Готовый перевод История Королевы Эльфов / The story of the Elf Queen: Интерлюдий - 1

Interlude One

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Author's Note:

Ugh 280,000 characters... 85 pages.... Brinar's tired
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The Free City of Neirat was rightfully considered the main center for the study and practice of the magical arts on the entire Western edge of the developed ecumene. Of all the cities in the Middle Sea region, only three could rival it in terms of architectural splendor and wealth. Sakhib-Nere, Kuordemar, and, until recently, Morgrave. Within the Old Walls that surrounded the center of the original city, there was not a single building that could not be called a masterpiece of architecture. All of them were tall, ornamented with reliefs, and built of noble stone, sometimes imported from the Undermountin. All the streets were paved with tiles, and at night they were lit by a multitude of enchanted magic crystals. Even within the New Walls, which surrounded the suburbs that had grown over time, there was not a single neighborhood that could be called poor or unkempt.

But while the same area of the Imperial City in Kuordemar could rival the beauty and luxury of the center of Neirat, no one could match it in the number of true magical towers. Most cities had only one true magical tower, built of special stone from a natural source of magic and according to all the canons of magical architecture. Not only because it is very expensive, but also because it is difficult to find so many powerful enough magical sources of natural magic. In Neirat, there were seven magical towers. Seven Beauties, as they were affectionately called by the inhabitants of the city. Each of the towers stood proudly above the city and its surroundings, covering its own and neighboring areas, making a siege or assault on Neirat a nightmare for any warlord.

But the most majestic building, located almost in the very center of the city, was the famed Neirat Academy. It was the best place where a young gifted person could begin to learn the basics of the difficult art of magic. And those who had already mastered the basics of magic could expand and deepen their knowledge. For a fee, of course. But not only pure magic was taught at the Academy. It was also used to learn related sciences. More than one hundred talented architects, shipbuilders, military leaders, and masters of various crafts came out of the white stone walls of the Academy. Among the wealthy humans and non-humans who lived on the lands along the shores of the Middle Sea, it had long been considered almost obligatory to take at least one full course at the Academy. Even if it was impossible to chew the granite of science, it was always possible to make very useful acquaintances.

Here, within the walls of the Academy, there were also several workshops where skillful mages made the best magical artifacts in terms of price/quality ratio. From battle wands to dishes enchanted to keep food fresh. Needless to say, the best craftsmen worked only to order, and not all work could be paid for in gold alone. Not to mention that the queue for many of them was scheduled for many years in advance. And the clients waited patiently. Because there was no other city like Neirat on the western edge of the Ecumene. The reason that made it so unique lay in its ancient origins. Deep by human standards, of course.

The history of Neirat was about one and a half thousand years old, and it was started, strangely enough, by a magical cataclysm of great power. Usually, such events end the history of cities, and sometimes even entire states. But this time it happened differently. Yes, right at the moment of the cataclysm, several small towns and large villages in the south of the Neirat Peninsula, which was then called by a completely different name, perished. A sudden and very powerful release of natural magic is often accompanied by physical destruction. Like eruptions of streams of liquid fire, lightning striking from the ground rather than the sky, earthquakes, or generally tearing through space. This time there was none of that, and everything happened without any visible effects. But the inhabitants of the surrounding settlements, who had their thin bodies burned out by the monstrous overload of energy, were not relieved. There were few survivors, most of them gifted and those they could protect by “discharging” or shielding.

When the rampage of natural magic stopped, the surviving inhabitants of the south of the Neurath Peninsula discovered that a new source of natural magic had formed in the epicenter of the cataclysm. A source in many ways unique. It was very powerful. So powerful that, if it was narrowly focused, even an inexperienced gifted person who took possession of it could equal the power of an archmagister. Or even an archmage! But the magic of the formed source was not a single stream, but began to literally ooze out of the ground over a very large area, then dissipate into the air and saturate it with energy. The energy that could be easily absorbed by gifted intelligent people. It was also almost completely neutral. It threatened neither energy poisoning nor addiction to the source.

As scientists later found out, this was due to a huge layer of deposits of special porous rocks, which acted as a natural filter. It was hard to find a better place for a gifted man to live and practice! Weaving was easier here, powers were replenished faster and spent slower. Even ordinary people felt better here. Fatigue accumulated slower, illnesses were endured more easily, and wounds healed faster. And the land surrounding the source began to yield a much more bountiful harvest. Practically the perfect place to live!

Of course, the strongest of the surviving gifted, together with surviving relatives and apprentices, gathered around him everyone he could and began to work. The name of this ancient wizard was Neirat. Not a few years later, a fortified settlement and then a full-fledged town appeared at the place of the source. Under the hand of the wizard, who turned out to be very talented and strong, more and more people flocked very quickly. There was plenty of free space in the area. Just as quickly, the source and the settlement that appeared in its place attracted the attention not only of the surviving inhabitants of the neighborhood but also of the inhabitants of more distant lands. Traders came, and life boiled over even more. Within ten years, the small settlement had become a city that continued to grow rapidly, attracting more and more trade visitors. The fame of the quality of the artifacts made by Neirat and his apprentices quickly spread across the Middle Sea. So did the fame of his talent as a wizard.

But such wealth could not go unnoticed. Very quickly, many neighbors began to claim such a tidbit. First of all, one of the Northern Kingdoms, Garnmarn, which bordered the peninsula to the north, was still standing firmly on its feet. The Isles, whose ships traveled all over the Middle Sea, were already strong and powerful. And even the tribal alliances of the southern lands. After Neirat's refusal to voluntarily fall under the hand of one of the powerful, and several unsuccessful attempts to seize power through intrigues of varying degrees of meanness and cunning, war broke out. It turned out to be unpleasantly long and bloody for both sides. But mostly for the attackers. It turned out to be very difficult to throw off the gifted, led by a strong and talented mentor, who was entrenched on such a unique source. It was impossible to take the city under siege because of the portals, which the mages sitting at the source were able to penetrate to much farther areas, and at much lower cost than the besiegers. Therefore, despite the encirclement, the city persistently did not starve. And even trade continued.

The besiegers, of course, also tried to break through the portal inside the walls, but they were hindered by the things that helped the townspeople. The natural magic that literally oozed out of the ground was preventing them from making any sort of precise targeting from the outside, and the active interference of the defenders made things even worse. Stepping into an unstable portal was tantamount to suicide. The fact that all three sides of the attackers were actively interfering with each other, not wanting to share the final prize, also added to the problem. And we should not forget about the other conditionally “neutral” neighbors, who did not miss opportunities to profit or settle scores with their sworn friends while they were busy. This went on for several years. The first to abandon the idea was the tribal unions of the southern lands, which had the most difficulty in delivering troops and supplies. They were followed by the Islands, who chose to make peace with Neirat. But the Northern Kingdom of Garnmarn, which bordered the Neirat Peninsula, was reluctant to concede.

Too much effort was expended, too much blood was spilled. In the end, it ended with Neirat agreeing to accept a very loose vassalage from its northern neighbor. A treaty was made and sealed with dynastic marriages. As well as numerous mutual oaths on magical and divine altars. Many legends related to these events have been preserved. Some of them claimed that one of King Garnmarn's daughters managed to put an end to the protracted conflict with her beauty and charm to enchant the adamant magician. According to another version, beauty had nothing to do with it, but mental and love magic did. Other legends, on the contrary, claimed that Neirat had so shattered the besieging forces of the Ganmarians, successfully repulsing all attempts at assault, that the Northmen were forced to agree to terms that were not the most favorable for themselves. This included giving Neirat, who was by then already married, the king's favorite daughter as a CONCUBINE rather than a full-fledged wife. Some versions of the legend say that they gave not one but two daughters at once. And also the king's younger sister, who was widowed during the war, but not to Neurath, but to one of his disciples and associates. And her daughters became, again, concubines of Neirat's sons from his legitimate wives.

There were many variations of legends of varying degrees of piquancy about those distant events, but there were no reliable sources. The only thing that all legends agreed on to a greater or lesser extent was that the ruling dynasty of Garnmarn at that time was closely related to Neirat and his family. After those events, the city and the surrounding lands remained a vassal of its northern neighbor for nearly a century and a half, until another turmoil presented a fortunate opportunity. The legitimate but still very young heir to the throne clashed in a bloody struggle for the crown with his closest relatives after the sudden death of his crowned parent. He had little chance of winning. And even less chance to stay alive in case of defeat. One of Neirat's grandsons took advantage of this. In exchange for help in the fight, he demanded to be released from his vassal oaths and treaties.

It is not known what the young prince was driven by when he agreed to such impertinent conditions. Maybe he really believed in the possibility of victory with the help of a vassal and a relative. Maybe it was the result of skillful mental influence. Or maybe, being in despair, he simply decided to take revenge on his close relatives by using the right of blood and depriving them of a vassal, though a very independent, but still a vassal. As a result, Neirat gained independence, becoming a small but very strong magical kingdom occupying the entire peninsula. And the young prince received help, which, however, did not bring him a crown. But it protected his life, albeit at the cost of a long feud, which severely emasculated Garnmarn. As a result, the Northern Kingdom was divided into several duchies, each of which stubbornly called itself a kingdom. These, in turn, were soon swallowed up by stronger neighbors.

The dynasty of the Garnmarn kings on the male line soon died out, dissolved into other clans, its inheritance was divided, and all that remained of it was a memory in the pages of legends. Neirat's descendants, however, have continued to live and well to this day, forming several separate, influential clans that nurture the gift of magic. As well as the descendants of several of the most talented students of the legendary founder, who founded their own clans. Long centuries passed. The Island Empire rose and fell. The Northern Kingdoms collapsed under the invasion of the Great Horde. The Great Caliphate was formed and strengthened from the alliances of the Southern tribes, almost destroyed during the War of God's Wrath, started by Reistar the Apostate. And Neirat continued to be all this time, surviving all the hardships.

And not just being, but persistently increasing its main wealth - vast knowledge in a variety of magical schools. The palace of the legendary founder of the city eventually turned from the ruler's residence into the Academy, which became an outstanding center of magical arts and practices. Even in the heyday of the Island Empire, when all the inhabitants of the coastal lands were forced to reckon with its Great Armada, Neurath managed to defend its independence. And although he was also forced to reckon with the will of the Emperor of the Islands, but he did not pay official tribute and did not recognize his authority, limiting themsself only to regular “presents ”. It was purely voluntary, of course.

The worst blow, then still officially the Kingdom of Neirat, was received during the Great Horde campaign. The Great Horde struck the northern lands, but some of the countless army of green-skinned orcs and yellow-faced, slanted steppes swept across the Neirat Peninsula as well. And even this part, led by one of the sons of the Chief of Chieftains, was enough to storm and ravage all the villages and small towns. But the invaders could not take the capital city, and they did not even get a payoff, having broken their fangs against the magical power of the defenders. In retaliation for this, the son of the Chieftain of Chieftains demanded the complete burning of all captured cities, all villages, all factories, everything that could burn! The population that could not or did not take refuge in the capital or at sea was either slaughtered or driven into slavery. Even all the groves and gardens were cut down and devoted to fire.

It was a terrible blow, but Neirat survived, even though it lost most of its territory, and retained control over the southernmost part of the peninsula. In fact, only the surrounding areas visible from the tops of the magical towers. Simply because there was no one to live in the devastated lands, and it was scary to go far away from the protection of the magic towers of the capital for a long time. But Neirat survived. And it kept its most important treasure - huge accumulated knowledge in the field of magic. In no small part, this resilience was because although Neirat was officially called a kingdom, it was in fact a tribute to tradition. There was no real king. Everything was ruled by the Conclave of High Mages, formed of gifted representatives of families, leading their lineage from the descendants of the legendary founder, or his disciples.

Over the long centuries of the city's existence, all these clans had successfully married each other up and down, so before discussing a new potential marriage, one had to first turn to the School of Blood Magic, so unloved by the common people. Or even to look for a gifted bride or groom on the side. The former, however, was far preferable to the latter. Besides, the descendants of Neirat and his disciples had long ago realized that it was better to agree among themselves and sit together on a large but not infinite source of magic than to kill each other and give it to some outsiders. As a result, in addition to close family ties, the ruling families of Neirat were bound by even closer and stronger oaths of mutual agreements made on divine altars, certified on blood, and in magical contracts.

One of the underlying leitmotifs of most treaties was that each clan stayed out of others' Schools of Magic. Because over the centuries, each family had specialized in one or another area of magic. They jealously guarded the most important secrets, passed down from generation to generation, which were not taught at the Academy for any money. And this led to the fact that the faculties at the Academy were clearly divided between these same clans. Do you wish to study combat magic? What specific element? Lightning? Please refer to this family. Interested in barrier or portal magic? This is the department for you, contact the dean of this family.

It didn't help to avoid conflicts completely, but it reduced them to a very large extent. And it also ensured that one of the clans would not take over the others. Compared to what was happening on the opposite shore of the Middle Sea in the Southern Caliphate it was not even funny. There, blood was regularly shed among the ruling elite, especially after the death of the next Most Serene. In Neirat blood was rarely shed but that was no reason to relax. One could get an injury of subtle bodies, after which one would have to forget about practicing, if not forever, then for a long time. To be fascinated to the point of complete and literal oblivion by another pretty and young student. Not to recognize in the gift or a long-standing and familiar tool cunningly imposed curse. Among the Masters and Magisters of the Neirat Academy, there were plenty of ways to send an arch-colleague to rest.

For this reason, Elesandra de Neirat, officially recognized and certified Magister of the Classical School of Mind Magic, equally recognized and certified Master of the Classical School of Barrier Magic, and acting Dean of the Faculty of Mental Magic, never neglected personal safety and took it with the utmost seriousness. It didn't matter where: in the family mansion, in her almost equally native faculty, even in one of the Seven Beauties given to her for her personal use as a full Magister. Everywhere she paid the utmost attention to her personal safety. And it was not yet clear where exactly it might be more dangerous. Elesandra had encountered all sorts of things in her life, the length of which did not match the attractive appearance of a young woman who had only just matured. There had been some relatively harmless attempts to drug her with a simple, but high-quality charm potion during her merry college years. Not to fall in love with her to convince her to run away together into the sunset that would be replaced by the sunrise, a magic-suppressing collar, and a debut in the slave market of Kuordemar or Sakhib-Nere. But simply out of a desire to get into bed with a very pretty young gifted girl. Who, no other reason than that she is too shy to respond to advances.

It was amusing to watch the two hapless suitors love each other passionately all night long, without even paying attention to her sitting next to them. The record of that night was the first of many such recordings, and it was still carefully kept, copied on several storage crystals, in a special chest with a collection of other similar recordings. But the several attempts to force a fiancé on her, after she had completed the basic and advanced profile courses and received her first recognition and official patents, were much more serious.

In one case, they tried to use classical, but no less dangerous and effective mentalistics as arguments. She, to her shame, missed the beginning of the process, not expecting such a thing from her dear relatives on her mother's side. She could justify herself by saying that they had made the casts and imprints of her thin body very competently and accurately. Only excuses wouldn't save her from ending her career as a practicing gifted woman and switching to her mother's and wife's fate. But the fact that she noticed the attempt to start compulsion during another conversation with her potential husband, and stopped it quite firmly, almost arranging a magical duel, saved her. Elesandra's scandal was quite loud but behind closed doors. Nothing came of it, though.

It turned out to be an authorized test of her as a specialist. Her unperturbed father had informed her. And if she had failed it, he would have married Elesandra without hesitation, wishing her success as a future mother and caring wife. It had hurt her very much then, but she remembered the lesson and thanked her parent for it many times afterward. Because the second attempt which was not a test, but the initiative of one of her peers and colleagues. who had completed basic and advanced courses and moved on to advanced practice, was much more serious. The unfulfilled fiancé came from afar. More precisely, through the servants, having successfully and skillfully seduced one of her maids, who was supposed to carry to the family mansion of Elesandra the ingredients for the charm potion, which had an accumulative effect. One by one quite harmless and non-threatening, as well as very hard-to-detect ingredients. The maid was to drip the potion onto the mistress's bedclothes during cleaning instead of the usual bed scents.

She was saved by two observation crystals hidden behind self-made camouflage barriers, bought at her own expense and without publicity. And the fact that she wasn't lazy to actually scrutinize their records. She didn't cause a scandal instead pretending that everything was going according to plan and that she was slowly starting to pay attention to her suitor. On one of their dates, Elesandra treated him to a potion of her own adding some classic Mind Magic. As a result, she had another spicy entry on a crystal storage device in a box of carefully collected dirt. Her boyfriend radically changed not only his life priorities but also his preferences in bed. And Elesandra had her first serious detractors in the face of her husband's relatives.

Then there were long years of in-depth study both at the Academy and with her family, personal and academic practice. All of this was accompanied by attempts at espionage, in order to learn the secrets of mastery. Attempts to frame, to set up, to ingratiate oneself in order to frame and set up, and of course, attempts at seduction. The latter, however, were not always secret. Being a very attractive woman and a very enviable bride, Elesandra had received more than one proposal of marriage. But all proposals she politely, when not so politely rejected, firmly resolved to first make a career and achieve, at the very least, recognition as a Master of Mind Magic. Or even as Archmagister. And only then to think about heirs and a suitable partner for them. This upset both potential suitors and many relatives.

And the more experienced and stronger Elesandra became, the less frequent but dangerous such attempts became. She did not stay in debt, always trying to repay her offenders with double. Those who tried to fuck with her brain, she fucked their brains much harder, never turning them into brainless vegetables, but reshaping their minds. She had several times arranged for those who tried to fuck her body to work in not the most expensive port brothels in the coastal satellite town of Neurath. For free, literally for a meal and a bed in the brothel. Sometimes she had to combine both options, which made her personal collection of records of various degrees of racy and vulgarity grow.

She did the same to those who tried to take her place, first as a lecturer and then as dean of the Faculty of Mind Magic, either by forcing her into forced retirement or into the grave. As a result, she had her own personal graveyard and even more detractors. She didn't care too much about that, the main thing was that all such attempts would continue to be fruitless. To which Elesandra made great efforts. She regularly updated her protective barriers, webs of signal threads and beacons, alarm and control amulets. All her personal servants who had access to her tower or rooms in the ancestral mansion were personally checked and thoroughly briefed by Elesandra. She regularly cross-checks them as well. Not to mention the fact each servant agreed to a partial correction of consciousness and more than one oath of loyalty. Certified by magic, blood, and divine altars. Elesandra was equally strict with her personal apprentices and students.

And it all worked because she was still alive and sane. This was not the case with many of her detractors. Elesandra's reciprocal thanks regularly reached the initiators, executors, and knowledgeable parties involved. One of the great advantages of being an entire Magister of Mind Magic was the ability to accurately assess the degree of guilt of an offender. As a result, some of her detractors were not able to blame the blame on the prearranged scapegoats and get away with repaying her gratitude.

As a result, she had more ill-wishers among her colleagues and “sworn colleagues” at the Academy, business partners, as well as relatives near and far (who were often the same people) than she would have liked. But that was perfectly normal, given her specialization. As her father had once told her, “If a Magister of Mind Magic has no ill-wishers among his entourage, then he is clearly not a Magister, but an Archimage. It's just that those around him won't know it anymore.” Equal in power, fellow specialists in the same combat or portal magic had the same amount of respect from others, and many times less apprehension. But that was the price for specializing in such a sought-after but equally dangerous Mind Magic.

It was in no small part because of this professional deformation that Elesandra decided to focus on her career, refusing to marry, even though there were some worthy candidates among the potential suitors. Also, as ridiculous as it seemed and as surprising as it was for someone gifted in her specialization and power level, Elesandra deep down wanted love. The real love that she sometimes saw in the heads of other humans and non-humans. Usually the most ordinary townsfolk or peasants. Simple, sincere, and mutual love. Of course, she could easily make almost anyone fall in love with her if she wanted to. And she could even make herself fall in love with anyone. But that would be a surrogate, a fake, and who but she knew it? She wanted it all to be without mental magic or spell potions. To have someone to lean on. Someone to share any burden with and not be afraid of getting stabbed in the back. Silly and naive, but could she at least dream? And she dreamed once in a while because even an entire Master of Mind Magic couldn't satisfy all her wishes.

So Elesandra had to make do with a carefully selected and thoroughly tested gifted lover from among the students of the Academy. Dantir was a nugget of talent from a family of fairly well-to-do peasants living in the vicinity of Neirat. He was tall, sturdy like most of the villagers, with typical Middle Sea coastal dwellers' brown, slightly curly hair and brown eyes. Quite to Elesandra's taste. Dantir's family was well-to-do by village standards, but they couldn't afford to pay for even a basic course of study at the Academy. But for such prodigies from among the commoners, there was a possibility of studying on credit, with the subsequent working off of the debt.

Quite a common practice among the cities of the Confederacy. And it didn't seem like such a large sum, a smart adept with a patent and a permit for private practice could work it off in a couple of years. But it was necessary to pay not only for studies but also for living expenses. As well as various supplies for the practice. Strengthening or healing rituals. As a result, such homeless self-made people ended up in debt, working them off for years, or even for the rest of their lives. The same fate would have awaited Dantir had it not been for Elesandra. Elesandra recognized the talented young man from among the newcomers at once. She took a closer look and made sure that the young man was not a carefully prepared honey trap. She made him an offer.

Personal patronage, assistance in studying, maintenance during the process, and debt repayment afterward. And also the status of a personal apprentice for the entire period of education. But in exchange, he had to agree to a full consciousness check and partial correction of his consciousness, as well as the removal of part of his memories after the end of the contract. And of course, everything would be certified by a full-fledged magical contract, mediated by the priest of Damokar. When the young man, who was quite nervous and did not understand why he had attracted the attention of the Dean of the Faculty of Mind Magic, heard this, he almost punched the floor with his jaw. All he could squeeze out was: “But w-why don't you just... well... well...”

It wasn't hard to guess what the embarrassed young man meant. Why didn't she just put a lowborn student under her heel? Elesandra gave him an understanding smile, and calmly explained that she didn't want to put any more trump cards in the hands of her detractors. Mentalists already had a bad reputation, and she didn't want to ruin it even more. That's why she offered him such fair terms, from her point of view. Of course, it wasn't quite true. Even if she were to take a student she liked without any contracts, and from among the peasants, no one would say a word to her. Everyone would have understood everything but pretended not to notice anything. Such things, of course, were not encouraged in words, but in reality, no one would even notice a brainwashed lover. Even a small harem of students would not be judged, provided they didn't have powerful patrons. Unless someone else had their eye on the victims she'd chosen. But even then, it would have been more likely to try to negotiate rather than bring conflict to the table. Some of her colleagues openly had harems like the nobles of the Southern Caliphate.

The real reason for this amazing generosity to her future apprentice and personal bed toy was something else she kept carefully hidden from everyone, including her closest relatives. When Elesandra was officially recognized as worthy of the high rank of Magister, received a patent, and the keys to one of the Seven Beauties given to her for her personal use, a message was delivered to her. A small, but very high quality and very capacious storage crystal, like the ones she kept her collection on, was handed to her by one of her household servants. It turned out to be a message from Elesandra's grandfather, whom she had caught as a young girl, a profoundly old man. The servant didn't even realize when and how he had been assigned this task, having forgotten why he had come. Elesandra scrutinized the crystal storage device before she decided to check what kind of memory it contained. Grandfather Jasper was almost as skilled in Mind Magic as his wife, the illustrious Cassandra. So she took every precaution to look through its contents. She was the only one who knew how much the mind could be affected by viewing recorded events or memories.

And to say she was shocked by what she saw was an understatement. Her grandmother Cassandra, whom she had unfortunately never met, had always been a role model for her. Skillfully gifted, who had had a remarkable career, and who had also played a crucial role in uncovering a conspiracy of brain-eaters set up with the help of the foolish Meyer. And of course, she knew the story of her life and love affair with her grandfather, who was at first only an apprentice. But through hard work, talent, and sincere devotion to his mentor and patroness, he went from being an apprentice to first becoming Cassandra's lover and then her husband. An incredibly romantic story, at times she even dreamed that she too would meet her lover just like that. As it turned out, it had nothing to do with reality. Nothing at all. There was no love, loyalty, or any other romantic nonsense.

And there was a fortunate incident. It was during the time of the conspiracy of brain-eaters, which allowed a weak adept, albeit diligent in his studies, to process his much more powerful and skillful mentor. Grandfather described in detail how he had managed to make a very small path to the consciousness of his mentor. And then slowly, carefully, but methodically he continued to widen and deepen it. Eventually, he makes Cassandra first his completely submissive lover and then his wife. A loving and completely obedient wife. His grandfather accompanied his story with very high-quality and detailed records of how he entertained himself with the mentor he had safely processed.

There was a very young Jasper sitting on the edge of the bed, while the naked Cassandra standing in front of him with a serious face methodically swallowed his cock, then pulled back, leaving only the tip in her mouth. Here she is on her knees with her face, chin, and breasts covered in seed, her mouth open and her tongue out, while Jasper runs his cock over her face, smearing his seed even more. Here is a naked Cassandra, sitting in front of the recording crystal, looking into it as if nothing had happened, talking about her preferences in bed and her lovemaking. And Jasper, with his arm around her waist, asks about all the details with interest. Cassandra, dressed in her classic black and white maid's dress, was scrubbing the floor of her bedroom. Crawling on all fours, so that her shortened skirt was pulled up, revealing a complete lack of underwear, a pair of firm buttocks, and pussy.

Standing naked in front of the mirror, in the arms of her apprentice, Cassandra with an extremely serious face assessed her not-so-small breasts, stroking, squeezing, and lifting them. She did not hesitate to comment on her actions, concluding that a powerful sorceress should have equally powerful tits, not these two ugly things, worthy only of an adept, but not of an entire magister. In the next recording, Cassandra has huge breasts worthy of the matriarchs of the dark elves. And with these breasts, standing on all fours over Jasper lying on a special table, she was massaging him with oil. At the same time, she praised her “little ones” in every possible way, saying that now they matched her strength and talent. Squinting with pleasure, her apprentice cheered her on in every way possible. Here was Cassandra spreading her legs wide in front of the recording crystal, showing off the glowing inscription on her perfectly smooth pubes that read “Property of Jasper.”

Jasper, already visibly matured and matured, in the robes of an Academy lecturer, stands in the embrace of a naked Cassandra, who is in the last months of pregnancy, stroking her huge belly. Here is Jasper already standing in the Dean's robe, and Cassandra in a simple house dress, collar open, breastfeeding a baby. Elesandra's father. There were many more entries, but they were all of similar content. On all of them, the powerful Magister of Mind Magic obediently fulfilled all, even the most vulgar wishes of her student, and her husband. Grandfather, however, ended his message with an unexpected confession. According to him, if Cassandra had not treated him in the same way when he was her apprentice, he would not have taken the opportunity as he did. And so he warned his grandson, or granddaughter, against her or his grandmother's mistakes. It was not certain that one of their bed toys if they decided to have one, would be as lucky as he was. But anything can happen.

To say that Elesandra was shocked to see the idol of her youth in such a role was an understatement. But one couldn't help but admit that watching the powerful sorceress turn more and more into a submissive toy of her student was surprisingly exciting. As soon as she thought about it, she immediately sharply extinguished the crystal and rushed to check herself for possible compulsions on the part of her grandfather, who turned out to be very difficult. And then rechecked, again, and again, but using different methods. In the end, she found nothing. No hidden desires to get a young, handsome student and become his submissive bed toy and then a mother. No new heightened sympathy for the younger relatives from the side branches. Nothing. Still, Elesandra never touched that crystal again, though she didn't dare destroy it either. But she drew conclusions for herself. So although Elesandra used Dantir as a lover to the fullest extent, more often than not content herself with his tongue rather than his cock, she did not force him to do anything truly humiliating or that would have disgusted him and demanded a mental correction. In general, she treated him noticeably better than one would expect someone of her level to treat a penniless apprentice who was completely dependent on her.

She even let him take charge in bed once in a while. It was even pleasant and added variety to her intimate life. Of course, she would take all the personal memories away from him later. She was not going to share her preferences in bed with anyone. But still, this attitude and the character of the generally honest and decent Dantir, allowed her to hope. Hope, that if by some miracle or fate he should get an opportunity like that of his grandfather, he would not take it. An utterly foolish and delusional hope, of course. That's why Elesandra was counting not only on such an ephemeral thing as human decency but also on a complex of cross-insurances. And sincerely hoped she would never need them.

What she could use right now was the ability to speed up the passage of time in her office, on the top floor of her assigned magical tower. Because the dean of the entire faculty of the Academy had enough chores to do. And every year, when it was time to enroll new students, it became even more. That left her with so little time for personal practice. But to neglect one's duties would be extremely foolish. So she took the scroll with the list of names and once again ran her eyes over it. The incoming freshmen in her department. She had already singled out most of the most interesting and promising newcomers, as well as those who needed special treatment because of influential relatives. The latter were always the most troublesome, which she would have loved to be rid of, but had to put up with a lot for the sake of money or return favors. Hmm, these two should be assigned to different groups, otherwise there'd be trouble, their Houses' relationship was too strained. And this bastard son of the head of a large trading house should be kept away from the relative of the head's legal wife. So much trouble...

Elesandra was distracted from her not-so-pleasant and simple thoughts by the stationary communication amulet on the corner of her desk. Without taking her eyes off of it, she accepted the summons and mentally spoke:

//I'm listening.

At the same instant, the image of Dantir appeared in his mind. He was dressed in the impeccable robe of a student, carefully shaved and combed, which made him even more handsome. He bowed his head and mentally said:

//“Mentor, the Senior Emissary of the Forest, along with his aides, have arrived to see you. They request a private meeting with you, on urgent business.”

Interrupted, Elesandra froze for a moment. A personal meeting, and on urgent business? Unexpected and interesting. Elves were not the type to be bothered by trifles. Concentrating on the tower's defenses and making sure that the guests were standing on the platform in front of the entrance, Elesandra mentally commanded the doors to open, letting them in. She commanded her apprentice:

// “Escort the honorable Senior Emissary to me. Have his companions wait on the first floor. Have the girls offer them a drink.”

//“Yes, mentor.”

While the guest went upstairs Elesandra went to the tall mirror. It reflected a young woman in the prime of her life, with gray eyes, a clean face, and long, slightly curly dark hair, neatly brushed and falling down her back in a gorgeous waterfall. And also a slender figure. The luxurious dark-blue robe did not allow her long, straight legs to be seen, but her narrow waist and high breasts, slightly enlarged by alchemy, did. After ensuring her appearance was as flawless as ever, she returned to her chair at the desk. A moment later, the doors to the Master of Mind Magic's office opened, and Elesandra's apprentice and the elf diplomat walked in, wearing impeccable white and blue robes. On his head, the firstborn wore a magnificent silver tiara with gemstones. There were no other protective amulets visible, but there must be at least three or four of them, crossed and duplicating. It wasn't even foolish to visit the Master of Mind Magic without them, it was simply abnormal. If her guest hadn't been protected, Elesandra would have sounded the alarm at the entrance, not letting an obvious changeling or possessed person in.

The elf who entered nodded politely to the tower mistress. She nodded back. Elesandra knew the Senior Emissary of the Forest personally. She had to communicate both on Academy business and personal matters. Pointing to the guest chair, she offered to sit down, but to her surprise, the elf politely declined and handed her a sealed tube with a message:

"I beg your pardon for this sudden and hasty visit, honorable Elesandra, but the matter is urgent. I have been instructed to bring you this message as soon as possible."

It was getting more and more interesting, but alarming. Carefully accepting the tube, the sorceress found the official royal seal of the Forest on it. Carefully opening it, having checked it beforehand, she ran her eyes over a short message written on stamped paper certified by the official royal seals of the Forest. Then she looked carefully into the diplomat's eyes. He only nodded faintly in response.

"This is very sudden and very serious, honorable Faydael. May I ask why?"

"Not from me. Since I don't know it myself, honorable Elesandra."

This was not alarming, but worrying. Frowning, the sorceress nodded briefly:

"I heard you, honorable Faydael. In that case, I dare not detain you any longer."

"Likewise, honorable Elesandra."

With a polite nod, the elf departed. As soon as he left the tower, the sorceress summoned her apprentice:

//“I'm listening, Mentor!”

//“Cancel all my business for the day, Dantir.”

// “‘It shall be done’.”

She then activated the communication amulet, creating a group call. An urgent call. When everyone answered her, Elesandra gave a short nod and announced:

//“We need to assemble a Conclave of High Mages. Urgently.”

* * *

The sun was slowly rising over the Middle Sea, illuminating the sky in the east. But life in the capital city of Kuordemar was already in full swing. Fishermen and mermaid newts were returning from the night's fishing, rushing to deliver their catch before the fish markets opened. From the surrounding fields carts carried gifts of the earth, not of the sea. Fresh fruits and vegetables, as well as poultry and livestock. The ruler of all the Islands, Alekhar de Castine, was also on his feet at a relatively early hour. The captain of the Conqueror of the Seas, dressed in simple by royal standards but impeccably clean house clothes, stood on a part of the side of his ship that swung away like the suspension bridge of a castle. It practically touched the sea surface, freezing parallel to it, so it was not difficult for a dozen newts to drag the freshest catch onto it. And not just any catch, but the choicest!

Several species of fish whose meat was characterized by its delicate flavor and almost complete absence of bones. Especially large bottom and coastal pincers. A few medium-sized but great-tasting octopuses. And a whole scattering of bivalves with select forage clams. While his subordinates were throwing the catch onto the lowered side of the last ship of the Great Armada, the eldest of the newts, wearing a noticeably richer vest adorned with pearls, said in a steady voice, looking at the satisfied King of the Isles:

"Our respect for you is immense, but our generosity has limits, Alekhar."

"What?"

Turning to him, the King of the Isles arched an eyebrow, leaned in slightly, and spoke in an extremely gracious, almost ingratiating voice:

"I'm sorry, Eeuaar, I didn't hear what you said. Did you say that your underwater clan decided to participate in the construction of Gaia's new temple and make a generous donation? Or did you say that you decided to repent to the Giver of Life and tell her which of your undersea warriors participated in the looting and desecration of her temple, along with Aldamar's crew?"

All the newts were suddenly interested in the water and its depths, and their leader stared into Alekhar's eyes with a stone face for a few seconds. Then he looked away. With a smile, the King of the Isles nodded:

"I thought so. Thank you again for such generous gifts for my charming guest this morning. I'm sure Amalia will appreciate them and be very grateful."

Alekhar gestured to the tritons, and then he and his catch went straight to his private kitchen, while the ship's side rose up. A moment, and it became whole again as if there had been no passage to the lower decks. And the King of the Isles, putting on a clean white apron, began to prepare breakfast. Cunning assholes. They thought they could get off so easily! No, if you took part in the temple robbery with Aldamar's crew of greedy fools, you'd better answer for it! The mere memory of his first meeting with Amalia made his stomach churn. Ever since he'd become captain of the Conqueror of the Seas, real fear Alekhar had rarely felt. There was almost no reason to. That instance had been an exception. The last thing he needed was to incur the wrath of the Life Giver and lose his manhood. Just when it was time to think of a future heir.

Or, on the contrary, to have such an overwhelming that one look at Faona's ass or Shassa's tits would make him change the pants. But still, be unable to conceive a new life. So let them work out their trespasses, especially since they, unlike Aldamar's crew, had escaped the direct wrath of the goddess. And Alekhar was doing his best to make amends to the Giver of Life. He did so with great pleasure, helped in no small part by the fact that her High Priestess was such a lovely creature! She could not, of course, make up for all the losses he had suffered, but she made up for them.

Alekhar took his mind off the cooking for a moment and focused on his captain's quarters, making sure Amalia and Faona were awake. Water, as it is known, wears away stones, and he had persuaded the adamant High Priestess Calisto to a threesome with the High Priestess of Gaia. Especially since the latter had already officially become Alekhar's sea wife, much to the envy of the many other candidates who wanted to get into bed with him. After a few seconds of admiring the sleepy priestesses picking up scattered red and blue skirts and vests from the floor, the King of the Isles returned to his hobby, which allowed him to brighten the hardships of constant stay on the ship - cooking.

An hour later, several huge silver platters displayed artistically arranged slices of fish meat, peeled and steamed pinchers, and sliced and slow-roasted octopus tentacles. Taking a step back, Alekhar assessed the result of his labors. Perfect! A mental effort and he was transported to his chambers, to his beautiful priestesses. There he found an incredibly seductive picture. Amalia is a tall, light-skinned woman with huge, luscious breasts with large pink nipples, and a waterfall of straight blonde hair. Slightly shorter dark-skinned Faona, with almost as long but pitch-black hair and a slightly less outstanding shape. Next to each other, they looked especially seductive, effectively matching each other. Both priestesses lounged naked in a huge wooden bathing chamber, which could easily fit a dozen people, in the purest seawater. They were not swimming, sitting at the bottom of the bathing chamber, or standing leaning against the sides. They were literally floating in the water, leaning back, the word half lying on an invisible bed. So that there were only satisfied faces on the surface.

Without opening her eyes, Amalia whispered in a satisfied voice:

"It's so great. It's like I'm floating on air."

With a sly smile, Faona replied:

"And I can do even better."

Priestess Calisto made a smooth motion with her hand under the water, and at the same instant, it was in motion. The two naked priestesses were still floating half-lying in the water, but now their bodies were bathed in streams of water that made them both moan in bliss. And their hair began to flutter as if in the wind. And after a moment the seawater in the font bubbled, filled with bubbles coming from the bottom. Alekhar clapped his hands and said:

"My beautiful ladies, please come to the table! Breakfast is ready."

The women who opened their eyes saw the King of the Isles standing beside them, smiled radiantly and said in chorus:

"Good morning, Alekhar!"

With a hand, he helped Faona out of the bath, kissing High Priestess Calisto gently on the lips and then Amalia. He kissed the High Priestess Gaia twice, first on the lips and then kneeling on one knee on her stomach, putting his arms around her waist.

"How are you feeling?"

With a giggle, Amalia literally purred:

"Your efforts, my King, are more than good! I am literally overwhelmed by your power."

In confirmation of the priestess's words, the symbol of the Life-Giver flashed brightly on her barely rounded belly, protecting their future daughter. Alekhar, smiling, rose to his feet and answered:

"I did my best. After all, it's my duty as a father."

While he exchanged pleasantries, Faona, with a short prayer, drained herself completely of water and slipped a light robe of blue cloth bought from the merchants of their Caliphate over her shoulders. Then, she helped Amalia, who also put on the robe Alekhar had given her, but of red cloth, and all three of them made their way to the table. As they approached, silver platters of breakfast appeared one by one.

"Please, my darlings, help yourselves!"

At the sight of the freshest seafood, Amalia literally glowed and, after giving Alekhar another kiss, began to serve herself a full plate. The King of the Isles mentally smiled to himself. It was very pleasant to see such sincere joy on the face of this lovely creature. And to realize that in his hobby he had achieved a lot of success. But one should not forget that the priority for him is still another priestess, who, like her divine patroness, is very jealous.aszWE

"Faona, what would you prefer?"

"Mmm, I'll have the pinchers with hot sauce."

"Please..."

As gallantly as possible, Alekhar began to attend to the dark-skinned priestess, personally serving her food. Of course, one word from him and a dozen servants would have been running around them. But Alekhar preferred to personally woo the women he liked, and everyone was well aware of that. Filling Faona's glass with the freshest and chilled fruit juice, he turned to the priestess of Gaia:

"Amalia, what do you want to drink?"

Amalia's mouth fell open as she watched the blonde priestess of the Life-giver generously sprinkle a full plate of sliced octopus tentacles, fried in oil over a low flame and drizzled with a brackish spicy sauce, with floral honey. With a literally radiant face, Amalia began to eat them, almost squinting with pleasure. For a second, he and Faona stared at it in mute amazement. But Alekhar remembered the unimaginable culinary wonders the black priestess had ordered for him when she carried his daughters.

He was distracted from thinking about the taste quirks of pregnant priestesses by a call on his personal communication amulet. Who else? Dear Uncle. Then it's urgent and important. Ah, not a single minute of peace.

"My beautiful ladies, I must leave you for a short while, I hope. The King of the Isles' business cannot be delayed."

Giving his priestesses a radiant smile, Alekhar moved to the doors on the upper deck that led to his quarters. There, along with a couple of aides, awaited Darlekh de Castine, head of the Invisible Guard of the Isles. Putting aside the formalities, Alekhar asked:

"What's the matter?"

The uncle, bowing briefly, uttered:

"We got a message from the Forest. The elves want to talk. And they say it's something very important first of all to us...."

Alekhar raised his eyebrows in surprise:

"Unexpected..."

To call the relationship between the elves and the Islanders very strained was to flatter them shamelessly. The Islands gained their greatest power at the moment when they took advantage of the beginning of the Great War with the Orcs. The next Chieftain of the Chieftains, who had managed to gather the Great Horde that deserved to be called the Great Horde, first devastated all the lands along the Eastern Sea, starting from the Rising Shores. And then he reached the Forest, which made it very difficult for the elves so much that they were forced to move troops from the Sunset Coast of the Middle Sea. Leaving the Young Forest, as they called it, severely weakened.

The Sharp-eared did not dare to fight on two fronts and were forced to retreat in full, abandoning their colony. Their Young Forest was used to build the Great Armada, which for many centuries made the Isles the main force in the Middle Sea region. From their point of view, such sacrilege was not forgiven by the elves, and the vengefulness and vindictiveness of the sharp-eared ones became legendary, along with their beauty. Since then, one could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times the Forest had communicated directly with the Isles. And every time the occasions for such contacts were very serious indeed.

"Any insight into what we might be talking about?"

Darlech gave a barely perceptible nod:

"I can guess this is most likely related to what happened in Iyastar."

"I see... Was it really as bad there as your agents say... Hmmm... Good. Start preparing for the negotiations."

* * *

"And the final touch...it's done, Mistress!"

A handsome young man of athletic build, with a clean-shaven face, wearing only a loincloth and sandals, carefully applied the last drops of the special alchemical nail polish with a small brush. Melisara, sitting on a comfortable carved chair at the dressing table, smiled contentedly and brought her palm up to her face, assessing the result. The dark elf's long and well-groomed nails were covered with a rich ruby nail polish that matched her bright red eyes perfectly. It was an expensive luxury that not every member of House Senrass, the most powerful and influential House of dark elves in all of Antak on Shar'Dan, could afford. But besides beauty, such an expensive manicure had another purpose. The composition of the lacquer among other things, perfectly disguised very small magical weaves.

The slightest effort, and Melisara's fingers were suddenly adorned with long energy claws, like those of a ghoul or lower vampire. In the intimate twilight of her private chambers, they looked very effective and threatening, glowing bright red. Satisfied with the result, the chief diplomat of House Senrass extinguished the energy claws. The ruby lacquer was completely intact, a testament to both the quality of the composition and the skill of Melisara's personal slave who had applied it.

However, despite their appearance, the effectiveness of these weapons was very limited. It was not designed for an enemy that was even remotely defensible. Even an average barrier-type defense amulet could stop them. In addition, such claws had a very low power reserve, literally burning alchemical nail polish during activation. But as a weapon for a single and sudden blow to an unprotected place, these claws were perfect. It was not easy to notice the weaves hidden in the alchemical nail polish, especially if one did not look specifically and did not know what to look for. Most importantly, there were very few skillful people who could make such a manicure at the proper level, which made such weapons quite rare and exotic. Reaching out her hand, Melisara stroked the head of her personal slave servant sitting opposite her on a small stool. She had spent a great deal of time and effort training him, but it had paid off.

"Good boy..."

Lowering her palm, she ran her fingertips along the jutting chin. If Melisara had activated her claws at that moment, the human throat would have been cut down to the spine. But he didn't show the slightest trace of fear, instead letting out a natural cat-like purr, then looking up at his mistress in a subservient manner, he asked:

"Shall we move to the feet, Mistress?"

Melisara simply threw her legs up on the table. Geord caught her mood instantly and pressed them to his face, kissing them. After running his lips from the pads of her toes to her heels, he pulled back a little and ran the very tip of his tongue over her feet a few times. Leaning back in her chair, the dark elf allowed herself a satisfied smile. Georg knew how to use his tongue perfectly, Melisara had taught him perfectly. Not by herself, of course, but by the slave girls of the House of Senrass. Of course, a slave-humas who was very handsome and pretty, even by the standards of elves, was not the same as his kin. But the aesthetic pleasure of his oral caresses was somewhat less, but the physical pleasure Georg brought her was no less than that of her kin's lovers. Some of them he even exceeded.

She even forced one of the younger members of the House, who had been kept under her thumb, to take a “lesson” from Geord. She threatened that if he didn't learn anything after that and couldn't please his mistress properly, she would arrange for him to have “advanced lessons” with her personal slave. The distant and much younger relative got through, and he, to Melisara's slight disappointment, began to perform noticeably better. It was a pity, watching their “lesson” was quite enjoyable and arousing. Not without reason, apparently, some sisters love such entertainment. She would give him and Geord another lesson together after the first serious mishap.

Melisara was beginning to notice that she liked it much better when Geord's tongue was first on her legs and then on her lower lips. Well, it was nothing strange, but intimacy had to be varied from time to time. Breaking the kiss, the dark elfess pressed the pads of her right foot to the lips of her personal slave. He understood at once and moved his stool and sat down across from his mistress, placing her nibbled foot on his lap. Taking the pedicure tools in his hands, he carefully set to work. Of course, Melisara, being the second daughter of the matriarch Ilsara and the main diplomatess of House Senrass, could afford the services of the finest craftsmen and craftswomen of the Beauty Chambers of their House. Since it was the most powerful and influential of all the Dark Elf Houses in Antak na Shar'Dan, it could afford to buy very good beauty care specialists, which among the Dark Elves was elevated to a cult. But Melisara preferred to use exclusively the services of her personal servant, in whose reliability she was largely confident. Much of it because one could never be sure of anything when living in the Underworld. Although personal oaths and contracts, the same personal branding, and regular inspections gave some assurance.

It goes without saying that a personal slave-servant is always a priority target for sworn female relatives and even in-laws. That's why Melisara practically never let her sweet Geord out of sight, always trying to keep him to herself. His very handsome appearance, even by elven standards, which was also partly her merit, allowed her to do so. Of course, her dearest relatives never missed an opportunity to tease her about her “excessive” love for a representative of an inferior race. But Melisara only caustically advised them to envy her silently, since they couldn't get such a nice pet. And she continued to carry Georg everywhere with her.

Yes, of course, all the slaves in the House are tightly bound not only by blood oaths but also by brands that should not allow them to harm their mistresses. Especially those who at least indirectly “had access to the body”. But she was all too well aware of how many ways there were to get around all the hurdles and obstacles. And in cosmetic alchemy, if one knew how, it was so easy to hide all sorts of additives affecting both body and mind. So, even if it was more expensive, forcing to sacrifice a part of personal desires and ambitions, Melisara for centuries preferred to keep a small, but well-trained and maximally tested retinue of slaves. She avoided visits to the Chambers of Beauty, contenting herself with purchasing only cosmetic alchemy preparations there. Which she checked thoroughly afterward anyway.

Yes, it's a hassle, long and painful. But it was better than to find herself pregnant by her subordinate, who seemed safely and assuredly driven under her heel. And also with enlarged tits and almost completely lost profile skills that so long honed diligent training. And as it turned out, the subordinate of the hapless relative was really under the tight heel of his boss and did not seem so. The pathetic brat did not even realize the changes in his relationship with his boss and de facto mistress, sincerely believing that the fact that she regularly drags him to bed far from the usual role of a cunt licker, something for granted. As a result, the hapless relative lost her position in the hierarchy of the House, plummeting to the bottom, along with an unplanned child.

Thanks to the skill of her dear and beloved great aunt Tanaisash, who was the best master of Mind Magic in all of Antak na Shar'Dan. It was a relatively mild thing to do, but she could have arranged for the relative who had crossed her path to mate with one of the slaves, which would have been an even greater disgrace. Even Melisara's even more beloved mother was rightly afraid of her cousin, preferring not to go to conflict with her, but to look for a way to come to an agreement. But she didn't dare to eliminate such a valuable and useful resource, though she had a lot of experience and intrigue skills of a cunning and cunning bitch, and the other one simply wouldn't become a matriarch. Without the skills of a great aunt adored to the point of goosebumps, House Senrass could if not lose its leading position in the city, then greatly weakened. Melisara had had to turn to her for help more than once, for diplomacy in the surface world often went hand in hand with espionage, and in the Underworld the two words were synonymous. The main thing was to be polite and not to neglect even the most minor rules of personal safety.

Melisara was distracted from her thoughts about the House's chief mentalist by the activated communication amulet on the edge of her desk, which was paired with an artifact mirror. When she saw who the call was coming from, the dark elf raised her eyebrows in surprise. Gesturing to Georg, who immediately realized everything, the dark elf rose to her feet and walked leisurely to her desk. She had to communicate with her light kin, but very rarely, even by the standards of the firstborn. Twice it had been about ransoming captured lightborns from the slave markets of Kuordemar, and a few more times it had been about buying resources that were only mined in the Underworld. But in light of recent events.

The request of the King of the Isles to search for fugitives from the surface had turned out in a very unexpected and frightening way. The message, transmitted by unknown people through the Eleventh Hunter Squad in a very unusual way, made the entire House quite nervous. “We know.” That was all. Nothing more. Combined with the fact that the entire squad that had managed to get captured by the unknown had not only not been killed, but not even mentally processed, it raised more questions than it answered. Very serious questions. Mother had been on pins and needles for almost a month, but she only showed it behind closed doors. This made the whole top of the House feel bad, especially the Supreme Catcher Fayassash, who got the worst of it. Since it was her subordinates who had gotten into trouble, she had to take the brunt of it. The Eleventh Squad could only sympathize, especially their Senior, who was going to have a lot of fun in the next hundred years. Melisara had had a rough time too. She had spent a lot of energy and money trying to get the informant agents to do their job. She had even turned to those disgusting rats, hiring their best tails.

But in the end, all that had been learned was that the fugitives on the trail of the unlucky eleventh hunter squad were indeed fugitives. It wasn't a staging or a skillful deception. They were the ones who had escaped from the islanders' captivity, at the same time giving Alekhar a great show on the day of his triumph. Because their trail after the cave where the Eleventh Squad had been captured was very clear. The Grounders had literally rushed through the Underworld, not caring to cover their tracks or create false paths. The trail led to the shore of the Deep Sea, where it ended.

To say that her beloved mother was very dissatisfied with such modest results, obtained for immodest money, was not to say anything. But suddenly, a message came from the King of the Isles. The fugitives had turned up in their hometown, and it was quite clear that Forest was behind their rescue. This raised more questions but eased the tension somewhat. House Senrass feared its dearest neighbors far more than it feared its light siblings. Because the Forest was far away, and the neighbors were very close. Though, the Forest might have been acting in concert with some House. Because someone had led the fugitives through the Underground. And now, the light siblings are contacting them. Interesting...

With a flick of her shoulders, Melisara, who had planned to go to bed after she finished her manicure and pedicure, threw off her thin nightgown of spider silk, leaving her completely naked. Being embarrassed by personal slaves was as ridiculous as being embarrassed by the same bed or nightstand. With a snap of her fingers, the pair of slave maids who had been waiting for her orders outside the door of the master's bedroom and office were already running to her with the specified outfit. It took them only a few seconds to dress the mistress in it. This was largely due to the fact that the outfit was, in fact, a set of strips of dark purple spider silk embroidered with silver. It was extremely revealing, hiding almost nothing, designed primarily to emphasize the beauty and perfection of the dark elf's body. Having cast an appraising glance at herself in the mirror, and satisfied with her appearance, Melisara gestured the servants away. When the doors to her chambers closed, she activated her defenses, took a seat at her desk, and accepted the challenge with appropriate caution.

The artifact mirror rippled, and after a few seconds, Melisara's familiar light relative, wearing the white and blue robes of a diplomat appeared in it. Bowing, he greeted his dark sister:

"The honorable Melisara."

"Honorable Darnaval, what a surprise. It's been a long time since I've had the pleasure of your company. To what do I owe the pleasure of your presence?"

The Forest diplomat's reply was completely un-Elvenishly straightforward and surprised Melisara quite a bit:

"On behalf of the Supreme Council of the Forest, I ask you to convene the City Council of Antak na Shar'Dan as soon as possible. This is extremely urgent and cannot be delayed."

The chief diplomat of House Senrass became serious at once. She folded her arms across her ample chest and stared intently into the eyes of her light kin:

"This is a very serious and sudden request. May I ask what is so important Les wishes to inform the Gathering of the Mothers of Antak na Shar'Dan?"

"Not the Gathering of the Mothers. It's the City Council. It applies to all of Antak on Shar'dan. I cannot give details. But my word has been confirmed by the Supreme Council of the Forest."

Now Melisara was getting serious. She nodded slowly, looking carefully into her light kin's eyes once more:

"I will try to arrange it as soon as possible, honorable Darnaval."

Darnaval gave a short nod in response:

"Thank you, honorable Melisara."

When the artifact mirror was extinguished the dark elf activated the communication amulet. After a while, a sleepy and disgruntled image of her beloved mother, who had already fallen asleep, appeared in her mind:

//I'm listening.

// “Mother, I have urgent news...”

* * *

In the huge underground hall with very high ceilings, there was nothing but long and massive rows of walls of dark, almost black stone, from the floor to the ceiling. On each wall, rows of small rectangular tablets of light-colored marble ran in perfectly even rows. On each of them on the left side was carved by a skillful craftsman a relief face portrait. And on the right side were the same perfectly evenly carved lines of runic script. Sometimes the text was long. Sometimes short.

The sky is changeable. Clouds are constantly running across it. The sun is replaced by the moon and stars. Water also never stands still, unless you force it into rigid boundaries. The living earth is not inferior to them either, changing every year, from falling asleep in fall and winter to waking up in spring and summer. But the mountains are different. Mountains change very slowly. Very, very slowly, often remaining unchanged for long millennia. And that's why the stone remembers everything. Stone has a long memory, it never forgets anything. And it never forgives.

With a heavy sigh, Foran, son of Dorand, of the glorious Cardlehar clan, renowned for skillful craftsmen and brave warriors, gently, like a small child, placed another plaque in a vacant niche in the wall. It stood perfectly in its place as if it were molded in. This is where it will stay forever. Because the stone remembers everything. And forgets nothing. The face of his great-nephew looked down at him from the cold light marble. And to his right were scant lines of runic letters. When and by whom he was born. By what he had been glorified. To whom he was married, and whose father he became. The lowest line sparingly reads: “Died aboard the Hardened, enchanted by the deceitful light of the women of the abyssal depths.”

Foran took a step back and looked around the Wall of Remembrance, where fifteen new plaques had been added today, crafted by his clan's artisans. Behind the Hardened captain, several dozen of his kin stood silently. The fathers, brothers, and sons of those who had forever remained in the dark waters of the Deep Sea. The current clan head, squad leaders, and the eldest of the masters. Separately, the rest of the Hardened team stood with grim faces. All as one, with pathetic and wispy stumps of their once luxurious beards.

When the last plaque took its place, there was silence. All the words had been spoken before. When Foran returned to the underwater harbor of the Underhill. When he and his companions stood before the assembled clan, and told of the death of his kin from the clutches of the vile depths. He did not conceal the fact that all of them might have perished if it had not been for the ground girl, who had turned out to be an unexpectedly skillful Hearer of the Stone. Then there was a grim tribunal. And after that, the most skillful of the master sculptors began the hard work. Today, the last of the fifteen memorial tablets had been made, and the Cardlehar clan held a memorial rite. And in a very long count, fifteen new names were added to the inhabitants of the depths.

The Stone remembers everything and forgets nothing. When the time comes, the spawn of the Lord of the Deep will pay for those names with their black blood. Even if it's not today or tomorrow. Even if Foran himself does not live to see that day. His grandchildren will pay the Dagonites for all those who perished in the black waters of the Deep Sea. Because the stone remembers everything and forgets nothing. And neither do its children.

Without a word, several dozen dwarves of different ages slowly moved towards the exit of the Hall of Memory. And as it turned out, they were already waiting there. As soon as Foran stepped outside, along with the top of the Cardlehar clan, a messenger in royal colors came to them. He bowed and clasped his fist to his chest:

"My condolences, brothers. Please forgive me for disturbing you at such a difficult time. But King Bravlin has called an emergency meeting of all the clans. You must attend as soon as possible."

* * *

In a rather large office, furnished with high-quality furniture and high ceilings, but without windows and with a single massive door, despite the deep night, the light was on. Several very high-quality magical lamps, stylized as classical lamps, illuminated the entire room with a bright light, not unlike sunlight. Four of the dozen lamps were not only light sources of excellent quality but artifacts of the same quality. Their light was intended to reveal hidden things, to disrupt illusions, and to illuminate magically active objects. And each of them had been ordered from a separate master for quite a good sum of money.

In addition to the artifact lights, there were several other stationary artifacts in the room, both visible and hidden. A stone fountain with crystal clear water, barely audible in the corner, was designed to search for and neutralize a very wide range of poisons. A metal plaque hanging above the front door recessed flush into the wall, was ready to unleash a powerful lightning strike on a detected or indicated enemy. The pair of marble busts representing illustrious heroes of antiquity that stood against the side walls between two pairs of cabinets were fueled by fire to the utmost. In case of necessity, they could rain down from their ruby eyes either extremely concentrated beams of fire on their enemies or flood everything with streams of fire from their open mouths.

Three artifacts at once, one of which was a massive desk made of dark wood, were supposed to cover the owner of the office with reliable barriers of different types in case of a threat. And one of the barriers was always in a semi-active mode. The ritual mosaic circle under the floorboards was supposed to break through a narrowly directed portal tunnel in case of danger, ensuring the escape of the owner of the study to one of several shelters.

A dense web of the finest signal threads complemented this complex of defensive and offensive artifacts. They wove around the front door, the ceiling-high cabinets whose shelves and drawers were filled with numerous scrolls, books, individual sheets, memory crystals, and a wide variety of amulets. Individual threads stretched across the walls, floor, and ceiling. The stone of which was also specially treated enchanted, and reinforced with protective amulets embedded inside the blocks to make it extremely difficult to penetrate and listen to what was going on inside. Few rooms in the palace of the Most Serene Caliph could boast such a strong defense. And it was certainly the only one where even the mighty lord of the Southern Caliphate could only enter by invitation.

He was a man whose appearance did not fit with such serious precautions. The owner of the office was frankly unassuming in comparison with other nobles. Average height, well-fed, completely bald, he was always dressed in frankly modest robes, made of high-quality but simple light gray fabric. No gold or silver embroidery, precious stones, or feathers of outlandish birds. Such a man could at best be imagined as the head of one of the brigades of palace servants. But appearances can be deceptive, and Vansir, the permanent head of the Silent Ones, serving the third Most Serene Caliph, was living proof of that truth.

Many of those who had misjudged this seemingly quiet, always polite, and good-natured man had no time to regret their mistake. He had not easily survived not only the two Most Serene, but also many of their courtiers. Although many people had prophesied his violent downfall even after the death of the first Most Serene, even more had wished for it. And many not only wished or prophesied it, but also actively made efforts to bring it about. Vain efforts, as it turned out. Vansir had learned long ago before fate had brought him into the ranks of the Silent Ones that knowledge was often more powerful than gold or precious stones. At the tips of the Silent Ones' manicured fingers were the threads of a vast web of informers and spies that extended even beyond the Caliphate's borders. In the eyes of some of the older courtiers, they called him that. The Spider. That flattered Vansir a little, who thought the nickname was well deserved.

And it really was. He had spent most of his life weaving his web, methodically expanding and updating it, sparing neither time nor effort. Whereas his predecessor had devoted more attention and energy to nurturing skilled assassins, Vansir favored spies. He was not stingy with money or any other kind of material aid for his agents if they brought really valuable information. And such a strategy more than paid for itself. He was almost always the first to know what was happening or about to happen in Sakhib-Nere, and he tried his best to make the “almost” a thing of the past. Vansir learned about much of what was happening not only in the Caliphate but also outside of it very quickly. Dozens, and sometimes hundreds of reports landed on his desk every day. To the best of his ability, he tried to read most of them personally, delving into the essence of each one. But to his sincere regret, some of the endless number of reports, reports or denunciations, of course, still had to be passed on to a couple of assistants he had bought as a boy at the slave market and subjected to careful mental processing.

Thus, thanks to his diligence and a very wide web, Vansir knew a great deal, including things they would have liked to keep hidden from him. And this knowledge, as well as the source of it, he carefully guarded. And the web he wove kept his creator as safe as a trained guard and expensive multi-stage defense. Because his grandfather, his father, and the current Most Serene Caliph Khattardin himself, having come to power, suddenly realized how useful the modest, always polite, and inconspicuous Vansir-Shan was. And how difficult and troublesome it would be to replace him. Not to mention the fact that replacing the head of the Silent Ones would be primarily beneficial to the ill-wishers of his Grace. After all, while the new head will be in office, while he will be able to sort out all the affairs, while he will be able to weave some semblance of the honorable Vansir-Shan's web... Anything can happen.

Therefore, the Grand Viziers changed, the Senior Eunuchs changed, and the generals, court magicians, treasurers, and even the Most Serene Caliphs changed. But unremarkable, modest, and always polite to everyone, Vansir-Shan continued to be. And planned to be for a very long time. And for that, it was necessary to continue to work hard and diligently. So despite the late hour, he did not rest in bed in his chambers. He was not enjoying the embrace of a slave concubine with washed brains so that it was almost impossible to hide anything but bed skills in them. And he sat at his desk, carefully reading the lines of the next report from the informant-agent. Especially since lately, there had been too much to worry about.

It all started with the Island King's raid on Morgrave. It was an unexpectedly very successful raid for the islanders. And, more dangerously, its preparation was hidden from Vansir-Shan's eyes. Yes, the Islands were a difficult place to work, but it was hardly an excuse for his Lordship to make if Alekhar had managed to sack Sakhib-Nere. In addition to the raid itself, the fact that the Honorable Ashuir-Vali was in Morgrave on a semi-secret visit added to his worries. Vansir valued the Master of Mind Magic very highly, recognizing her talent and skills. It was also important that the sorceress was the daughter of a noble Caliphate nobleman, but in fact, she was flesh and flesh of the coven of the Daughters of the Desert. And she had practically nothing to do with the Caliphate nobility. This allowed her services to be used where there was reason to distrust the court masters of Mind Magic. Or where there was a need to test their work.

If she fell into the hands of the islanders, it could be a big problem. As it was the sorceress knew a lot of things that were best kept secret. Of course, she didn't even come close to knowing as much as Vansir did, but enough to make him worry. Yes, she was bound by oaths and treaties made on the Oath Keeper's altar and her own blood. Without that, no one would let her into the heads of the humans and non-humans Vansir needed. But did he not know that for every lock there was a lock pick or a spare key? It's just a matter of time and effort. The King of the Isles would have found both for her in a heartbeat. One of the innumerable advantages of being captain of the last of the Great Armada's ships was that one could be largely unafraid of even a whole coven of witches.

In those turbulent days, he had even begun to work out his options in case of such a situation, including helping the Daughters of the Desert to rescue their sister if she was actually captured. But all was well. It seemed that way only at first glance. Because Ashuir-Vali returned safely from her journey not alone, but with a whole ship of islanders and a successfully processed crew. As well as a captive elf she had brought back secretly, hiding it from everyone. Not the relatively simple firstborns that were glimpsed at the closed slave auction. but a battle sorceress from the Forest Guard, with considerable experience. To his agentess, very skillfully working at the intersection of spell and mental magic, who managed to extract this information from the adventurers who arrived with Ashuir-Vali, he did not spare a triple reward. Plus fully compensated for the consumables spent. After all, the master of Mind Magic had cleaned up the memory of her long-eared slave very well. None of her companions even knew about her. But not bad doesn't mean completely.

And this long-eared captive could be a big problem in the long run. Vansir himself had no particular dislike for the elves. Just as he had no love for them. He considered the Forest to be a strong and a priori dangerous neighbor, which, fortunately, was separated from the lands of the Caliphate by the Undermountain. The Islands or the Lizards were a far greater threat from a military point of view. But while Vansir Shan did not seriously consider a punitive expedition by the Outer Corps of the Forest Guard, a visit from agents of the Secret Forest Guard would. Only dwarves could compete with elves in vindictiveness and rancor. Of course, not for each of their kin, the sharp-eared organized a bloody vendetta. Because otherwise, they would have gathered a coalition against themselves, which would have spilled a lot of blood of the firstborn, if not burned down the whole Forest. But still the sharp-eared tried to take revenge on the owners of eternally young slaves at every opportunity. That was why another elven prisoner who was obviously not a simple one could be a potentially very big problem.

Vansir remembered all too well how much trouble a pair of first-born female harem members had caused him in his time. He had warned Khattardin's father that it would be worth getting rid of them by selling them or giving them to someone else. It was even possible to use it profitably, giving the ears to an undesirable nobleman, and then to bring this information to the long ears of the elves. But no, ego and vanity were more important. And it would be fine if they hid the presence of sharply-eared concubines processed by brainiacs. Who knows who really lives in the Caliph's harem? There are such stories about its composition among ordinary people. So no, both father and son almost bragged about it, openly demonstrating that the Most Serene Caliph could afford even first-born slave girls.

The poor, modest, and always polite Vansir-Shan had to take the consequences, of course. He had successfully prevented two assassination attempts organized by the Eared Ones during the preparation stage. He minimized the consequences of two more, preventing the deaths of the intended targets, which could not be said for the court servants and some of the staff. The fifth assassination attempt was deliberately allowed to reach the target, but not the one the elves were aiming at, thus eliminating one of the most inconvenient and potentially problematic contenders for the place of the Most Serene. For what the current Most Serene was only grateful to him, because he hated his half-brother fiercely, and this hatred was more than mutual.

It is clear that after that the elves began to have the warmest feelings for poor Vansir-Shan, which did not make his already difficult life any easier. The status quo with the elves was reached with great difficulty and as a result of difficult secret negotiations. In exchange for the fact that the elves “forgot” about their kin in the Most Serene One's harem, Vansir helped them to return a couple of other kin who had fallen into the clutches of the Slavers. They had not yet had time to wash their brains to the full whiteness, and their owners did not brag about having them in their personal harems. Since then, the Silent Ones' relations with the Forest could be described as armed neutrality. New ever-younger toys for bed in the Serene Highness' harem no longer appeared, and offers to buy or present such living goods were politely declined. Or they were tacitly handed over or given to other “owners”. In a couple of cases, Vansir even passed on information about buyers and sellers to the firstborn through a third party. Of course, it was only about the light elves. There was no such problem with their dark kin. They themselves could contribute to the fact that unwanted or unwanted person was a toy in the hands of representatives of the inferior race.

And so, the possible status quo with the elves could, in theory, be jeopardized. Of course, the court of the Most Serene had nothing to do with it, and Forest could bring all their claims to the coven of the Daughters of the Desert. But it wouldn't make him feel any better if the witches and elves started a showdown in the Caliphate's capital. He had hinted to Ashuir-Wali about it on her next visit to the palace of his Grace. And then something strange happened. The Head of the Silent Ones had an uneasy but generally even relationship with the Daughters of the Desert coven. Largely because their interests did not overlap. The witches had been attached to their desert since before it wasn't even a desert. For the most part, they stayed out of the Caliphate's affairs, limiting themselves to purely business dealings. For a long time, no one knew that the coven was active in Sakhib-Nere. Until the grandmother of the honorable Ashuir-Vali seized de facto power in the house of one of the nobles. He was her son, and after an unsuccessful assassination attempt by one of his wives, he was nearly killed. His life was saved by his loving witch mother, but she could not cure him.

Vansir Shan was unpleasantly surprised at the news, as was the Caliph. But the witches were surprisingly cooperative, and as a result, a mutual agreement was reached. One of the clauses was that the Matriarch of the Daughters of the Desert, the honorable Mother Ayar, and anyone else from the top of the Coven must give advance notice of their visits to Vansir-Shan, another court noble, or the Caliph himself. So when the agents watching the house of Ashuir-Vali and her grandmother reported that the Matriarch of the Coven had secretly arrived, the head of the Silent Ones decided to hint to the witches that they were wrong.

He had arrived at their mansion, having spent a lot of the hard-won “lockpicks”, so the witches only learned of his visit when he knocked politely on the door. They let him in, of course, where the witches were already prepared to use their words to justify their misdeed. And then it all went wrong. Vansir, despite his best efforts, could not understand exactly what had happened. The only thing he could figure out was that in the shadow of the head of the Silent Ones and his companions, someone had broken into the witches' mansion. And while the hostesses were distracted by the guest, they killed a couple of Ashuir-Vali's personal servants, and either killed or kidnapped her elven captive.

The witches were in such a panic when they realized that someone had broken into the mansion that Vansir was afraid at that moment that he is done. But neither the witches nor their white-eyed guards, when they had calmed down a bit, did not touch him, allowing him to leave. They refused to explain anything to him but limited themselves to the fact that they handed him a very substantial sum of gold as a token of their deepest apologies for the disturbance to the honorable Vansir-Shan. And in token of the same immense respect for the Most Serene Caliph. For twenty-four hours afterward, while the head of the Silent Ones tried to figure out what had happened, the witches sat in the mansion as if under siege. They wouldn't let anyone in or out. And then they literally escaped from Sakhib-Nere, breaking through a direct portal to the desert, which again raised the ears of the city and the Caliph's guards. Not only had they escaped, but they had taken Ashuir-Wali with them, which was a shame. He had no other such specialists. And it was very strange.

And Vansir didn't like strange things. They could ruin his mood or even his life. Therefore, he began to cautiously find out what had happened in the witches' mansion. It was not easy to do so, as all the household servants and guards were under a very tight cover. But something could be found out because Ashuir-Vali's younger brother, the only son of her father, who had never recovered from the assassination attempt, was now de jure in charge of the house. So he was obliged to come to the court of the Most Serene from time to time to show his respect. Not alone, of course, but with a retinue. It was through the retinue that Vansir managed to find out that the mysterious murderer of Ashuir's servants and either the murderer or the kidnapper of her new elf slave had left an inscription on the wall of her chambers. In the blood of that very elf. “We know.” And the words were written in the very distinctive alphabet used by the infamous Dark Brotherhood. The blood of the elf was also used to leave a palm print on the wall. And that was something to think about.

The Dark Brotherhood, though they called themselves by other names, was a particular headache not only for Vansir but seemingly for everyone. The sect of zealots worshipped some dark entity that could not be accurately defined or categorized. Their worship had one very specific form - murder. These fanatics chose their goals according to one principle only they understood, without making any distinction between races and estates. They achieved their goals unpleasantly regularly. When it was necessary they showed incredible patience and invention. But the biggest problem was that it was impossible to negotiate with these damn fanatics, as with normal assassins' guilds, or to embed their agents, or even banal cut them down to the root!

They needed nothing more than to kill for the glory of their master. All the candidates sent for infiltration were either killed or recruited. Of course, they were sought, they were hunted down, they were killed. Vansir had twice in his not-so-short life conducted the most serious and complex work to identify and completely clean up their secret hideouts in the territory of the Caliphate and one neighboring Free City. But each time, even though it seemed to have been wiped out at the root the infestation reappeared. Personally, Vansir was convinced that until the source of this contagion was destroyed, the problem would not be solved. But so far it was impossible to find, or even to understand who exactly commands the damned fanatics. All their prayer rooms and altars, found in their ruined shelters, turned out to be empty. A complete sham, bearing no trace of any power. Yet those fanatics who could be captured and interrogated with all due diligence were sincerely convinced that none of their lord's altars were empty.

Thus, the Dark Brotherhood was a serious and permanent problem. Unless, of course, it really was one. Everyone quickly realized that these fanatics always leave, if they are not prevented, in the places of their murders all kinds of messages written in the same alphabet. And always their symbol - a bloody palm. Of course, just as quickly, all sorts of regular Night Guilds, personal blades of the powerful, representatives of the secret guards, and others began to regularly do the same, in an effort to deflect suspicions and shift them to the sect of fanatics. Even the showy murders of several such “smart guys” by actual representatives of the Dark Brotherhood did not improve the situation.

If the circumstances had been different, Vansir would have been inclined to think that someone had once again tried to cover himself with the Dark Brotherhood. It was the message itself and the witches' reaction to it that was disconcerting. A very unexpected reaction. Ayar had come to Sahib-Nere for something, and secretly. And then she had literally fled, taking Ashuir-Vali with her. The witches were afraid of something. Or someone. And that's definitely something for him to worry about.

A knock on the door distracted Vansir-shan from his troubled thoughts. Who is it at this hour? Touching the amulet controlling the protective weave, the head of the Silent Ones recognized one of the Grand Vizier's trusted aides waiting at the door. Unlocking the door with the amulet, he let him inside and greeted him politely:

"Good night, honorable Fenkher-Shan. What brings you to me at this late hour?"

"Good night, honorable Vansir-Shan. Forgive me for daring to interrupt your work, but my business is urgent. The honorable Grand Vizier Khatran has just had a direct conversation with the Elven emissaries. From them, he received a request for an urgent conversation with Most Serene Caliph Hattardin and his inner circle. The Grand Vizier ordered to notify all advisors of the Most Serene Caliph and himself."

Wow, such unexpected news. Interesting...

* * *

Several dozen tall stone buildings adjoining each other formed two wide parallel streets. They were surrounded on three sides by high dunes. On one of them, the houses rested, hidden in the thickness of the sand. On the only free side, the streets ran down to a man-made oasis of incredibly lush greenery that stood out vividly against the ochre landscape. The inexorable sands of the Great Desert would have swallowed these remnants of the once great city long ago, if not for the local inhabitants. It was they who had first made the hot winds sweep the huge barchans in a wide semicircle, sheltering the small part of the dead city from view. They also prevented them from advancing further, skillfully enclosing the remains of the city and the water source they had awakened in a ring of spatial anomalies. There were plenty of such anomalies, including deadly ones, in the Great Desert after the War of God's Wrath.

But the Daughters of the Desert were not called Daughters of the Desert for nothing. Unlike most ordinary gifted people, witches were much more attached to their land. Such an attachment came at a price but it also offered a great deal. Even when the once lushly blooming north of the southern continent turned into an almost lifeless wasteland of mangled space, the coven did not abandon the place they had gained. It changed its name but stayed true to its home. Slowly but surely the witches settled into their new environment, adapting to the changed realities. And now they were practically the only ones who could not just move through the Great Desert, confident they would at least get to the right place. But to move quickly, crossing almost half of the continent from one side to the other.

It was a combination of that and their considerable strength made them feel safe, even in a place as inhospitable as the Great Desert. Yes, there were places where even they preferred not to go. The main ones were the cities and fortresses that had perished during the War of God's Wrath. Many of them had new owners. And in some places, they remained the same, but already a bit unlived. And the former and the latter were always glad to have living guests. The latter, however, did not always share their joy. But in the man-made oasis, the witches had created on the edge of one of the dead cities, not far from the coven's former home, the Daughters of the Desert could feel almost completely safe.

Which was just fine. But for Ashuir personally, there was one small drawback to the coven's abode. A tiny little drawback. Here. It was. Boring. Or rather, VERY BORING. After the metropolitan, almost never-sleeping Saлhib-Nere, in a quiet and peaceful settlement tucked away in the heart of the Great Desert, she had absolutely NOTHING TO DO! No, in another situation, she would not have been bored here. After all, she could always do her training, and help her coven sisters in their practice, there would always be something for a skillful sorceress like her to do. If it weren't for one more BUT! So far it was still quite unnoticeable from the side of the BUT, quite, however, tangible for her BUT.

The whole coven had forbidden her any serious exercise of her subtle body for the duration of her pregnancy. Only the simplest of practices. Just to keep in shape. Mostly meditative, too. It could be added that after the memorable incident at her father's mansion, the whole coven was also dusting her off and watching over her. Or rather, the white eyes of the Sakharibs, who are now around her at least six people at all times. And often one or two sisters with them. No, Ashuir understood the danger of what had happened and the importance of her mission. But that didn't make it any easier. She had a couple of distractions, though. One of which she was indulging in right now.

Biting her lip, the sorceress lying on her back arched her shoulders against the mattress of her wide double bed, her hands tearing at the sheets. But she couldn't hold back a moan of pleasure. With a deep exhale she sank back onto the bed and uncrossed her legs, bending them at the knees and spreading them wide apart. The freed Cyrus pulled away from her pussy, wiped her face with the crumpled blanket, then moved forward and unceremoniously laid down on top of the heavy-breathing sorceress. However, he weighed as much as his mistress, so it wasn't hard for her. Leaning over Ashuir's face, he brushed aside a strand of wet dark hair and kissed her. Then he raised himself on his elbows and looked her in the eyes and said:

"You already owe me two."

Rolling her eyes, Ashuir replied:

"In the evening, after bathing."

Demonstratively frowning his eyebrows, Cyrus said in a deliberately displeased voice:

"You said the same thing yesterday!"

He accompanied his words by placing his right hand on Ashuir's breast and massaging it, pressing his index finger on the hardened nipple. The sorceress did not interfere with him, though she had never allowed any man such liberties. True, she had only a handful of them. More often she preferred to have fun in bed with girls.

"You were exhausted last night and fell asleep almost immediately."

"So I didn't have to do anything."

Mentally Ashuir sighed tiredly. Why had she agreed to do it in the first place? Cyrus' tongue worked quite well, though, and he was a passionate lover. And he had a palpable passion for her, without any charms or love magic. That flattered Ashuir a little. With her power, anyone could seduce almost anyone. But without magic, she still had to try. In this case, though, she didn't have to try much, given Cyrus' youth and inexperience in lovemaking. It was a great feat to seduce a young man his age who had one thought on his mind. Ashuir placed her hand on the palm of his hand on her breast and said quietly but firmly:

"In the evening. After swimming. I promise. No, I won't cheat. Okay, we can do it during bath time. No. No. Stop thinking such dirty thoughts!"

Cyrus, still hovering over her, chuckled involuntarily and kissed her on the lips again. They were having a strange dialog because Ashuir could read his thoughts so easily, responding before he could speak them. Not only because of her skill but also because of the consequences of the ritual that had made Cyrus the father of her future child. When he broke the kiss, he pulled away and spoke:

"All right, then let's do it the usual way."

There was no chance of getting away with it. And there was no reason either. Having made himself comfortable between the wide-spread legs of the sorceress, the young man, who had long ago been fully ready for business, carefully put his cock to her pussy and entered her without the slightest difficulty. After hesitating for a few seconds and savoring the sensations, he asked:

"Are you ready?"

Ashuir only nodded in response, closing her eyes and concentrating.

"Let's get started..."

Cyrus and Ashuir exhaled simultaneously, beginning to merge. It wasn't the easiest of techniques, requiring great skill on the part of the gifted. But in their case, the ritual they had performed, multiplied by Gaia's blessing, as well as a common child in the womb of a sorceress, played into their hands. And in general, their energies suited each other quite well. Far from perfect, but noticeably above average. After a few seconds, their thin bodies merged forming a common closed circuit. They lay still for a few more seconds, getting used to the doubled sensations and, consequently, the doubled pleasure. Then Cyrus began to move slowly, gradually increasing his pace. The pleasure was too much this time, and Ashuir didn't even try to hold back her moans.

She felt her lover's cock entering her, and at the same time, she felt it squeezing against the moist tightness of her pussy. She felt Cyrus's hands on her breasts, and at the same time, she felt his hands on her smooth skin and erect nipples. It was a double whammy of sensations that led to a natural outcome. An already excited Cyrus, who'd started the morning by licking her pussy, didn't last long, and he quickly poured himself into her. In a different situation, Ashuir would have made her lover finish the job with his tongue. But thanks to the merging of the two subtle bodies into a single circuit, Cyrus' sensations made up for it. But in addition to her lover's orgasm, the sorceress was equally pleased by the young man's energy flowing into her. He was weaker than Ashuir as a gifted person but still possessed a certain amount of energy. And now all this energy was pouring into the sorceress's body, along with his seed.

The symbol of the Life-Giver flashed brightly on Ashuir's still flat belly, absorbing the energy she was receiving and redirecting it to her future child. The excess energy rushed through the energy channels of the sorceress, causing a surge of strength and vigor. Cyrus, on the contrary, was literally exhausted. Exhaling, he interrupted the fusion that had exhausted him. He barely had enough strength to get off Ashuir and lay down next to her on the bed. But Cyrus was still strong enough to wrap his arms and legs around her and rest his head on her heavy breasts. But after that, the young man fell into a deep sleep almost immediately. It was morning, and he had slept through the night before.

Aushir sighed philosophically and made herself comfortable with her lover and the father of her child. Cyrus was still weak, both as a man and as a gifted one. But on the other hand, if he were stronger, the Black Blood curse he'd inherited from his distant ancestor would have crippled him irreversibly. And then killed him. The lazy musings of the sorceress combing the wet dark hair of the young man sniffling peacefully on her chest, were interrupted by a knock at the door of the rooms assigned to her. A few moments later, Mother Ayar entered, accompanied by a pair of coven sisters and several servants. With her right hand raised, Ashuir greeted the Matriarch of the Daughters of the Desert:

"Good morning, Mother Ayar."

The ancient witch's blue eyes that looked like a young girl slid over the lovers' naked bodies and the crumpled sheets and blanket:

"I see Cyrus has already done his fatherly duty."

Smiling, Ashuir ran her palm over her stomach where Gaia's mark was slowly fading away:

"In full."

The Matriarch's lips touched with an answering smile:

"That's commendable. Boys, help the poor young man. Take him to Sister Adata and have her take care of him."

A pair of sturdy, dark-skinned servants silently and carefully lifted the still-awake Cyrus into their arms and carried him to the coven's best specialist in healing magic. When they were gone, Ayar turned to Aushir:

"How are you feeling, my girl?"

The sorceress made a sad face and answered honestly:

"It's not bad now. But I couldn't even imagine that carrying a gifted child under my heart was so difficult. It's like I have a constant burden on my shoulders. And I don't really want to do anything."

Sitting down beside her on the edge of the bed, the Matriarch placed her palm affectionately on her stomach and spoke sympathetically:

"Believe me, girl, I know what you're going through. Carrying a gifted child is never easy, especially when there is no strong gifted father, and the burden falls on the mother's shoulders. And you're carrying a difficult child. Your son's gift will be very strong. It is not easy to carry such a child, but we will do everything we can to ease your burden."

The Matriarch accompanied her words by stroking Ashuir's belly. But it was not a simple caress, at the same time the ancient witch was carefully assessing the condition of the still-forming fetus. When the Matriarch's eyebrows furrowed and her palm froze the sorceress became wary.

"Is something wrong, Mother?"

"No... It's just... um... understandable. It's okay, sweetheart. It's just that your subtle bodies have reorganized themselves very well to carry the baby. So he's getting more energy from you than you'd expect. Which is good for him. But that's what's making it so hard for you. That's why you're tired and don't want to do anything."

"Well, right now, I have plenty of power,” the sorceress smiled ambiguously.

"Of course. I won't bore you any longer, my dear. If you need anything, let me know immediately. And don't forget your exercise!"

"Of course, Mother."

After saying goodbye to her coven sisters, Ashuir got out of bed. She shook her head and made her way to her personal bathing area to freshen up and clean herself up. She didn't bother to put anything on, slapping her bare feet on the slabbed floor. The bathing room was waiting for her. A young and very pretty girl sat on a small stool against the wall. She had a clean face, skin visibly lightened by the sea tan, and dark curly hair grown down to her shoulders. Slender, with long straight legs, narrow waist, taut buttocks, and already formed breasts of B size. Just a cutie. The beauty was dressed in only a short skirt and sandals. At the sight of the naked sorceress, she immediately jumped to her feet, stretched out, and greeted her, bowing low:

"Good morning, Mistress."

Ashuir smiled ravenously at the sight of her. The sorceress stepped toward her and pressed her body against the wall, at the same time giving her lips a demanding kiss. The girl didn't even move, letting Ashuir's tongue penetrate her mouth and begin to explore it. At the same time, the sorceress ran her hands along her body, assessing the results of her labors. In particular, a very pleasant to the touch and firm breasts of the second size, with small dark nipples. Having played with the girl's tongue enough, Ashuir interrupted the kiss and said in a languid voice:

"What a sweet little cutie you are, Bibi! That floral-scented lip and mouth ointment really suits you. Mmm... I can sense that you're very happy to see me! Tell me, what dirty things did you think about me tonight? Oh, you're such a rascal!"

Taking a step back, Ashuir pulled her submissive victim to her, pressing her face against her naked breasts. Her arms around her, she stroked the girl's head affectionately and murmured:

"You still haven't changed your mind?"

The unfortunate girl, who used to be a younger relative of the captain of an entire ship that Ashuir had stolen from the islanders along with the crew, uttered in a pitiful voice, afraid to move:

"No, Mistress!"

The reason for her, or rather, HIS fear so far, was that there was a quite noticeable bump in the groin under the skirt, to which a naked sorceress was pressed through the thin fabric. A very beautiful naked sorceress. Giggling, Ashuir kissed Balibir, who had long since been renamed Bibi, affectionately and stroked his head:

"You're so sweet, Bibi!"

Forced to move into the coven's abode and faced with boredom, Ashuir quickly found something to do besides regular sex with Cyrus. Along with several of her sisters, she took on the hapless young raider, whom she had originally planned to have scraped and sold to the harem as a eunuch. They fully appreciated the idea that she had afterward, already in her father's mansion, after which the witches and the sorceress got down to business. And very quickly they turned the already handsome young man into an even more handsome girl. The figure was changed, a second-sized breast appeared, and even the rudiments of beard and mustache were completely removed, as well as other body hair. But the main thing, the Bibi's fighter, they still left untouched. Except that they also got rid of all the extra hair. Aushir and her coven sisters were delighted with the result, and they chorally persuaded Bibi to take the final step. They even vowed to find him a very good and caring husband.

It was a pleasure to watch him at that moment. But since Bibi kept his word and carefully continued to learn all that was required of him, Ashuir kept her word and did not bring the matter to an end. She even allowed him to spend one night with one of the coven's resident female servants. A reminder, so to speak, of what he was suffering for. It would have been more fun, though, to put him under one of the servants Ashuir's coven sisters had encouraged him to do. And they did it in the presence of Bibi, who at that moment turned pale to death. But that time the sorceress “saved” him, deciding to leave this fun for later. Though since then she addressed him exclusively in the feminine form.

Letting Bibi go, she gave him another affectionate peck on the cheek and headed for the corner of the bathing room where water was piped up to the ceiling and sprayed down from there:

"Come on, Bibi, help your mistress wash."

He followed obediently, removing his skirt and sandals. Touching the controlling amulet, Ashuir stood under the barely warm jets of water with a blissful smile. It felt so good! Closing her eyes, she put her face and body under the streams of water and stood still. For a few minutes, she stood motionless, just enjoying herself. Behind her, Bibi had prepared two small wooden stools, as well as several pots of ointments and a washcloth. After rinsing herself, Ashuir stopped the flow of water and sat down on one of the stools, her back to Bibi. He scooped up a handful of special ointment from a small pot and began to carefully soap the long dark hair of the sorceress with it. He did it quite skillfully, massaging Ashuir's head pleasantly. Bibi's hands were surprisingly gentle and tender.

He tried desperately to make himself think only of her hair, only of her hair, beautiful thick hair, very nice to the touch, silky hair. He wasn't very good at it, the best proof of which was his still-staked fighter. It was so funny that Ashuir chuckled involuntarily. Actually, considering what a cutie she'd turned him into, if it weren't for the pregnancy and all the rituals tied to the immediate father, she could have used Bibi as a live-in lady savior. Later, she might do just that. In the meantime, we could tease the cutie.....

When he finished soaping her hair, he wanted to pick up a washcloth, but Ashuir gestured for him to stop. Instead, she pointed to another pot without looking. Swallowing, Bibi dutifully scooped up a full handful of the ointment he was supposed to rub on her wet body. He started with his back. Then his shoulders and arms. The whole time he was behind Ashuir, he kept trying desperately not to think about her. And also not to touch her in any way with his...his... Listening to his thoughts was a pleasure. Chuckling, Ashuir caught his hands by the wrists without turning around and moved them to her chest. So, what are you going to do next?

For a second, Bibi was perfectly still, as if paralyzed. Then he made up his mind, moved closer to her back, and began to fondle her breasts, not even pretending to rub the cleansing ointment on them. Wow, he'd made up his mind after all. Aushir whispered languidly, leaning her head back against Bibi's shoulder:

"I didn't think you'd dare, Bibi."

The young man, who by the efforts of the sorceress now looked like a very pretty island girl, swallowed, but answered with the utmost honesty, almost without a tremor in his voice:

"Mistress can do anything to me and can see all my thoughts. If Mistress lets me touch her breasts, it means she wants me to please her."

"Mmm, so that's how it is... I like your honesty, Bibi... And your thoughts about me."

She placed her palm on his right hand and gently lowered it lower and lower. When she reached the sorceress's wide-open legs, Bibi froze involuntarily, unable to move. Quite squinting, the sorceress, who could see everything that was going on in his head, asked in a languid voice:

"What did you just think of me, Bibi?"

The unhappy young man shuddered faintly, but still found the strength to answer honestly:

"T-that you're very beautiful, Mistress. And I'd like to make love to you very much."

Pressing his palm slightly, causing Bibi to slide his fingers over her pussy, Ashuir asked in the same voice:

"More specifically?"

Swallowing, the young man opened his mouth silently a few times, but then he made up his mind and, clamping his eyes shut, stammered his words:

"I imagined you to be my sea wife... Mistress, I don't... I can't, these thoughts... I don't want to think bad thoughts about you Mistress, but... you are very... you... spare me, Mistress, I didn't mean to... Can't you make me not think bad thoughts, I...."

His confused speech was interrupted by Ashuir's loud laughter. For a minute the sorceress could not calm down. She turned to the frozen Bibi embraced his face with both hands and kissed him affectionately.

"Oh, Bibi, you're so sweet. Of course, I could easily make it so you wouldn't think any filthy things about me. So you wouldn't think anything at all. But that would be boring."

Turning the uncomplaining young man's back to her, Ashuir pressed her chest against him and rested her head on his shoulder, continuing to whisper softly in his ear:

"I can clearly see EVERY thought you have about me, Bibi. Even the ones you're trying your best to suppress and chase away. If I didn't want them in your head, I could easily take them away from you."

Hugging Bibi from behind, Ashuir began to play with his breasts, which she and her sisters had made fully functional. And just as sensitive.

"It amuses me to see in your mind how you imagine me as your powerless concubine. How you take me from behind, tied by my hands to the mast of your ship. How you force me to pleasure you with my mouth in front of your entire crew. How I beg you not to sell me on the slave market of Kuordemar."

As Ashuir played with the breasts and voiced all his fantasies about his captor and tormentor to Bibi, he was afraid to move and turned even paler. Running her tongue along his cheek, Ashuir whispered, bringing her lips close to Bibi's ear:

"But what amuses me most is that you, knowing that I know and see your thoughts, desperately try to suppress them, terribly afraid of provoking my anger. After all, you can do NOTHING to me. But I can do EVERYTHING to you."

Lowering her right hand down, the sorceress began to play with the young man's cock, stroking it and squeezing his scrotum. He tensed involuntarily but immediately tried to relax. At the same time, the young man remained perfectly still. With a giggle, Ashuir began to play with his cock more vigorously.

"I thought you'd have figured it out by now, Bibi. I won't punish you for your vile thoughts. But I will punish you for lying. But you did tell the truth. And that's why you deserve to be rewarded."

As Ashuir's other hand began to play with Bibi's cock with her soapy hand, she began to play with his chest again. The young man immediately began to breathe heavily, tensed involuntarily, bit his lip, and squeezed his eyes shut.

"Close your eyes. You can think anything you want about me right now. Visualize anything you want. I'll allow it."

"M-mistress,” Bibi tried to say something in a trembling voice but Ashuir cut him off.

"In silence."

Then Ashuir's right hand worked even faster, sliding it over Bibi's cock, which was frozen in her embrace. With her left hand, she continued to play with his enlarged breasts, squeezing them and pinching the long erect nipple with her fingers. As a result, Bibi didn't last much longer than Cyrus, soon spilling out in a long stream onto the bathing slabs. Ashuir chuckled involuntarily once more, seeing exactly what he was imagining while she played with him, and what he was trying even harder NOT to imagine. How cute he was after all...

Ashuir kissed the heavy-breathing young man whose thoughts were in turmoil and let him recover before continuing her bath. Watching her from the next room with the other sisters, the Matriarch of the coven allowed herself a faint smile. The youngsters invented all sorts of fun. One of the sisters, however, did not share her amusement:

"Still, I'd rather not take any risks."

"Come on, Khatyara. The girl is just having fun. Think of yourself at her age."

"I did not carry the child under my heart that would be our key to the Dark Tower!"

"Ashuir is well aware of the responsibility placed upon her. There's nothing wrong with her having fun with her toy. Especially since we never leave her unattended for a moment."

"Good,” Khatyara said, ”then I suggest you put a blockage in his... or rather her... head. So that he can't physically cum into her and violate the purity of Gaia's rituals and blessings with his filthy seed."

"This can be done…"

The conversation of the upper coven was interrupted by one of the younger sisters entering the room. She bowed to the Matriarch and her retinue and said:

"Mother Ayar, please forgive me for interrupting you."

"It's okay, my girl. Did something happen?"

"Sister Zaikhir sends her a call from Sakhib-Nere. She says the elves ask to speak with you, and it is urgent."

The most powerful witches of the entire southern continent looked at each other in surprise, then the Matriarch of the coven said thoughtfully:

"Really? Well, let's talk to them."

* * *

In the midst of an incredibly lush and endless jungle, at the confluence of three major rivers into one truly enormous one, stood a huge stone city. Its size and architectural beauty would not have been inferior even to Kuordemar at the time of the highest dawn of the Island Empire. Multi-story stone buildings formed wide stone-paved streets, laid out at a slight incline so during heavy rains the water flowed clearly into the rivers without causing floods. Even though it was not so early in the morning, most of the inhabitants in this very large city were still just waking up. This was due to the peculiarities of its inhabitants. The lizards preferred to start working when the sun had already warmed the ground and the air. They disliked the cold.

But not everyone could afford to wait for a full sunrise. Despite their early hour, a dozen strong and lean lizards of the servant caste were running up the long zigzag road, claws clacking loudly on the stone slabs. The road snaked snake-like to the top of a huge man-made mountain, shaped like a heavily elongated truncated pyramid. At the top of the colossal structure, assembled from many stone blocks, was a palace of enormous size, against which even the largest lizard of the warrior caste would seem a tiny lizard. But for the inhabitant of the palace, even such a gigantic structure was a bit cramped.

In a comfortable and incredibly luxurious palanquin, painted in golden colors, sat a lizard, with scales of bright red noble color. That said he belonged to the noble caste. His outfit, consisting mostly of massive gold jewelry with precious stones and long bright feathers, spoke of a very high status even by the standards of the nobles. Glancing at the cyclopean palace approaching too slowly for his liking, he clawed his claws in frustration. The servants who carried his palanquin on their shoulders sped up at the same moment, although without they were rushing up the stairs at a fair speed. They moved almost synchronously, and from that almost did not sway their priceless load. When they reached the flat ground where the zigzag road ended they carefully lowered their lord's palanquin. Then they all threw themselves belly-down on the ground, forming a carpet from the edge of the palanquin to the first rung of the staircase that rose steeply upward. The last part of the way to the abode of the Greatest had to be walked on their own feet. The right to go directly to his palace in a palanquin was a sign of the highest favor, and it was not easy to earn it.

After running over the backs of the servants, Schess Yashsh Shass rushed up the steps, clawing at the perfectly polished slabs with his well-groomed claws. Running was not something one of the most powerful administrators of the great city of Arlak Norctar was accustomed to. But now was not the time to allow himself a leisurely and dignified climb up the steps of the palace of the Greatest. After running up the last few steps, Schess Yashsh Shass stopped on the platform before the entrance to the palace of the Greatest. He took a few breaths of air through his nostrils and took a few seconds to clean himself up. No matter how urgent the news, it was no excuse for appearing before the Greatest in a disheveled state.

Making sure that his attire was impeccable, Schess Yashsh Shass, as befitted a representative of the very top of the noble caste, strode steadily toward the doors, clawing his claws on the smooth stone slabs. The mighty warriors in gilded armor at the gates in advance pushed on the turning mechanisms, swinging open the huge flaps. With a silent nod to the noble kin, they let him inside the palace and immediately began to close the gates again.

It was hot inside the palace of the Greatest even by the standards of the Great Jungle. The reason was not the numerous sources of open fire that lit its interior, which was one huge room. It was the occupant of this cyclopean structure. On the far side of the entrance, on a huge and high stone pedestal, there was a huge dragon with anthracite-black scales, surrounded by several dozen of his lowly servants. Next to him, on a slightly smaller pedestal, lay the youngest consort of the Greatest. In contrast, her scales were like lush jungle foliage with flecks of gold.

Right now, the youngest wife was breathing heavily and loudly, smoke and flames billowing from her mouth and nostrils. The Greatest was staring at her with his golden eyes, and a dozen or two servants were bustling around her. Oh, it was bad timing, but who knew it was today... And why wasn't he informed?! Stupid idiots! But there was no retreat, and Schess Yashsh Shass, with his head held high, headed for the Greatest. Exactly fifty steps before his pedestal, he stopped at the invisible line and knelt on one knee. Also, by the way, a very high honor, earned by hard work. After that, the noble lizard waited. To speak to the Greatest without his permission was the surest way to end his life painfully.

To the great relief of Schess Yashsh Shass, the wait was not long. Apparently, the contractions had begun in the middle of the night. Soon the youngest wife of the Greatest let out a muffled but long growl and tensed her whole body, partly even spreading her wings. After that, she exhaled flames mixed with smoke and lowered herself back on her pedestal. And the four trained females, from the number of selected servants, with the greatest care laid on a special heavy stretcher made of enchanted stone the priceless treasure. A very small egg, tiny in comparison to the father and mother, resembled a rounded, polished dark blue gemstone. Picking up the stretcher, the maids carried it to the pedestal of the Greatest and lowered their precious burden directly in front of him. Afterward, they hurriedly retreated away.

Everyone held their breath. For a few moments, the Greatest stared at the egg in front of him with golden eyes with vertical pupils. Then, he barely opened his huge mouth, and a stream of fire rushed out of it, instantly enveloping him like a cocoon. Even Yashsh Shass, who was accustomed to the fire of the lord, was sickened by the heat, and he was still standing far away. Fortunately, the trial by fire did not last long. The Greatest interrupted the flow of flame, and an unharmed egg, glowing brightly with blue light, appeared before the eyes of all present. Barely perceptibly bowing his head, the Greatest roared a single word:

"BRING."

The dragon's roar made all the lizards in the palace shudder involuntarily. Several servants immediately rushed away to one of the small back rooms. Soon, a dozen smooth-skinned females were brought in from there. All of them were completely naked, not counting the sandals and gold jewelry. Numerous pieces of gold jewelry. By the standards of their kin, and even some perverts, they were all very beautiful. Their bodies glistened and shimmered in the light of the many lights, but not from sweat, but from the special oils, they rubbed on them to please the odor-sensitive Greatest. Most of them were female humans, though of different subspecies. The skin and hair of two of them were like the Greatest's, black, but one had hair that was curly and not too long, while the other had straight hair that reached her waist. The skin of another female was dark, but noticeably lighter than the first two, a mixture of southern and northern subspecies of humans. Her hair was dark but noticeably less curly.

One of the female humans was of the eastern subspecies, with light, almost white skin, but pitch-black hair and slanted eyes. Another female had the same straight and pitch-black hair, but reddish skin. A native of the distant lands lying southeast of the southern continent, beyond the warm eastern seas. Three more smooth-skinned females were from the north, with equally fair skin but different hair. One had hair like gold, another like the setting sun, and the third like the noble rosewood.

Of the remaining two smooth-skinned females, one was of the arrogant upstarts who arrogantly called themselves firstborn, with silver hair and skin as dark as the southern females of humans. The second was a mixture of the light branch of the upstarts, and the northern subspecies of humans, with slightly darker straight hair, but perfectly white skin. All ten smooth-skinned men stood before the Greatest, lined up in a row, and bowed their heads respectfully. The two upstarts, characterized by their pointed ears among other things, clearly kept a little apart from the steel females, thinking themselves better than the others. Idiots, even the best of the chosen are insignificant before the Greatest, let alone the smooth-skinned!

Though he had to admit, the lower races could be very useful. At least their females, when it came to a situation like this. In addition to their outstanding beauty by the standards of their kin, the entire dozen females had something else in common. Magic flowed through each of them, and it flowed abundantly and exuberantly. Not even the moderately powerful gifted among them. Each of them was skilled in her own school, had a great deal of power, and had proven it in practice. For which she was selected by the servants of the Greatest. Keeping these smooth-skinned females was very expensive. Even by the standards of the highest-ranking nobles, they lived in sheer luxury. On top of that, they had to fulfill their numerous whims, half of which, as Yash Shass was sure, were senseless and unnecessary whims. But the will of the Greatest was the law, and it was necessary to fulfill almost all the numerous wishes of smooth-skinned females. And in the shortest possible time. All for the sake of such moments.

After looking with golden eyes at the dozen smooth-skinned females before him, the Greatest stopped his gaze on the one whose hair was like the sun at sunset and whose skin, carefully protected from the sun, was milky white. All understood the lord's will without words. The maids rushed to prepare the chosen smooth-skinned one, while the other nine went away leisurely. Some of them had a hard time hiding their annoyance. Schess Yashsh Shass tried to remember the main and most frequent whims of the red-haired female because in his experience they would triple in number soon. In the meantime, the maids relieved her of most of her jewelry and helped her settle on the specially brought wooden bed. When the red-haired female lay down on it with her legs spread wide, the maids began to rub her body with a new batch of special oil in six paws, paying the most careful attention to her cunt.

When she was ready, she was given a pre-prepared potion that bore the Life-Giver's powerful blessing. Then one of the most trusted maids took the still glowing egg of the Greatest in her hands and carefully brought it to the redhead's lower lips. As soon as it touched them, magical symbols flashed across the smooth-skinned woman's body, most notably on her belly. The same symbols lit up on the palace floor forming a ritual circle around the bed. The redheaded female exhaled and tried to relax, and the maid pressed down sharply, guiding the egg inside her womb. The smooth-skinned woman wheezed and arched her back, clutching at the armrests.

It would have killed a normal female smooth-skinned creature, but this gifted one, like the others, had been carefully prepared beforehand. As a result, the Greatest's egg slowly but surely entered her womb. The whole procedure took no more than a minute, after which the exhausted redheaded female collapsed, trembling. Her belly had swollen many times over, and even through the smooth human skin the glow of the lord's egg was visible. The maids gently lifted her and brought her to the Greatest. The latter, blowing a stream of hot air over her, lifted one of his wings and covered and wrapped its folds around the redhead. The smooth-skinned woman moaned blissfully as she pressed herself against the Greatest, absorbing his heat with her whole body. And with it, the energy coming from the Greatest. This smooth-skinned woman was not going to be happy for the next six months. Right now, all of her subtle bodies were reorganizing themselves to accommodate the future child of the lord, who would absorb the energy from his living incubator.

But that was what she and the other smooth-skinned ones had been fiddled with for. The Greatest and his kin had long ago discovered that rather than incubating the eggs themselves, warming them with their own fire, it was much better to use gifted female smooth-skins. And the stronger the gifted female, the better incubator she was. Unfortunately, only smooth-skinned females were suitable for this kind of incubator, the females of the chosen ones, even among the gifted noble ones, were not suitable. It had something to do with the differences in carrying their cubs, but Schess Yashsh Shass was not interested in such details. But what was even more frustrating was that the insolent women of the inferior races could not be forced by force or magic. Both could seriously harm the unborn child of the great ones, but this was not immediately known. The noble who had made the fatal mistake that had crippled the son of one of the great ones had paid dearly for it. And not only with his life but also with the whole clutch.

And even the minds of the damned smooth-skinned females could not normally be glamorized to make them more submissive. You could trick them, persuade them, promise them anything. But it was impossible to influence him with magic. On the contrary, it was necessary to protect it, as well as the female in general from any, even the most hidden harm. As the egg-bearing gifted woman directly nourished it with her power, thus directly influencing the future great one. And if the mother's mind would be enchanted by magic, even if she did not know it, the future great one could be born with a predisposition to such magical compulsions. Is it necessary to explain in detail what any Greatest, not only the present Greatest, would do to the careless servants for such sacrilege?

Therefore, the gifted smooth-skinned females had to be “negotiated” with, which was already an irritant for the noble chosen ones like Schess Yashsh Shass. And the insolent representatives of the inferior races took advantage of this to their advantage. During their stay in the palace of the Greatest, each of them had increased their strength by at least a third, so that they could afford the best alchemy, the best strengthening and enhancing rituals, and much more. And the dark-skinned upstart who had already borne two of the Greatest's cubs in her long life had doubled her strength. Carrying an egg, though it took a lot of energy from the gifted one, but at the same time it developed her subtle body. Since even an unborn great was a solid source of magic. And this was supplemented by regular feedings from the Greatest or his younger consorts.

Just for that alone, the capricious smooth-skinned ones should have crawled on their knees before the lord. But no, it was not enough for them! The list of desires of human and elven females carefully selected by the Greatest was enormous, and sometimes made Schess Yashsh Shass literally tear the scales off his head. But they had to bear with it for the sake of the well-being and health of the great ones' offspring. For it had long been proven that a cub borne in this way, especially if the gift of a smooth-skinned female suited it particularly well, had a slightly stronger and better-developed magical gift. But how many problems and troubles with these insolent upstarts.....

Schess Yashsh Shass' thoughts were interrupted by a short order from the Greatest:

"TALK."

After making three full bows, the noble lizard hissed subserviently:

"Forgive your lowly servant for distracting you at this hour, Oh Most Great One! But we have received urgent news from the Forest. The Elves request permission to speak directly. And, may the Greatest forgive me for such impertinent words, but in their insolence, they have stated, it is of great importance to ALL the great ones."

There was silence in the palace of the Greatest. For a few moments, he looked at Schess Yashsh Shass with his golden eyes, and then he gave an order:

"LET THEM SPEAK."

* * *

Ngabo-Khele, nestled in the delta of the Gnmala, a great river whose source was the vast jungle, was the largest, strongest, and wealthiest city in the southwest of the continent. Here the river and sea trade routes crossed. Ships came to this city from the Middle Sea, from the distant lands of Sunset and Sunrise. In the vast markets and bazaars of Ngabo-Khele, one could buy perhaps anything. Precious stones, tusks and bones of Mumaks, incense, noble woods, and woodwork, masterpieces of craftsmen from the lands of the Lizards, the Free Cities, the Caliphate, and even the Forest. And, of course, slaves, and not only black people from the southern plains and savannahs. The question was always the price. And the richest city in the Southwest was ruled by Khonga-Mbao, the King of the River, or King on the River.

The Great Gnmala had many sources, large and small, permanent and dry. But all of them, sooner or later, brought their waters to the seashore. So whoever owned the Gnmala delta owned the whole river. Which meant all the trade. Many wanted to get their greedy paws on such a tidbit. But only the ancestors of the Khonga-Mbao succeeded, who have held Ngabo-Khele with an iron grip ever since. And reaping great riches from it. His palace, surrounded by high and strong walls, built by skillful craftsmen hired from the Free Cities, was a masterpiece of fortification architecture. It was comparable in luxury and protection to the abodes of the most powerful lords of other lands. Khong-Mbao's harem was as varied as that of the Most Serene Caliph or the current Great Khan of the Green-Skinned.

But no living lord on earth could have held such riches in his hands if he had not been strong enough to protect them. The riches of Kuordemar were held by the Conqueror of the Seas and the favor of Calisto. The dynasty of the Most Serene Caliphs, too, had weapons firmly tied to their blood, inherited from the War of God's Wrath. The Khonga-Mbao family, whose veins had been filled with magic for centuries, also had their own power. The current King on the River himself was not a particularly strong gifted man, being much more skilled in matters of trade. But he held all the ancestral contracts made with powerful spirits by his distant ancestors very tightly. He strictly observed them, bringing all the due gifts on time and in full, but not forgetting to demand the fulfillment of reciprocal services.

His greatest riches were kept not in a treasury with gold, but in a separate room of his chambers, where no one but he could enter. There were the most powerful anchor contracts and beacons for calling entities of incredible power, capable of raising the waters of the seas and Gnmala into the sky and bringing down fire and lightning from the sky. However, Khonga-Mbao was strong not only by the contracts concluded with the inhabitants of the invisible world and one-time deals. He had learned well the lessons of his late father that one should never keep all the wealth in one place. One should always have several hiding places for treasures. The same was true for sources of power. The King on the River also had several of them, and one was special.

Stopping in front of the massive doors leading to several adjoining rooms, Khonga-Mbao struck the heavy bronze ring several times, signaling his arrival. Outsiders were not allowed into this wing of the palace on pain of death. And in this particular abode, few people except Honga-Mbao could enter. And even he crossed its threshold only with the owner's permission.

Nothing happened for a few seconds. Then a pair of heavy and massive bronze-banded doors opened without a creak, and the King on the River stepped inside, leaving the silent guards and retinue outside. The room beyond the doors was frankly modestly furnished, especially against the backdrop of the rest of the palace's opulence. There was no gilding, reliefs, or moldings on the walls, the floor was covered with simple rugs, and the furniture was simple but good. Most of all the room resembled a shop and at the same time the workshop of a medium-sized artisan. On the walls were hung numerous shelves, on which stood all sorts of blanks, they also lay in boxes and chests on the floor. Doll blanks. There were also plenty of finished products here, and they were very diverse. There were a couple of growth dolls made so skillfully that one could take them for a living person. There were some simple dolls that poor children played with, making them out of rags, sticks, and straws. But it was better not to play with these dolls.

When he reached the middle of the room, Hong-Mbao stopped. His hands involuntarily reached for the protective amulets and amulets hidden beneath his rich clothes, but he suppressed the urge, remaining outwardly calm. A few seconds later, a tall woman emerged from behind the curtain that concealed the passage to the next room. She was as black as the King on the River but from the Uus-Ual tribe, not the Khotta. The women of the latter were more lush, especially in the thighs and buttocks, and had more luscious lips. The Uus-Uals, on the other hand, were characterized by thinner facial features, a noticeably slimmer build, and less lush forms. They also had mostly straight rather than curly hair. They were considered much more savage than the Khotta, continuing to live in separate tribes, often warring. For them to form a tribal alliance was a huge achievement. This one, though quite pretty, but a savage, was captured by the Slavers during a raid by a hostile tribe, and afterward sold at the Ngabo-Khele slave market. The traditional Khotta garment, made of good cloth, suited her better than the usual savage rags, emphasizing the beauty of her figure. She would have looked fine without it, though, only the slave collar had sufficed.

The latter, however, was of no use to the savage master at all. He had his own ways of keeping his slaves in obedience. With a face devoid of emotion, the woman pulled the curtain aside and invited the King on the River to come inside the next room. There, on numerous cushions, cross-legged sat a man. Unlike the huge, healthy, and strong Khong-Mbao, he was thin, even dried up. He was dressed in simple clothes made of cheap cloth, which looked horribly shabby against the luxurious green robes of the King on the River, embroidered with gold. His hair, braided into numerous dreadlocks, was well-touched with gray. His face was riddled with deep and numerous wrinkles.

At the sight of the guest, the old man remained seated on his cushions, only nodding in greeting and pointing to the cushions opposite. And the King on the River sat down, paying no attention to such disrespectful behavior. When he had made himself comfortable, the old man handed him the result of his long labors:

"Everything is ready."

With a wide smile, Khong-Mbao gently accepted a small wooden doll with movable arms, legs, and a disproportionately large head from the old man's hands. While her body was made, albeit very skillfully but was rather sketchy, the head was incredibly detailed. The master was not lazy, skillfully transferring all the features of the face so the person could easily be identified. The only noticeable detail on the doll's body was the red dot in place of the heart. Finally.

Without a word, the King on the River held out his other hand, and the old man silently placed a long, heavy needle in it as well. With a single movement, Khong-Mbao drove it precisely into the red dot. And the long needle entered the small body of the wooden doll as if it were a rag doll. It went in almost completely, though it should have come out through the back almost immediately. After waiting a second, the King on the River took out the bloody needle and handed it back to the old man along with the doll. The wooden face of the doll was contorted with pain and horror at the realization of the sudden death. Far to the North, in one of Gnmala's tributaries, the bold and successful leader of a band of river pirates, who had been annoying the honorable merchants and interfering with the river trade, fell to the deck of his ship in front of the astonished crew. Neither the expensive protective amulets nor the small altar on the ship had saved him.

"Thank you, venerable Ngoro."

The old man, carefully putting the doll somewhere deep in the pillows surrounding him, smiled faintly in response:

It wasn't so difficult, honorable Khonga.

Few people could address the King on the River simply by his first name, but this old man was allowed to do more than that.

"Everything you asked for is ready. If you need anything else, just let me know anytime. I always have it for you."

"Thank you, honorable Khonga. Your other request is almost ready, I am only waiting for the last detail."

"Of course. As soon as I manage to get it, I'll get it to you right away."

"I'll look forward to it."

After a polite farewell to the old man, the King on the River left his abode at a leisurely pace. When the doors closed behind him, he let out a faint exhalation. When Khong-Mbao's grandfather was still young, the Puppeteer had already lived in the palace. And even then, he was already old and dry. Since then, according to the late father of the King on the River, he hadn't changed at all. No one knew exactly how old he really was, and no one dared to ask. Because the old man did not like questions about himself and his past. And to make him angry was fraught with danger. During his life, Khonga-Mbao had seen how effective his products were. A doll made by him could give almost complete power over the victim, which was incredibly difficult to defend against. If the doll was really invested a lot of effort, spent rare and powerful materials, and most importantly, the old man managed to get a real part of the victim's body, preferably blood then it was impossible to defend yourself at all.

The needles could do more than just kill. They could take away the mind, subdue the will, curse, put an evil spirit, and practically anything you wanted. They could turn the most stubborn and unruly slave into a meek and full of passion concubine, full of lust. Such a doll could also play the role of a lightning rod, taking on the most precisely aimed, perfectly calibrated blow. Khong-Mbao suspected that even if someone managed to pierce the old man's heart with a blade, or even cut off his head, it would not kill him, because his own doll would take the blow. And he probably has more than one.

Some might say keeping such a skilled man around was a deadly risk. Khong-Mbao would agree. But everything has a price. And, as the King on the River had seen, the old man paid a price for his power, too, being very much attached to his workshop, where he had invested much, much effort. And which he had never left in the memory of any of the palace's inhabitants. And this means that he needed those who would bring him materials for his work. And the Puppeteer's demands were quite substantial, and even the richest King on the River could not always satisfy them. At least not at once. That's why both parties benefited from business relations, which were guaranteed, probably, by the most carefully guarded in the Khonga-Mbao family magic contract.

This time, however, Puppeteer's services were relatively cheap. Still, a petty upstart who thought too much of himself was no match for Puppeteer. Even a gifted white-skinned whore who served an envoy of one of the Confederate trading houses was not a serious opponent for him. But the brazen bitch was unexpectedly cautious, and getting close to her white-skinned body to get a piece of her was not easy. The unbelievably attractive infestation herself understood curses and knew a lot about them. From that, she knew she had to destroy the smallest magically active particles of her body carefully. He'd get to her in time. And he wouldn't rest until she bore him at least three daughters. She's been offered a good deal.

The King on the River's thoughts were interrupted as he returned to his chambers, surrounded by the retinue, by a servant-messenger of one of his advisors. Such a one was not sent for trifles, so it must be urgent. After bowing to Khong-Mbao, he said:

"Honorable Lord Khonga-Mbao, Counselor Oong begs to inform you that he has just received word from the Forest. The elves ask to speak with you urgently."

A look of surprise flashed across the face of the King on the River. He had the warmest feelings for the elves. Or rather, their eternally young maidens. But the firstborn themselves did not share his sympathies, and he rarely had the opportunity to communicate with them. Interesting.

* * *

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Переводчики: Camrad_RIP