Готовый перевод История Королевы Эльфов / The story of the Elf Queen: 34. Новая напарница агента королевы эльфов

The Elf Queen Agent's new partner.

* * *

The morning bell that heralded the start of the new working day had sounded more than an hour ago. The first of the guests who had come down to the dining room for breakfast were already awake. Naida and Dana were still nowhere to be seen. Fjold, who was wiping the already clean tables with a damp cloth, gave a frown at the ceiling. There, one floor above, were the guest rooms, in one of which a pair of young maids had spent the night the night before, in the company of recently arrived adventurers from the south. Lazy assholes, damn them, they should have been working long ago! He is sure they do everything on purpose to stay in warm beds longer! Judging by the disgruntled looks of a couple of older maids, they agreed with Fjold. They had been the same way ten years ago and had not refused to spend a night or two in the company of strangers who had decided to wait out the cold winter in the ever-warm Iyastar.

Fjold personally understood and approved of the latter's desire. He had spent his childhood in a fortified settlement farther North, practically on the Ice Coast. And the most important memory of a childhood long gone was the cold. The eternal, bone-chilling, hateful cold. It was retreating during the very short summers, but returning when the very long and cold winters came. Often hungry, too, for the land of the far north yielded a meager harvest, even if you prayed to the Life-giver all day long. He was a boy when the mission of the Sun King's preachers arrived at the walls of his hometown. Skinny, hungry and angry. Like most of the other children and their parents in the far north. Outsiders who came to preach the sermons of their god were looked down upon. Still, in Fjold's hometown, most inhabitants prayed to other gods. But they did not close the gates in front of them. They were received as guests should be accepted and allowed to make their speeches, to which almost two-thirds of the town's inhabitants had gathered to listen. The reason for such hospitality, as it turned out later, was more than prosaic. An opportunity to get rid of superfluous and unnecessary mouths. But Fjold didn't realize it at the time.

Fjöld understood little of the sermons of the aged priest dressed in solemn white and gold robes. The priest's speech was very different from the language of his hometown. But he understood the main words perfectly. Eternal sunshine and eternal summer. No winter. No cold. The priest finished his sermon by showing the crowd a miracle of his god. At the wave of his hand, over the small central square of the settlement a very small, but still the sun was lit. Bright and hot, which made it warmer than in the middle of summer in the middle of winter. It shone for exactly 24 hours and then went out. But even if it had shone for just one heartbeat, Fjold would have had enough. At home, he told his parents at once that he had decided to leave with the priests of the sun god, to a place where it was always warm.

My father, who had never been known for his love and care, was only too glad. Good luck, one less hungry and useless mouth to feed. Mother, who had grown old from the hard northern life, showed a little more warmth and care to the youngest of her sons. She persuaded his father to pack Fjold a bag of food for the journey, but he was against it. Since the little one was now the concern of these sun-lovers, let them feed him if they needed him. But in the end, he took pity and gave some food. The worst of all to Fjold's decision was the old man-grandfather. He did not swear or curse his grandson, as the other villagers cursed their relatives who had decided to go South. He did not utter a word until Fjold was gone. When he left the threshold of his home, he hissed angrily into his beard something about a puppy who had betrayed the faith of his ancestors and spat in the boy's wake. Then he turned and walked away. It had hurt Fjold then. It's funny now. He didn't regret his fateful decision for a second.

When he and the rest of the inhabitants of the distant northern settlement, who had chosen to believe in the Sun God, were brought to Iyastar, to this magnificent city, he was struck to the core. A city of eternal summer and warmth. Where there is no cold or winter. That same day, Fjold decided that he would live here forever. But it quickly became clear that this was not so easy. Because Iyastar may be great, but there are many more who wish to live in the rays of its Lesser Sun, a true miracle granted by the Sun-Face to his followers. And the right to live in this city permanently has yet to be earned. Fjold was not frightened by this. He was determined to live here, so he would earn this right no matter what it cost him. He told the old priest superior, to whom Fjold and the other children had been entrusted, with childlike earnestness. And he asked what was necessary. The priest's superior's answer was very simple - to study hard and then to work for the benefit of the Sun.

Fjold nodded, and with a truly fanatical determination began his studies. Life in an orphanage at one of the capital's monasteries, under the supervision of the priest-masters, was much better than in his hometown. Here he had his own, albeit small bed, three times a day he was fed a simple but hot and nourishing meal. And most importantly, it was always warm! Always! Isn't that happiness?! For this alone, he was ready to praise the Sun Almighty every day. Which, in fact, he did. At the same time, he diligently learned literacy, numeracy, theology, and everything else that he and the other children were taught by the priests. Not to say that these wise sciences came easily to him, but he was persistent. Fjold was equally diligent in his chores, cleaning the monastery stalls and working in the gardens. The other boys still made fun of him then. They teased him about wanting to be the honorable Harrit's favorite. They preferred to skip their duties at the first opportunity. It would be a lie to say it didn't hurt him at the time. But he endured it. And his patience, multiplied by his persistence, paid off big time! The rest of the idiots who didn't bother to study, or didn't bother to study much, when they turned sixteen, were scattered all over the Bright Lands. Some to the fields, some to the workshops, some to the war brothers. All in the border regions. Only a couple of the brightest, like Fjold, were left in Iyastar, having appreciated their diligence and success in their studies. After he came of age, he was first appointed as an assistant to one of the priests responsible for delivering and distributing food to the temple canteens in one of the city's sectors. Then, after a few years, seeing his diligence and zeal, he was promoted to first assistant. Then he was entrusted with the management of this inn, which he was very happy about.

Of course, he had a lot of work to do as well as a lot of trouble. He had to keep an eye on everything and everyone. He had to ensure that food and firewood were brought in on time, the garbage was taken out, dirty linen was washed, clean linen was made, and floors and tables were cleaned. Also, what most of his workers did not know, about the guests everything that is necessary, and where it is necessary to report. But it didn't bother him at all. After all, the main thing, the most important thing, was that the damned cold was forever in the past, in the distant childhood, in the eternally cold house, half buried in the ground. The mere memory of it sent a chill down his spine, and his lips whispered a prayer to the Sun. No, thank you! There's nowhere better than here. All these distant lands and adventures that young people sometimes dream of are nonsense and foolishness. Grinning at his thoughts, Fjold glanced at one of the few occupied tables. A couple of adventurers from the squad that had stopped at his place a couple of days ago were eating breakfast there. One was older, with graying hair, a nose that had been broken more than once in a fight, and a scarred face and arms. The other was younger, with a still relatively handsome and intact face. He was the living embodiment of the romanticized image of a soldier of fortune and adventurer, which young and foolish girls fell for. But not only young girls. At the table with them sat several of Fjold's workers, waiting for the arrival of carts with wood and food, and one servant girl, older and bigger, but still quite pretty. Especially if you like bigger women. She was being held tightly by one of the adventurers, who was older and not distinguished by the beauty of his face, with his left arm around her wide waist. And all those who sat at the table, especially the young boys and laborers, listened to one of his tales, which any adventurer of any experience would have a lot of.

"...and here he rushes at me! A big one! Three heads taller than me! Green all over, huge mouth, fangs as big as a finger, hands as big as a log, with claws as long as a bear's and as long as my knees! And it stank so bad that I thought I would die from the stench alone, I almost threw up the whole dinner, along with my guts. And I had only a spear in my hands, a steep ravine behind me, and a thicket on the sides. I think it's over, I've run away! The skin of these creatures is such that you can't penetrate it without powerful sorcery. Only if you put it in the mouth, but how can you hit it, because it doesn't stand still, it's such a bastard!"

"How'd you get out of it?!"

The youngest of the workers, who had been listening to the adventurer with his mouth open, leaned forward. Fjold grinned involuntarily to himself. Eh, young people, he wants to exploits and adventures. He does not understand his happiness, a peaceful life in eternal warmth. The adventurer told the tale well, and the innkeeper even listened to himself.

Wit and luck, kid! She got me out of it. I thought, if I die, I'll die beautifully! So I threw my spear aside, took out my knife, and yelled at him: “Come here, you green-faced creature, I'll kill you with one knife! And the ogres are dumb as hell, but they understand swearing! He roared and rushed. He thought that if I threw away my spear, it was the end, what could a knife do to him, with his skin and survivability? And here he was coming at me, roaring, baring his fangs, pulling his paws, and I was standing still, shouting too, throwing my knife from hand to hand and... I threw myself at his feet at the very last moment! I dodged his clutches by a miracle! And he flew over me and plunged straight into the ravine! And it was steep and deep, and covered with rocks and cobblestones!

The listeners exhaled in unison, and there were delighted oohs and ahhs. The adventurer with a satisfied face took a few sips from the mug with kvass, wiped his lips with his sleeve, and continued:

"I was lying on the ground, neither alive nor dead, my heart pounding like crazy, and I couldn't believe my luck. But it's good that I didn't lie down, but decided to look at this thing. I thought if not to spit, then to piss on it from the cliff. I got up, shook myself off, went to the edge of the ravine, looked down, and there it was! It was very deep, the walls were all rocky and full of stones, and he was not only alive, he was crawling up! His face was covered in blood, his fangs were broken, and one paw was hanging like a whip, but the other was clinging to the ground and rocks and climbing up! When he saw me, he roared and went even faster. I was so frightened that I ran away with all my might. I even forgot to pick up my spear! Then the commander gave me a good thrashing for it...."

The listeners broke into another round of delighted gasps and gasps. Even Fjold smiled involuntarily. It was a good story. Of course, he didn't believe it one bit. Fjold had seen and heard all sorts of things during his years as manager of the inn. And now he knew for sure that all the stories of adventurers should be divided by two at least. Or better ten at once. Because they love to lie and boast even more than sailors. If he says that he was alone and against the old ogre, it means that there were at least four of them, and most likely the ogre was young and quite, ha-ha, green. But he was a good talker, that can't be taken away... Oh, here they are, assholes!

Naida and Dana came down the stairs leading upstairs to the guest rooms. The two pretty and handsome maids were yawning sleepily, sleep-deprived, with their shawls tucked into their shawls and their dresses wrinkled. The collars had not been laced up properly, the wretches showing off what nature had given them. Under Fjold's stern gaze, the girls whispering quietly became a little embarrassed and hurried to the kitchen, where they were already waiting. They defiantly ignored the stares of the older servant girls. But as they passed the table where the guests were sitting, the youngest of the adventurers, whispering with the workers, suddenly called out to the girls:

"Hey, beauty!"

Of course, both turned around and froze, looking at the young man with interest. He took out a full silver oren from his belt pocket, placed it on the bend of his index finger, and with a flick of his thumb sent it flying. The coin tumbled through the air and landed precisely in the collar of Naida's dress, making her jump and shriek from the cold metal. The table erupted into laughter and another round of delighted and amazed gasps. Dana pouted her pretty lips put her arms at her sides, defiantly stuck out her chest, and asked in a disgruntled voice:

"What about me?!"

Grinning merrily, the adventurous boy took out another Oren and with a flick of his thumb sent it flying. Like its predecessor, it landed precisely in the unbuttoned collar of the maid's dress, causing another explosion of approving laughter. The satisfied girls, under the envious glances of their friends, ran off to the kitchen. At the same time not forget to sway their hips. Fjold couldn't hold back a smile when he saw them off. How lucky the wretches were! Two full eagles of silver on the spot, just for their pretty faces and handsome figures. He must be a young boy, for older adventurers don't throw away money like that, even when they're lucky. At least, not for the sake of laughter alone, but for something even more weighty. As if to confirm his thoughts, the oldest of the adventurers sitting in an embrace with chubby Greta, moved his left hand from her waist upwards and dropped the same full-sized oren into the neckline of her dress. As he did so, he casually stroked what was barely concealed in the neckline. The maid, who had puffed up at the sight of her lucky companions, squeaked merrily and was pressed even closer to the older adventurer. His palm stroked her well-fed flank in a masterly manner. And what was below her back.

Uh-huh. I see. It's not hard to guess where Greta will be taken after breakfast. Well, it's no big deal, there's plenty of hands to go around. All the more reason to make a profit. Part of the money that the girls-servants earned by rendering “pleasant services” went to the inn, or, to be more precise, to the temple treasury, since all such establishments in Iyastar were under the jurisdiction of the First Temple. That's why they looked at such jobs with a blind eye. However, as long as everything remained within the bounds of decency. The sun did not approve of outright debauchery. Even the Giver of Life, no matter what they said about her and her priestesses (whispering and looking away), did not encourage fornication. Unless, of course, all those tales about dark elves were really tales. Although, these adventurers looked quite decent, and so far behaved the same way. They did not openly groped servant girls in public, limiting themselves to slaps and pinches below the back, for which the girls immediately got a coin or two. And they did not invite them to their rooms to “sleep over” quite so zealously or rudely. The latter, however, was more the merit of a couple of their she-wolves, who, though they did not growl openly at their companions when they looked at the maids, but looked very unkindly. And one of them was casting interested glances at one of the boy-workers. She had the kind of face that would make other Orcs prettier. Well, as long as they don't cause any problems, let them have fun as they want. When he finished wiping the tables, Fjold went to the kitchen to see how things were going.

* * *

Darendil leaned back in his chair and drummed his fingers on the small table, looking at the sheets of paper and scrolls neatly laid before him in different handwriting. He had assigned himself a corner of the room reserved for operational work. There was a shortage of space, so everyone had to crumble together. It was much easier and more comfortable to work in the Vicious Rose under the cover of his granddaughter (I should check on her, by the way). Here, in the heart of the Sun-worshippers' lands, it was much more cautious and cramped. Of course, this was no problem for the experienced team of Secret Guard agents. They had worked in far worse conditions. But still, you get used to a good thing, and in Morgrave they worked with a certain degree of comfort. The consolation was that it was getting a little easier every day.

In the past few days, the four rooms they occupied had been transformed. The network of cloaking and protective charms had become much thicker and denser, and the number of supporting amulets and artifacts had been doubled to ensure that it would work without interruption. The protection was not absolute, but it was very reliable, allowing one to act with a little more freedom, without fear of exposure to the use of even medium-level magic. The furnishings in all four of the four rooms had changed considerably. All the furniture had been carefully moved to the room set aside for storage. Several tables took the place of beds in the operational room. An enchanted map of the city, capable of becoming three-dimensional, was spread out on one of them. It was too detailed a map if one were to ask the higher hierarchs of the Solar. In addition, it was riddled with many different markings, most of which would also be of great interest to the Inquisitorium. Important places, like the barracks of the Lightbringer Paladins, or a couple of secret sanctuaries of combat orientation. The main routes of city guard patrols, prayer processions, and retreat routes from different parts of the city. As well as caches and stashes of consumables scattered throughout the sectors. A couple of agents at the second table were preparing for the next batch, carefully packing various amulets, potions, and crystals in special containers.

On one of the walls, occupying most of its space were mounted portraits of various humans and nonhumans. There were a few sheets of paper next to each of them, written in scrawled handwriting. Several of them were threaded into the others, forming a kind of web. At the center of the web was a portrait of a man of considerable age, with a hard, strong-willed face, full gray hair and beard, and piercing gray eyes. His Highness, the Priest-King Arnuil the First. And there were more sheets of paper around him than anything else. It is clear that it was written there, among other things, that those who did not devote their lives to the service of the Sun and the Sun, and who had achieved great heights in this field, were not supposed to know from the word at all. The contents of the sheets around the other portraits were similar in their degree of secrecy, so all the paper was impregnated with special alchemy and enchanted so that in case of alarm to burn without a trace in a matter of seconds.

Along the other wall were racks of weapons and battle wands, fully charged and ready for use. Just in case. If the innkeeper were to look in here, he would be very surprised at the changes in the inn he had been entrusted with. So that he would have no reason for such a surprise, which would be his last, the agents of the Secret Guard took care to take control of the entire floor and then the entire building. At the same time, they were working closely with all the employees of the inn. It began, of course, with the easiest and most convenient targets, whose departure for the time of processing would not arouse anyone's suspicion. Namely, the prettiest and youngest of the servant girls here. Speaking of which. Putting aside the reports and conclusions of the analysts, Twilight mentally summoned Sunset responsible for the mental processing of the targets in the squad. The agent was now in the next room and just had to finish the processing. The answer came almost immediately:

//“I'm listening.

//What about the maids?

//Almost ready, another half hour's work, just to ensure. Then we'll make them look good and we can let them go.

//All right. When you're done with them, let me know, and they'll bring you the next one.

//Got it.

As he cut the connection, Sunset sitting in a comfortable chair, let out a barely audible sigh of sadness. Three centuries of diligent study and practice under one of the recognized masters of Mind Magic. Passing his certification, which took another decade. Long-awaited recognition and receiving the honorary title of Master of Magic, and at once in several, albeit related schools associated with Mind Magic. Then a difficult selection in the Secret Guard, followed by a century and a half of special training in a closed school of the Guard. From which he graduated with honors. Then there were fifty years of training, the final exam, and finally admission to operational work in the field. And all for what? The answer to the Secret Guard agent was loud sighs and groans. Next to him, on a bed with wrinkled and wet sheets, two naked human girls were kissing passionately. One had short light copper-blond hair and a scattering of freckles on her face, the other had long curly brown hair. Kneeling in front of each other, they caressed each other without breaking the kiss. The redhead was more active, clearly in the dominant role.

With her right hand, she held her girlfriend tightly around the waist, squeezing her buttocks with the palm of her hand. With her left hand, she was squeezing and kneading her large breasts, while she kept exploring her girlfriend's mouth with her tongue. She moaned and moaned, but only slid her palms down the redhead's sweat-wet back. Both maids' eyes were half-closed and cloudy as if they'd had too much wine. In fact, it was the result of the spell enveloping their minds. Each of them was sure they were sharing a bed with one of the adventurers with whom they had gone upstairs the day before. At the same time, under the cover of passion and pleasure, small, almost imperceptible seeds of the necessary compulsions were sprouting in their minds. Not to notice certain oddities in the behavior of adventurers, or rather to consider them NORMAL. Nothing suspicious that should be emphasized. The usual guests from the South. A little more generous, after closing a good contract, wanting to rest and spend the winter in warmth. And in pleasant company. In short, FULLY NORMAL. Also, an image of the rooms occupied by the adventurers was created in their heads which was to completely replace the real one. So that even if someone decided to look through their memories, he would only see the rooms of the inn where the guests from the South were accommodated.

It was not the easiest job, but for a specialist of Sunset's level, it had been routine for a long time. And that makes it quietly depressing. As a naive boy (by elven standards), he dreamed of serving for the Forest. Engaging in deadly operations with no margin for error. To penetrate the minds of the elven kingdom's enemies full of dangerous traps and false memories, extracting crucial secrets from them. Deftly overcoming their defenses, opening them barrier by barrier, calculating false memories in search of true ones. Naive, young man. In reality, the service in the operational unit of the Secret Guard mostly consisted of routine. A boring, unexciting routine. Destroy another band of brigands interfering with trade with the allies of the Forest. Strike down two large tribes of orcs, preventing them from growing into a powerful tribal alliance that could become the new Great Horde. To deliver to unfriendly lands a cargo of consumables for residents and infiltrated agents. No romanticism of knights of cloak and dagger sung by poets and writers.

No, some assignments were really like what he had once envisioned serving in the Secret Guard. The kind where he got to work with truly dangerous enemies, both in the shadows and in the open, with helpless prisoners. However such assignments were rare exceptions to the general rule, only confirming it. Because, as had been well explained to him in the Secret Guard school, ideally problems for the Forest should be eliminated before the most complex and dangerous operations had to be carried out. Like now, for example. It is easier and more correct to eliminate the ambitious leader of a small band of green-skinned raiders than to reach for the throat of the Great Khan, who is leading a countless horde on a campaign. To take under the tutelage and control of a gifted and talented student before he, in defiance of the world, achieves great power and the pride of his pride to challenge the very celestials. The basics of the basics, which, alas, can not always be observed. Just like now. When the whole Forest is in danger.

And even under such circumstances, he had to handle such random witnesses from among the servants, employees, and tenants of the inn occupied by the squad. Their minds were like pieces of paper on which he could write whatever he wanted. No challenge, no test of his talents. No, he was by no means careless in his work, carefully hiding the seeds of his compulsions in the minds of the Humans. But the Lord of the Woods could see how boring it was! Well, at least these two Humans are quite... acceptable. No, more like tolerable. The sight of their naked bodies is not disgusting. Which is more than he can say for the rest of the workers and employees of this inn.

Sunset's green eyes slid over the passionately kissing human girls again, lingering on the firm buttocks of the passive brown-haired girl closest to him. Her redheaded friend clenched them with both hands and began to squeeze them with vigor. At the same time, she tightly grasped her girlfriend's nipple with her lips and sucked on it. She moaned softly, one hand buried in her wet and tangled red hair, and the palm of her other hand rubbed herself between her legs. Not palace maids, and certainly not the best of the workers at that brothel in Morgrave, but still... Still. “Tits ain't bad,” according to First, who'd infiltrated the city tonight and unceremoniously groped the two maids who'd just been brought in for processing. Or rather, as he grinningly explained his actions to the Secret Guard agents, conducted a personal tactile search. Sunset was willing to bet that the other maids would not be subjected to such a tactile inspection. Sunset's ears twitched involuntarily at the thought of the other innkeepers and employees he would have to work with. Necessary routine, damn it. But what could be done, security was paramount, and so the minds of each of the workers had to be worked on. Okay, time to finish with these two girls.

With an effort of thought, both Humans froze in place, stopping their mutual caresses and experiencing a momentary orgasm. Their eyes rolled back and their tongues came out of their mouths in a soundless moan. It seems there was even a special scientific term for this post-orgasmic facial expression... But it didn't matter. The pleasure experienced simultaneously plunged their simple minds into a trance, opening it up to Sunset. Another mental command and both maids sat down on the edge of the bed, straightening their backs, placing their palms on their knees, and freezing. Model students of the Neirat Academy. If only their eyes weren't staring straight ahead and their faces didn't read a single thought. Rising to his feet, the elf approached them and gently touched their foreheads with the tips of his index fingers. Closing his eyes, he began to check the directives put in their heads and settings to ignore the unnecessary. It was fine. What about the false memories of the night before? It's okay. We can let them go. With a mental command, both maids collapsed back onto the bed, lay like that for a few seconds, then woke up and opened their eyes. With a yawn, the redhead turned on her side, stretched, and then opened her brown eyes wide:

"Oh, bugger! Naida, get up, we overslept! Get up, Fjold's gonna get us!"

"Uh-huh. What? How much is it now... Oh wow!!!"

The girls jumped out of bed and began to dress hurriedly, pulling on their dresses and underwear. As they did so, they discussed the night before, commenting on their partners in bed and arguing over whose was better. Neither of them paid any attention to the elves in the room, nor the items for magical crafting. Nor to Rustle sitting at a separate table in the corner of the room with a trio of artifact mirrors in front of her. One reflected her trusted contact from the Secret Guard in the Royal Palace, and the agent was talking quietly to him. The girls stood just a few feet away from her, but they neither saw nor heard her as if she didn't exist for them at all.

She was also sitting in the opposite corner of the room from Rustle, on the floor, another elven woman in a long shirt of coarse linen. She was surrounded by a circle of small stones of different shapes and colors, each carved with a single mark. Her long dark hair was woven with many flowers and herbs, and on her chest hung several bundles of beads made of various stones, including very unattractive ones, river pearls, animal fangs, and claws. Crossing her bare feet, she gazed with violet eyes at a large mushroom with a bright red cap growing in front of her right out of the floorboards. Whose invisible to her eyes fungus had already sprouted into the floorboards, ceiling, and walls, gradually covering the rooms occupied by the Secret Guard agents with another layer of defense. In her hands, she held a small wooden bowl with a long spout filled with a nourishing alchemical concoction. With honed movements, the not-so-common druid fed her creation one drop at a time. In addition to the mushroom forming a protective fungus, there were a dozen pots along the wall by the window, in which she had managed to germinate various seedlings. Some of them had already blossomed into large flowers. Others had grown long thorns smeared with oily poison.

The maids hurriedly dressed made themselves at least somewhat presentable, and left the room in a hurry. They left the room without stopping to discuss the night before, and without stepping on any of the lines of the small ritual circle drawn on the floorboards, which had been joined together to form an even surface. As the door closed behind them, Sunset, who had been watching them, sighed a faintly sad sigh and prepared for the next maid. Whose well-fed figure could only excite a dwarf, those known lovers of fleshy women... Suddenly, the elf, busy with preparations, froze in place. Rustle and Druid also broke away from their activity, wary. For a few seconds, the gifted elves were silent, then glanced around. One of the strands of the signaling web they had used to cover the approaches to the inn had just reacted. Very thin and almost imperceptible. One particular thread had reacted, three times, at very short intervals. Not a violation, but a polite knock on the door. Sunset made a mental effort through his tiara to summon his superior:

//Twilight.

//I'm listening?

//We have a guest

//Great, we've been waiting for her. Let's meet her.”

A long time ago, back in the days of the First, it had been considered chic among the best of the Secret Guard agents, a sign of skill, to appear quite suddenly among their less experienced colleagues. To bypass all the layers of defense, to bypass all the obstacles, to show up at the right moment, as if nothing had happened. It was also considered the pinnacle of skill to be able to blend into the ongoing conversation as if you had been there from the very beginning and had taken part in the conversation. In the time of the First, this practice was stopped, after two incidents that almost ended in tragedy, and one that did. The founder and the first head of the Elven special services gave his subordinates a severe reprimand, which went down in the annals and specialized textbooks. Since then, the agents gave up the practice of “sudden” appearances. Almost abandoned.

Darendil nodded briefly to the subordinates in the room with him and made himself comfortable in his seat. An elderly woman dressed in a simple closed gray cloth dress entered the inn from a side entrance one floor below. It was typical of the common women of the Sun-Face Theocracy. Noticeably shabby, but clean and neat. She wore a wide-brimmed straw hat, the kind worn by many of the inhabitants of the Bright Lands that lived near the capital, where the Lesser Sun shone eternally. It saved her face from excessive light, and at the same time hid it from the eyes of others. None of the innkeepers paid any attention to the guest. Not Fjold, not the maids, not the laborers. Only a couple of adventurers finishing their breakfast cast brief glances in her direction and nodded to her. The guest nodded back just as discreetly and walked leisurely up to the second floor, leaning on a knotted staff with wrinkled hands. Stopping at the doors occupied by the adventurers, she tapped the tip of it gently on the door. Or rather, tapped off an intricate signal. After a few seconds, the door opened without a single creak, and the older woman stepped inside just as leisurely. When the door closed behind her, Twilight, who was sitting at the table, nodded politely:

"Melody."

The old woman carefully removed her straw hat. Beneath it was a face riddled with deep wrinkles, faded gray eyes, and parchment skin. A semblance of a smile touched her thin, dry lips and she nodded in response:

"Twilight."

As she greeted the squad leader, the older woman shrugged her shoulders and shook her sparse, short, and completely gray hair. A moment later, her appearance was transformed. The dry parchment skin fell from her face and hands in weightless ashes, taking the wrinkles with it. Beneath the thin layers of alchemical makeup, her skin was flawlessly smooth and white. Along with the makeup, she had gotten rid of the elaborate wig and the special cap designed to hide her real hair. Most of the innkeepers would have been mortified to see it. envy. Thick, light honey-colored, they were gathered around her head with special hairpins. The guest's clothes had also been transformed. A simple and obviously not new dress of gray fabric came into motion, its fabric, as if alive, changed and flowed. A few seconds passed, and in the room instead of an elderly human woman stood a slender elf woman, dressed in a tight one-piece suit of thin gray fabric, perfectly emphasizing the seductive and trained figure. She pulled the hairpins out of her hair and tucked them behind her back, looking around at the rest of her kin in the room with a piercing gaze of bright blue eyes. When she stopped on the dark elf, she nodded politely and said:

"First."

Sitting in a chair in the opposite corner from Darendil, Luaval also nodded politely in response:

"Melody."

The other agents of the Secret Guard simply bowed silently to the guest, and the latter nodded faintly in return. A sign of great respect and recognition of the superiority of a much more experienced colleague. After running her eyes over everyone gathered once again, Melody turned to Twilight and spoke briefly:

"You first, Twilight."

The squad leader nodded silently, carefully stood up from the table, removed his belt with daggers and battleaxes, and slowly approached the guest. A palpable tension hung in the air. Stopping two steps away from her, he gently held his hands to her, palms up. A moment, and in one elusive movement, Melody braided them with a thin silken rope, and into Twilight's chest with the tip of her staff. Darendil didn't even twitch, only barely audibly exhaled as a wave of light traveled from him throughout his body. For a few seconds, they stood motionless, nothing happening. Then the guest let go of the agent's hands, and the silky rope that had entangled them all the way to their elbows unraveled by itself. Taking the staff away from Twilight's chest she froze looking at him expectantly.

"I'm going to ask you to turn around and expose the back of your head as much as possible."

With a waggle of her eyebrows, Melody stood motionless for a second, then very slowly turned her back to him, her left hand lifting the hair at the back of her head. With her right, she continued to clutch her staff tightly. Twilight touched the base of her neck with a short rod in a smooth and slow motion, and a wave of light traveled through Melody's body just the same, from top to toe. And nothing happened either. At that moment, everyone in the room exhaled at once, and the tension in the air visibly dissipated. Turning to Darendil, the guest asked in a calm and cold voice:

"Is it really that bad?"

The one in return, with a grim face, replied briefly:

"More than that."

With a brief nod, the agentess ordered:

"Report."

The squad leader only silently handed her the crystal with the images.

"All the information is here. The importance category is black."

Without a word, Melody took the dimly glowing crystal held out to her. She squeezed it in her hand and closed her eyes. From the outside it might have looked like Melody was completely immersed in herself, but Twilight and Luaval could see that despite her relaxed posture, the experienced agentess was ready to snap out of her seat at any moment in case of a threat. She stood like that for almost ten minutes, and then she squeezed the crystal a little harder, and it crumbled into ashes that burned in the air. She opened her piercing blue eyes and said laconically:

"It's very bad indeed."

Turning to the board of portraits, Melody stopped her gaze on the center one, which depicted the Priest King Arnuil. She gazed at it for a few seconds, then spoke with a note of longing and sadness:

"I assumed Forest had decided to cut his life short after all."

A wry grin appeared on the face of Luaval, who kept his attentive eyes on the agentess:

"I wish. It would be not much easier, but at least it would be clear how and what to do."

Turning to the dark elf, Melody looked at him carefully for a few seconds, then decided something and turned to Twilight:

"Any idea what they want?"

Standing next to the agentess, Twilight pointed to the portrait of Arnuil:

"Since we do not know their goals, we can only speculate. The most probable one, according to our analysts' estimates, is a secret seizure of power, by gradually “structuring” the key leaders of the Theocracy. In that case, Solar Majesty is the most obvious target. But also our analysts believe that the possibility of his “structuring” is close to zero, given his almost direct connection with the Sunface and his personal power. Not to mention his retinue and guards. Considering that they used our prepared legend for Tiantrel, it is much more likely that their possible target is the Reverend Mother."

Turning her gaze to the portrait next to the Priest-King, Melody stared for a few moments at the woman in it, with the same piercing gaze as the Secret Guard agent. She stared at her for a few seconds, then shook her head faintly:

"I doubt they have a chance of getting to her. To kill her, yes. But structuring her, no. Even as one of her trusted and beloved Children, the chance of such an operation is extremely slim. The Reverend Mother's connection to the Sunface is little less than that of Arnuil. And she has not left Iyastar for a long time. If she were half a century younger, when she was still personally involved in operational work, then yes, catching her in the field, during a mission... There would be a chance. But now..."

After a moment's silence, Melody shifted her gaze to the other portrait, to which a thin string stretched from the Reverend Mother.

"She can be an intermediate target, while not being a target for “structuring” at all. But their beloved holy maiden...."

"It's all a guessing game,” said Luaval, interrupting the Secret Guard's discussion.

Rising to his feet, the dark elf joined them at the board and continued:

We have too little information, so we make assumptions that have no basis in fact. First, we need to find out more about the person pretending to be our legend ++Tairel.

Turning to the dark elf, Melody nodded:

"I agree. How long before our tailed helpers get the information we need?"

"Scheff promised to do his best, but it's not easy to dig a hole in the Reverend Mother's abode. He's already told me some things, though."

"And what?"

"That our one of Reverend Mother's new favorites left Iyastar about a month ago. But just the day before, she came back to town."

"I see..."

"After thinking for a moment, Melody uttered:"

"I suggest, while we wait for news from the tails, that we take a walk to the nunnery of the First Temple. We'll do some recon. See what's going on, listen. Very carefully, keep our heads down. We can't spook our target."

Luaval nodded approvingly, allowing himself a predatory smile:

"I second that. Let's just get more expendables. The cloaking amulets run out of juice too fast in this town."

"No one's stopping you from using other methods of disguise, First."

"Except for my looks. You know, Melody, I'm a lot harder to disguise as a local than you are. Even with magical alchemy."

The agentess only shrugged and began to prepare to leave. She took out a small, flat jar of cream and began to reapply her makeup. Luaval, on the other hand, began to prepare a set of amulets. In addition to camouflage amulets, there were also those used for surveillance and eavesdropping. Twilight took a small map of the central sector of Iiastar from his desk and handed it to the dark elf:

"Try to place tracking amulets here and here. If you can, here too. But only if you're sure they won't be detected. We can't disturb the sun worshippers. And look for a place to nest for observation."

"All right, let's give it a shot."

An hour later, an old woman in a worn gray dress left the inn. She was still unseen by any of the innkeepers and guests. At the same time, a vague and almost indistinguishable shadow left through the roof. Like a haze over the ground on a hot day. Together, but in different ways, they moved toward the heart of Iyastar.

* * *

Внимание! Этот перевод, возможно, ещё не готов.
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Переведено на Нотабеноиде
http://notabenoid.org/book/86674/574605

Переводчики: Camrad_RIP