Готовый перевод История Королевы Эльфов / The story of the Elf Queen: 37. Интересные новости от союзников агентов королевы эльфов

Interesting news from the allies of the Elf Queen's agents

* * *

In one of the magical laboratories of the Secret Guard, in the center of two ritual circles stood two medical chairs originally designed for women in labor. Unlike ordinary chairs, they had special supports and footrests to keep their legs tucked in and wide enough apart, as well as a reclining backrest. In one of them sat Sivila, in the other the Elder Enchantress. Both powerful elven women were naked, and around them numerous magical symbols shone brightly in the air, forming a single powerful and complex weave of analyzing charms. Particular attention was paid to the lower lips of both elven women on display. Leaning back in a comfortable and maximally comfortable chair, Mirael said in a philosophical voice:

"I never thought I'd be in the delivery chair again so soon....."

Sivila, sitting next to her, answered her in the same philosophically indifferent voice:

"I never thought I'd be in the delivery chair again. And for such an occasion."

"Have you ever considered the possibility of having a sixth child?"

"Not in the next thousand years. It would take a great deal of effort and sacrifice to beg such a thing from Gaia. Both on my part and on the part of my dear husband."

"He contacted me yesterday, by the way. Another raid by the Outer Corps was successful, with no casualties, but some wounded."

"It is encouraging to hear that my husband is not sitting idle either, but is working with all his might for the benefit of the Forest....."

The casual conversation between two naked elven women, sitting in medical chairs with their legs wide apart, was interrupted by a synchronized and especially bright flash of magical symbols. After that, they were extinguished at once, as well as the ritual circles on the floor of the laboratory. The silent Queen and the Elder Enchantress looked at Ziandar leading the inspection. He removed from his head the magical tiara and the special eyepieces that allowed him to see the smallest details of the weaves and subtle bodies:

"Clear." He said.

Outwardly, Sivila didn't react in any way to those words. But her heart twitched involuntarily. The queen bowed her head slightly and said in a calm and indifferent voice:

"I'm glad to hear that. Astra, I'm going to need you to help me get dressed."

The queen's bodyguard nodded silently and helped her mistress first out of the chair and then into the green, closed dress. Next to her, Mirael dressed herself, as she had last time, rising into the air above the floor unaided. One had to admit, the way her clothes flew up to her and dressed itself looked quite spectacular. It also took a lot less time. By the time Sivila had gotten herself into the minimum required appearance, Mirael had already had time to get herself completely cleaned up. As she approached the masters of magic gathered around the wide work table, the queen spoke a single word:

"How?"

Ziandar, who was once again in charge of the survey, sighed tiredly and began his report:

"For the first time, our opponent got his way through a combination of extreme simplicity of impact, power, and narrow concentration..."

“I remember your analogies,” the queen interrupted Ziandar, ”chainmail and needle, extreme concentration, and so forth. We've taken additional defenses. How did he get past our defenses this time?”

With a twitch of his long ear, the master of the Branding School patiently continued:

"I was just getting to that. This time he achieved it through a very complex technique: local synchronization of the lower edge of the middle part of the subtle body, which led to resonance ..."

Ziandar faltered, sighed tiredly, and made a pass with his hand. Dimensional images of three thin bodies appeared above the table where everyone was gathered. Sivila, Mirael, and Tiantrel. The necessary areas in the crouch of three of them were highlighted in red light. After pointing at them, the master of the School of Branding continued in a clearer language:

"He adjusted his aura, or rather the aura of the Tiantrel he controlled, to match your auras. To be precise, just this section, so the changes would not be noticeable. And he copied it very precisely. So precise, in fact, that it achieved complete synchronization. It's very difficult to do that, but if you can do it, that kind of synchronization allows you to bypass most defenses. And at the right moment, it caused a resonance, which, in turn, caused you to feel like you'd been twisted...."

"I understand you,” Sivila interrupted Ziandar again.

Outwardly, the queen was completely impassive. But only outwardly. For a few seconds, she stared intently at all three projections of subtle bodies. Then, carefully choosing her words, the queen asked:

"He copied part of my thin body?"

"Yes."

"How did he do it despite all my defenses? It was supposed to hide my aura from him, wasn't it?"

Wrinkling his nose, Ziandar nodded to his fellow artifact specialist:

"Due to the combination of the head part of the Tiantrel “structure” and the figurine. We can now say for sure that they reinforce each other, and by multiples. Thereby allowing him to hear and see far more than we had previously realized. We could have easily prevented it but couldn't block the figure completely. Otherwise, the conversation wouldn't take place. Besides, he didn't synchronize his entire subtle body, but only a small part of it."

"I heard you, thank you. This technique he used. How difficult is it?"

"Creating such a synchronization of subtle bodies, under such conditions, and in such a time? This can be considered a master's certification for the School of the Senses."

"How interesting. Our opponent never ceases to amaze us. Tell me, honorable ones, how dangerous can such exposure be?"

"Very dangerous. The effect can be fatal. But this requires synchronization of key parts of subtle bodies."

Another pass of his hand, and other areas lit up on the projections, mostly around the heart, head, and along spine.

"But in your case, there was no threat. We checked everything thoroughly, the impact was extremely sensitive and also extremely concentrated and narrowly focused, just like last time."

"I'm glad to hear that. Can I be sure, honorable ones, that this will not happen a third time?"

The answer was an awkward silence, which was a very telling response. Ziandar took the floor again trying to make himself look as confident as possible:

"We will do everything we can to ensure it doesn't happen again. We will draw the necessary conclusions and apply all necessary precautions."

His answer was a very meaningful look from the queen, who arched an eyebrow in a practiced motion:

"I heard you say that last time."

Many magic masters twitched the tips of their ears but said nothing, thus acknowledging their failure.

"And I really hope that next time, it really will be enough."

Turning to the Elder Enchantress, Sivila uttered:

"I've heard all I need to hear. I will disturb you no further, honorable masters of magic."

After exchanging farewells, the Queen left the laboratory where she and Mirael were being examined after her conversation with the Master. The Secret Guard agent waiting outside the door nodded silently and escorted her to Third's office. There, Sivila was already waiting. Astra stayed outside and the queen went inside. The master of the office was sitting at his desk, carefully reading the documents spread out in front of him. In addition to them, several crystals with imprinted images lay beside him, and there was an artifact mirror for communication. When the queen took her seat beside him and the defenses of his office were fully activated, the head of the Secret Guard spoke in a steady voice, still reading the scroll:

"Last time he achieved it with extreme simplicity, this time he used a very complex and sophisticated technique. That's interesting."

"Which is it? The fact that he managed to make fools of us twice, or the way he did it?"

"Everything."

Tearing himself away from reading the document, Third put it aside and leaned back in his chair, folding his arms in front of him:

"The more we learn about our opponent, the more unanswered questions I have about him. And I don't like those unanswered questions. He's a master of Mind Magic from several different schools. Classical, Puppet, a previously unknown mix of the School of Branding and Tatuaje. And he's proficient at the Magister level, and that's the least of it. Quite a solid set, which in itself raises a lot of questions. It is impossible to master all these Schools in one place, simply because no place teaches all these Schools."

The queen had already thought about it too, and cautiously said:

"Could it be that we are confronted not by a single Magister or Archimagister, but by several Masters of Magic, each of whom owns his School?"

"We have considered this version, at this point it is considered highly unlikely. The School of Puppets, with few exceptions, is practiced in various variants among the black tribes of the far south and some clans in the eastern lands. The School of Tattooing is also practiced among the southern tribes, the green-skinned, and in the lands and islands lying beyond the Eastern Sea. The School of Branding is most practiced among our dark brothers and sisters. Though there are some worthy masters among humans and orcs alike. The eastern lands also have their specialists, but they are completely different."

Taking the crystal with the imprinted images from the table Third gently held it out to Sivila:

My agents have made a selection of all known to us masters of magic that practice these schools and are worthy of the title of at least Magister. My analysts are unanimous in their conclusions. The probability that at least three masters of different Schools from this list could unite for a common cause is close to zero. A temporary or one-time alliance is still possible, but long-term cooperation is not. This would imply working together, which would a priori lead to the fact that they would know each other's secrets. And neither of them would agree to that. Each of the gifted who have reached at least the level of master keeps their secrets as the apple of their eye. As a rule, they are passed on only from mentor to apprentice, who in most cases is a close relative.

While listening to Third's speech the queen simultaneously looked at the images imprinted in the crystal. All of them were familiar to her in one way or another. It is impossible to live three and a half thousand years as the Queen of the Forest and not know the most powerful gifted ones. Third meanwhile continued:

"In addition, you have to take into account the specifics of the Schools. Practicing masters of such magic would a priori try to brainwash each other. Thus, my agents and I are inclined to the version that our dear Master is one person, not a collective. And he raised a lot of questions before, and now the School of Senses has been added to the list of his talents. I don't like it at all."

Tapping his finger thoughtfully on the edge of the table Third continued:

"This level of personality does not come out of nowhere. They inevitably become known at a formative stage. Even Raistar, talented as he was, we knew about him long before he thought he was a nugget of talent and built the damn Dark Tower. We underestimated him, yes, but we knew long before he became what he became and did what he did."

"Yes, indeed, it would be very interesting to know where our opponent came from and where he learned all this,” the queen spoke slowly, ”Why do you think he did it?"

"He made two “jokes” about you and the Elder Enchantress? The most obvious option is that he wanted to show his strength and skill. I must admit he succeeded. And that, too, leads me and my analysts to some very interesting thoughts."

Leaning forward, Sivila asked with interest:

"And what are they?"

"Our Master and his colleagues are obviously nervous. They're very worried that we'll reveal the truth about Tairel to the sun worshippers. Or rather, the one claiming to be her. And he's worried enough to risk our offer of negotiation. And he can't help but realize that he risks exposing himself. And yet he responded and offered a peaceful resolution and even showed a gesture of goodwill. A very generous gesture. He must realize that Forest will not forget the kidnapping of his brothers and sisters."

"By the way,” Sivila perked up, interrupting the Head of the Secret Guard, ”how are they?"

A shadow ran across Third's face:

"Not very good."

Turning the artifact mirror at his side toward Sivila, the head of the Secret Guard awakened it with a snap of his fingers. A moment later, it reflected one of the special prisoners' cells. In it, an elven woman sat at a small table, hands in her long blonde hair, staring at nothing in front of her. She was wearing only a nightgown, the collar of which was completely unbuttoned, and it barely fit over her enormous breasts. It was obvious to the naked eye that she had been enlarged with a good deal of alchemy and special magic. As a result, the kidnapped woman could be mistaken for a female Taurus, whose tits had long since become legendary. And about which there were jokes of varying degrees of lewdness among representatives of probably all intelligent races. Even though the former prisoner was not short of height and sat almost straight her breasts were almost entirely on the table. On her head, ankles, and wrists she wore special magic suppressors, which also served as restraining shackles. The former prisoner was trembling visibly, whispering silently and twitching every now and then. Next to her at the table sat two elven women dressed as healers talking quietly to her. Behind her stood an agent of the Secret Guard, with a paralyzing wand at the ready. Just in case.

"It's not easy to realize yourself after years of captivity and sexual slavery. Even if the memory of it has been thoroughly erased."

"Completely erased?"

"Completely, that's the first thing we checked. Now we're looking for any circumstantial traces that might tell us where they were kept and who owned them, but so far there's not much to go on. What we have in abundance, though, is all sorts of crap the Master put in their heads. He did provide a list, and now our masters of magic are working on the step-by-step elimination of all compulsions and bookmarks. As well as maintaining the stability of their psyches."

"As far as I can see, it's not just their heads that have been worked on,” Sivila said, looking at the former prisoner.

She remembered her quite well, though she'd hardly ever spoken to her in person. But she remembered well that she had a completely different figure. And it wasn't just her absurdly enlarged breasts, but her buttocks and thighs, which had also been enlarged.

"Increased sensitivity of the major erogenous zones, added a few new ones, all this combined with breast and buttock enlargement and a general increase in lust. Correcting all of this will take several years and require several full courses of specialized treatment."

"Do their relatives know yet?"

"The closest relatives, yes. But they're sworn to secrecy until the end of the operation. I have to say, she's still lucky. Some people have had it worse."

In the meantime, the reflection in the mirror had changed to reflect another elfess. Two of them, in fact. One, with long blond hair and dressed in a closed light green dress, sat on the edge of a specially low bed. The other, a little slimmer and blonde, wearing only a shirt, lay curled up and sobbing with her face in her lap. Frowning, Sivila stared at both of them for a few seconds. She knew the sitting elf relatively well, as one of the practicing spellcasters who serviced the gardens and parks of the Royal Palace. But she had...

Stunned by the realization, the queen stepped forward, zooming in on the sobbing elfess. It was not an elfess, but an elf. Recognizing him as the kidnapped son of the enchantress was not easy. His face and body had become noticeably more feminine, obviously altered on purpose, and there were also breasts of about the second size. Turning to Third, Sivila cautiously said:

"He was subjected to..."

"Partially. Fortunately, his manhood was preserved, but only his figure and appearance were changed. But that doesn't make the poor guy feel any better. There's a lot more work to be done here. We'll have to do a lot of work with thin bodies and hormones."

"I don't doubt it..."

Extinguishing the mirror, the Queen turned to Third and asked:

"So what conclusions did your analysts come to?"

"There are two main ones. One, our opponents care a lot about Tairel. So important that they wouldn't get rid of her, even though we found out about the switch. Which means we could expose her at any time. Not to mention she's a very obvious lead to them."

"Indeed, it would be smarter to organize her disappearance, especially since it would be very easy with her legend. By the way, what about the original Tairel? Is she okay?"

"Everything's in order. As promised, she's living in her own house. In one of the Hidden Groves for now, of course, but in complete comfort."

Third woke the mirror again. This time it reflected a very pretty half-elf, with a trained, athletic body and long blond hair. She was riding a young human boy, moving her hips vigorously and throwing her head back in pleasure. He was holding her slender waist with one hand and squeezing her breasts with the other. Their belongings were scattered on the floor of the richly furnished bedroom. And on a separate table, the remains of treats and a couple of empty wine glasses were visible. For a few seconds, Sivila watched the half-elf enjoying life and her young lover.

This girl was the daughter of one of the Secret Guard's agents, who during a special operation was “captured” and sold to an aristocrat from the northern coast of the Middle Sea. Where she gave birth to a daughter to whom her father had accidentally developed warm feelings. And he raised her to be, as they said in those parts, a true “iron lady.” So much so that she would have been welcome in any of the Adventurer's Guilds. And as a fighter or scout, which was important, not as a squad warmer for the commander. Albeit elite at the expense of elven blood.

However, the daughter did not appreciate her father's love and care and thanked him for enslaving and taking her mother by force. And not only her father but also most of his household. But her mother's relatives did not accept her as an equal, because of which she took offense at them and left to seek her happiness in this world by herself. Her search led her to the Bright Lands, where she offered her skills to the sun worshippers. For a pretty penny, of course. And of course, the latter was only a legend developed by the Secret Guardians of the Forest. In fact, instead of Tairel, it was Tiantrel to go to the Bright Lands in her guise. The half-elf remained in the Forest, enjoying life in complete comfort. Even if she was not allowed to leave one of the Hidden Groves for the time being.

"Did they check her out?"

"First and foremost, of course, and very thoroughly. She had nothing to do with Tiantrel's abductions."

"I see."

After watching the half-elf girl riding the servant boy some more, Sivila extinguished the mirror and turned to Third:

"What is your analysts' second conclusion about our dear Master?"

"That he and his colleagues were in a hurry. That's why he was so generous to agree to return the abductees and set such a modest time frame for the return. Whatever they're planning in Iyastar it has to happen soon. And it has to be something big, something that pays for all the costs of kidnapping our brothers and sisters."

"That's an interesting assumption. But for now, it's just a guess. We need facts."

Leaning forward, Sivila looked intently into Third's eyes:

"And I can only hope that we have them after today's conversation?"

Third's lips touched the semblance of a smile:

"You can."

* * *

In the part of Morgrave's Upper Town closer to the River Gate and away from the ruined bay, one of the mansions stood out from its neighbors. Not in terms of architecture or material. It was quite typical of the Free City. The four-story building was built of light-colored stone, with strong walls and narrow windows on the first two floors. There were plenty of such mansions in the Upper Town. The main difference between this building and the others was the many rather odd decorations hanging directly from the reliefs of the walls and window shutters. Bundles of feathers of various birds, incomprehensible figures made of bones and skulls of the same birds, intricately woven bundles of dried herbs. All this was hung generously not only on the walls and windows of the house but also on the wall surrounding it. In the backyard, in the center of a small garden, stood a luxurious white yurt.

From the outside to an unknowing person, it might have seemed at least strange, if not ridiculous. But in fact, the numerous decorations formed a powerful defense around the mansion and also served as anchors for many spirits, mostly wind elementals. The quality of this protection commanded the genuine respect of any professional gifter and the envy of the neighbors. Clearly, there were no unprotected houses in the Upper City a priori, but the defense of this mansion stood out from the rest. It would have been especially admired by a gifted person with a knack for spirit summoning and spellcasting. And that was only the visible part of the mansion's defenses, which could not only withstand a serious assault but also fight back. Fortunately for them, the raiders from the Islands had not reached this part of the city. Unfortunately for the inhabitants of the mansion, the owner's eldest and only daughter was staying with an acquaintance and longtime partner and had spent the night at his daughter's house. Their house was located almost at the very waterfront of the Upper Town and was successfully stormed.

The next few weeks were some of the hardest in the lives of everyone in the mansion. And when the daughter returned alive and well, everyone exhaled at once. First of all, the owner of the mansion, on whom his wife was venting her impotent anger and despair at the loss of her heiress and apprentice. Considering who his beloved wife was, it was quite dangerous, so the unhappy merchant had to twist in the frying pan to somehow calm her down. To his great fortune, his daughter was able to return home safe and sound. And even without financial costs, which was also important. Since his acquaintances had to shell out a lot of money to ransom their relatives from the captivity of the islanders. Many even had to go into debt. As his trusted people told him, the new Trapper called Lame Bazhja, who had taken over the illegal trade in live goods, had enriched himself a lot during the past time. Since it was only through him that they could quickly ransom their relatives from the Islands. And Slaver shamelessly used his monopoly, charging triple prices. How this scoundrel is tolerated by the Secret Guard of the honorable Duke of Mont Ros is a mystery.

But, fortunately for him, that was all behind him now. Urvan smiled and admired his daughter, who was twirling in front of a very expensive mirror. She was wearing a light summer dress-robe of blue color, sewn according to the steppe fashion and richly embroidered with gold. It was also decorated with all sorts of hangings, amulets, amulets and Maega alone knows what else. It looked a little outlandish, if not savage, but over the many years he'd lived with the mighty shamaness, he'd gotten used to it. Right now his daughter was admiring not the clothes, but some of the jewelry given to her by the dwarves for some unknown reason. Very expensive jewelry of true dwarven workmanship. Each of them by itself was worth a lot of money. And together, they were worth a fortune. Or a very substantial dowry. Urvan had a good idea of the stinginess of the underground bearded men, and he could hardly imagine what would make them part with such wealth. Well, the main thing was that Sinha had returned alive and well.

Maega, who was sitting next to him, agreed with him. The slanted shamaness was dressed in a dress familiar to the Free Cities, but also heavily decorated with shamanic trappings. All the jewelry given to her daughter was spread out on the table in front of her, and she examined it carefully. Maega wasn't interested in most of it, but she put aside one bracelet and a couple of rings with large gems. She would probably make them into another amulet or something else magical. Urvan did not go into the subtleties of his wife's magic craft, but he was quite satisfied with their results. They were a great help in his trade affairs. At first, his relatives were horrified when instead of a batch of goods he brought a young wife from a dangerous and far trade expedition. And a steppe woman, too. Mother almost had a stroke then. And when she found out who her daughter-in-law was, she still had a stroke and had to be rescued in a hurry. In fact, it was the young daughter-in-law who saved her. He heard a lot of things then. But now the whole family almost prays to Maega and her shamanism, having appreciated all the benefits. And even put up with her quirks.

However, he had to accept the fact that he would not be able to marry off his beautiful daughter in a favorable way because his wife had categorically stated she would choose the groom for Sinha at her discretion. Since the daughter is the next Khao-Seakhar, and will inherit Maega's gift from her, and her daughter will inherit it from her, and so on. This was a bit of a shame, as the beautiful daughter with her unusual appearance was the focus of many envious suitors. But Maega was adamant, so he had to put up with it. It was a pity, the prospects would have been very tempting. Urvan preferred not to argue with his wife, but to express his opinion politely and carefully. Sometimes she even agreed with him. Well, it was a good thing Maega stayed out of his trade affairs most of the time. When she finished fidgeting in front of the mirror, her daughter walked over to the table and picked up the next pair of rings and bracelets her mother had already discarded. At that moment, there was a knock on the door of the living room and Urvan gave a short order:

"Come in!"

His assistant and secretary cautiously entered the room. He bowed politely to his hosts and said, glancing warily at the shamaness:

"Sir, you have visitors."

The shamaness became sharply alert and glared menacingly at the servant:

"What guests?"

Startled, he timidly replied, casting a startled glance at Urvan:

"The honorable Varman arrived along with....."

Upon hearing the guest's name, Maega nearly jumped up on the spot, turning sharply to face the secretary who had entered:

"Get out! Tell him to get out! I don't want him in our house!"

The assistant involuntarily took a step backward, pressing his head into his shoulders, and Urvan hastily tried to hug his spouse to quell her anger:

"Honey, please calm down! Varman is very sorry and remorseful, he has apologized to us...."

The shamaness turned to her husband with dark, slanted eyes and hissed as loudly as a snake. She jumped to her feet, hovered over him, jabbed her finger at his chest, and continued to shout:

"He gave us his word that nothing would happen to Sinha! He swore!"

"Well my dear, he had no idea that the city would be attacked by the King of the Isles himself...."

"He gave his word! An oath! And he broke them! My daughter has been kidnapped by the sea khanurs! They took her into captivity! Sinha could have been killed! She could have been abused! She could have been sold to a lustful sea Khan! I've been up all night, tearing my hair out, calling the most dangerous of the Khao! All because of him!"

Under the pressure of his wife, whose eyes had already changed to bright yellow with vertical pupils, Urvan involuntarily tried to shrink. Which, given his size, was not so easy. The merchant's assistant, who had been serving him for years and had gained experience, stealthily retreated out the door and closed it behind him. A thin child's voice interrupted the shouting and swearing of the enraged shamaness:

"Mommy, don't scold Daddy, he's good!"

The shamaness faltered momentarily and turned to a boy of about five standing next to the table, eyeing his parents warily. He had the same slanted eyes as his mother, but brown hair. Instantly, Maega's anger subsided and she took her son in her arms, holding him tightly and kissing him affectionately on the top of his head:

"What are you saying, my darling? Of course, our Daddy is nice, and I'm not angry with him at all. Mommy is mad at one very naughty uncle who got your little sister stolen by sea-khanurs, and Mommy was very worried about it. And which will never set foot in our house. Ever!"

The shamaness said the last word with pressure, looking at her husband. He had already risen to his feet and was moving cautiously backward toward the door:

"Of course, my dear. I'll tell him that right away!"

He slipped out the door, locked it tightly, and hurried to the exit. He turned to the secretary behind him and swung his fist at him, making a grim face:

"What did I tell you about Varman?!"

The secretary, head slumped into his shoulders, began to make excuses:

"What could I do, sir? Your wife would have found out who came to see us..."

"I know! Uh..."

Loosening his collar, Urvan exhaled heavily. Varman had turned out badly. His longtime and trusted partner had suffered enough from the King of the Isles' raid to have to pay Lame Bajja a fortune to ransom his kidnapped kin. And now Maega was furious with him for not protecting their daughter, who had spent the night with her friends. She's a smart woman, she must realize that such a thing could not have been foreseen! It would take a long time to cool her anger. But Varman was too valuable a partner to leave. Besides, he was in a bad place, and the help of a powerful shamaness would be very helpful. How could he convince Maega to change his anger into mercy? Maybe some kind of gift? Or the old-fashioned way through the bed?

As Urvan stepped out into the yard, he froze in place, for he saw at once the answer to his question. The offending partner stood in the front yard near the porch. And beside him, two of his servants held a young milk-white mare with a luxuriant mane and an excellent saddle. A woman's saddle. Urvan smiled, realizing his partner's intentions. Well, let's go in from the daughter's side. Making an inviting gesture with his hand, he called the guest into the house. He was visibly nervous and spoke quickly:

"Urvan, please accept my sincere condolences, I am immensely ...."

"I understand, Varman! But Maega... It's all right, we'll talk her into it. Sinha has wanted a horse like this for a long time. Where did you get it?"

"It took a lot of effort and expense, but it's worth it...."

The conversation between the two traders was interrupted when suddenly Urvan's son ran out towards them.

"Daddy! Mommy and Sis have gone to the white house. They said not to be disturbed. And they said it would be a long time."

Raising his eyebrows in surprise, the merchant asked his son:

"Why did they leave so suddenly?"

"I don't know, Mom was holding me in her arms, and then all of a sudden she froze. And then she told me she and my sister were going to the white house. And not to be disturbed."

Frowning, Urvan scratched his well-groomed beard. Strange. Maega didn't usually go off like this without warning to practice her shamanic practices, especially in the company of her daughter. Well, maybe it was for the best. Turning to his nervous colleague in the dangerous trade business, Urvan waved his hand:

"Let's go to my office, and we'll talk it over there. It's gonna be a long time."

At the same time, mother and daughter were preparing for a joint call in the white yurt in the courtyard. While Sinha built a fire in the hearth, her mother carefully opened a wooden box of enchanted dark wood. Inside were some precious gifts given by the elves. The feathers of Thunderbirds. Several Dragon scales, from among those that had fully spread their wings and ignited their fire. A whole bunch of branches of the Tree of Life literally reeked of magical power. And these were only the most precious and powerful gifts, for which Maega herself would have paid dearly. Especially the feathers! The elves were very generous, and that was a bit alarming. But a deal is a deal. While the shamaness carefully laid out the gifts, Sinha had time to build a fire in the hearth and lay two cushions on opposite sides. Maega nodded to her daughter, making sure that everything was ready and that the entrance to the yurt was secure:

"Let's start."

She nodded, and they sat on cushions on opposite sides of the hearth, crossing their legs and resting their hands on their knees. The two shamans inhaled deeply and began to hum softly in their native tongue. Gradually, their speech became louder and louder, and the flames in the hearth changed their color to light blue. And even though it was still burning brightly, the yurt became more and more dark. And so on until it disappeared into darkness completely. Only the hearth, the two shamans on opposite sides of it, and the gifts remained. And then the darkness parted. But there was no more yurt, but only a boundless steppe covered with tall grass of dark blue color, shimmering under the light of countless stars of absolutely black sky. And there was a wind that began to swirl around the shamanesses, fluttering their hair and robes. Without stopping to sing, Maega began to throw one gift after another into the hearth. Starting with the most modest, she gradually moved on to more and more precious ones. At the same time, she kept calling. Calling for the free wind, for which there are no barriers on earth. Which blows everywhere and anywhere, in the vast steppes and high mountains. In deserts and forests. Over the seas and rivers. A free wind blows everywhere over the earth. That countless of her ancestors knew how to call and spell it. Winds that hear many things. Which means it can tell you a lot. If you know who to ask and how to ask. And, no less importantly, if there is something to pay for the answer.

The wind swirled around the two shamans more and more. The call was heard, and many came. A great many. Those whom Maega's grandmother's grandmother had known. Those with whom her family had a long and strong connection. Strangers came, too, drawn by the bounty. Strong and weak. Old and young. Many came to the shamans' call. And when they gathered around them, twirling in a complex rhythm, in the middle of the vast steppe and wind choruses, words were heard. Two men spoke. Two firstborns. The words of one of them reeked of centuries of life, of an impenetrable and boundless forest with trees up to the sky. The words of the other reeked of the same, though to a much lesser degree. Fewer centuries of life. Not such a vast forest, with much lower and more majestic trees. But the words of the second firstborn reeked of something else. Something faceless, carefully hidden under the guise of centuries of life in the vast forests. Someone else was speaking from the Firstborn's mouth.

When their speech was over, a question was asked. And the proposed price for the answer was named. The first of the really serious gifts were thrown into the hearth. The wind around both shamanesses increased sharply and then rushed in all directions of the world. The gifts were very generous. Many were eager to receive them. Gradually, in the whistling of the wind and the rustling of the steppe grass, new voices began to sound. Scraps of words, whole sentences, or single phrases. It's not the same. The wind hears a lot of things. But not every one of those who came to the call of the shamanesses was skilled enough in human speech to accurately pinpoint what they were looking for. The words of the firstborn sounded again. And again more gifts were thrown into the hearth. The whistling and the pressure of the wind increased, bringing more and more words. Wrong, all wrong. The shamanesses discarded what they had heard one by one. How long it lasted was very difficult to say, time in this place flowed very differently than in the human world. But in a moment, the eldest of the shamans heard a fragment of a phrase among the many words brought by the wind. Just one single fragment. But it was the right one.

Another gift was thrown into the hearth. But now it went to one and only one. The one who brought the right one. And then, the bargaining began. The one who brought the right words was strong and old, but he had never come to the call of their kind before and had no dealings with them. Therefore, it was not easy to talk to him. Unlike many of his brethren, he had a good understanding of human words. And he wanted to take as much as possible and give as little as possible. He was afraid of being cheap. But he was even more afraid that others would find out where he had heard the words and tell him instead. And get the reward instead of him. It didn't take long for fear to fight greed. Fear won.

The words were spoken. One by one. Words were spoken by the second firstborn. The one whose lips were spoken by someone else. Branches of the Tree of Life were thrown into the hearth, making the fire many times brighter. And the gusts and howls of the wind were many times stronger. A lot of people were envious. Many wanted the same generous gift. The fear of the bringer of the right words increased. But greed also increased. He wanted all the remaining gifts. But was afraid that others might find the same as he did. Fear and greed clashed again. In the end, fear won again. The question was asked. Where? And the answer was given. The dragon scales were thrown into the hearth, every last one of them. But the feathers of the Thunderbirds were never given to anyone.

Gradually, the wind died down, and the vast steppe became silent. Not a single blade of grass moved. Gradually, the singing of the shamans began to fade, and darkness began to envelop them again. The flame of the hearth became lighter and lighter until it looked normal. Then the darkness receded again and the shamans found themselves in their white yurt. When they did, both nearly collapsed on the floor from exhaustion. With great difficulty, Maega rose to her feet and made her way to the bed against the wall. With a heavy sigh, she collapsed onto it. A moment later, her daughter lay down beside her. With her arms around her, the shaman immediately fell into a deep sleep. A few moments later, her daughter sniffled softly.

* * *

A trio of ratfolks moved tail in the tail through the narrow and cramped tunnel, which looked more like a regular burrow. It would have been uncomfortable and difficult for anyone else to move in such a place. But the experienced Skaven were more than accustomed to such crawlways. They felt at home in them and could move very quickly. The first to go was a young protégé-apprentice, a younger relative of Scheff's. He was followed by one of his relatives, another of whom he was training in his not-so-easy craft. The rumor among the groundlings that any Skaven was a master of espionage was just that, a rumor. Gathering whispers was a science, a difficult and dangerous science, one that seldom forgave mistakes. But highly respected in the rat pack clans. And, most importantly, monetary, as long as the secrets you learned really valuable and important. And were able to sell them profitably. The latter, at times, was almost as difficult as collecting whispers.

In that regard, Scheff liked Cyrus. He paid well, didn't try to cheat the tails, and at the same time, he was a master at it himself. To fall on his tail and find out who he was and who he worked for, never once managed. In fact, after the first couple of attempts, Scheff didn't even try. And he forbade the young tails to do it. Because they'll tear off their tails, along with whiskers and heads, and then he'll have to report to the pack. Rumors that the Skaven breed like ordinary rats and don't count losses were nothing more than rumors. No, breeding two dozen tails was no great feat. But try to feed them and put them on their feet. It's not easy to survive in the Underworld. Especially if you are very much disliked by all the other inhabitants, and at every opportunity will try to finish you off. There's plenty of food in other halls. The only thing is that most of this food can eat you with your tail so that you won't even notice it. And any loss is a blow to the pack. Minus the worker, minus the warrior, minus the hunter. And that means a threat to survival.

Therefore, Scheff tried to keep an eye on his wards to the best of his ability and to train them without sparing any effort. Just as he had been trained by his elders and already graying tails. And this attitude was paying off. The last meeting with Cyrus had been very profitable, and there had been a small celebration in the native pack upon their return. The money they'd gotten was enough to buy food and supplies for the next six months. Not just leftovers, but normal food. The sun-lovers don't like them, but they're willing to turn a blind eye to deals with the Skaven for a fair price. Especially if they take place in the shadows, so as not to bother the eyes of their beloved Sun-Face. And if Cyrus is to remain as generous as he is, he'll have to do his best.

That was why Scheff and his helpers had been sneaking along this hole, which their pack had been digging for months. Carefully, working only with their claws and as stealthily as possible. But the Skaven were experienced in such matters, and their labors had paid off. As they turned the next steep corner of the tunnel, the trio of ratfolks came to a small cavern dug straight into the ground. This cavern was located under the center of Iyastar. How hard it had been to set it up - it's scary to remember. The walls had to be reinforced, ventilation had to be established and, most importantly, total secrecy had to be ensured. All the spellcasters of their pack worked on the masking weaves of this place, sparing no effort and consumables. But hard and persistent labor paid for itself with more than enough. Now his pack had a safe haven right under the center of Iyastar. From there it was very convenient to eavesdrop on what the groundlings were whispering about.

When the three rats began to settle in. They checked all the amulets, ensured they were working properly, replenished the supplies, and changed the storage devices. And only after making sure everything was in order did they get to work. Removing a special box from his back, Scheff opened it carefully and let out his little charges. Two dozen ordinary rats ran out, but instead of scattering in different directions, they lined up on the floor in an almost even semicircle in front of the ratfolk.

Rumors that the Skaven could fit through anything were, as it was easy to guess, rumors, too. The average adult ratfolk was only slightly shorter than the average human, albeit of a more subtle build. And with such proportions, you can't get into a lot of places. But ordinary rats were a different matter. They could really get into a lot of places. Especially if they're not ordinary rats. Raising and training little helpers was a separate art, the secrets of which were carefully guarded in each pack and passed only from mentor to apprentice. The oldest, largest, and strongest packs had whole special breeds of little helpers, carefully kept and nurtured for many generations. A properly bred, trained, and, what is also very important, properly enchanted little helper was indispensable in the craft of a Scheff.

Sitting on the mat in front of his babies, the ratfolk affectionately petted them all in turn. Good batch. Old Hassa knows her business well. This generation is doing a great job. After scratching the little ones some more, the Skaven nodded to his apprentice assistants. They sat down next to him and began to prepare for work. Wearing special amulets made by the spellcasters of their pack, the ratfolk began to weave a command control network. Distributing the little helpers into three groups, they directed them in different directions. Two dozen rats without a single squeak, rushed in different directions of the cavern, where there were entrances to very small dens. And which led to all sorts of places and all sorts of houses. Each of the little helpers wore a special harness with very small amulets, so as not to interfere with their movements. Thanks to these amulets, everything that the little helpers saw and heard was seen and heard by Scheff and his apprentices. Of course, some tails even without any amulets can see what the little helpers see and even control them directly. But Scheff was not one of those few gifted ones.

One by one, ordinary but not quite ordinary rats came up into the city through very carefully dug holes. And began to peek and eavesdrop. Including the special women's monastery in the First Ring around the First Temple. Only one burrow could be dug there, with great difficulty, and it was not possible to get from it to all the places of the cloister. But sometimes it was enough. At Reverend Mother, of course, everything is strict, but women are the same everywhere. No matter what color their skin is, whether they have fangs, long ears, or tails. They love to talk. Including what they don't need to talk about, where they don't need to. And for that, Scheff loved them very much.

Well, let's see what's going on today in the abode of the Reverend Mother and her daughters. Guided by Scheff's will, the pair of little helpers took positions in the two most promising places. The first was, of course, the dining room. The evening meal was just about to end there. The few novices and tutors were still sitting at the tables, most of them had already gone to their rooms. And almost all of them were already Daughters. Literally a couple of young girls from among the students still lingered at the table, apparently, they were to be on duty in the dining room. Well, they were of no interest to Scheff. But the pair of Reverend Mother's Daughters who sat closest to the mink - very much so. Fortunately, the little helpers have very good hearing. And thanks to special training, they can also distinguish human speech from other sounds very well. Increasing his control, Scheff listened to the quiet conversation between the two full-fledged Daughters of the Reverend Mother.

" ...Tenth and Eleventh did a pretty good job. They managed to put Arstein the Raiders to rest, right in his own home."

"It really wasn't easy to get to that vile heathen. They did well, and they did it so quickly. They're probably resting now, aren't they?"

"Oh, yeah, they're resting. They were so rested last night. They were almost late for breakfast, both of them. I'm not a beasfolk, but even I could smell what they'd been up to all night. It's a good thing the protection dampens the sounds. Otherwise, it would be impossible to sleep, just like the dormitories in my senior year."

There was quiet laughter at the Daughters' table, and the conversation shifted. Interesting, so it was the half-breed and his partner who had killed Arstein. And judging by the novices' hints, they're far from just partners. That would be a good thing to check out, though. Similar whispers, in Scheff's experience, were whispered about all the inhabitants of such female cloisters. Okay, there was nothing else interesting here, let's look further. Focusing on the other little helper, the ratcatcher directed him to one of the dormitories where the older novices lived, who were about to be tested for the right to be called a Daughter. It was not an easy hole to dig, but it was worth it. You could hear a lot of interesting things here. Let's see. The ten novices had mostly gone to bed. Only a couple on the neighboring beds were whispering quietly. Now, what have we got here?

"...He is so cute! He's so handsome!"

"I'll say. But don't even look at him. Or the Reverend Mother will give you such an ordeal that it would be easier to go straight to the fields."

"Oh, come on, don't make that up!"

"I'm not making this up, Mother is very jealous when it comes to her personal assistants. My senior sisters told me about it! So don't look at Falnar to much."

"Oh, I can't even dream anymore!"

"You can dream, of course, how not to dream about such a handsome boy...."

Okay, well, the fact Reverend Mother valued her assistant in every way Scheff had known for a long time. Everyone who needed to know knew that. As well as the fact that Aurora really very strictly watches over her assistant, not letting anyone near him. Except it was not because of jealousy (though she was jealous too) but for her and his safety. To get through the boy-lover to the Reverend Mother would surely want a lot of people. All right, what else have we got here?

Gently guiding the little helper along the wall toward the Sister Mentor's quarters, Scheff listened to the other novices. Most of them were already asleep. A couple of them, however, had their heads covered with blankets and were gingerly practicing wonking. One even used an amulet she'd gotten somewhere to suppress the sound around her. But odors couldn't be hidden that easily. But that didn't interest Scheff. He'd seen it all before. Let's see what we have in the Sister Mentor's chambers. He slipped into an almost imperceptible crevice, behind which there was another hole, the little helper slipped through it, past the defenses of the room, cautiously made his way to the exit, and peeked out. And he did not regret it.

The light in Sister Mentor's chambers was shining from the mosaic of the Sun on the ceiling. She was not alone but in the company of two of her mentees. But she was hardly happy about it. A mature and athletically built woman with short dark-blond hair and a well-trained body sat in her chair. Skillfully tied with a thin silk rope and completely naked. Most of her clothes lay on her desk, neatly folded in a stack. The Mentor Sister's mouth was gagged, as far as Scheff could see, with a gag made from her underwear. In front of her stood a pair of her underlings, who had also managed to get rid of most of their clothes. Both were white-haired, like many northern women, well-built, and slender. They grown in all the right places. It was obvious that they had been well-fed and trained.

The taller and older of the two, having completely discarded the novice's robes, folded them on the bed and sat on the Sister-Mentor's lap, facing her. The latter, eyes glittering unhappily, mewled and squirmed unhappily. In response, her ward giggled and playfully stroked the bound woman's cheek:

"There's no need to fidget, Sister Diane. I've tied you carefully, and the rope is special, but you might still hurt your hands. And we don't want that."

The bound Sister Mentor mumbled and shook her head as the novice sitting on her lap put her arms around her and began to move her hair. At the same time, her girlfriend finished undressing and approached the woman from the back, placing her hands on her shoulders. With a giggle, the one sitting on her lap murmured:

“What are you talking about, Sister Diane? We are devoted to the cause of the Eternal Sun, in body and soul. It's just that Liana and I were very hurt by your saying that if we didn't work harder we wouldn't pass the honey test. So we decided to prove you wrong.”

Her response was the same displeased mooing. Whether it was because of the novice's words or because her friend moved her palms from her shoulders to her breasts and began to gently squeeze and stroke them. With another giggle, the novice sitting on her lap pulled the bound woman against her, pressing her face into her breasts:

"Well, there's no need to be so indignant, Sister Diane. You'd better think of this as our pre-examination. I promise we'll try very hard to make sure you enjoy it. And if we fail."

Here the novice switched to a conspiratorial whisper and brought her lips close to Sister Mentor's ear.

"...we're going to start all over again. We've got plenty of time, a whole night ahead of us. A very long night."

At that moment, a second novice leaned over to the bound woman and whispered into her other ear:

"And don't pretend you don't like it, Sister Diane. We know exactly how Odette worked out her misdeeds. You should have chosen a better place and time for her to work out."

The response was another indignant mooing and laughter. As she rose to her feet, the novice lifted the bound Sister Mentor after her and carried her to the bed. The second novice kept pace with the first. There was another round of unhappy mooing, a short and doomed struggle, and Sister Mentor was tied by her hands and feet to her bed. The novices at her sides began to stroke her belly in two hands, gradually moving closer and closer to her bosom and breasts. She was going to have a long night indeed. However, Scheff memorized everything carefully. He was not particularly surprised by what he saw. He had seen a lot of things going on behind the closed doors of the Grounders. But the information would not be superfluous.

At that moment he was distracted by one of his assistants, gently poking him a few times with the tip of his tail. When he received the signal, he stopped his little helpers and turned his attention to his apprentice's rats. Just then, he also saw a room in the barracks of the Bright Paladins. More specifically, the armory. Two warriors were putting on their armor before duty and whispering amongst themselves:

" ...Do you think they'll really go for it?"

"I sure hope not! Making deals with demons is the last thing you want to do. Especially with things like this."

"But if she really knows where the elven emissary has gone..."

"Even so, I hope with all my heart that this thing doesn't get released! It should have been destroyed in the first place!"

"But then the souls of our brothers would also perish...."

As he continued to listen to the conversation between the two Paladins, Scheff grinned his sharp teeth contentedly and clapped his apprentice on the shoulder:

"Good job, Chiff! You'll make the pack proud! Cyrus will pay dearly for whispering like that!"

The young Skaven also grinned contentedly in response and fluffed his whiskers.
* * *

Author's Note:

18 Pages. Sivila finally got most of the screen time, though not all of it. The chapter is mostly lore and talk, but there was no way to do it without it. The slant-eyed shaman whose daughter Luaval saved from an unplanned vacation to the sea finally came in handy, because it didn't go well with her. We don't need guns here.

And at the same time, the path that leads to Master and co, who are not at all happy about it, is becoming clearer and clearer.

Plus some pictures. It's a pwp hentai, so it's not like we don't have pictures. True, there was only one lemon in this chapter, and it wasn't a big one... But it was!

1. What one of the prisoners returned by the Master looks like now. And how she was used:

https://drive.google.com/file/d/19jsQ-RfVuc6NcChy2w-0OAPtx8NCn86U/view?usp=sharing

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1y9-uUZ3B7XebVfzj7iB1CtFUpSffPMRp/view?usp=sharing

2. How I roughly imagined Master's Orcess Doll. And how she's being used:

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1vXt_2t_r89S7aS33MESvQ4gd2aoxlX7v/view?usp=sharing

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1TS6Bnd-oN2927Lx81MkEoD_b40bIcDSF/view?usp=sharing

As always my sincere thanks to those who correct mistakes, comment, and press likes!

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