focus on them?

She cannot fail to see the other danger of the crusade. Taleya has always been more of a sea power, but it has stayed away from the steppe, limiting itself to controlling the mountain passes. What if the elite wants to change direction? Or is that what they hope for?

One cannot help but think that Mistress knows more than she is saying. It's quite possible - she has her own sources. But no matter what information she has, she can't argue with objective reality. The Seven Rivers is simply too far away, and it would be irrational to fight it now.

He even tried to communicate with Chesta, though he could never understand him. The seer gave him two metal balls and advised him to think less. No, Celesta's idea of the Holy Campaign originated outside Taleya; her actions were not caused by prophecies.

What was he to do? Maitre Hustin, whom he approached for advice (he was seeking advice!), shook his head and said he was looking in the wrong place. Wizards are always difficult to understand, and those who are rightfully called great ones are even more so.

Kalderan, born and risen in Nasan, did not know what to do. Life experience advised him to flee. The same experience demanded that he forget his usual standards when it came to the Mistress.

He sat until dawn, ignoring the host's anxious gaze and slowly sipping his long-cold tea. The southerner still did not accept local wines. The realization came late. Running away was pointless. He simply could not live anywhere else. Not after intricate intrigues that toppled rulers and enthroned puppets. He would not be able to avoid comparing his new abode, whatever it was, with the grand halls of the new palace or the long catacombs of Taleya. Inevitably he would think of a full-fledged state with a government, laws, its symbols, wars and diplomacy, citizens and borders, however uncharted... He would always remember that he was at the head of this country and that perhaps he had fled it in vain.

Sooner or later the uncertainty will drive him crazy.

Therefore, there is no choice. He, Calderan, once of Nasan now an Elder of the Inner Circle in Taleya, will follow his Mistress's orders. His Mistress - there are oaths important to him, after all. He will go to Deep Harbor. He will waste a year. He will not find out what his former subordinates are doing He will carry out the rest of his orders without understanding their meaning.

And whatever happens.

* * *

The ordinance "About the Trust Betrayed" stirred up a storm of emotions in the community.

Spiders or a Secret Cabinet, one of them had long been collecting evidence of lawbreaking at the Mages' Guild. Nothing else can explain the speed with which they began to make arrests after the clash at the Right Bank Market. At first, the capital's nobility didn't understand what was happening, and with the relatively recent reshuffle in the higher echelons of power, it looked downright threatening. If members of the dynasty were not spared, it was frankly foolish for lesser nobles to hope for mercy.

The discord that had begun was thwarted by the published ordinance of the Son of the Sea. Behind the flowery language and the elegant language of the highest vernacular was a simple description of the experiments that had been conducted in the Guild, and conclusions were drawn. First, those who supervised the mages had lost the highest trust and would be punished for it. Secondly, not a word was said about the dissatisfaction of the Chancellor, the government, certain cults, the provincial gentry, or any other group of persons united on the same grounds. The anger of the monarch was directed at specific individuals. Thirdly, the investigation was specified to be conducted openly, that is, any sufficiently noble person could come to the investigators and ask them questions, to which they were obliged to answer. The latter was entirely uncharacteristic of Taleya's culture, which was prone to backroom squabbles and led to confusion among gossipmongers, who were used to scratching out crumbs of information.

The final blow was the appointment of Prince Sirtash as head of the Mage's Guild, answerable personally to the Son of the Sea and no one else.

Celesta could not help but marvel at the elaborate sophistication of the king's plan. Until the reforms of the army and navy were completed and loyal men were placed in key positions, Valier could not act against powerful factions of the state. An attempt to put pressure on the chancellor and the government would lead to unrest among the provincial nobility that supported them; limiting the power of major religious organizations, primarily the Saints of the Fire, could develop into a full-fledged revolt of the lower classes, which there was nothing to pressure. The aristocrats are the largest landowners and are closely connected with the large trading houses; a feud with them would instantly affect the revenues of the treasury, which it cannot afford at present.

It is not possible to weaken any one faction, but nothing prevents us from weakening them all at once. The nobles are feuding with one another, the nobles have been taking revenge for generations for the wrongs done to their ancestors. What the holy fathers do for the sake of an opportunity to undermine a colleague, does not want to describe at all. The investigation gave a perfect excuse to settle a score, and the people concerned immediately took advantage of it. The vampire experiments were patronized by many influential personalities, of course, with a large number of enemies, and now these enemies were carefully keeping the scandal alive.

The branch near Ivianki was not the only or even the main one where the forbidden research took place. The main base was another one in the Rin Mountains, far away from prying eyes. Checking there revealed four more vampires and a few dozen mutated humans. Celesta saw no way to free her kin, and besides - what would she do with them if they were in the same condition as the two nameless from Ivianki? Humans did not interest her at all.

On the other hand, Hustin was very eager to learn the results of the research, and he knew how to be persistent if he wanted to.

"How do you imagine that?" She tried to understand his logic. "I'm not prepared to ask Sae to give us copies of the experiments because Maitre Hastin is interested, you see! Impertinence is a blessing in disguise, but only up to a certain limit."

"Well, maybe steal it?"

"Later, when the attention wanes, maybe. Certainly not now."

The scandal was gaining momentum, compromising folders were being pulled from under the cloth, and old sins were being recalled. Rumors of an ancient temple unearthed by the Saints not so long ago resurfaced, and Celeste took the pleasure of stirring things up by throwing details at the more orthodox priests. She was more than happy with the prospect of the cult splitting into two branches.

Life was hard for people, and the constant stress was wearing on their psyche. As a consequence, many people were going crazy. The simple mores quickly and fatally rejected anyone who deviated from a certain average, but the crazies with a religious bias were treated sympathetically by local society. The fanatics had a good chance of living to a ripe old age and dying, surrounded by honor and glory as zealous believers.

By order of the Mistress, one of them, the most authoritative, was assassinated after a public debate with an opponent from the same cult only less orthodox. Of course, the disciples of the deceased were instantly agitated and accused the leadership of the cult of ordering the assassination. They were not expected to do otherwise; they were not bright, but they fought all the time. Celesta anticipated a public showdown, with mutual accusations of betrayal of ideals. However, the get-together turned into fistfights between the "active" cultists, clashes broke out in the markets, the capital's guards were not strong enough and the troops had to be brought in.

Three army regiments, along with some noblemen's brigades, brought order within twenty-four hours, shedding blood on the streets and plunging poor quarters into silence for the second time in a short time. On this occasion, the vampiress had to endure an unpleasant conversation with an envoy of the Son of the Sea, who suspected her of organizing the riots. Fortunately, they had no proof.

"Stop it, Baron," Celesta waved her hand as if to dismiss something unimportant. "What happened is of no benefit to me at all. I don't deny that any weakening of the Light Cults is to our advantage, not to mention the simple pleasure of seeing our enemies ruin their reputations. But this massacre was not part of the plan. Why should we? Why don't you respect my intelligence and leave it at that? Tell me what your lord said about our last offer."

"Outline, the bearer of the divine will is ready to accept it," the lieutenant replied with a slightly displeased look, not so much sincere as demonstrative. "However, I would like certainty on some issues. For example, the price of "Quail". How much exactly do you want for it?"

"Well, I'm not going to do it myself," said Celesta in amazement. "Send your specialists, we'll bargain."

"When and where, Messena?" Sae nodded, expecting such an answer.

"Use the current channel of communication. My financier needs ten days to prepare."

"Thank you, blessed Mistress, ten days is enough for us as well. My sovereign would also like to know what you know about the fire that broke out at the Mage Guild estate near Ivianki."

"Wasn't that an attempt to confuse the investigation into the forbidden rituals?" Celeste lied without changing her face. "I have to say that I, too, have a vested interest in the outcome of the investigation. My subjects have suffered."

"The risen we discovered are young and do not belong to your subjects, Messena."

"First, we don't know who burned at Ivianki," the Mistress pointed out. "Secondly, we haven't had a chance to talk to the risens whom the servants of the Son of the Sea, may he rule in perpetuity, found in the Rin Mountains. How would you like me to send a representative to make sure that the younger ones in question are really not part of any community?"

"Alas, Messena," the man was suddenly embarrassed. Barely noticeable, but still. "The state of these vampires prevents both conversation and trivial identification."

Celeste had seen a lot over the centuries, and she was pretty numb. She's done atrocities herself, more often than she'd care to admit. To say that she was horrified by the Baron's words, or that something just trembled inside, would be an exaggeration. Nevertheless...

"And this is us you call monsters?"

"Mages sometimes go too far in their thirst for new knowledge," Sae shrugged.

"Knowledge has nothing to do with it. The dream of immortality obscures the eyes and forces them to violate the natural world order. Mortals do not understand that not everyone can bear the burden of eternal life."

Risens often went mad or turned into blood-obsessed animals. The nurturing system created by the psychologists of the Secret Service and Celesta partially solved the problem, but in time a new one emerged: the undead grew tired of their existence. It needed to experience vivid emotions to stay active. It was easier for vampires, originally reincarnated as fledglings, to think in terms of eternity.

You are quite right, Messena. How pleasant it is when the lofty thoughts of my sovereign coincide with the words of his wise ally!

Mistress was inwardly amused. The lieutenant spoke the highest language perfectly, but he didn't belong to the most ancient clans, so he wasn't familiar with some of the nuances. "Exalted" was called true priests, servants of the Abyss and the Good World, who had survived the touch of patrons. The Son of the Sea was certainly not one of them.

Besides - since when are they in a union?

They argued, bargained, and discussed their common interests for a long time. Tell her, a year ago, that the vampires would be doing business with the highest authorities in the land, and Celesta would have laughed at the absurdity of the assumption. Now, as the lieutenant left in the morning, they hadn't resolved half the issues. True, the conversation had provided more than enough food for thought. For instance, Sae had mentioned that Lash had no intention of leaving the Capital, and had made an appointment to see the Son of the Sea to discuss the steppe raiders' increasing frequency.

Nomads have indeed been attacking more often lately. And they will keep on attacking until their power redistribution is over. The duke, on a plausible pretext, was about to discuss something else. Celesta hoped he had weighed her suggestion about the Seven Rivers and now intended to probe the ground by gauging the ruler's reaction.

* * *