Готовый перевод История Королевы Эльфов / The story of the Elf Queen: Интерлюдия - 1.2

Four days, every month, from sunrise to sunset, the doors of the Petitioner's Reception Hall opened in the capital palace of the ruler of the eastern lands, starting from the Rising Shores and stretching to the borders with the steppes. In those days, anyone who wished could address the mighty Overlord with a request, and tell him of his troubles or aspirations. It did not mean that the petitioner's problem would be solved immediately. But the fact that it would be heard by the lord himself was strictly monitored. And first of all, the ruler.

But you had to get to the reception first. In theory, any applicant could be admitted. But in reality, it was not easy to get to the reception. This was because there were a lot of applicants, and the time was only from sunrise to sunset, four days a month. So a few dozen employees worked to weed out most of the applicants, redirecting them with their questions to lower-ranking managers. After all shouldn't the lord of a vast country personally handle the issue of Xing Liao Village not being able to fix the bridge over the river for the third year? But to prevent these employees from becoming an obstacle, completely cutting off the way of ordinary people to the ruler, they were constantly assigned priests and paladins of the Guardian of Oaths, acting as arbitrators. They were also involved in checking the appeals to make sure they were not groundless.

At the appointed hour, when the first rays of the sun appeared on the horizon, the doors to the reception hall opened and the first three visitors entered. The first, a little ahead of him, was a slant-sided man of age, with a shaved head, wearing strict light gray monk's robes, with a steel chain around his neck, one of the links of which was clenched in a steel fist. On his right, just behind him, was a similarly slanted man, in simple but carefully cleaned clothes, with a black tanned face and hands. On his left was an officer of the Capital Guard, in immaculately polished armor, but unarmored.

The trio walked down the long hall and stopped at the opposite side of the entrance, where the steps began to rise steeply upward. A dozen scribes, with all the necessary supplies, sat at small tables at the edges of the steps. On each of the steps stood several officials strictly according to the importance of their positions. And so up to the penultimate step, on which no one stood. The ascent ended with a platform where a middle-aged man sat on a huge throne richly decorated with gold. His robes were made of red silk and heavily decorated with gold. His long dark hair was gathered into a powerful ponytail and carefully combed. It was impossible to read any emotion on the rigid and strong-willed face of a man accustomed to command. His dark slanted eyes watched the approaching visitors. When they reached the line at the foot of the throne where the steps began and knelt and bowed their heads, the man made a barely perceptible gesture with his hand.

Standing on the third step from the top, a high-ranking official in bright yellow silk robes with splashes of red said in a loud and clear voice:

"Stand up, petitioners. You are allowed to speak."

The visitors rose to their feet, after which the Oath Keeper's servant, looking up at the man sitting on the throne, said:

“I have made a thorough examination of the appeal of the village chief of Un-Liao Village, the Honorable Yun-Hin,” the black-tanned man immediately bowed again, ”regarding the incident in the city of Yu-Liao. The honorable Wushu,” the Guard officer performed a bow, ”witnessed my work. My investigation has determined that Viceroy Lio Xian has repeatedly violated the mandate given to him for his gain. He collected far more taxes from the villagers under his authority, including Un-Liao, than the mandate dictated. For this purpose, he and his subordinates used numerous extortions, applying them for a variety of, even frankly far-fetched reasons. Also, Viceroy Lio Xian had collected a full tax two years ago despite a poor harvest. However, a reduced tax was sent to the Capital as the mandate dictated in case of crop failure. The difference was appropriate to them. Besides this, I and my honorable companions have ascertained other irregularities in the province entrusted to him, of which he, as viceroy, could not fail to be aware. The most frequent of these are bribery and embezzlement. Here are full lists of what we have been able to ascertain, certified on my lord's altar.”

When he had finished speaking, the Damokar servant handed the sealed scroll to the courtier at the top of the stairs, dressed as a middle-ranking official. He opened the seal and unfolded it, revealing a fist clutching a chain link glowing over the smooth lines of text. The man sitting on the throne faintly turned to one of the higher-ranking officials three steps below the throne. The man nodded faintly with his chin. Turning to the Damokar servant and his companions, the man looked at them for a few seconds, then glanced at the wall above the entrance to the Petitioner Reception Hall.

There was a single inscription written in bright red large hieroglyphics: “When those who live in Palaces and Heaven stop answering people's prayers, they start receiving answers from below." The inconceivably sacrilegious inscription was ordered by the founder of the current dynasty of rulers of the Eastern Lands when the new Capital was built and with it the new palace of the ruler. So that his descendants would remember why the new capital had to be built and what led to it.

The last ruling dynasty was a powerful clan of gifted ones who persistently and very successfully cultivated the gift of magic. The result of many generations of effort was the rise to power of a very powerful gifted one. In the Western lands, he would be called an archmage. Over the many years of his reign, he concentrated great power in his hands, expanded the borders of his realm, and bestowed upon himself a great many titles. Lord of the Rising, Eternal Ruler, Lightning of the God - the full list took up more than one scroll. In addition to the lands along the Rising Shores, his power stretched all along the southern coast, all the way to the edge of the Forest. It encompassed the lands beyond the warm southern seas. And even managed to gain a foothold in the desolate lands beyond the Sunrise, which had only been rumored before. In order to effectively control such vast territories, he created an entire network of portals that connected the many cities of his power. It allowed one to cross half the world in a matter of moments.

His troops had successfully repulsed a Horde of green-skinned barbarians and their wretched henchmen. The savages were saved from the wrath of the Lord of the Rising neither by the bribed inhabitants of the immaterial world, nor by bred monsters, nor by the help of the God who is always thirsty for bloody battles. Having broken their backs in a brutal war, and ruined many of their camps and a couple of cities, he not only eliminated the threat of raids from their side for a long time but did the unthinkable - brought the steppes to submission.

Countless ships of his fleet had combed the surrounding seas with a fine sieve, hunted down and destroyed all the flotillas of pirates, some of whom proudly called themselves rulers of the seas. Their bases were either consigned to the flames or captured and turned into outposts of his will. In this way, he secured navigation in all the southern and eastern seas. The rulers of both near and far reckoned with his will, sending numerous gifts to his court. Gold, silver, precious stones, overseas fabrics, noble wood, outlandish animals - everything was impossible to count. A separate item was slaves for the palace of the ruler. The most outstanding beauties were brought to him from all corners of the world. Even the arrogant elves, despite their arrogance and hubris, regularly sent rich gifts to the court of the Lord of the Rising. And in some of the surviving chronicles of that era, there were even hints that the firstborn also sent their maidens to the bed of the Lord of the Rising. Albeit secretly, but still, they sent them, overcoming their legendary pride. And it was maidens, not barren old women with young bodies who had lived for millennia. In any case, the fact that there were several firstborns in the harem of the Lord of the Rising, as well as the absence of any official claims about it on the part of the messengers of the Forest, was beyond doubt.

The capital of the Eternal Ruler's vast power, where untold riches flowed in an equally huge river, was a match for it. The giant-sized city was built by the best craftsmen, strictly according to the plan, planning everything for years in advance. If necessary, hills were leveled ravines were filled in, swamps were drained and rivers were turned back. All streets and houses were laid out neatly and evenly, forming craft, trade, temple, educational, and residential neighborhoods. The capital was populated by hundreds of thousands of inhabitants, some documents say as many as a million inhabitants at its peak. In the center of this incredible in its size city was the palace complex of the Eternal Ruler, in fact, a city within a city. A place where everything was available for his pleasure. A separate palace for only a few hundred select concubines and their children. A theater complex of incredible size. An arena for all kinds of competitions and battles. A huge garden with the rarest and most beautiful plants from distant lands. The slightest wish of the Lord of the Sunrise was fulfilled even before it was voiced.

It was the golden age of the Empire of the Never-Setting Sun, for at every moment, over one of its provinces, it either shone, rose, or faded. But though it was long, it was by no means eternal. As the years passed, the ruler of the great power took less and less interest in the affairs of his lands. He left his palace less and less often. At some point, he ceased to be interested in anything but the most exquisite entertainment and the receipt of gifts in due time and in due volume. Countless nobles and equally countless officials throughout the empire felt more and more power and less and less responsibility. The power in the vast country was in fact in the hands of the ruler's advisors, whose main real duty was only to satisfy the whims of their lord. They issued laws, appointed or replaced viceroys, and most importantly, collected taxes. The hundreds of children of the Lord of the Rising from countless concubines also played their part. Many of them, especially the daughters, became inbred with noble aristocratic families, most notably the most powerful nobles.

In the Empire of the Never-Setting Sun, unprecedented corruption flourished. The appetites of the imperial nobility were constantly growing. In order to satisfy them, new taxes, fees, and duties were imposed, and countless laws were written, hand in hand with which came new and new fines. More and more gifts were demanded from the neighbors, of which at best a third reached the palace of the ruler. It is not to say that no one tried to bring the news to the Lord of the Rising. But it quickly became so that the doors of his palace city opened only to those willing to be let in by the highest nobles. And they made sure that their lord heard only what he wanted to hear and what they wanted to tell him. Many of them, especially those related to his children and grandchildren, had built themselves huge palaces that were as luxurious as the dwelling of the Lord of the Sunrise, even if they were smaller than it. They spent more than their lord spent on their pleasures and whims.

All this placed a monstrous burden on the shoulders of the common people. The maintenance of a huge army, a navy, a gigantic bureaucracy, roads, bridges, dams, intercontinental and intercity portals - all this required unimaginable funds. Yes, a natural river of taxes and gifts from neighbors flowed into the treasury. But many times more flowed out. Single attempts of indignation on the part of the common people were firmly suppressed. And what could even a hundred peasants do against one full-fledged Master of Magic? Even a thousand of them could do little against a true Magister of Magic, except scatter in terror.

Seeing the utter contempt of officials at all levels, the common people tried to call out to the patron of the Never-Setting Sun Empire, Lord Thunder. But the celestial and his servants were as deaf to their prayers as the countless officials. Huge temples built in his honor that looked more like palaces, and regular sacrifices, including living ones, more than satisfied the Thunder Lord. His priests participated in the general corruption as if they were no more active than the aristocrats. And in suppressing hopeless rebellions. At some point, after another act of intimidation, the revolts of desperate peasants and low-level craftsmen suddenly declined and then stopped altogether. Those in power were satisfied and continued to pull the juices from their subjects with almost triple force. But it turned out to be the calm before the storm.

Because a contagion was spreading rapidly through the lands of the Lord of the Rising. A terrible, deadly plague, but invisible. People's prayers were not unanswered. But they were heard not in Heaven, not in the palaces of nobles, but in the Hells. And there was a cult, in the glory of one of the Lady of Hell, who chose her vice Greed. Demons were incredibly cunning, cautious, and patient even by the standards of the inhabitants of Inferno. Going, at first glance, contrary to their nature, they helped ordinary people almost without asking for payment or demanding frankly ridiculous. But only because they were planning to charge many times more in the future.

Their main targets in the first stages were officials of low and middle ranks. Village chiefs, provincial tax collectors, and lower-ranking judges. Those whom the common people encountered constantly, and who most of all poisoned their lives. For absolutely insignificant fees by their standards, the infernal messengers did the unimaginable: they fought against their own, native vice in the hearts and souls of people! By processing and taking under control the lower and part of the middle performers, they tamed their Greed and reduced their appetites. Yes, all levies continued to pour upwards in full, but even the fact that the lower and middle ranks of officials stopped drinking people's blood and began to be satisfied with only what they were entitled to, made the life of ordinary people much easier. And attracted more and more supporters to the cult.

In the second stage, when the cult had gained a solid foothold at the grassroots level, they began to take over the gambling houses, of which there were plenty in the Empire of the Never-Setting Sun, especially in the big cities. After all, Greed and Gambling so often go hand in hand. Having managed to infiltrate some of the gambling houses, the cultists moved on to the next stage. The total corruption in the Empire was not just for the demons and their minions, it was sweeter than the mana of heaven. Greed was consumed by hundreds, if not thousands of people and non-humans. Officials, managers of crafts, trade, and magic guilds, younger children of noble families, and low-ranking and middle-ranking officers in the army fell into their net one by one. Those who were strong and powerful enough were allowed to win large sums of money, only to be enchanted by the cursed gold, whose luster made them want more, more and more until the victim was completely consumed by Greed.

The weak according to the classical scheme was given a chance to win once and then driven into debts that were impossible to pay off. And at that point, they'd get a tempting offer. So the cult ran its tentacles into the middle ranks of the imperial nobility and officialdom. And through them, the cult and its patrons reached the lower ranks of the top. Provincial town governors, garrison commanders, and even governors of entire provinces fell under their influence.

Soon there was probably not a single town that did not have at least one cell of the cult. And some villages in their entirety fell under their influence! But the demons were in no hurry, acting incredibly systematic and cautious, all efforts to hide traces of influence Inferno among their puppets. Sometimes even purposely crushed them, in favor of secrecy. The rapid spread of the cult was aggravated by the fact that there were plenty of those who WILLINGLY began to help the Infernal brats. Even without an agreement, without a contract, it was often enough to promise to take revenge on the oppressors. Cultists are very active in this field, leading their propaganda, and demons are very willing to use such untainted servants.

It cannot be said that everything went smoothly for them. There had been failures, and more than one or two cult cells had even been exposed and destroyed. But every time, they almost immediately control the damage, sacrificing little and cleverly covering their tracks. In the surviving archives of that era managed to find cases where exposed cells of the same demonic cult of the city governors or entire governors of the viceroys
of the provinces were left alone... for a bribe. For a trivial bribe! The activities of some active cultists had been known about for several years, but they have simply turned a blind eye for a generous fee. And it would have been fine if those who did it were already under their influence or fully corrupted. So no, then established several cases where there was no direct influence of demons. Only their own, not at all infernal greed, stupidity, and lust. Yes, hellspawn paid not only in gold, but also seduced, or vice versa, pure virgins. Or young men.

Those who noticed something was seriously wrong in the Empire of the Never-Setting Sun and tried to sound the alarm were either quickly eliminated, led astray, or lured to their side. The widespread spread of the cult swept across the vast country took only ten years. Ten years! And then came the black day that ended the reign of the Ruler, who was far from being eternal, and his vast empire. On the fateful day, at the same moment, in all cities and very many villages, the cult struck. The demons struck as they were best able to do. Suddenly, crushingly and meanly. Hit where it was necessary because, in some cities and provinces, they did not even have to hit thick. Everyone who needed to be hit had already been treated by the cult. Or their immediate surroundings had been treated. Not the smallest cities, with all their arsenals, artifacts, materials, and other supplies, literally fell into the hands of the cultists and their patrons. After that, the direct invasion from Inferno began.

Instantly, a monstrous chaos reigned in the entire huge power. No one understood in the first, most important hours, what was happening, what to do, where to run to! The pride of the Lord of the Rising, the network of portals he had created was either partially blocked or at the mercy of the cultists. Either way, communication between cities and provinces had been cut. Oh yes, they tried to fight back, and somewhere it even partially succeeded. The priests and ministers of the Thunder Lord were the most desperate, but they were the priority targets for the first strikes. As a result, many of the temples that could have become pockets of defense were beheaded in the first moments. But even where the demons were not able to win an instant victory, for every success of the defenders there were three failures, and that was in the best case.

And not even so much because the demons were so strong, although that was also the reason. But because, to the great amazement of many of those in power, on their side was a large part of ordinary people at all levels. Not that they did not resist them, but helped them in every way possible, opening doors and gates to the cultists, and stabbing the defenders in the back. Making an already nightmarish situation worse were the huge stationary portals that the cultists had managed to seize. As it turned out, they could be reconfigured. As a result, the demons were able to directly transfer troops directly from Inferno. And there to chase in droves the least useful captured, stupefied, and defamed mortals. The scale of the disaster that paralyzed the vast Empire was unimaginable. The Celestials were the first to really sound the alarm, and they were also the first to realize a very unpleasant fact.

There were very few serious temples in the land of the Lord of the Rising, aside from those belonging to the Thunder Lord. This deprived the other celestials and their messengers of a foothold. The Lightning Lord himself, in addition, had long relied on regular sacrifices as a quicker way to gain power, rather than a steady stream of faith from his flock. He had long ago ignored the prayers of ordinary citizens. And on that fateful day, it turned out that the celestial certainly had a lot of power. And he rained down a lot of lightning on the invasion troops. But it turned out that they needed even more, and they needed them literally everywhere! Quickly and in the necessary volume to replenish reserves is not possible, because bringing new sacrifices and conducting the right rituals is not a normal opportunity. Yes, and temples somehow suddenly became noticeably less. But the demons of these very forces turned out to be just obscenely much. Tens, if not hundreds of thousands of voluntary contracts with them gave them a lot. To this should be added and almost immediately began ritual sacrifices and countless other preparations for the invasion. Together, this gave the Infernal freaks so much that they not only repelled the first attack of the incarnate celestial and his messengers but launched a successful counterattack. Personally incarnated in the world of mortals, the Lady of Hell personally guided and supported her servants in battle. And she turned out to be unbelievably strong.

Having spent a lot of his own reserves of power and accumulated in the temple altars, the Lord of Thunder, along with his thinned retinue, though he had a lot of trouble with the demons, but had to retreat and concentrate on holding the main temples of the capital. At the same time began to urgently call for help from colleagues, promising anything, up to the cession of part of the flock, temples, cities, provinces, and anything, but soon!!!! The first to respond was the Eternal Warrior, but even he and his messengers were unable to turn the tide. Because the damned demons did not sit idly by. Infernal creatures did not massacre everywhere or hastily steal prisoners through captured portals. In all the cities that they managed to take control with little or no bloodshed, they began to organize spectacular executions, combining them with ritual sacrifices. In the city squares, the crowd gathered, and in front of their eyes, yesterday's masters of their lives were sent to the knife. Aristocrats, officials of all kinds, the highest hierarchs of the major guilds, captured servants of the Lightning Lord. All those who were hated by the common people were publicly subjected to painful death by ritual sacrifice. Often along with their captured families and immediate families.

And many common people rejoiced at the sight of this, from their point of view, the triumph of justice. The others were quickly helped to dispel their doubts. And the messengers of the Infernal Lady only fueled their jubilation. Their sweet speeches, full of poison, flowed directly into the souls of humans and nonhumans. They promised them the fulfillment of all their wishes, their deepest dreams, to give them everything the rich had unjustly taken from them. And in many places, they immediately began to do it, literally throwing gold and silver to the crowd, igniting in the hearts of people so dear to them Greed. But most importantly, they promised them vengeance and justice. And what is most terrible, they also partially gave it to them, right in front of their eyes, subjecting the most hated, pre-selected officials, judges, and tax collectors to agonizing death. And this was indeed deadly dangerous, even for the heavenly-minded people who had already become alarmed. For it was no longer souls flowed to the Lady of Hell, though she and her henchmen had gotten them without number on that fateful day. Faith flowed to her. And the worst thing is that the faith was sincere or almost sincere. Tens, if not hundreds of thousands of people shouted her name in delight in the squares when another former torturer was sent to slaughter.

The situation began to take a catastrophic turn. It was only on the second day of the invasion that the Celestials managed to start a large-scale transfer of troops from all inhabited lands. They pulled in everyone they could: steppes, green-skinned people, people from the far west and far south, northerners, lizards, even elves, and some dragons came to fight. But the demons hadn't been sitting idle all this time either. Using the same captured portals, they had brought all their forces to the Capital. The Lady of Hell did not bring her entire domain into the real world. It would have cost her a monstrous amount of money. If literally every city did not have one, or even several altar-anchors that lightened the burden of being in the real world for her and her demons. Tens, if not hundreds of thousands of captured prisoners were moved to the Inferno, directly into her domain, strengthening the invasion forces beyond measure. But most importantly, they had managed to move everyone they could from among the antebellum commoners directly into the Capital. And by the end of the second day, it had fallen.

The total decay at the top of the Empire of the Never-Setting Sun had reached such proportions that the demons had managed to pull off the seemingly unthinkable. For several hours AFTER the invasion began, the palace complex of the Lord of the Rising had NO KNOWLEDGE of what had happened. The supporters of the cult, both vilified and voluntary, had banally cut off the entire palace complex from the outside world, closing the gates and shutting down all communication channels. And when they found out what was happening in the country, it was too late for many. Yes, the Lord of the Rising was also a great power in his own right, especially in his palace. But he suddenly found himself essentially alone, and there were many enemies. Yes, even alone in his abode, the archmage could have given the invading army a serious fight. If they hadn't known too well what to expect from him. If they hadn't prepared for it in advance. And if they didn't have infiltrators inside the palace complex. That's a lot of IFs.

The outskirts were the first to fall, many districts without a fight. Following them, one after another, the quarters of the middle belt were captured. Moreover, the residents of some, and this was also recorded in the archives, voluntarily and en masse went over to the cultists' side when they realized what was happening. In some places, persuasion was required, seasoned with a dose of vice. In some places, only promises of a painful execution of the most hated representatives of the imperial nobility were enough. And in some places, even this was not necessary, since everyone was already on the side of the cult.

Yes, the demons had been thwarted. Yes, they were hit with the most terrible weapons, sweeping away entire streets and even neighborhoods. But, first, the Lady of Hell also had something to say, both in terms of direct power, sweeping away the defenses of pockets of resistance. And in terms of the power of her vice. Too, too many had been exposed to Greed in the Empire of the Never-Setting Sun. Some were so consumed by it that they would do anything when they heard the clinking of coins and saw their gleam. Even if they could only see the wealth they were promised in their minds, in reality, they sold themselves for symbolic copper pennies. And secondly, every blow to the capital still played into its hands. Because it was, in effect, a blow to its own. Even, if they weren't quite their own, thirdly, the demons were constantly receiving reinforcements. The cultists were constantly carrying out ritual executions. The defamed or voluntarily joined ordinary people were generously lavished with borrowed power, formed into assault squads, or rather assault mobs, and sent to the most dangerous areas. As a result, at some point, the invaders had literally endless supplies of forces and reserves.

The first of the key nodes of the Capital's defense was the First Temple of the Thunder Lord, who was desperate enough to fight the Infernal Lady in a direct battle. He was unable to defeat her, nor was he able to hold the walls of his main abode, and eventually fled the Capital with the remnants of his retinue never to return. Such a monstrous blow, the loss of so many temples, and most importantly, the lack of an influx of faith - all this led to his Fall in the shortest possible time, and then to oblivion. In many ways, the outcome of that battle, as we learned later, was decided by the flood of faith that flowed to the Infernal Lord. It gave her a literally inexhaustible reserve of strength, allowing her not to save them and to respond to every blow of the enemy with two of her own. The palace complex of the Lord of the Rising lasted longer, largely due to its size. But after the cultists attacked the inner gate leading to the ruler's personal palace in order to open it, it was a foregone conclusion. No, they failed to take the gate, but while they were distracted, another group of fellow demons managed to break their masters a direct portal to the inner chambers of the palace. And that's where the select servants of the Lady of Inferno poured in.

It was the hardest blow to the coalition that had been hastily assembled under the patronage of literally all the Ascended Gods and some of the Ancients. Huge accumulated wealth, powerful artifacts, and most importantly sources of magic that were in the Palace - all this fell into the hands of demons. And hastily either put in line or sent to her domain. The doomed Lord of the East took his own life, literally letting his soul go to form the final killing blow. He thinned out the Infernal Lady's retinue but didn't even wound her. However, a lost battle did not mean a lost war. Everyone understood that. The coalition was pulling its forces to the captured Capital, taking it under siege. Troops under the aegis of the Eternal Warrior and his heralds one by one swiftly cleansed the captured cities, marching along the southern coast towards the Rising Shores. Much of the reason this was happening so quickly was because the cultists and their masters weren't clinging to them. Using the portals, they either retreated to Hell or the Capital. The cities beyond the southern seas were the very first to be abandoned. As a result, on the third day of the invasion, the troops of the huge coalition were already on the outskirts of the captured city. Everyone was preparing for a hard battle. Many expected that the Lady of Hell, who had managed to cling to the material world, was at this very moment negotiating with her kin for help in order to organize a joint full-scale invasion. But the plan of the infernal spawn turned out to be much more insidious.

She didn't give battle, punching a prearranged direct route to her domain and leaving with a huge booty. But not all of it, though it would have been better if she had taken everyone in the fallen city with her. Yes, many mortal souls she had defamed and taken. A great many. But there were just as many who had been touched only lightly by her vice. And so she let them go. And not just let go, but arranged it quite cleverly. Demons made a whole spectacle, as if part of the city was still resisting, and these pockets of resistance went to the breakthrough when the backup came. Then no one knew the true state of affairs in the fallen city. Yes, those who had been rescued were checked cursorily, and the Heralds of the Celestials saw that they were almost unaffected by the vice. And they were hurriedly sent to the rear, away from the looming battle. The creature helped those who were too obviously affected by the vice or had been in the cult for a long time to escape from the captured city utilizing portals, not only stationary but also small ones.

It was unthinkable that demons would willingly let go of THAT many victims. It was against their very essence! But the damn thing had calculated it well. The mortals were released for a reason. Each one of them took with them a simple truth. If the gods do not hear you. If your rulers don't care about your fate or your sorrows. You know who to turn to and how to turn. You know who will hear your prayers. You know who will always answer them. When the scale of the problem became clear, it was too late. The contagion along with hundreds of thousands of refugees had spread far and deep. First and foremost, in the minds of mortals. By sacrificing a little, the Infernal Overlady had gained many times more. Instead of receiving a large number of seduced souls, she received a terribly stable and constant inflow of them.

The hasty attempts to start immediately burning out the heresy with fire had only backfired. Too many saw that the creature had kept its promise, putting a fair number of those in power to a painful death. Too many remained, as they later found out, unopened cult cells. And too many now knew how and to whom they could appeal. And those who did not know, they were told. Seeds of sweet lies of demons fell on too fertile soil, rapidly sprouting and deadly poisonous fruit. Trying to fight the demonic contagion adherents of the cult skillfully exposed as chain dog celestials and their earthly henchmen that want to drive ordinary people under their yoke again. Their own Infernal Overlady they exhibited as the only savior that not a word but a deed answers the prayers of ordinary mortals.

In a chaos-ridden Empire, in a situation of almost total anarchy and lawlessness, recruits were once again pouring into the ranks of the cult. And this was happening not only in the ruins of the Empire of the Never-Setting Sun but also far beyond its borders. For there were very few places where the common people lived well and free. And the damned creatures, taking advantage of the total confusion, as well as the sleeping possessed left behind, took full advantage of it. They organized several demonstrative eliminations of the most ardent fighters against heresy, as well as of the surviving power holders, among the most hated. The slogan: “Heaven and Palaces do not hear? SHE will hear!” took on a truly monstrous scale. Shouts and sermons about the common people paying for the deaths of their oppressors with their deaths did not stop anyone. Because the hated creature defiantly left some of those who turned to her for help practically uncorrupted! So that they could attract more and more followers by their example.

In some places, it came to the point where they began to organize secret but full-fledged temples to it! TEMPLES! To the Infernal Lady! And the insidious creature began to collect payment not only in souls but also in faith! The first to sound the alarm was the same celestials, especially the Oath Keeper. They realized that the ground naturally began to go from under their feet, and there was a risk of another full-scale invasion of demons. So, it was urgent to knock the ground out from under the feet of the cult. For this reason, under pressure from the celestials and the most prudent gifted mortals with the greatest personal power, the survivors or the new rulers of the collapsed state went to measures unthinkable during the reign of the Lord of the Rising.

Many taxes and taxes were abolished. Huge debts on them were forgiven. In general, almost all debts were forgiven involuntarily, as many of them were the work of demonic hands. Dozens of the most draconian laws were abolished. New ones were passed, protecting and guaranteeing the rights of peasant communities and junior workers in the city's craft shops. A massive redistribution of arable land was carried out, and there was now plenty of it. A few of the most hated officials of the middle and upper levels of the government, which were not too many of them left alive, were publicly tried and executed under the auspices of the Oath Keeper. Under his auspices, amnesty and forgiveness were granted to members of the cult who had not had time to tarnish themselves, after public repentance in the temples. A reward was announced for information on current cult members and their accomplices. A real struggle for the minds and, no less importantly, souls of the people began.

It bore fruit. Not immediately, but gradually, the cult was largely suppressed. But the damned creatures did not give up without a fight, sowing the seeds of their lies wherever they could. And they bore their poisonous fruit. Despite all efforts. Despite their best efforts. People stubbornly remembered who they could turn to if they were no longer heard in the Heavens and Palaces. And so, the representatives of the new ruling dynasty that managed to take power into their own hands and restore order on the part of the earth devastated by the infernal invasion, had to constantly make sure that the subjects were not tempted to commit such a stupid thing as turning to the demons. And for that, it was necessary, first of all, not to give them reasons to do so. Or at least too many reasons. Even if it meant going through certain difficulties.

He warned Lio Xian's family. He warned him too. He told him to curb his appetite. But no, it had to be to the point where there were idiots in this small village who would sell their souls to the infernal beasts. If only they would help them to get even with the hated top of a small provincial town. As a result, the Mayor, Judge, Tax Collector, and Chief Clerk died a painful death. The townspeople found their desiccated corpses hanging over the gates of the town hall and on its gates, the same ineradicable, red-hot slogan: **“Heaven and Palaces do not hear? SHE will!” The fact that some of the idiots who turned to Inferno's creatures for help paid for it with their postmortem and turned into the same dry corpses was not written about.

Eventually, the Palace heard. Belatedly, but it did. An inspection had been made, involving the priests and paladins of the Keeper of the Oaths. And now the results had to be demonstrated to the subjects. So as not to put more trump cards in the hands of the unstoppable infernal spawn. Turning to one of the counselors standing on the third step from the top, the man sitting on the throne nodded briefly. The nobleman in bright yellow with red flecks bowed deeply and signaled to one of the scribes sitting at a table at the foot of the steps. He understood instantly. In less than thirty heartbeats the scroll with the sentence was sealed with the ruler's seal and tied with a red silk cord. Then it was handed to the waiting priest of the Oath Keeper, and he and his two companions left the Petitioner's Reception Hall, bowing deeply. As they left, one of the counselors clutched the binding amulet that hung on his chest. He turned to his lord, he heeded the mental call. After receiving permission to speak, the counselor said:

"We have just received news from the Forest, lord. The elves request a direct conversation with you. They say it is very urgent."

* * *

A long line of horsemen, wagons, and carts loaded with everything they could carry stretched northward across what seemed like a vast sea of grass on the steppe. Some carts carried everything necessary to live on the steppe, from cauldrons to camping tents. Another part of the carts was loaded to the top with various goods. And some carts were pulled by non-mighty horses, bred by skillful masters of beasts. The heaviest ones were pulled by huge northern mumaks, which differed from their southern relatives by their thick brown fur and more steeply curved tusks. At the head of this huge line of riders, wagons, and carts, riding a mighty warg, as big as a warhorse, was a huge orc. He wore expensive, shining-in-the-sun armor, the work of the best human craftsmen, and in a luxurious cape of snow pard skin. His closest retinue, also in expensive armor and capes made of furs of mighty beasts, rode a little behind, on horses, albeit on war horses, but still. Because only a very rich chieftain could afford a real warg. It was not easy to feed a fierce beast, it needed a lot of meat. Also, it was necessary to have great strength and a steady hand to tame the ferocious predator. And Khorbrand, the Great Chief, possessed everything necessary for this.

With his own hand, he joined one medium-sized tribe of orcs and two small tribes of slanted steppe men to the Horde created by his grandfather. And that in total gave him more than seven thousand blades that could be put in formation at once. Nearly nine hundred of them were skillful warriors, not young boys who had barely grown fangs. Not counting the several large packs of excellent wargs and the three graugas bred by the monster tamers. All this made him one of the strongest chieftains in the vast steppe. A Great Chief. He commanded vast lands in the heart of the green sea that fed herds of horses and mumaks. Two dozen cities of soft-bodied humans that spread along the shores of the warm southern sea from the Forest to the Rising Edge recognize and respect his power. Even the arrogant elves and the equally arrogant Shaanese send him their gifts, so long as his warriors do not cross their borders with naked blades. Some of the Eternal Warrior's zealots would be bloody frothy from such a thing. But that's why the Great Chief is Great. He thinks of more than just battles. Why shed the blood of his warriors when the soft-bodied humans are willing to reward him generously?

This year's gift-raising campaign has been particularly rich and successful. The carts and wagons are literally bursting with the weight of abundant gifts. It is time to return to Uruk-Khaar, one of the few true cities of the steppe people, who used to live permanently nomadic. It is situated on the shores of one of the great northern lakes, which lies at the northernmost edge of the steppe, beyond which the dense forests that stretch all the way to the Ice Coast begin. There the Horde would wait out the cold winter, in the warmth of real houses made of wood. Nourishment and tranquility. But it's still days away. In the meantime, they should call a halt, the sun is already setting. And the place they are passing now is very good, low and gentle hills, at the foot of which a small river flows.

Raising his right hand, the Great Chief gave a short roar of orders to prepare to camp. The High Shaman of the whole Horde, who rode just behind him, immediately repeated Horbrand's words, and the steppe wind carried them to everyone in the great line of riders and wagoners. Preparations for rest had begun. Everything in the Great Chief's Horde was well organized, and each troop knew what to do and how to do it. In an hour, in the middle of the steppe on one of the hills was a camp formed by powerful carts. Between them at regular intervals were placed marching totems, forming a single protective network, designed to prevent any enemies, living or dead, visible or invisible, corporeal or incorporeal, from entering. Around the camp from all sides moved swiftly mounted warriors, and they were assisted by dozens of tame birds of prey, whose eyes watched the steppe from the heights of junior shamans and their disciples. Each of the warriors had enchanted amulets, mostly made of the fangs of predatory pards, which gave them night vision no worse than that of these dangerous predators.

Inside the camp, food was being cooked. On the occasion of a particularly successful campaign, the Great Chief had not been stingy and had purchased for his army a large quantity of choice meat, which was now roasting on spits or boiling in cauldrons. Khorbrand, along with his inner retinue, was seated around a huge fire in front of his camp tent, in the very center of the camp. Despite the very small amount of wood, the bright flames lit from the camp hearth, where the mighty and long-fed fire spirit resided, soared high into the night sky, illuminating a dozen orcs and a few slanted humans. The evening meal was the best time to relax and talk leisurely.

When the food was ready in the enchanted cauldron floating in the air above the fire, Khorbrand personally filled the cauldrons of his inner circle with rich chowder and succulent cuts of meat. For the Chieftain is obliged to care for those who come with him and after him. For without them, he is nothing. Such shared meals were an unshakable tradition. When the last of the neighbors had had their portion, Khorbrand took his place by the fire, raised the huge silver-plated wine horn above his head, and said in a mighty, growling voice:

"Fortune smiles upon us, brothers! This campaign was especially glorious, and brought us the richest gifts! May it continue to be so kind to us, and may our cauldrons never be empty, and may our hearths never go out!"

The inner circle supported the chief, and then all began to eat. The meat chowder was excellent, and Khorbrand finished his portion in no time. After wiping his mouth, the mighty orc kept up a conversation with his companions for a while. But when the sun finally disappeared behind the horizon and the stars shone brightly in the sky, he nodded to the inner circle and headed for his tent. Behind him, the orcs and a couple of humans exchanged understanding smirks. The two younger wives he had brought with him on the campaign were already waiting in Khorbrand's tent. Both had been fighters before they became his hearth keepers. Gartna, the older and taller, as tall as the other men, had more than once been fought in the first wave, and her slender, muscular body was covered with more than one deep scar. She still cut her stiff dark hair very short, in the warrior way. Glatra was not distinguished by her physique, but she was as agile and flexible as a steppe viper and could bend as if she had no bones. She was a cutthroat spy in her squad. She could hide in the shadows, stab people in the back, and slit their throats. And unlike her comrade, she had grown her dark hair into a long, tight braid. So different, yet they were both true daughters of their folk.

Now, of course, neither of them would go into battle, except in case of dire need, when all of them would have to take up arms. Their place was now by the hearth, but both kept their combat knives close at hand. When Khorbrand entered the huge tent worthy of a Great Chief, Glatra was waiting for him at the huge bronze bath, decorated with monster heads and full of hot water. Only a very rich chieftain could carry such a heavy load on a campaign. It was necessary either to allocate one separate cart for it or to use expensive amulets that reduced the weight of the burden. Khorbrand could afford both. And he did because he liked to refresh himself in hot water during a campaign. Of course, as a true warrior, he could wash away dirt and sweat even in a winter's icy river. But he liked warm water much more. He could also afford an enchanted jug that held as much water as three full barrels, and amulets for heating and purifying it.

He threw off his armor and clothing, sweating with orcish sweat, and climbed inside with pleasure, at the same time running his broad hand over his younger wife's thigh and pulling up her short wolfskin skirt. That caused a predatory smile on the beautiful face of a true Orcish woman. Understanding his mood perfectly, she threw off her short fur vest in one movement and took a stiff washcloth in her hands. Soaking it in water, she began to rub it over Khorbrand's broad shoulders, which were laced with steel ropes of muscle. Gartna, on the other hand, was at the moment of his arrival entertaining herself with a pair of human concubines given to the chieftain during the campaign. One of them was a Shaan, as dark-haired and slanting as the Steppes, but with noticeably lighter skin and a less flat face. The other was a native of one of the coastal southern cities. Dark curly hair, slightly darker skin, but a face more like the inhabitants of the western lands. Her father was from the Free Cities of the Middle Sea, or her mother was brought from there.

Both concubines were specially trained slaves for carnal pleasures. And they were very good students, as Khorbrand had already seen more than once on his journey home. And he was not the only one who appreciated them. Gartna, who was almost a full head taller than the two concubines, stood before them completely naked, looking up from below and baring her powerful fangs. The two, also fully naked, knelt before her and, looking into the Orc's eyes, ran their tongues over her pussy together.

"Still having fun with my gifts, Gartna?"

The younger wife, who was stroking the slanting shaan's head with the palm of her hand, turned to the chief and grinned even wider, flashing her strong and sharp fangs:

"They're good human doormats, they're good with their tongues! I haven't been licked like that since Dreka was spearheaded by a band of raiders from a Northern Tribal Alliance!"

Turning to the concubines pleasuring her with their tongues, she pressed the prostrate one a little harder against her crotch, forcing her tongue deeper into her crotch.

"It was a terrible shame! She was a mean bitch, but she went to the fighters. As soon as I realized it, I clamped her tight the first night. Then she only walked under me, I wouldn't let anyone near her. It was good, at every rest stop it was enough just to pull up my skirt..."

Exhaling at the fact that the swarthy-skinned southern native was particularly adept at teasing the blood-filled clit with the tip of her tongue. Gartna reached down. The powerful palm first raked up the shaan's breasts, which were of outstanding size, just the way they liked them. Lifting it up, the orc squeezed it with force, then did the same with the breasts of the second concubine. It is clear that their tits were grown by alchemy, the Shaan women rarely have large breasts. But they did it skillfully:

"And they both have udders that would be the envy of any Taurus! They'll be just fine to feed the kids. But it'll be hard for them to give birth, both of them have narrow slits."

Enjoying his second youngest wife massaging his shoulders while simultaneously caressing her with his broad palm, Khorbrand grinned:

"It's all right, it can be fixed! They'll get used to my spear!"

The two Orcish women both snickered in response. The two concubines who had been given the gift continued to please Gartna with their tongues, having already learned the preferences of the two younger wives along the way. Good slaves. Though he'd had better. The memory of the stolen pointy-eared concubine immediately soured his mood. Few chieftains could boast of having a firstborn among their concubines. Half-breeds were no problem. But there were only a handful of purebreds. Khorbrand was one of them, having captured her along with other prisoners from a large gang of human Slavers that naively thought to walk along the edge of his lands unnoticed. A very foolish decision. The Great Chief loved merchants. And for generous gifts, he willingly gave out an enchanted amulet seal enchanted by shamans, which gave the right of passage on the steppe through his lands. Also allowed to send a call for help in case of trouble. Because no one dared to rob on his land, except him! Khorbrand slaughtered those who attacked those who were under his protection without pity or remorse.

The Slavers, discovered by one of the patrols, were killed, and among their live goods was found a real treasure - a pure-blooded elven girl. Obviously, such a booty could only go to the chief. Sharp-eared turned out to be surprisingly clever and, presented in front of Khorbrand, at the mere sight of the mighty chief immediately forgot about any pride. He had been told that all the sharp-eared ones were a mixture of steppe vipers and wild stallions, but there was a meek mare who knew what the strong arm of a real horseman was worth! In bed, the sharp-eared mare was very good, very diligently portraying passion, and fulfilling any will of the chief. Or his wives. Watching them indulge in girlish amusements with each other or with their concubines was very pleasing to Khrobrand. And what he particularly liked about the pointy-eared girl was that she, like Glatra, was incredibly flexible, and could bend like a reed in the wind. In the past tense!

Because during the march, when his horde stood at the next town and accepted numerous gifts, the long-eared woman and another concubine, who had been taken along with their wives on the march, were kidnapped! The sneaky cowards managed to sneak into the camp almost in broad daylight, bypassing some of the sentries, killing one so that he died standing, and putting two others to sleep so as not to disturb the amulets tied to the blood and life of the owner. The scoundrels managed to get into the tent of the chieftain, but without touching the signal threads sewn into the fabric. The scoundrels worked well, on the level of the best lurkers, it was impossible not to recognize it. At that moment there was no one in the tent except the sharp-eared woman and the second concubine. The chief himself, together with his younger wives and the inner circle, was just accepting gifts from the humans. To say he was furious would be an understatement. The bloodhounds quickly picked up the trail that led them by a secret path to the city. But there the trail ended.

The humans were horrified, and their miserable merchant-ruler, who could not be called a leader in a drunken delirium, swore and swore that he knew nothing about it and had nothing to do with it. His men searched this whole lousy town but found nothing. And if it wasn't for the oath on the altar of Damocar, Khorbrand would have given the order to storm the city. For he had seen the eyes the humans had looked upon his long-eared slave girl when they came out to greet the Great Chief. Every one of them wanted her for themselves! Cowardly wretches! Not daring to challenge him openly, instead sneakily stealing his prize!

For this, they had to pay a heavy price. For in their land the honored guest, who came with his blade sheathed in its scabbard, had suffered the heaviest insult! But even the gift of a half-breed sharp-eared concubine, which he gave to the eldest of his sons, and two additional chests of silver, did not comfort the chief. And since then, as soon as he thought of the loss, his mood immediately soured. Just like this. However, there was a proven way to fix it!

With a grin, Khorbrand emerged from the bath and gestured Glatra to the bed of soft skins. The younger wife immediately understood, and before the chieftain had even dried the water from his body with the amulet, she had already managed to undress completely and was waiting for her husband. When he approached her, Glatra smiled and in one deft movement threw both slender legs behind her head, crossing them behind the back of her head. With her hands she spread her pussy invitingly, inviting her husband in. The chief particularly liked this position. But except her only a stolen sharp-eared woman could do that, which made Khorbrand even angrier. Hovering over his younger wife, he entered her, making her moan loudly. Only the older wife and Gartna could take him fully, but in time Glatra would be able to, too! After the first birth for sure!

With his mighty hands on the pile of skins, the Great Chief hovered over his moaning wife, almost touching her face with his face and working his hips. Sweat rolled down the green-skinned body, only to further inflame the passion with his scent. With a muffled growl, Khorbrand spurted copiously, filling his younger wife's womb to capacity and causing her to scream with passion. But he immediately interrupted her with a powerful bite-kiss. The younger wife willingly responded to his rough caress. Only after enjoying her to the fullest did the chief withdraw, but only in order to lift the shrieking youngest wife in his arms as if she were a fluffy ball and put her back on him. Her legs were still thrown behind her back. Looking into Glatra's passionate eyes, he growled softly, almost affectionately by Orc standards:

"Give me a son as clever as you and as strong as me!"

In response, his wife gave Khorbrand a kiss more like a bite. Gartna, who had been watching them all this time, coiled her hair around the slanted Shaan girl, and pressed her face into her pussy, forcing her nose into the thick but short dark hair. With her other hand, she lifted the Southern concubine to her feet and pulled her to her, giving her the usual kiss. Human women could never survive a real love bite. The woman did not remain in debt, pressing her breasts against her, and with both hands caressing the Orcess breasts, which were three times smaller than her own.

The family fun was interrupted by the call of the Supreme Shaman. The call was urgent, but not alarming. Reluctantly lowering his younger wife back onto the bed, a disgruntled Khorbrand grabbed the amulet and accepted the call:

//“Is something wrong, Gordrim?”

\\“Just now the wind has brought a call to me from the thicket of the Forest itself. The elves are asking to speak directly to the Great Chief. They say it is very important and urgent.”

Hmmm... That's how it is... Interesting, what do the sharp-eared ones need? Nodding to his younger wives, Khorbrand began to dress and soon left the tent. And the remaining orcish women continued to amuse themselves with their concubines.

* * *

The Ice Islands, despite their name, were not. If they were really completely covered with ice, it would be almost impossible to live there. In fact, only the northern part of the archipelago was covered with eternal ice. The southern parts of the islands were protected from the cold northern winds by a mountain range that stretched across all the islands, thus dividing each of them into two parts. The Ice part, and the Alive part.

Of course, in the cold northern seas that washed over them the southern sides would have been uninhabitable, even with such a natural shield. If it weren't for the numerous sources of natural magic that abounded in these places. They were also the source of life on the islands. Thanks to them, mighty and tall trees grew here, impossible so far north. In a negligibly short summer, thanks to the springs, the meager northern soil yielded an impossibly good harvest. The waters surrounding the islands were incredibly rich in fish. But most importantly, they didn't do much but warm these harsh lands. However, everything had its price. This same magic also attracted many dangerous monsters, both sea and land. While most of the latter had been largely slaughtered by the islanders, the former were impossible to finish off.

It was a harsh land, with equally harsh inhabitants. The Ice Islanders were skilled sailors and equally skilled warriors. Their ships had terrified the inhabitants of the Ice Shores since the days of the Northern Kingdoms. And not just them. Yes, their ships were certainly no match for the Great Armada of the Island Empire of the Middle Sea, for example. But they could give the other ships a head start in many ways. Magic-soaked wood, processed by skillful craftsmen, turned into true masterpieces of shipbuilding. Some of them served for more than a hundred years, increasing their strength with each passing year. Especially, if they were led by an equally skillful crew and a knowledgeable captain.

Among the inhabitants of the Ice Islands were many gifted, but few of the mages and wizards like the inhabitants of the southern lands. The magic that often flowed in their veins, thanks to the many natural sources, they used in a completely different way. Warriors strengthened their bodies, achieving incredible agility, endurance, strength, and physical might. Craftsmen infused weapons and armor with such skillful charms that they were as good as Neirat's. But all of this paled in comparison to what a skillful and experienced gifted captain could do with his ship, made by skilled craftsmen from magic-infused wood and tied to the blood of the crew.

Such ships raced across the sea in all weathers, always with a fair wind. They could carry many times more cargo than could be expected even from an enchanted ship of similar size. Their sides held the blows of even very powerful magic. But the most important thing was what made the raids of the Ice Islanders a nightmare compared to the raids of the Middle Sea Islanders. It was the skill of the navigating helmsmen, the best of whom could do the seemingly unthinkable. Set sail from the shores of the Ice Islands and find themselves in the warm waters of the Midland Sea. Or the Rising Shores. Or even the coast of the southern continent. Directly. Almost instantly. To board ponderous merchant ships not expecting the swift raiders' ships to appear in their home waters. Or to raze fishing villages and coastal towns, enslaving their inhabitants. The skill of navigating the “sea paths” was considered one of the most honorable skills on the Ice Islands.

It was all the more surprising that the locals chose Khorgwal, not Calisto, as their patron. Not the Lord of the Seas, but the Eternal Warrior. And the latter, as we all know, accepted only one payment. Blood. And the raiders of the Ice Islands paid it regularly. In recent years, the most skillful and successful of all the Jarls, the one who captured the most booty and captives, who won the most battles, was Arstein, son of Garstein, who earned the nickname the Raider. Until his life was cut short. Cowardly and cowardly. Not in a fair fight, but in his own home. There was only one price to pay for such a thing. Blood.

The Jarls and their retinues from all over the archipelago came to Khorg Hall, the largest of all the Ice Island settlements, named in honor of the Eternal Warrior. The entire harbor of the settlement was filled with ships of prey, the work of various craftsmen. The day before, when everyone had just arrived, people had come from all over the island to see the masterpieces of skillful shipbuilders, famous for many battles. But now no one was admiring the famous ships. The children did not look at them with burning eyes, imagining themselves on the deck of one of them, guns in hand, attacking the pitiful boats of the Southerners.

Because almost all the locals and guests had gathered elsewhere. Near a huge and tall wooden idol made of several large logs. Roughly hewn, it depicted the figure of a mighty warrior with a spear and a shield. And that shield was thickly studded with all sorts of weapons thrust into it. Swords, axes, hammers, spears, knives, daggers - it seemed that in this shield one could find any weapon that had come out of the forges of master gunsmiths all over the world. In front of the idol was a spacious pit arena, with the ground compacted to stone hardness, surrounded by a wall of timbers hammered into the ground.

After Arstein's murder, his children and brothers raided the lands of the Sun-lovers once again. The minions of the “Warm One,” as the inhabitants of the Ice Islands contemptuously called the Sun-Face, learned from past bitter experiences, and met them with weapons in their hands. The battle was glorious, a lot of “warm” blood was spilled that day on the cold northern land. It was not possible to completely defeat the squadron of sun-lovers that was covering the northern borders, they held firm, but they were badly beaten. They would have been completely wiped out, but the “warm ones” immediately called for help, and their companions immediately rushed to their aid.

Arstein's children and brethren retreated, for they had already gained the most important thing. The blood for their cowardly murdered father was lavished on the cold ground. But righteous vengeance demanded a far greater price! And it would be taken! The raid was not only for blood but also for prisoners. They managed to capture a dozen and a half of them, mostly wounded. The same underworld elves would gladly let helpless captives go under ritual knives or put them to fight in the arena with monsters. The lizards would have been equally happy to do the same, the scaly bedfellows of the winged serpents loving to pit their warriors in what they considered a “fair” fight against the smooth-skinned. After all, both had no weapons or armor. So it's a fair fight. And the fact that the lizards of the warrior caste often reached two meters in height and in addition to great strength possessed impressive claws and fangs, not to mention the strongest scales reinforced with horn plates - it did not bother them.

The followers of the Eternal Warrior would have spit on the winner of such a “duel” and thrown mud on him. In battle and war, everything is permissible. To stab a stray sentry in the back, to slit the throat of a sleeping man - all this Khorgval allowed and did not disapprove of in the slightest. After all, if you were able to get to the enemy unnoticed, then he was a bad warrior, or his companions were, and then he was a fool to trust them with his life. But if it was about Blöd Eigel, about the Duel of Blood, where in front of the face of the Eternal Warrior they meet not for life, but for death, then the opponents MUST have at least equal chances. The insulted Khorgval could punish for going into battle against an openly weak opponent. There were such cases in the past, and the memory of them is well preserved.

No, the Eternal Warrior did not send thunder and lightning down on the coward's head on such occasions. Instead, he gave his opponent a fraction of his power. And now the shaking peasant of yesterday, holding a weapon for the second time in his life, suddenly intercepts it in a completely different way. He takes the right stance, and there is no more fear in his eyes. Only cold confidence and understanding of how to fight. After that, the fight becomes what it should be. A battle where there would be no easy victory. Where you have to fight for your life.

So all the captured followers of the Warm One were not only not killed. For several days, they were cared for by skillful healers, and today, when the last of them was found to be healthy, the bound prisoners were brought to the arena, where the locals and numerous guests had already gathered. There, the assembled Jarls and Elders announced the start of the Blood Duel. To the cheering shouts of the crowd, the first of the “warm ones” was led into the arena. His restraints were removed, and then he was given a choice of weapons. A sturdy man of mature age, with a lean body and short dark hair from the far southern lands, silently chose the offered shield and sword. He took them in his hands checked their quality, and waited for his opponent.

She was a woman, with two tight braids of thick red hair, predatory green eyes, and a face full of anger. She was as tall as her opponent, and even a little taller. She held a short spear in one hand and a shield in the other. But of her clothes she wore only short men's pants and a long shirt, tightly fitting the body of a trained warrior. Her breasts were large, with hardened nipples clearly showing through the thin fabric. No helmet, no armor, no shoes, she didn't seem to care about the cold northern wind. Evil green eyes stared fixedly at the enemy. “Warm” clearly recognized her and realized who was in front of him. He intercepted her weapon and glared at her with an equally evil stare.

As the opponents took their places, the crowd surrounding the arena burst into a unified cry:

"Blööd! Blööd! Blööd vor Blööd Glöööd!"

The shout was accompanied by the rhythmic slamming of weapons against the shields of the warriors who stood in the front rows around the arena. The Duel of the Blood had begun. And almost immediately it was over. The red-haired warrior suddenly threw away her shield and thrust her spear into the ground, rushing at her opponent. “Warm One" realized his mistake at the last moment, but there was no time to do anything. He thought that the daughter of Arstein the Riddler had gone into battle without armor, in her underwear, to show her fierceness and complete contempt for death. It happened. Some Northerners, and not only the inhabitants of the Ice Islands, went into battle with one weapon in their hands, despising armor. In fact, Ingrid the Spearwoman didn't put on almost anything for another reason. It's not easy to transform when you're wearing chainmail, helmet, greaves, and armor. It's a different matter when it's just a shirt and pants.

With one swift dash, Ingrid jumped forward as if she were diving into the sea from a cliff. And in the leap, she was transformed. Bloody splatters, small pieces of flesh, and scraps of clothing flew in all directions. And on the ground of the arena landed a huge humanoid she-wolf, with thick red fur and evil eyes glowing with green fire. To immediately knock the captured enemy off his feet with another leap. “Warm” tried at the last moment to cover himself with his shield and retreat, but he was too slow. He would have had a chance if his opponent had transformed a little longer, but Ingrid turned completely around in a fraction of an instant, which was very difficult. It took a lot of strength, stamina, and hard training. Because such a quick change of body from human to half-beast was a great pain from the completely changing flesh and bones. Ingrid knew this pain well and knew how to endure it.

The huge werewolf knocked her opponent to the ground, and with swift blows of her paws, she tossed aside the splintered shield, knocked away the blade, and clamped her jaws on the enemy's throat, tearing it in one bite. Hot blood spurted from the torn veins and arteries, spraying the arena and the victor. And those drops that hit the hard ground or the timbers of the fence immediately began to evaporate in a bloody haze. Rising above the torn foe the werewolf let out a long howl, which was immediately taken up by the spectators:

"Ingrid! Ingrid! Ingrid!"

At the shouts of the crowd, the werewolf arched and transformed herself again. Her thick red hair began to fall from her, and her body was transformed at the same time. After a few moments, on the ground of the arena above the defeated enemy stood a tall human woman. With a disheveled mane of red hair, blood-spattered and completely naked. The warrior's trained body bore the scars of weapons, claws, and fangs. The stigma of Horgwal was clearly visible on one shoulder and the mark of the daughter of the Jarl on the other. She picked up her trusty spear and shield and made her way out of the arena, to the cheers of the spectators and many very attentive stares. More than one or two wistful sighs were hidden in the general cheering noise. Many had been suitors for Arstein the Raider's daughter. And so far all had been refused.

She was met on her way out of the arena by her sisters and brothers-in-arms who had traveled on one of her father's ships under her arm for years. Taking the outstretched bucket of water, Ingrid poured it over herself, washing away the blood and wool residue from the transformation. Taking the stone with the rune of fire carved on it, she clenched it in her fist and the hot air immediately enveloped her, vaporizing the water droplets and drying her hair. After tidying herself up, Ingrid began to dress, ignoring the many disappointed looks. By the time she was fully dressed in her usual clothes, worthy of the daughter of a mighty Jarl and a warrior, her elder brother had already entered the arena.

Ingvar was as red-haired as his sister, with a long mane and a magnificent chest-length beard. He was a good head taller than Ingrid. He was even taller than his father when he was alive, and just as broad-shouldered and muscular. The true embodiment of the Ice Islands warriors. His sturdy body was covered with scars from both weapons and the claws and fangs of all sorts of ferocious beasts. Like his sister, he entered the arena without armor, wearing only pants and boots. In his right hand he held a long sword, his left hand was free. No helmet, no shield, nothing extra. But if Ingrid hadn't taken her armor to keep her from turning around, Ingvar hadn't used it for a long time.

Five prisoners were put up against the eldest son of Arstein the Raiders at once. At first, there had been three, but he had asked for two more, so as not to offend the Eternal Warrior. The five Warm Ones, two of whom were clearly northerners from the lands along the Ice Shores, lined up in a wedge with their shields. The center trio held their spears forward, while the outer three at their sides held their swords. All of them kept their eyes fixed on Ingvar with angry and tense eyes. He grasped his sword more comfortably and simply strode toward them. Straight ahead, without a shadow of fear. The Warm Ones were startled, but their senior, who stood in the center, barked at his companions to get ready for battle. And Ingvar just kept coming at them. When they were only a couple of steps away, the Warm Ones stepped forward and struck together with their spears. Ingvar intercepted his sword with both hands and struck with a powerful swing from behind his head, opening himself completely.

Three spears struck the warrior precisely in the chest and should have ended his earthly journey. But instead of piercing through the body, the sharp spearheads barely penetrated the skin. It was as if the “warm ones” had struck not a human body, but the trunk of a mighty hundred-year-old oak tree used to build ships. But Ingvar's blow fell on them as if dry branches cut the spear shafts, the shield of the central enemy, and his body, literally hollowing him out. In the same instant, all slowness and relaxation were gone from the mighty warrior, replaced by unbridled fury and a hail of swift blows. In the blink of an eye, he shifted away from the confused foes and unleashed his next blow on the outermost swordsman. He tried to block the blow with his shield but was cut down with it. After that, the natural beating of the out-of-form enemies began.

They would have had a chance if they'd attacked Ingvar at once, hitting him in different places at the same time. Especially if they hit the most vulnerable points, like knees and tendons. It would not be easy to hold even such a strong gifted warrior, who could strengthen his body without any armor and put extra power into his blows. It was just not certain that Ingvar would have given them such a chance. But still, they had one. They did. As he sliced the last of the warm ones in half, Ingvar let out a loud roar and stood over the mangled bodies of his slain foes. The wounds on his body were rapidly healing from the blows he hadn't even noticed. The spectators broke into rapturous shouts, chanting his name:

"Ingvar! Ingvar! Ingvar!"

To the shouts of the crowd, he left the arena, making way for the next duelists. Two men entered the arena. A young warrior from the North who despite his young age had already been in two raids and had shown his prowess. His rival was also from the North. And not just from the North, but from the Ice Islands. A man of no age, with the first gray in his blond hair, looked at his opponent with a stony face. He paid no attention to the openly gloating faces of the spectators surrounding the arena. Both opponents had chosen shields and swords as their weapons. Standing opposite each other, they waited for the signal to start the fight and began to slowly approach each other. Slowly, watching each other carefully.

As the distance shortened, the young raider swiftly shortened the distance and delivered a crushing blow to his opponent's shield. And not just any blow. Like Ingvar, he was gifted, and he was able to put magic into his attacks, making them more powerful and crushing. It was a technique he had honed especially hard. The power-filled blade should have cleaved the shield and the arm behind it, deciding the outcome of the battle. But the sword, instead of cutting through it as Ingvar had done with the shields of the Warm Ones, left only a small nick on the edge of the shield. And he was stuck in it. His opponent was also able to infuse his weapons with his power. And his shield. Realizing his mistake at the last moment did not save the young warrior.

His opponent unbalanced his sword-clutching opponent with a single-honed motion forcing him to stumble and open himself. Then he struck a single blow, and the fight was over. The decapitated body collapsed to the ground of the arena, and blood gushed onto it. And into this pool of blood, the victor thrust his sword with a sharp movement, silently whispering the words of prayer with his lips. A wave of light ran along his blade, which then spread to the spreading blood, which had already begun to vaporize in a red haze. But as soon as the light touched it, it stopped instantly.

An angry murmur rippled through the crowd of spectators watching the fight with very unkind eyes. But it was interrupted almost immediately by a deafening thunder as if a bolt of lightning had struck somewhere in the depths of the huge idol watching the fight. All those present fell silent at once. The victor had bought his life with his valor in the Blood Duel. According to one of the ancient laws of war, the spoils of a personally defeated enemy belonged to him. Including his blood. Under the unkind glances of the assembled spectators, the winner silently wiped the sword given to him, put it back in its scabbard, and left the arena. They were waiting for him at the exit. One of the elders silently handed him a sack with warm clothes and food. And a small carved figure of a horse. The winner also silently accepted them, and then, without a word, took a seat in the front row of the parted spectators. He paid no attention to the unkind glances, many of which were full of outright hatred.

Following him, his other brothers in the faith entered the arena to die one by one. Until the last one was left. A young boy recently graduated from training at one of the central monasteries and sent to serve in the Northern frontiers. Like many others, he chose sword and shield as his weapon of choice. The same choice was made by his opponent. Warm One was frankly cowardly, it was evident at least by how ineptly he held the sword in his hand. His opponent's gaze was one of blatant contempt. As did many of the spectators. But not all of them. Some were looking closely at the “warm one” and they didn't like what they saw. For example, his stance was military and quite confident. When the command was given, and the two opponents drew closer, the young man did the unexpected.

He remembered well the words of his mentor priest. If you ever find yourself in a one-on-one battle, rather than in a line of brothers, remember. Surprise is victory! Strike in a way your enemy does not expect you to. That will give you a chance to win. He remembered these words well. And when the enemy approached, he threw his shield at him with unexpected skill and speed. And most importantly, he was very accurate. The enemy didn't expect that. His reflexes did not fail him, and he managed to block the throw. But it distracted him for a second and gave his enemy the same second. And that's what he wanted to do, rushing at his foe, flipping his sword into his left hand as he went. Pushing against his foe, he managed to bring him to the ground. Fear gave the young warrior of the Sun-Face strength. Or maybe HE gave it to him in this fight. Rolling on the ground, the young warrior desperately struck with his hands and feet, trying not to let the enemy who had clung to him do the same. In a fight on the ground, the long swords only got in the way, and very quickly they were cast aside.

How long the desperate fight on the ground lasted, he never realized. Just at one moment, realizing that he could not overpower his opponent, he risked breaking the distance to try to reach his sword and strike first. It was only at that moment that he realized that he had been fighting a dead man for some time. Freezing on the hard ground of the arena, mouth open and breathing heavily, he stared at his opponent's ragged and bloody body. His heart was pounding in his chest like a madman, and sweat and blood were streaming down his face. The young man twitched and examined himself, but he didn't find any serious wounds. At that moment, a deafening laughter came from somewhere above. The Sun-faced warrior looked up and saw Ingvar the Izuver standing in the front row. The huge Northman was laughing at the top of his lungs as he looked at the “warm one” sitting on the ground. A few other warriors joined in his laughter, while the others cast unkind and bewildered glances at them.

Having calmed down, the son of Arstein the Raider said in a loud voice:

"You chose the wrong god as your patron! You should have served Lortan, not the "warm" one!"

Turning to his sister, who didn’t understand anything, he explained:

"He is left-handed. That is why it was so funny to hold the sword in his right hand."

In the meantime, the young warrior of Sun-face rose to his feet and staggered toward the exit of the arena, casting wary glances around. There he was met by his only surviving comrade and a few locals. He was also handed a sack of warm clothes and supplies. Afterward, the older comrade said briefly:

"Let's go."

The young warrior, still wary, followed him, catching some unkind glances from the locals. When they were almost past the spectators, an angry shout came from behind them:

"Khaldan! I remember the smell of your blood!"

The aged Nordic warrior turned to stare malevolently at the red-haired warrior, and for the first time there were shadows of emotion on his indifferent face:

"And I never forgot your face, Ingi."

Then he turned and strode away from the arena, toward the harbor. His companion followed him. When they were far from the crowd of spectators, he asked nervously:

"What do we do now, Brother Khaldan?"

"Let's go home."

"But how?"

"On a boat. Can you row?"

"A... no, I not..."

"Not good. You'll have to learn. We have 24 hours to get to the Ice Coast."

"What? But why?"

"Because we bought our lives and the right to leave in the Blood Fight. That right lasts exactly 24 hours. Tomorrow it's gone."

When he reached the docks where the ships stood, Haldan walked confidently to one small rowboat. Under the very unkind looks of the locals who stayed on the ships and the harbor shore, he put the carved figurine he had been given into the notch in the bow of the boat. Then he began to untie it from the dock. The young warrior watching him opened his mouth in amazement:

"We're... we're gonna sail it?! Across the Sea of Ice?"

"If you don't want to, you can stay. You've amused Ingvar, if you're lucky, you might be accepted. If you renounce the Light and embrace the Blood."

"What?! No!"

"Then get in, there's not much time."

He jumped into the boat and helped Khaldane untie it. Then they set off from the shore. They had a long way to go... And from the top of the cliff, they were watched by angry green eyes. Ingvar put a hand on his sister's shoulder and grinned:

"Curb your anger, you will still have worthy enemies."

She literally growled in response:

"I will find him. I will track him down even to the other end of the earth!"

"Of course. But later. There is no valor in killing him now."

"The death of my father..."

"I know! But not now..."

The conversation between the brother and sister was interrupted by an old man, leaning on a tall carved staff. Despite his years, he retained his military bearing and stature. He was dressed in the rich clothes of the Ice Islands, and on his shoulder sat a large eagle whose eyes burned with fire. A beast-familiar. One of the few true mages that dwelt in the Ice Islands. He nodded briefly to his red-haired brother and sister. They bowed their heads in respect and clasped their fists to their chests:

"How can we help you, Wise One?"

"Gyard brought me an unusual call," with these words the eagle sitting on his shoulder let out a loud cry.

"The elves are asking to speak directly to the Jarl Council. And they say it's very important."

Ingrid wrinkled her face contemptuously:

"And what is so important these haughty pointy ears wish to tell the whole Jarl Council?"

The old man gave her a stern look:

"They didn't say that. They just said it was urgent and important. And that it includes your father's death."

The faces of Arstein's children changed dramatically.

* * *

Reverend Mother Aurora did not consider herself evil. Strict, stern, demanding, when necessary cold and calculating, able to make difficult decisions - yes. Fair, impartial, caring to a certain extent - yes, too. During her time as a Daughter, she had personally cut off the lives of the enemies of the Eternal Sun. She had been known to inflict pain on them to extract the knowledge they needed if there was no other way to do it. But she, despite all her years of living in the status of first Daughter and then Reverend Mother, had never considered herself truly evil. Lately, however, she'd really wanted to be. And she had reason to be. But she tried to hold back.

What happened in the First Temple was not just a monstrous sacrilege and blasphemy. It was a direct slap in the face to the entire cause of the Eternal Sun, a slap in the face to all his followers and to her personally! She had failed to see the threat. She failed to recognize the treason among her own Daughters! And from the indescribable nightmare that would have ensued had the conspirators succeeded, they were saved by the arrogant elves! Elves who had put so many obstacles in the path of the Eternal Sun to the southern lands! But most disgusting, most repulsive of all, the one who had struck the dastardly blow remained without a proper response. For now!

After the initial shock had passed and the commotion had subsided, Aurora immediately set to work, gritting her teeth. Archilictor Mayer and the Bright Paladins were not far behind. All together they were digging for answers. And for some of the questions they found them. Although the enemies tried to cover all traces, they could not do it completely. Because it is not easy to kill or capture a soul, especially one that has absorbed so much of the light of the Eternal Sun. And even within the walls of the First Temple of the one who filled it with that light. The souls of the dead Tairel and Renhrid, her Daughters who had stabbed their brothers and sisters in the back, stood before HIS judgment. As did the souls of others who helped them. And they were fully acquitted by HIM, for they were not guilty. HIS light illuminated them and exposed the insidious fetters of another's will. Under HIS direct gaze was revealed a lie skillfully woven by dastardly magic, a lie incredibly skillful, cleverly concealed, and almost invisible. Her unfortunate Daughters and the rest of the traitors believed in the cause of the Eternal Sun. They believed wholeheartedly.

None of them realized that they had long been entangled in the net of someone else's will. A net that turned them into obedient puppets at the right moment, and then deftly wiped their memories with skillful lies. And this lie had been weaved for many years, slowly, carefully, but very diligently. Most of all these lies centered around the unfortunate Tairelle. The poor girl was in a whole cocoon of someone else's will. She believed wholeheartedly in the cause of the Eternal Sun. But only because she had been indoctrinated into that belief. Virtually her entire personality turned out to be one solid and very skillful lie. The real Tairel, who had a different name, was almost nonexistent. Her whole identity had been altered to fit the lie. And used as an agent unaware of her role. Poor Renhrid, her sweet Renhrid, who was truly and wholeheartedly devoted to the cause of the Eternal Sun, was caught in the enemy's net after being stabbed in the back by a trusted friend during one of their joint missions. Even HER light could not discern the details, for the memory of those events had been completely stolen. But the very fact that part of the memory was false was now clearly visible.

There were few things Aurora hated more than betrayal. But there were some. Like being forced to betray against one's will. Not by torture, not by deception, but by literally reshaping a person's mind so that they went against everything they believed in or fought for. Without even realizing it. That's exactly what was done to her Daughters. And it fueled her anger even more. And it wouldn't subside as long as the bastard who'd done this was still alive. So far, she knew neither his real face nor his real name. He had skillfully hidden them behind a web of lies and the backs of puppets. But she already knew that he was skillful at playing with other people's minds and very dangerous. She knew where his lair was, defeated by the elves. She knew some of those who helped him. And neither she nor Archilictor would rest until they got to him. No matter how much the elves resist, they will force them to tell everything they know. The enemy put a great deal at stake when he set out on his monstrous treachery. And he miscalculated. Yes, he covered his tracks skillfully. Many traces. But not all of them and not all of them. The most important trail he failed to clean up.

The shards of the cursed artifact that had been used to strike the dastardly blow that had caused the abomination in the Pervy Temple and the capital had fallen into their hands. And it was a powerful imprint and a sample of his gift! No matter how he hid now, sooner or later, they would find him on this trail. And then he would pay for all that... debauchery! Aurora gritted her teeth at the thought of the monstrous obscenity in which she had unwittingly but actively participated. She came to her senses, sitting on top of the half-conscious Falnar's face and methodically licking his semen-covered cock. She was still relatively lucky. At least she was having intercourse with her unofficial lover, and not someone else, as had happened to so many of Iyastar's inhabitants. What went on in the barracks of the Bright Paladins and the temple guards was best not even imagined. She had had enough of what had happened in her monastery.

It was a good thing that the youngest of her charges had been knocked unconscious by the hateful magic. The older students were enough. Poor Sister Diana could only sympathize. The girls, of course, were not to blame, but how could they communicate with their mentor now? At the recollection of the pictures she had discovered upon her return to her convent, Aurora involuntarily shuddered at the obscenity. But at the same time, she felt the warmth in her lower abdomen and the nipples on her breasts tingle. Damn you, you damned creation of a damned freak! Gritting her teeth, the Reverend Mother exhaled several times.

HIS light purified her and the others from the poison of the cursed magic. She and the other Supreme Hierarchs were especially bright and thorough, burning away the slightest trace of the will of others. But still, there were some effects she preferred not to talk about. And as far as she knew, she wasn't the only one. Several times Aurora had been having strange and obscene, yet unexpectedly realistic dreams. In these dreams, she saw and realized everything very clearly and distinctly, as if it were real. But when she woke up, the details slipped away, leaving behind only unsatisfied excitement and vague general details. A huge mansion or palace. Countless copulating humans and non-humans with equally countless masks in place of faces. Constant laughter, including her own. Laughing at her, and being laughed at. Why and at what, she couldn't remember, no matter how hard she tried. Only remembered the long-forgotten address from the times of circus childhood, Rora the Laughing Girl. When she, along with a troupe of such wandering minstrels, had traveled from town to town, performing acrobatic tricks for the amusement of the crowds.

Of course, after the first dream she'd had, she'd checked herself carefully for hidden residual compulsions. She knew how cunning the masters of the mind were, how many tricks they had. And influence through dreams was one of them. But these dreams were just dreams, and she was convinced of that when HE in answer to her prayer personally turned the rays of his light upon her again. Their light filled her to the brim, shone through her, and... Nothing was found. The vague dreams were just dreams, nothing more. For the past week Aurora had slept peacefully but tonight it happened again. True, this time, unlike before, she managed to recall some obscene details. Her memory preserved the image of a woman standing in front of her, looking like an obscene version of a Harlequin or a Pagliacci. Naked and completely painted white, from the tips of her fingers to the tips of her nipples on her hefty-sized breasts. With a goofy grin, she juggled three lady saviors in front of Aurora.

A task for beginners, who are just starting to master the fate of circus stuntmen. But the next step of the strange white woman was not for beginners. At some point, she threw all three saviors up, deftly stood on her hands, and spread her legs wide in a horizontal twine. She caught the two saviors that had fallen precisely with their heads down with her pussy and anus. And those entered her perfectly and almost to the end. The third one she caught with her mouth, having managed to get back on her feet. Then, with the plugs in all three holes, she bowed defiantly, completing her performance. At this point the dream broke off, leaving Aurora breathing heavily in her bed and with the blanket wet around her groin, which she had clutched with both feet in her sleep. At that moment, the Reverend Mother even regretted she hadn't left Falnar with her for the night. The excitement was so strong that she succumbed to weakness and released the tension on her own, right in bed.

Pressing her lips together, Reverend Mother shook her head. Damn, dreams! However, she had found one unexpected, but as it turned out, quite effective means of relieving arousal. Standing up from her desk, Aurora carefully removed the top of her robes, remaining in one tight-fitting pair of underwear. Dropping her shoes, the Reverend Mother leisurely walked to the middle of the office, gathering her long blonde hair into a tight bun on the way. Standing exactly in the center, she warmed up for a few minutes, then deftly stood on her hands, stretching upward in an arrow. After standing like that for a few moments, Aurora alternately stretched her legs in longitudinal then transverse twine. Satisfied with the result, she did a deft somersault to her feet again, only to cartwheel across the office and stop at one of the desk drawers where she kept some of her personal arsenal.

A dozen throwing knives of cold, dark steel, engraved with prayers to the Sun-Face, flew into the air beneath the ceiling. And within them, carrying a bit of his light. Continuously juggling them, Aurora strode through her office, never once losing her rhythm. Catching back the last knife, she put them back in place and smiled contentedly. The small warm-up got the blood pumping through her veins, and droplets of sweat appeared on her forehead. It had been a long since she'd performed for a crowd since the day she'd joined the Eternal Sun. And it had simply been a long time since she had used her skills in the field since she had stopped being a Daughter and become a Reverend Mother. But she hadn't stopped training, and it was nice to know that her body still remembered her skills.

There was no trace of the sexual excitement that had come on. It was completely replaced by an excitement of a different kind. A desire to work and work and work until the culprit was brought to a show trial and an equally showy death. She would give the culprit a few very unpleasant weeks for just these dreams! However, it must be admitted that the obscene dreams are not the worst price. Poor Magdalena, who took the brunt of it, was much worse. The unfortunate girl had suffered a terrible shock, suffered not bodily, but spiritually. Her mother was in the material world for almost twenty-four hours after the tragedy in the Pervohram, comforting and soothing her mortal daughter as if she were a little child. It even came to the point that HIM Himself had to intervene, soothing and warming the unfortunate girl with the warmth of her light through the mouth of her messenger. After that, Magdalena more or less began to come to her senses and stopped thinking of herself as defamed, unworthy, fallen, and other nonsense. Even after the conversation with him, she still lay in bed for twenty-four hours in her mother's arms, covered by her wings.

After she left, Magdalena kept to herself for a few days, and then literally dragged her cousin to bed in the middle of the day. Aurora, who was watching this particularly violent display of sisterly love, did not interfere in any way, only sighed mentally. Better Shaal than some novice who had gotten in the way at the wrong time. Aurora sighed heavily as she began to dress. The girl needed to find a suitable husband immediately. It was long overdue. Where would she get one? Especially now...

The Reverend Mother was distracted from her troubled thoughts by a sudden loud melody. Aurora picked up the communication amulet lying on the table and accepted the mental call from the Priest-King:

//I'm listening.

//“Aurora, I ask you to come to the First Temple as soon as possible. The new Senior Emissary of the Elves has arrived. Himself. Forest requests a direct conversation with the High Hierarchs. He says they wish to give us some information about the sacrilegious one.”

There you go... Very unexpected and very interesting. She thought she'd have to pull information out of the elves with a vise.

//"I'll be there right away"

Finished talking to Arnuil, she immediately summoned Falnar, saying just one word to him:

//Let's pack up.

* * *

Gion de Faral knew firsthand that commerce was not an easy business. His father had been preparing him to be his successor, and he had helped him in everything, learning the intricacies of commerce. But it wasn't until he became the head of the new branch of the Faral Trading House in Morgrave that Gion fully appreciated how difficult it was to run the business on his own. Without an experienced parent around to help with business and advice. Numerous cousins and younger brothers must have bitten their elbows in envy when they learned that he had not only returned from captivity on the Isles but would now be the head of an entire branch. Envious fools! If they had tried it, half of them would have howled in horror.

However, the other half, well, maybe a third of them, just like Gion, did not even think of dropping their hands under the weight of the responsibility that fell on their shoulders. But, with clenched teeth, worked, worked, and worked again. The Trading House is not the easiest and most pleasant place to live, especially for those who aspire to the top of the hierarchy. The weak and talentless are devoured very quickly there. Gion considered himself neither. So he worked, and not without success. His father had sent him some people he could rely on. He had money for his operating expenses. What else did a true representative of a major trading House need? Only his own mind and a little luck. His father's partners, who had visited him during the raid of the King of the Isles, had already wished he had not been slaughtered in battle or captured. Because the branch of the Faral trading house that had opened had instantly turned him from a partner into a competitor.

To the credit of the latter, it cannot be said that they did not try to settle the matter diplomatically. Gion, in particular, was offered to marry one of the daughters of his father's partners. On very favorable terms. A matrilineal marriage. That did not suit the young man, as it would put an end to his plans to lead his own House. And not only on them. His memory was very good. And Gion remembered many things. He remembered especially well all the wrongs done to him. And the people who had wronged him. And after his visit to the Isles, he had added to their list.

Of course, taking revenge on the King of the Isles is a dream come true. But to take revenge, for example, on specific captains of specific ships or members of their crew - this is closer to reality. And for this, we need to work, work, and work again. In a city that had suffered from the raid but was rapidly rebuilding a lot was needed. The Duke did not spare his treasury, in addition, he was helped by the elves. From Normgrave sent very generous gifts, on the occasion of the conclusion of mutual dynastic marriages. Materials, tools, labor - there was a demand for it all. It just had to be met. And that's what Gion was working on. And he worked quite well. True, it was not only his own doing but also the help of his firstborn saviors. As much as he hated to admit it, the elves' help, even with advice, was not unreasonable. Especially concerning a couple of seemingly quite reliable counterparties. But still, it was he who did most of the work.

And he was doing it very well, which was best proved by the approval of the head of the House. When Grandfather received from Gion a list of suggestions of what, how, and how much to bring to Morgrave, and who to sell it to, he smiled and signed his signature. In the end, Gion had made some very good deals that had not only brought profit to the House of Faral but also for him personally. When he received his first silver, he felt an incomparable pleasure. Though no, it could be compared to the pleasure he had experienced on the dwarves' ship, washing off that damned odor suppressor. Either way, the pleasure was considerable. And Gion planned to increase his personal wealth in every possible way.

Now he was meeting with another potential partner. The new branch of the House of Faral was still under construction, but part of the building was already habitable. Gion held meetings and negotiations in one of the rooms set aside as an office. The current ones could be called quite successful. With the honorable Ursula, one of the most successful alchemy merchants of a rather wide range, he reached an understanding for mutual benefit. Although, when he first saw her, he had not expected that a very large, but in her way a very attractive woman would turn out to be so knowledgeable in trade affairs. For some reason, it was easier for him to imagine her as the mistress of a rich man who preferred bigger women. Or his lawfully wedded wife. In general, someone who preferred spending gold to earning it. The image of a successful merchant and such a... huge woman, with breasts like those of a Taurus, didn't fit in Gion's mind.

Of course, Gion didn't give a hint of his thoughts about her and met his guest with all the respect he could muster. His behavior during the negotiations was exemplary. His father and even his grandfather would have been proud of him. Still, the ability to keep his face in any situation. It's very important, especially for a businessman. And not just to keep face, but to be able to continue the conversation at any moment, even if his thoughts went somewhere wrong. Because no matter how hard Gion tried, his gaze slipped a couple of times to Ursula's huge, no, really big tits, literally lying on the table between them. The guest came in a beautiful closed dress of dark maroon fabric, but even it could not completely hide her form. For just a fraction of a moment the young man's gaze slipped to her big tits covered with thick fabric, then immediately returned to her generally very beautiful face. The merchant obviously knew a lot about cosmetic alchemy and was very successful at it for a reason. But after he'd slid his eyes over her tits again, a clear realization came into his head, quite suddenly.

Right now, he could reach across the table and grab Ursula's left breast nipple, which protruded slightly but still through the tight fabric of the closed dress. And if he pinched it with two fingers, yanked it three times, and then twisted it first one way and then the other, the huge piggy would go into a complete stupor. And it goes from being just a big, big piggy to a totally submissive big piggy. And you can do anything you want with it. Like coming up from behind, slowly unbuttoning the collar of her dress, and dumping her huge tits on the table for all to see. Probably very soft and incredibly pleasant to the touch tits, which will be a sin not to properly appreciate. Or lifting this piggy on her feet put her then on the rack and, pulling up the hem of the dress, to appreciate her equally huge buttocks. You can even fuck her from behind, the piggy won't mind. Or you can sit her ass on the table, which is strong enough to withstand it, and then fuck her from the front, playing with her udder at the same time. And she will not mind at all, and will not even betray this meaning. The main thing after the games is to feed the piggy something tasty. It's enough just to reach out your hand.

UNDERSTANDING of all this, along with the images that went with it, had gone through Gion's mind in the second he'd been staring at Ursula's maroon-clad tits. Of course, he didn't even think of doing something as unimaginably stupid as grabbing a respectable and far-from-poor merchant's breasts. Instead, without any change in his face, he nodded to Ursula, who had just finished speaking, and said politely:

"I am glad that we were able to come to a mutually beneficial agreement, venerable Ursula. In that case, I suggest we sign the agreement right now if you do not mind?"

The woman gave him a coy smile in response:

"The joy is mutual, honorable Gion. I see no reason why it should not be so."

When the two scrolls with the texts of the contract for the purchase of a batch of healing and cosmetic alchemy were certified by magical seals and personal signatures of both parties, Gion politely bid farewell to his dear guest and personally escorted her to the exit of his still under construction branch. Showing the utmost respect and exemplary courtesy. And only after returning to his office with his assistant, he allowed himself to exhale. What the hell is this?! If it wasn't for the whole complex of expensive and high-quality protective amulets, personal and issued by the elves, and also stationary artifacts hidden in the wall, he would have suspected an attempt of charms or compulsion. However, it was nothing of the sort. The defenses that he wasn't skimping on didn't register anything. Then what the... Uff... With a shake of his head, Gion sank into his chair.

Hannah, who had been bought from his former partners and current competitors, had in the meantime been promoted from the role of a bed-warmer and personal servant to a very capable assistant on minor errands. The girl turned out to be quite intelligent, agreed to take all the required oaths of loyalty, both on blood and on divine altars, and tried to help Gion in every possible way, not only in bed. It was fortunate that she was trained in literacy and numeracy, and could help him with the simplest of tasks. Just reminding him of the things he had planned. And of course, she didn't forget her main duties. As soon as the doors closed and Gion's defenses were at full strength, Hannah spoke in a confident voice:

"There were Taurus in her family. One of her grandmothers for sure."

Gion grinned and looked up at his assistant in a decent, closed dress. Which, however, quite emphasized her own, not-so-small, chest.

"Are you jealous?"

"Not at all. Unless,” she allowed herself a touch of playfulness in her voice, ”the master would like it that way."

Grinning, Gion pictured her with Ursula's breasts. He almost burst into laughter. Because Hannah, unlike the alchemy merchant, would look ridiculous with such an udder. Gesturing to the seat in front of him, he answered:

"I'm fine with you like this. Who's next?"

The assistant kneeling in front of him unzipped his pants and pulled them down, exposing his hard cock.

"An assistant from one of the construction companies you hired in Neirat wanted to discuss business matters with you."

"Which one?"

"The one you contracted to repair the piers of the Long Bridge."

"Goof..."

Putting his hand on Hannah's head, Gion closed his eyes, enjoying her diligent and skillful sucking. Still, another of the perks of his current independence was the ability to have his own personal bed warmer. Exactly personal and permanent, which could be placed on his knees or on her four at any time to relax. Just like now, when an incomprehensible fantasy almost knocked him out of his working mood.

After quickly cumming in Hannah's mouth and getting himself and his assistant cleaned up, he went back to business. His work routine absorbed him until the evening. It was only late at night, when he was finishing the last of his work in his office, that Gion remembered the strange obsession-fantasy again. Hmmm... The image of a naked Ursula, standing on all fours so that her huge tits touched the floor with her nipples. In his fantasy, she was even bigger and had a hook in her nose, which was pulled back with a string, making her nose look like a snout. Just like a real piggy. Except a little too clean. A moment later, my imagination immediately pictured the jam and honey that was plastered not only on Ursula's face, but also on her breasts, belly, hips, buttocks, and especially on her pussy. The result was both horribly obscene and unexpectedly arousing. Hmm.

Frankly stupid, of course. But on the other hand... Hmm... Not that such huge women were Gion's type. But the fantasy was quite exciting and as an option... Hmm... Besides the list of grievances carefully cherished in the back of his mind, Gion had another list. A list of things he wanted that he couldn't yet afford. There were things on that list that the laws didn't approve of. I think today I'll add a couple of lines to that list. For the future. Long term. Okay, that's it for today. With a stretch, he stood up from his desk, putting all the documents away in the sealed drawers. And felt some serious tension in his pants. Yep. Hannah's already asleep, but that's okay, she's good when she's sleepy too. Gion had even purposely enhanced his assistant's sleep a couple of times for the sake of interest and taken her asleep. Not that he particularly liked it. If it was not Hannah, but another woman... Hmm... The young man was about to go to the bedroom and throw off the excitement with his assistant when one of the communication amulets came to life. The communication amulets he had received from the elves, which he had carefully concealed.

* * *

"I've done everything, Lady Anrieta."

Qiadroon looked up from her reading of the report scroll to see the witch standing motionless in front of her, dressed in an outfit befitting the Vicious Rose. A corset that left her decent-sized tits completely exposed. Long stockings made of dark translucent very expensive fabric. A pair of high-heeled shoes, nothing else. A tattooed rose was clearly visible on the witch's pubes. The makeup on her face was perfect. Her long dark hair was carefully combed, washed, and styled. It was like a first-rate rose, one of the most expensive.

"Have you checked on all the girls?"

"I checked each one according to the schedule, and separately those who had complaints."

"The little ones?"

"Their children, too. All healthy, put to work. For the two little slackers who tried to shirk work under the guise of being sick, I prescribed a special medicine as you ordered. Now they'll walk around with green faces for two days."

"Is everything set up for special clients?"

"Yesterday I prepared everything you asked for and gave it to Madame Rosetta."

The Night Mistress of Midtown gave her a faint nod as she gazed at the witch standing before her:

"All right. You're not thinking of getting a part-time job yourself?"

Draga flinched slightly, but shook her head negatively:

"No, Lady Anrieta."

"Whatever. You could make a lot of money. You can go now. You're free till tomorrow."

She bowed low, so that her naked, alchemically enhanced tits swayed seductively, and the witch left, clomping on the heels of her shoes. She still didn't walk well in them but was learning fast. After giving her a stare at the door, Anrieta pressed her lips together in frustration. Such an asset sitting idle. After the rosebuds had worked on her appearance, Draga had transformed from a frankly pale little lurker into a perfectly lovely creature. And her lecherous witch outfit was simply gorgeous. The Quarteron was even a little disappointed that the witch hadn't given her any reason to send her to work out. And that was more alarming than gratifying.

Draga, even though she didn't work a few floors below, was still quite useful. Helped take care of the roses and their children. Nursed her Nightblades back to health when they were injured. She managed to produce some very nice potions and ointments. And the effects of the best of them were very hard to detect, but quite tangible. A few of the most valuable clients began to visit the girls more often. The witch obeyed all of Anrieta's orders without question, allowing herself only a few altercations with some of the subordinates of the Night Mistress of the Middle City, who did not miss the opportunity to appreciate the witch's tits, ass, and pussy. And sometimes to pinch her bare tits or slap her buttocks. And this complete submissiveness didn't seem to please the quadroon.

Somehow she didn't believe the witch had accepted her situation so quickly and completely. The elves had put a strong collar on her, and more than one. And Draga gave no reason for complaints, fulfilling all the orders of her mistress as honestly as possible. Moreover, with all her appearance she showed that she was ready to be completely obedient, only not to go to the shift together with the roses. But still... Just in case Anrieta spared no expense, and through her patrons ordered a special protective amulet. Designed specifically for the witch's gift. A very expensive thing to buy. Such protection worked only against the magic of a particular gifted person, but it was much more effective than universal protection. Eh... What a gift Twilight had arranged for her! She wants to cut her, but at the same time, she can't do it.

Okay, she'd deal with the witch some other time. Of course, Anrieta could have ordered her to earn money with her cunt. But for some reason, she wanted her to give her a good reason to do so. In the meantime, there were other things to do. Yesterday, the elves took away the lovely creature she had found, which the bastard mother wanted to sell to her in a brothel. The latter, by the way, has already not only gotten used to her new role but has even started to enjoy it. Not without the help of Draga, by the way. Also, the slut had gotten knocked up by one of her clients. Anrieta forbade her to terminate the pregnancy and even made sure that she successfully carried and gave birth to the child. Not just because she was concerned for the unborn child. Though she would take care of him later, too. It's just that there were several clients with special tastes. They preferred pregnant roses. Especially late-term ones. And as you know, any whim can be fulfilled for a price.

While her mother continued to do what she had planned for her daughter, her pretty little girl was already settling into the Forest. She had passed her first test, and Anrieta thought she could handle the rest. And if she was lucky, she might even be able to charm one of the long-eared ones. Eh... When thinking about this painful topic, she remembered unexpectedly stormy communication with that dark elf, who helped her to solve sensitive issues before the islanders' raid. It would be nice to meet him again... She wonder if Draga could brew a rather inconspicuous spell... No, it was better not to risk it. Hmm... No, it's best not to. Or she'll be fucked at best. And she wants results as much as the process. She'll have to drop another hint to Twighlight. As soon as the opportunity arises, of course.

For the rest of the day, Anrieta spent the rest of the day with Rosetta dealing with the current affairs of the Vicious Rose. The expansion was in full swing, which was encouraging. And there were plenty of customers, too. Especially in the last few days, after a large steppe merchant caravan came to the city walls, bringing a couple of herds of horses and goods from the other side of the great steppe. However, it is sometimes very difficult to distinguish a trade caravan from a raiding army, whether green-skinned or slanted steppe dwellers. But in this case, there was no trouble at all. The steppe dwellers approached the borders of the Duke of Mont Ros's domain openly, waited for those who met them, and then performed the ritual of receiving the guests, sharing a common meal, and making mutual oaths. This was a serious enough guarantee for guests and hosts alike.

Such a warm welcome was because the wife of one of the merchants in the Upper City was a very powerful shamaness, who came from the tribe that had arrived. Anrieta was not personally acquainted with her, but she had heard a lot about her. Her steppe relatives were, of course, a peculiar crowd, but generally wealthy. Though they had their peculiarities. One of them, who looked into the “Vicious Rose”, liked one of the young roses, which had just bloomed. And its bud had not yet been plucked. Because such a pleasure cost a lot of money.

And the steppe man, who was a younger but very close relative of the arriving khan, was directly inflamed. And without any charms. Having made sure that the rose was still really pure, he wanted to buy the bewildered girl for good. So he offered her four black horses for her. Henrieta didn't know anything about horses, but when she was told how much the offered war horses cost, she almost choked. As a result, the girl was talked to, and she agreed that it was not a bad thing to be the younger wife of a relative of not the last steppe khan. Much better than in a brothel, albeit such a wonderful one as the “Vicious Rose”.

As a result, the slanted son of the steppes got another young wife, and Anrieta got four gorgeous steppe horses, of the battle breed. Two of them were sold immediately for very decent money, one she presented to the commander of the ducal guard. Or rather, she did not present the stallion personally to the honorable Duke, but through the commander of his guard. Because it was not yet time and not in her status to communicate with him personally. There are still several buyers haggling for one more horse, and Anrieta has not yet decided to whom she should give in. True steppe horses were very expensive. Although, she would have loved to buy a couple of steppe mares, the younger ones. But alas, the steppes did not bring slaves from the eastern lands this time. And for those few tribeswomen who came with them and did not stay in their native lands, the guests could only marry them off. It's a pity. We'll have to think about it. A wild steppe girl would surely be favored.

When the business in the brothel was finished closer to nightfall, Anrieta and her inner circle left the "Vicious Rose", hiding behind camouflage amulets that diverted attention. And armed with combat ones. The Night Mistress of the Middle City reached Lortan's refuge exactly on time. Two subordinates were already waiting for her there. Having taken her place, she nodded briefly to Gray and Lame. Bazhzha had been irritating her no less lately than before. The new Catcher still showed far less respect than he should have. But at the same time, Lame turned out to be far more useful than she expected. His connections with the slavers on the Islands and in the Caliphate turned out to be very useful, especially after Alekhar's raid.

Quite a few captives were ransomed through him. And they were ransomed for very good money. Even the new Night Master of the Upper City tacitly forbade Anrieta to touch the Lame One on behalf of the Duke himself. Since some of the captives had still not been ransomed. Of course, sooner or later this would have passed, and then the benefit from Lame would have been considerably reduced. He either realized this himself, or someone suggested it, but he drew conclusions for himself. And having drawn conclusions, he made an offer to Anrieta. Quite an interesting one. The opportunity to buy, albeit not cheaply, exotic flowers from the far south was very tempting. Of course, with the same lizards it would be troublesome, and roses from them would be an acquired taste... But exotic things would definitely be in demand. As well as black-skinned natives of the very far south.

This caused Anrieta to temporarily postpone her plan to change the already second Catcher in a short time. Or maybe not at all, if Limp got wise. All right, for now, we've got a little show to put on. Because Henrieta already knew what tonight's meeting, called by the Night Master of the Upper City, would be about. Thanks to Twilight.

When everyone had gathered and taken their seats, the initiator of the meeting circled everyone with an attentive look of cold gray eyes and said in a hoarse voice:

"I'll be brief. The Duke has received some very disturbing news..."

* * *

After closing the door of the room behind her, Draga gladly threw off her shoes and the rest of her outfit. But she didn't throw them off, even though she wanted to, but hung them up carefully. Because she could be punished for her unkempt appearance. Left completely naked, she sat down on the edge of the bed and began to massage her feet. Goddamn it. Fucking. Shoes! Exhaling, Draga forced herself to calm down. She had long ago learned that the snake in her heart didn't like it when the witch was angry and had too much negative emotion. After calming down, the witch rubbed her buzzing legs some more. How do the sluts here walk on them all the time? Uff...

She exhaled a few more times and got out of bed, pulling on her shirt. It was too small for her now, and there was no way to button it. Because of her overly bulging tits! When she asked her mistress for a closet change, she only grinned and walked over to the witch. After giving her a hard stare, she began to openly grope Draga's breasts. Having had enough of her, she declared: “I don't see any flaws. And therefore no reason to hide such gorgeous tits.”

The witch didn't dare to argue with her, so she had to use the clothes she'd been left with. Better that than to be naked. Or getting into bed with some lustful freak like the rest of the whores here! Draga could hardly contain herself from scratching another slut's face when she told her to practice, or her slit would get rusty. Stupid. Brainless. Bitches. Leaning back in her chair, the witch exhaled a few times again, calming herself down. Then she opened the book she'd been given on charm magic.

Even the lessons her relatives had given her before her mother had been banished from the coven. Even the things her beloved parent had taught her. Draga had never learned anything as diligently as she had learned the knowledge of love magic contained in this folio. Magic she had never been interested in. And on which her fate now depended. Everything her mistress demanded of her, she did with the utmost diligence, delving into the intricacies of creating potions, ointments, and charms. Draga returned to this folio every spare moment. All for the sake of one chapter that interested her. //“Techniques and Ways of Charms through Familiars.”

More than anything else, she feared that her interest would be noticed and her intent understood. But so far, neither Anrieta nor her pointy-eared patrons had reacted to the witch's interest. And she had a great deal of interest. Specifically, in one pointy-eared bitch with snake eyes, an equally long snake tongue, and a very smug face. The bitch whose snake had put rings around the witch's heart. That's funny. As it turned out, there was no better place for her scheme.

After sitting over the book some more, Draga stretched and went to bed. In case she was being watched everything had to be as natural as possible. Making herself comfortable in her bed, the witch closed her eyes. From the outside, it might have looked like she was just sleeping. In reality, Draga reached for her gift very carefully. So as not to disturb the scaly parasite, which she very carefully began to envelop in a cocoon of energy infused with the most positive emotions. And images of the snake's mistress. Also extremely positive. She is so beautiful. She is so beautiful.

It took a few minutes. The first time it had taken more than an hour. She was so nervous back then! The witch smiled mentally, ensuring the witch's familiar was securely wrapped in the weave of love magic. And very carefully, very carefully began to search for the thin but extremely strong thread that connected the small snake on her heart with a much larger bipedal snake. It took a few more minutes. And how fortunate that the pointy-eared one was also getting ready for bed. Just wonderful.

It wasn't easy to get into her dreams, and it was even harder to do it without being noticed. So Draga took her time. Often settling for the role of observer. If it weren't for the bond between master and familiar, she wouldn't have even been able to do that. But such a bond gave her much. Gradually, the witch was getting closer and closer to beginning to make small changes to the sharp-eared snake's dreams. For starters, adding a touch of... love.

* * *

In a spacious field near the walls of the Upper City, on the northern bank of the Dantra, several dozen tents were spread out, and dozens of horses were grazing from riding to fighting, stallions and mares, of various colors, but of select articles. Several steppe and city dwellers sat at the richest and tallest tent in a circle around the fire. All men, with one exception. A beautiful, slanting steppe woman sat next to a well-fed merchant, dressed in the latest fashion of the Free Cities. She, too, was dressed in a wonderful light blue dress of a rich townswoman, made according to the latest fashion. But it was adorned with so many shamanic paraphernalia that those who knew the gifted would bite their elbows in envy.

The mighty shamaness sitting in the circle of honorable men did not take part in the conversation between her husband and the present khan of her native tribe. Her eyes were fixed on a young girl dressed in a beautiful steppe outfit, richly decorated with amulets, feathers, claws, and skulls of birds of prey. She with several other steppe beauties, was riding a little to the side on a magnificent white mare. Not a steppe breed, but from the Southern Caliphate, which was also highly prized by horse connoisseurs.

And this beautiful mare was the cause of Maega's not-so-good mood. It wasn't the beautiful creature, but the one who'd given it to her. The shamaness reluctantly forgave her husband's longtime partner for not keeping her daughter safe. Varman tried hard to earn her forgiveness, and after another gorgeous gift that Sinha fell in love with, the shaman gave in. And then, the kin arrived. And not just with the trade business. The tribe had not forgotten about Maega just as she had not forgotten about him. And with the current Khan, a dozen and a half potential suitors came to the mighty shamaness. Maega examined each of them. And she was not satisfied with what she saw.

Some of them suited her daughter. But they were only slightly better than average. Connecting with them would not enhance a shamanic gift nurtured for generations, but would ensure that Maega's granddaughter would be born as good as her daughter. But not better. And the point was for each new generation to be stronger. Better able to hear the calls of the Khao, better able to understand their words, better able to communicate their will. It was largely for that reason that she had left her tribe to become the wife of an outsider, a khanur. Albeit rich and handsome, and with a very skillful tongue. But still not a steppe man. Because his blood would have strengthened Maega's.

It paid off, and Sinha was already stronger than she was at her age. Not by much, but still. And her daughter should be the same. But none of the suitors who came could give her that. She informed the Khan, who was annoyed as much as the shaman, that he was counting on Maega's daughter to return to her native tribe. And when they were both longingly discussing this issue, the husband of the shamaness arrived at the camp of the nomads. To discuss trade matters, exchange gifts, and simply show his respect for his relatives. He came not alone but with Varman and his son.

And as they approached, Maega's eyes nearly popped out of her orbits. Not only was she looking through her eyes at that moment, but a special hao that her clan had made a pact with a long time ago. He didn't have great strength, but he could see Blood Images very well. Because the boy who had arrived with Varman, who was a little older than Xinghi, looked different in the eyes of the hao than even in the usual magical vision. He informed the shaman immediately. That this one would be perfect. Maega had seen it herself. Then the anger that had subsided boiled over with renewed vigor.

Because it was one thing to forgive the foolish Khanur for not keeping her daughter safe by letting her be taken into captivity. But it was another thing to imagine that this scum would be... Her Shinhu... The heated imagination of the shamaness, who was watching her daughter, suddenly painted an obscene picture. She and her daughter were kneeling in the middle of her yurt in the backyard of her husband's mansion. Completely naked, with noticeably enlarged breasts, though Maega was not deprived by nature. And with equally noticeably rounded bellies, both Singha's and her own. And in front of them stood the same naked son of Varman, smiling smugly as he held his penis in front of the shamans' faces. In his hand, he held a bunch of cheap glass beads. They opened their mouths and stuck out their tongues to catch the thick drops of white Khanur seed splashed on their slanted faces.

Exhaling, Maega blinked. The disgustingly obscene vision was unexpectedly realistic, so much so that she could barely keep from wiping her face and chin with her sleeve. But it was also equally arousing, making her lower belly heat up and her nipples harden. Blinking once more, Maega drew herself up sharply and clenched her fists. The shamaness's eyes turned bright yellow with vertical pupils and she was enveloped by the wind. She knew what a charm was very well. Her mother and grandmother explained and demonstrated them. And she had encountered them when she blossomed and some wanted to put a trapping harness on the unruly steppe mare.

The men around the fire froze and tensed, not understanding what had happened or why Maega had jumped to her feet. Varman, you son of a bitch... The shamaness's anger was ready to rain down on the insolent khanur freak and wipe his flesh to the bone. But nothing happened. The inhabitants of the immaterial world who responded to the call of the mighty Khao-sekhar found nothing. Her defenses were perfect. No one had attacked Maega's mind or heart. Nor her daughter's mind or heart. The Khao who guarded them were silent. No one disturbed them. Then what was it?

The shamaness faltered as she realized she was standing ready to fight, surrounded by uncomprehending and tense men. Confused, Maega took a second to think frantically about how to defuse the situation. Help came from where it had come more than once to her kind. From the sky. Maega calmly raised her right arm and bent it at the elbow. To the men, she calmly said:

"We have guests."

The people around the fire turned their heads, and at that moment a huge steppe eagle descended from the sky onto Maega's arm. It looked into the shamaness's eyes and gave a loud cry. She remained silent for a few seconds, listening to the message of the hao beast, then turned to her family and husband:

"Interesting news from the wind, Khylan Khan. The elves wish to speak directly with you and your inner circle."

* * *

The Supreme Emissary of the Forest looked around at the several dozen subordinates who had taken their places in strictly defined areas of the ritual circle. In answer to his silent question, the First Assistant nodded briefly and said:

"We're all set."

With a barely perceptible nod in response, the Supreme Emissary said:

"Okay. Let's get started."

His subordinates, as well as their reinforced specialists in creating ultra-long-range communication channels, got down to business. It took almost half an hour to form the general weave. And then the room where the Supreme Emissary was in the center disappeared, replaced by the emptiness of the night sky. And in this void, one by one, the images of those to whom the elves were calling began to appear. Not a minute later, dozens of humans, non-humans, individuals, and entire teams appeared before the Supreme Emissary. All of them saw the chief diplomat of the Forest. And also each other, which made many of them visibly surprised. After making sure that all those who should, responded to the call, the Supreme Emissary began his carefully prepared speech:

"I greet you all on behalf of the Supreme Council of the Forest. I have been charged by them to warn you of the danger that lies ahead of us all. A stranger from another world has been sent to our world."

At these words, many, but not all, raised their eyebrows in surprise, expecting an explanation. And they did.

"An entity close in power to a deity secretly sent him here, endowing him with a dangerous gift. In the archives of my people, it is referred to as the Tablet of the Soul. To other peoples on other worlds, it is known as the System. The essence of this gift is that it makes the very essence of the person endowed with it like a piece of paper, where you can write a lot of things for a relatively small price. This is how you can get power that would otherwise take decades to acquire. Or knowledge that is inaccessible even to those who have been studying a particular School of Magic for many years. Each of you will receive detailed information from the archives of our people at the end of the conversation."

Making a gesture with his hand, the Supreme Emissary lifted a storage crystal with captured detailed images into the air.

"The Forest learned of this threat by following the trail of those who kidnapped our brothers and sisters. And the longer we followed the trail, the more questions we had. Whoever was behind these kidnappings displayed impossible skills. He showed himself to be proficient in several Schools of Magic at once: Spatial, Classical Mind, Branding, Tattooing, Silk Web, Puppetry, Classical Barrier, Artifacting, and Elemental. Each at the level of Magister at the very least. It was beyond our comprehension. How could someone unknown have such power? But the facts spoke for themselves."

Now the faces of everyone the elves addressed became extremely serious. Many even stopped looking askance at each other.

"Examples of his work will also be presented to you. Among them, a mixture of Classic Mind Magic, Branding, Tattooing, and Puppetry is particularly dangerous. Several of our brothers and sisters have been processed by him in this manner, including those in whose absolute reliability we were confident. The method of detecting such processing, which our masters called “structuring” will also be passed on to you. As for our opponent. His trail led Secret Guard agents to Iyastar."

"At these words, many involuntarily turned to the very somber Supreme Hierarchs of the Theocracy."

"Forest knew that our now common enemy was up to no good, but we had no idea what he was up to. Had Forest known about it, I assure you, we would have immediately notified the Supreme Hierarchs serving the Sun. But we had no idea of the magnitude of the plan. That, however, did not stop our agents from preventing his attempt to take control of an entire Ascended God by using his connection to the daughter of one of the Sun Heralds."

This was the kind of news that made many people's jaws drop. And the Supreme Hierarchs of the Northern Theocracy were scary to look at.

"At the same time, our units hit his lair, which we managed to find in the Free City of Westmark. Or rather, in its vicinity. To our great regret, we failed to capture or destroy our common enemy. He managed to retreat, covering himself with his “structured” puppets. He managed to destroy much of his lair. But we managed to capture some of it. And thanks to that, Forest was able to figure out how our opponent got such a huge power. He has the Soul Tablet. We don't know his name, but we do know his nickname: Master."

* * *

On the floor of a large wooden house, belonging obviously to wealthy peasants, a woman lay with her legs spread wide apart, bent at the knees. A very beautiful woman, with perfectly smooth skin, large high breasts, a fine figure, and luxurious hair. Knowledgeable humans and non-humans would have immediately picked up on the too “perfect” beauty. But they weren't in this house right now. Nor were they in the neighborhood.

Right now, however, the woman's beauty is damaged by her condition. Sweat rolled down her body in large drops, her luxurious hair tangled and clumped, and her face flushed. If she could, she would have screamed out loud. But on the woman's neck, right in the center of her throat, a magic circle seal shone bright red. The same circle shone on her wrists and ankles, pinning her to the floor and preventing her from moving. A larger circle shone on the floor, and just in the center of it was the woman. But the brightest glowed on her huge rounded belly. The exhausted woman had been desperately pushing for hours now, trying to unburden herself. But considering who she was about to bring into the real world, it was very difficult. But obedient to the will of her mistress, she had prepared herself very well. And she had plenty of strength. Which meant she had to be patient.

Another contraction forced the woman into magical shackles, and at that moment a huge bloody clot appeared from her womb almost at once, with some movement inside it. The exhausted woman immediately collapsed, completely deprived of strength. The clot shook a few times, and then burst, splattering her with fine spatters. In its place was a creature that looked like a bloody goblin, but with small horns and a tail. Straightening up, it opened its bright yellow eyes with red crosses and looked around. After that, it grinned its mouth full of sharp teeth, and hissed contentedly:

"It worked..."

Turning to the exhausted woman, the creature approached her, clacking its claws on the floor, and stopped at her head. Stroking her cheek, it hissed unexpectedly affectionately:

"You've done well, my dear. You did very well."

The woman tried to say something. To do something. But the shackle-circles prevented her from doing so. The ghastly, bloody creature leaned over her and sank its sharp teeth into her chest, sucking at her like a leech. The woman moaned and groaned, but could do nothing. Soon, a completely dried corpse was left lying on the floor in a ritual circle. And a child about three or four years old, only with red skin, horns, and a small tail. Turning to the wall, along which stood a half-blood dwarf, a lizard, and a swarthy-skinned man, the child said in a contented, childish voice:

"That should be enough..."

An hour later, in the center of the ritual circle lay four completely dried corpses. And above them stood a girl of about ten. A very pretty girl that promised to turn into a real beauty in about six years. With blond hair, barely visible tubercles of horns on her forehead, and a long thin ponytail with an arrow at the end. As well as bright yellow eyes with red cross pupils. She reached up and threw on her pre-prepared shirt and murmured contentedly:

"This is going to be very interesting."

Then, slapping her bare feet on the floor, she headed into the next room. A couple of the house's occupants were waiting for her there. A sturdy man of age and his wife. Having estimated the appearance of the woman, which was imprinted by hard peasant labor, the girl curled her lips. Yeah, what a look. Well, she would fix it. A little later. In the meantime, she should meet her “parents”. Standing in front of them, she smiled broadly and said affectionately:

"Mom. Daddy. Wake up."

* * *
Author's Note:

So, the interlude turned out to be huge because there was a lot of character buildup. And very much lore-talking, but there was hentai too. The action of the story will come in the next chapters.

In the meantime, here are some more pictures, honestly snatched from the Internet. They were generated by some Asian neural network, so all the faces are a little slanted. But they're pretty good. There's a lot of them.

Concept of Sivila in her youth:

https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/16B6CKTMo4KdblegIiFbxBom9YQb6NN3L?usp=sharing

Dark elves, just make the skin darker, but otherwise very good:

https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1eiirKMGWj4vsssoT7HztfDUzWcs_4ItP?usp=sharing

Holy Maiden, whose image I drew from the character Sword Maiden from the Goblin Slayer manga:

https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1vZbwSe2cROECbhmBCW2mvYTCm0uKtYtq?usp=sharing

Why you need to be careful at the elf masquerade ball:

https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1Scu_kDo6qvB-25hWzjas0N_-wTsBW68M?usp=sharing

A variation of demon-possessed:

https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/14x2q0PPtOYdsqYESue21IwOkD4f4fILj?usp=sharing

Stupid elven youth who don't learn the GUARD DUTY regulations!!!

https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1FNlLONDLG9qdv3um9NiSKTQxKIeOhH3b?usp=sharing

Puppets of Master:

https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1qcOkvgO4d-M7PQrq1KGBghiS379ekhJF?usp=sharing

Why elves don't like the Caliphate:

https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1aS7xu7_r1GRBJvSU2P8T0JVia09RWlHS?usp=sharing

Внимание! Этот перевод, возможно, ещё не готов.
Его статус: идёт перевод

Переведено на Нотабеноиде
http://notabenoid.org/book/86674/577594

Переводчики: Camrad_RIP