At the top, only the Baron and the Archmage met me.
Tur was quite pale and focused. He glanced at me and my load and asked:
- What did the Waiting One want?
I turn my gaze to the magician:
- Didn't you hear?
The Archmage shook his head:
- No. I just saw. Realizing that she didn't want me to hear her, I came up here.
That's good. Now that I remember who I am, I understand why Elmayr was so scared in the store. The Lady's killer. Besides, I'm sure whoever killed my sister pinned her death on me, too. That's really...
"Hm. She wanted me not to kill her," I replied, pointing to the sorceress on my shoulder.
The Baron looked at her in surprise:
- So she's alive?
I nodded in response and left the room. Soldiers had gathered in the hallway and backed away at the sight of me.
I don't like moments like this. For me, Atesh, if not exactly a patron (the mere phrase "Goddess of Death as a patron" sounds creepy enough even for me and evokes the darkest thoughts), is at least a friendly goddess who wouldn't kill me without reason. But for others, the Goddess of Death is equated with the near-instantaneous end of existence. It's as if seeing her means it's the end. Those who see her are definitely cursed and will soon die.
I will say this: those who share this point of view are fools.
Ultimately, Death and Life are sisters. Their manifestations and even spells are similar. Where there is Life, there is always Death. And vice versa.
Calmly walking past the humans and half-breeds, I entered the living room and approached one of the windows, covered with a beautiful curtain of expensive fabric. With one movement, I pulled down the first curtain I came across and, stretching it out to the floor, dropped the corpse onto it. Next to it, on the floor, I laid the elf and began to check her condition.
As I suspected, the sorceress was on edge. Blood loss, pain shock. If the goddess of Death was watching her, then this fact obviously caught her attention.
I cast a strong 'heal' and force the roots to retract back into the wooden spikes.
After making sure that her condition had stabilized, I began to examine the body of the dark one I had killed.
The Baron and the Archmage, who had also entered the room, found me doing this.
Seeing me rummaging around with interest in the entrails, the magician turned his head away in disgust, but the knight only raised his left eyebrow.
Ignoring them, I carefully examined the dead man's skin, torn from the flesh in places, for tattoos. There was nothing.
The kidneys and liver also did not show any characteristic damage.
Common traces of old injuries and scars.
The only thing I found in the jaw was a single false tooth, laced with poison. I pulled it out with a sharp movement, carefully crushed it, and, dispelling my spell that had been freshening the air I breathed, sniffed the poison. Nothing special either. A regular nerve agent...
To sum it all up: before me is the corpse of a common dark elf. If he had any magical talent, it was very weak and, judging by everything, had not developed at all.
Having thrown the fragments of the tooth on the corpse, I wrapped it in a curtain and said:
"We'll need to burn it at night. Ideally, give it to the Darkness, but a regular flame will do."
The Baron nodded and said:
- We'll do it. What will you do with the second one?
"It's better to conduct his examination elsewhere." I turned my gaze to the elf. "Like her interrogation." I turned to them. "The man they were guarding used a 'speed' potion when he left me. It has side effects that manifest after its effect wears off. One of them is extreme fatigue. This can, of course, be mitigated with certain treatments or potions, but regular healing potions won't help. The 'restoration' potion requires rare ingredients, and you could try keeping an eye on the main shops that sell them. You should also keep an eye on practicing healers.
The Baron nodded thoughtfully and looked at the Archmage:
"Okay. There are plenty of healers in Istra, though—elves, half-breeds. There are even humans. As for the potion, will you compile a list of ingredients?"
I nodded gloomily:
"Yes. Be sure to check his connections and possible route. It's possible he might just be taking a rest somewhere. It's only five or six hours; he's fat, which means his body has reserves that will be used for recovery..."
Is this fat man really going to disappear forever? I have more important things to do than hunt him down. Interrogating the elf, for example. Or reforging the swords.
Obeying the Baron's signal, a pale Haalen walked past him, carrying my things. Before taking them, I looked at my bloodied hands. I cast a general 'healing' spell. The blood began to soak into my skin. The severed dark elven ears I'd grafted behind my own for camouflage instantly fell off.
Catching them while they were still in the air, I lifted the curtain and threw them towards the corpse.
Carefully taking my things from Haalen's hands, I didn't change completely, but just threw my cloak over it.
I gloomily turn my gaze to the unconscious dark elf.
Such an enticing scent of mystery.
The intercession of the Goddess of Death Atesh herself...
I am one thing. The last of the House of Lords. The killer of killers.
But who are you?
*****
Eloril was a little ahead of his companions and pushed open the door to the healer's shop first.
Elmayr wasn't in the room. Only her student, Liel, was behind the counter, trying to convince a richly dressed woman standing before her:
- ...You understand, Mrs. Elmayr is not feeling well and she won't be able to help your uncle...
"Nonsense!" she exclaimed, and continued: "The name of the healer Elmayr is widely known beyond the borders of this kingdom! She can cure anything! If Elmayr doesn't want to help my uncle, say so directly!"
Liel rolled her eyes for a moment and then looked at Eloril and his companions with obvious relief.
The townswoman turned around and was about to lash out at him, but then she realized she was facing a group of armed elves, and her ardor had clearly vanished. Of course—it's one thing to lecture a lone young girl, and quite another to a group of her kind.
Eloril twitched the corner of his mouth and said:
- Liel, I've been told about Elmayr's condition. I'll talk to her, maybe I can calm her down.
The city woman sighed and ran out of the store without saying goodbye.
What manners...
However, now is not the time.
"Thank you, Lord Eloril," the girl even bowed, "The lady seems to be a little better, but the help of a loyal friend would not hurt."
"Will you tell me what happened?" he asked as she came out from behind the counter.
Liel stopped and looked back at him uncertainly:
"Well, I don't even know. Everything was fine. As always. She was focused and confident. Business was going better than usual. And then a strange elf came. He wanted to buy 'Breath of Death.'" Eloril narrowed his eyes, and the girl explained, "It's a contact nerve poison for arrows. It..."
"I know," the man interrupted her gloomily.
Liel was embarrassed:
- Well, basically... The lady brought him four jars and sold them to him at once. You know, the plump ones. He paid in gold. Then, when he was leaving, the lady said she knew him. And he also said he remembered her. Well, it was her... Anyway, she almost slipped through the wall and turned so pale... I tried to calm her down, but she kept saying, 'The Bloody Prince has come for her, which means Atesh is somewhere nearby and will take her soon.'
Eloril glanced puzzledly at his niece and the representatives of House Rath. The latter shrugged almost in unison.
- Okay. Where is she? - he asked the girl.
"Right after the visit of the esteemed gentlemen..." Liel bowed respectfully toward the three elves behind Eidael and continued, "...she came to her senses a little and locked herself in her chambers. I tried calling her, but all I could hear was a clinking sound from behind the door."
Eloril was clearly frightened by this:
- Lead us! Faster!
Liel opened the door and ran down the straight corridor after him. The elves followed close behind. Running up the stairs to the second floor, they stopped at a massive, sturdy-looking door.
- It's here! - the girl breathed out.
Eloril put his ear to the door and, hearing nothing, knocked on it demandingly with his fist:
"Elmair! It's me! Eloril! Your friend and comrade! Open up!" Having said this loudly, the elf listened. Hearing nothing, he said gloomily, looking back at his niece: "Eidael, get ready: we're going to knock down the door now. It's probably protected, and we'll have to break through the defenses first..."
Liel exhaled in fear:
- Oh, goddess! Has she really decided to commit suicide?
"I hope it's not like this..." the elf answered gloomily.
After exchanging glances with their niece, they flexed their fingers and were about to strike with magic, but then something clicked in the door and it creaked and opened slightly.
Eloril looked back at his companions and gently pushed her.
His gaze fell upon a large, high-ceilinged study. Opposite the door was a large window, in front of which sat a wide, massive dark wood desk. The walls to the left and right were completely filled with bookcases, literally crammed with books and what were clearly very old scrolls.
But the elves' attention was drawn to something completely different.
The floor, almost from the door to the table itself, was torn open, and the smooth wooden slabs had been twisted and jutted out almost vertically. Elmair stood at the side of the table, fully clad in clearly ancient armor, with the cloak of the 'Forest-Aware' strapped to her shoulders. The hood was thrown back, revealing her long hair bound along its entire length with numerous narrow leather straps.
Besides this, the elf was armed almost to the teeth - a longbow, two pairs of swords (one of which was clearly an 'ate-kael'), sets of throwing knives, daggers and two half-empty quivers of long arrows: one had arrows with green fletching, and the other - with white.
Sunlight fell on a table, on one side of which arrow blanks with green and white fletchings were scattered haphazardly. On the other side of the table, in front of the elf, lay two heaping piles of arrowheads and opened jars of poison.
Elmayr, chewing something, quickly and silently collected the arrows. She simply took the fletched shaft and, depending on its color, attached either a serrated point or a leaf-shaped, grooved one. In the first case, the arrow was immediately tossed behind her back among its fellows; in the second, it was first busily oiled with a thin brush and only then tossed into the quiver.
Eloril, clearly taken aback, looked around at the view and asked cautiously, even ingratiatingly:
- Elmayr... What happened?
She spat some plant gum onto the floor and, without being distracted from her task, said:
"I saw the Blood Prince today. It gave me a serious fright. And then I waited for death, but it never came... And I thought: maybe he wasn't coming for me? I'm still alive, right? If he'd wanted to kill me, he could have done it easily..." She smiled half-madly, carefully painting the grooves in the tip with poison, and whispered loudly, continuing: "No-o-o... He didn't want my death. He was calling me to follow him. The time has come..."
Eloril felt his blood run cold at those words. All he could think was, 'She's gone mad and she's going to kill us all right here.'
There had been similar cases before. The elf had heard many of them.
A respected veteran of the Twilight War, living a quiet life somewhere on the outskirts, would suddenly unleash a truly horrific massacre. And while it might be orcs, humans, or anyone else caught in this frenzied carnage, sometimes even their own kind would be slaughtered! Considering that these madmen had vast experience waging war with their entire arsenal, and that life (both their own and others') was worth nothing to them, it's understandable why these cases were handled only by other veterans or even the Guardians of Peace.
The innkeeper swallowed and made a 'leave' sign with his fingers.
Out loud he said:
- Elmayr, maybe you imagined it?
She started to grin, but suddenly dropped the unfinished arrow on the table and rushed to the window.
The next second, the elves felt something on the edge of their consciousness whisper inaudibly in an unknown language. The elves exchanged glances.
- What the...?
But then Elmayr laughed loudly:
- I wasn't imagining things! It was Atesh! She came after him!
And she immediately jumped out of the window, breaking the glass with her body.
When everyone reached the window and looked down, they saw only a few passersby looking in surprise somewhere further down the street.
*****
Having broken off the wooden spikes just below the flesh, I grew a thin but very strong vine and bound the captive's hands and feet. Yes, I know she's occupied by 'dark techs,' plus severe limb injuries, and so on down the list, but... There have been cases where dark techs have managed to escape with even more serious injuries. Besides, I hadn't removed most of her weapons, and I didn't want to suddenly find them stabbed into my back.
Finally, I checked her mouth and hands again for poison—I don't really want to have to justify myself to Atesh if she dies. Yes, I'm a Master of Life and can easily cure almost any poisoning or even reattach a severed head, but my attention might be distracted, and I might simply find her already dead. Such things happened in the war. Even to me.
Immediately after this, I throw the captive over my right shoulder and, holding her by the legs, I go out into the corridor.
There were only a couple of soldiers there, obviously tasked with keeping an eye on me.
The Baron was found in the living room. With the mage silently at his side, he was giving orders to his officers and the half-breeds.
"...find out which healers were called out on an urgent mission and try to verify the addresses and patients. Proceed with caution: we've already encountered the trio of dark elves he hired. He may have not only more mercenaries with him, but other surprises as well. Is everything clear?" Under his inquisitive gaze, the soldiers nodded intently. The Baron commanded, "Then—forward!"
Everyone quickly began to leave the house.
The Baron, reacting to the magician's sign, turned to me, but then my entire insides tensed, curling into a tight spring.
A tall man in a gray cloak, completely concealing his figure, walked past the soldiers into the house. The fabric of the cloak was densely embroidered with small symbols, often faintly flickering with a dark blue light.
Two escorts followed him in.
The first one didn't particularly catch my attention—a young, neatly dressed boy with a thick book under his arm. His disheveled hair clashed slightly with his appearance. Aside from a long, ornately hilted dagger, he carried no weapons as such.
The second companion, however, was a tall, slender woman, clad in light, closed, mobile armor. Her armament immediately intrigued me: she carried a two-handed sword slung diagonally across her back, the blade alone at least one and a half meters long. Unfortunately, nothing could be said about the blade's shape, as it was concealed in a sheath, which, upon looking at it, made me think it would scrape the ground as she walked. The sword's hilt was polished to a shine by years of use. The pommel was fashioned in the shape of a black dragon's skull, with droplets of blood-red rubies in the eye sockets. She also carried two short swords in sheaths at her belt and two pairs of throwing knives.
Her movements were predatory and springy, as if she were constantly restraining herself. Her every step oozed danger.
And my being whispered: 'Vampire.'
I barely kept my reflexes from immediately attacking as the man in the grey cloak said,
"Lord Baron!" When the knight turned to him, he continued, "Is everything alright here? We've detected a manifestation of the Death Goddess, Atesh, in the city, and it happened somewhere very close..."
"Oh, Kaun!" Tur sighed with relief. "I was about to send for you. It's like this: Ateš herself appeared in the sewers in the flesh, and I need you to take a look—to see if there's anything dangerous left there..."
So this is the Summoner.
The vampiress sniffed the air slightly and also began to look at me, her gaze scanning my bloody clothes and the tied up elf on my shoulder.
Knowing that she could see my face under the hood, I smiled.
The last time I saw vampires was relatively 'recently'.
During the Twilight War, the Dark Ones turned some of their rank-and-file, magically untalented soldiers into vampires and began using these super-killers to plug holes in the front. While previously, thanks to the presence of healers in each of our squads, irreparable losses were quite bearable, afterward... The number of dead and missing immediately jumped tenfold. But they, too, had their setbacks. We were able to quickly determine the nature of the new plague and even capture several of them. Moreover, even earlier, interrogating prisoners gave us clear answers about what we were facing.
By the end of the war, the percentage of vampires in the dark forces was high enough to warrant open discussion of a crisis within dark society itself and a depletion of resources. However, we were experiencing the same thing. We had to develop a countermeasure.
And my mother, Lady Irullel, turned not simply to the Gods, but to the depths of the Life Force. There she received the knowledge to create werewolves.
I don't just know how it was done. I was involved in it.
A predator (usually a wolf, but sometimes members of the feline tribe) was captured, and its essence, soul, and body were united with a volunteer of our people. Everything was tied to the phases of the moon and the free mana of the world. The resulting creature possessed incredible physical attributes: immense regeneration, vitality, strength, agility, and, on top of all this, werewolves had a second form. However, as it later turned out, while in this form, werewolves almost completely lost their minds: it was assumed that the instincts and soul of a predator would be easily suppressed by the mind of an elf, but almost always the opposite happened. As a result, they often attacked their own kind, sowing death and destruction everywhere...
Killing both vampires and werewolves was impossible for an ordinary, intelligent, non-magically gifted individual. Even a hundredfold superiority in numbers was pointless.
Many stories arose about werewolves being afraid of silver or vampires being burned by sunlight. All of them were nonsense, though they had some basis in fact.
The dark elves truly disliked sunlight, and this was passed on to the vampires turned from their soldiers. Furthermore, light elves rely primarily on the Forces of Light and Life in their magic. Therefore, Light magic during the day could be mistaken for sunlight, or the magical effect could be attributed to ordinary light.
As for silver for werewolves...
Mithril is a magical metal and the companion of silver. Mithril swords and armor are a sign of the Houses' wealth and a mandatory attribute of the Guardians of Peace, who were tasked with eliminating those werewolves who had completely lost their minds...
Well, by the end of the war, the vampires realized that dark society saw them only as cannon fodder. And nothing else.
We got busy and planted a rumor that after the Twilight War ended, they would all be exterminated. The effect was catastrophic—most of the vampires rebelled and fled Alehethorn.
When the dark ones realized who was really missing from all this, they tried to mirror it with our werewolves. But it was far less successful: werewolves were initially quite rare, and those who had learned to retain their sanity during transformation were quickly placed as priests of the goddess Illue. Furthermore, those who refused were happily dismantled by the Houses. But those who didn't fit this definition also left. Sometimes even with a fight.
They pursued those who had left without a trace. Just for show. There were already plenty of problems without them.
But I remember very well how, at the head of a barrier detachment, I had to cover the troops retreating from Alejetorna.
As the dark silhouettes of vampires appeared one after another through the passages and immediately entered the battle...
Eyes glowing scarlet in the pitch darkness...
Unnaturally fast movements...
Super-bright sparks emanating from the clashing blades.
I emerge from my memories and focus on reality. Too much time has passed since then, and she couldn't have been there then.
The first vampires were originally dark elves. She, however, was clearly once human.
While the vampire and I were playing a staring game, the baron said:
"...The goddess appeared to prevent the murder of this captive." He pointed eloquently at my burden.
This literally riveted the visitors' attention to the dark elf's ass.
- And nothing else? - the Summoner froze in surprise.
Looking at the vampire, I whispered loudly:
- Well, she also talked to me about old times. - Taking advantage of the fact that the knight is looking at me, I continue: - Lord Baron, I want to ask you for a favor.
- Em? I'm listening.
"I need a safe place to interrogate the captive. I can't think of anything suitable other than your castle."
Tour raised his left eyebrow and nodded:
"Good." He turned his gaze to the Summoner. "Mr. Kaun, you will be shown how to get to the place where the goddess appears."
He motioned to one of the half-breeds standing frozen nearby, and the man, gesturing invitingly, walked deeper into the house. The summoner and his companions followed him.
When the vampire walked past me, she did not take her eyes off the captive's limp body.
The Baron headed for the exit, but only after I stepped onto the street did I quietly ask him:
- And who is this vampire in this Kaun's retinue?
- A vampire? - He stopped and turned to me in surprise: - Who?
- A girl with a two-handed sword behind her back.
He looked into the depths of the building:
- Hm. She's been serving him for a long time. More than two years. Since his arrival in Istra. - I even raised my eyebrows. Two years - 'a long time'? Ha! Tur continued: - I thought she was simply from the north. The people there are quite strong physically... - he savored the word thoughtfully: - Vampire... Kaun, it turns out, is full of surprises. Did you know this, Kessel? - He turned to the Archmage.
He nodded silently and said:
"I suspected it. There was something on the edge of sensation. Mages of my level and above sense vampires the way a wellspring senses a whirlpool. A concentration of something hostile. But I've had almost no contact with Kaun. He keeps to himself..."
The Baron nodded thoughtfully and had already stepped further when I felt the swift approach of a pure-blooded elf, and a light elf leaped softly, almost silently, from the roof onto the paving slabs next to me. Only because I recognized her by the design of her magical gift did I not attack her.
The fabric of her cloak had not yet fallen down, but the others had already finished reacting, and the reaction pleased me: the Archmage instantly found himself in front of the baron and covered both himself and him with a hemisphere of a bright blue magical shield, and the half-breeds scattered to the sides, taking up convenient points for shooting at the alien.
I looked at the elf who was submissively frozen on her knees and said loudly:
- Don't shoot! - I quietly add: - You're taking a risk, Elmayr.
She whispered:
- My life is nothing, my prince. You can take it away at any moment.
*****
The gun shop owner, sitting on a stool in the corner, melancholically juggled three throwing knives while his nephew served the numerous customers who had begun to come in literally one after another to make purchases some time ago.
At times, he would whisper thoughtfully to himself, barely audibly:
- The Returned... The Last... Autv... The Blood Prince... The Ruler Without a Throne... Chosen by Death itself...
Suddenly, the elf thought he heard someone else whispering. Something unintelligible and frightening.
He emerged from his reverie and noticed that most of the customers were nervous and buying everything indiscriminately. His nephew had clearly begun to take advantage of this, foisting stale merchandise on customers at prices two or three times higher than Virrel himself could have hoped to sell. Well, the Last Outwi had said that war was brewing in this region...
Virrel tucked his knives back into his sling and anxiously approached the window. Glancing outside, he immediately noticed that the elves he saw were acting very wary. Some had even drawn their weapons and were turning their heads, trying to spot the source of the threat.
So he's not imagining things...
The next second, a lithe figure smashed through the large picture window of Elmayr's house. A billowing, rich, dark green cloak, embroidered with platinum, revealed a heavily armed fair elf.
Landing softly, like a cat, almost on all fours, the elf quickly ran about fifty steps down the street and immediately ran up the wall of Tarael's house, almost to the third floor. There, she grabbed hold of the vines thickly covering the walls and nimbly climbed up to the roof. Another moment—the elf, pushing off from the wall with her feet, threw her legs over her back onto the roof, and her momentum pulled her body along with her. And she vanished, disappearing from view.
Only passers-by, clearly stunned by what happened, look in confusion at the roof and further down the street.
The whole thing took just over five seconds.
Virrel closed his mouth, which had opened in surprise.
What the?
His gaze returned to the broken window. Several armed elves were visible there, looking down. One of the figures was clearly female, and Virrel's keen eye unmistakably identified her as a very worried Liel, Elmair's apprentice.
Who the hell was that?
An assassin sent by the Council? And where is Elmayr herself? Dead?
No longer paying attention to the whispers, Virrel rushed past his nephew into the corridor, jumping over the counter in one go.
A turn, another, stairs, office. Throwing open his personal weapons cabinet, Virrel began frantically changing clothes and arming himself.
A bow, quivers of arrows, a pair of swords, daggers, a baldric with knives, poison and potions, a cloak, money...
If the flame of the civil war in the Great Forest reached all the way here, then one can imagine what is happening there now.
The whisper died down.
Damn it! What the hell was that?
Wait, wait. Virrel even froze, fastening another strap.
Ateš is, after all, the Blood Prince's patron. And if he's here, she's watching over him. Something happened, and it was only natural that she should appear. Her appearance triggers a certain set of effects. One of them is the so-called 'Voices of Souls,' heard by members of the 'eternal' race within a certain radius. Something connected to the manifestation of the Goddess of Death in reality. Echoes of the cries of souls dwelling in the Realm of the Dead, to which Ateš is the guide.
But to be more precise, she 'was' a conductor.
Until Atesh created the Hounds, and they began dragging souls to the Underworld without her intervention. She merely oversees their activities.
So, there is an answer to one question.
Virrel continued to equip himself, but this time thoroughly and without the same feverishness.
Wrapping himself in his cloak, he closed the office and went down to the first floor.
At the bottom of the stairs he stopped hesitantly.
We need to go. It's not clear where yet, though.
But if Autwy showed up, that means Atesh needs him to lead something. What? A wave. A tsunami. A monstrous storm that will wash away and destroy someone or something.
He will gather soldiers. An army.
Every veteran, regardless of their House, would follow Autwy without a second thought. And they wouldn't care even about their Prince's prohibiting orders.
On the other hand, the Council will clearly try to keep power in its hands.
The only question is how far they will go in this pursuit.
Will they declare him a troublemaker with the prefix False?
Virrel savored the word 'False Ilthariel'. It sounded like the ravings of a madman. But it was entirely possible.
What next? Send assassins? And who? The same veterans? No. Those born later? Well...
What if the army?
Ilthariel, after all, will slay his enemies without a second thought, regardless of their race. That's why he's the Blood Prince.
Veterans also don't care what color their enemies' blood is. Or how long their ears are.
But Virrel cared. And so did many of his acquaintances who hadn't fought in the Twilight War.
And yet, you'll have to choose a side. In this scenario, it's unlikely you'll be able to sit on the sidelines.
The Blood Prince, who murdered his mother and sister. Vanished for two thousand years, then reappeared out of nowhere, a nightmarish shadow from half-forgotten pages of history.
Or the Council of Princes, which, albeit poorly, somehow managed after the end of the War. The princes who created the advisory body of power, the Council, during a very, very difficult time for the Great Forest...
A very difficult choice.
Great past or difficult present...
What if the Blood Prince does take the Throne? What then? War again?
What if the Council already knows of his arrival? And will perceive his, Virrel's, silence as a sign of a defection already in progress? What if the principle of 'whoever is not with us is against us' kicks in? Family... Mother, brother, sister. Two nieces... All of them will be under attack.
What if what he just saw was already the Council's reaction? But even if not, the Ateş phenomenon isn't something to be dismissed.
Virrel's mind realized what he had to do.
But with my heart...
Gritting his teeth, he climbed the steps. Entering his office again, he approached his desk and, sliding a floorboard, pulled out a small communication amulet from a hidden drawer.
Before activating it, he looked through his tears at the setting sun and whispered:
- Forgive me, but it would be better for you not to come back.