Готовый перевод Настучать в бубен / Hit the tambourine: Эпилог_2

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"Drink, daughter." The mother's words seem to be heard through water. Her eyes are watering. Her head doesn't even hurt, but buzzes like a wasp's nest stirred up by a careless step. "And breathe, breathe, as I taught you."

The mind is still searching for itself in the shroud of buzzing thoughtlessness, but the skills hammered in, sometimes literally, with a rod, are overriding the reins of her body. Inhale, draw in the chest air filled with power and shades of winds, exhale already empty, repeat, soak the anakhao-lash with free power, feed it with drops of breath. This is the basis of the basics, this she was taught to feel her gift, this she took the first step towards power and knowledge. The base helps, the humming goes away, and brings back thoughts, thoughts bring memory, memory brings answers, answers fold into events, and then a groaning Singha assumes a sitting position, removing the cold and wormwood-scented compress from her forehead and face. Her eyes, unaccustomed to the light, are blurry, tears flowing even harder, but she is already wiping her face with a dry cloth, then washing it with a jug of clean water, and then finally brushing off the wormwood residue with a soft towel.

The unpleasant sensations throughout her body were still unpleasant, but in Singha's soul, everything sang with joy. If she had been brought to consciousness in the usual way, then her mother had found nothing wrong with her mind. Maega had taken to it in earnest, сhecking Singha's memory and anakhao-lash. She would make no mistakes or indulgences, so there was no cause for alarm. The young khao-sea did not doubt Pann's actions and words, but it was nice to be sure that your trust and favor were yours and not artificially induced by the insidious whisper of someone else's suggestion. Her mother taught her daughter and heiress without any pity, just as her grandmother had taught her mother herself, but she was happy to give her granddaughter a lesson or two whenever she had an opportunity to visit Morgrave, so Singha knew perfectly well what a harness on the mind and on the senses was, and knew that most often an “obstinate filly” overwhelmed by them would not realize that she no longer belonged to herself.

"Come to your senses, Singha." Her mother gently strokes her hair, smiling no longer with an anxious and slightly forced smile that lulls her mind to sleep, but sincerely and even quite happily. “Your father and I will wait for you in the small hall of secrets. Take your time, wait, and recover. We have a lot to discuss... and only that will save you from the rod!”

Singha was so tired that she was not even afraid, but only nodded, sat down on a soft lounger, and folded her body into a snakh-shal, beginning to fill herself with power more actively and fully, restoring not only consciousness but also complete mobility to all her limbs. After such meditation, when strength surges through the body in special streams, bound in the right rhythm, she can outrun any horse without the kaho planted at her feet. Well, if it's a short distance, and the horse isn't very good, then it's about average. Singha breathed a sigh of relief to herself, for Pann had not lied. The way she was able to perceive the shameful memory of that conversation in the expensive clothing store did not prevent his gift of ilash-khao-tar from distorting the truth for everyone else. Her mother couldn't help but see what was happening to her at the time, but, like Singha herself earlier, she perceived it as completely normal and saw nothing strange about it. She didn't want to deceive her mother, but she also didn't want to ruin a deal that was so convenient for everyone. The girl could simply wish it at any moment, and the veil of correctness would fall from her mother, or even from everyone else. Pann didn't even think, she was sure of that, about asking her to hide such a shameful situation for both of them, considering it self-evident that she would not hide anything.

She, on the other hand, has deceived his expectations and remained silent. Her mother suspected too much already; the situation looked too beautiful, as beautiful as it could not be without a very large cup of poison hidden in that beauty. If she were to learn that Pann had been under a harness, and such a bad one at that, that he had dared to influence Singha in such a state, then instead of an alliance, there would be, if not enmity, then certainly distrust. For the same reason, she had not removed the second veil. The one covering what the tablet called “the token of the Sweet Steps”. She was afraid, didn't want to check, didn't want to find out, to believe or disbelieve. Too convenient, too strong a trump card. Just order her daughter, blood from her blood, and then the naive young man, younger than even Singha herself, who came to talk to Khao-seahar, would become very responsive and obedient, would become what Singha's mother ordered. There was too much temptation given by this ilash-hao-tar. Singha did not want to know whether Mother would choose honor, whether she would choose gratitude.

But her mother had seen the situation in which she had been bewitched by that treacherous snake, the malkash uk lattat of her and her ancestors, now that the will of the khao-lamir that closed that part of her life no longer controlled Singha. She didn't expect anything good to come of it, but somehow it was a little late to flog her for that mistake, especially right before an important conversation, and there her mother would burn out her anger. Maega, daughter of Maedra, Sidhana's daughter, was as frightening in anger as a steppe hurricane, but she also calmed down quickly, especially if she was angry with her relatives. Nothing, her father used to make her angrier than that. I guess. So she will cope, wait out her mother's anger, and manage to get out somehow. She guessed so.

By the time Singh entered the small hall of secrets, her father was trying to call it an isolated meeting room, but her mother, as the one who had made these walls secret by the will of her khao-munal and khao-lamir, categorically rejected the Confederate term, and a heated and stormy debate was already underway there. On the table, next to a couple of bottles of wine, a plate of sliced candied fruit and cheese, and her father's pipe, which he only smoked on days of great tension (her mother disliked the smell of tobacco smoke), lay several sheets of paper covered in calligraphic handwriting. Singha had written them herself, putting down on paper what she had agreed with Pann. In many ways, he had agreed to much more than she would have dared to ask for, but some of his demands were too inconvenient, so she had to convince the khao-seran that it would be better to look for an easier way. Or a more complicated one, but one that would suit both sides. Otherwise, her parents simply would not believe in the sincerity of her savior's proposals, because that's not how things work.

"Ah, Singha, my dear, flower hunter." This comment pierced her already tense body from head to toe with a sharp needle of desire to walk out the door and run away somewhere far away, perhaps to the steppe, or perhaps to Dantmark, hoping that Pann would not chase her away. "We'll talk about this later, yes. Even I know why you shouldn't look the snake people in the eye unnecessarily, especially without amulets. Ahem. But let's drop this topic for now. Let's drop it, dear, at least for a little while."

Her mother merely flashed her golden eyes irritably, her vertical pupils flashing with the khao planted there, and then nodded, gesturing for Singha to sit in the corner of the table. She sat down, closer to the plate of sweets, because it was forbidden to eat before the test, and she was hungry. It took her a long time to recover, and she hesitated to enter the hall for some time, so that by the time she arrived, the conversation had already been going on for quite a while, and the argument was no longer in its first round. The girl had nothing to say, so she preferred to remain silent, especially since she had arrived at the very end of the next round.

"Could he be one of your enemies? He's definitely not one of your friends, because you know all of them, right?" Asks her father, looking into the crystal that records memories and thoughts, seeing her and Pann fighting the monster that lives in the lake. “Of course, I saw the pieces you showed me, but who knows? Something similar was summoned, as you said, by the same one, Silent Drum?”

"Inaudible Tambourine, Akshtar The Inaudible Tambourine." Her mother responds, as if spitting out the name of the one who once slaughtered her grandmother's brother on the altar. "I know my allies and good acquaintances, Urvag. But I know my enemies even better! And I was talking about similarity, the khaos that controls bones and curses through them! Similar, but not the same! I know that bastard! His presence, his khaos, his essence! No, the one who called himself Pann is definitely not one of their clan. Especially since he summoned wind and lightning! None of these Khaos would approach Akshtar except to attack. My mother made sure of that."

Singha added to herself that this old khao-seran, who was already an old man when her grandmother was young, wasn't really chasing the wind and conquering storms. He had become too familiar with graves and the ashes of the dead, with bones and tombstones. That's why he's lived so long. That's why he's always looking for young students to teach and share his secrets with, but they never finish their training. They're always being replaced by new ones. Singha also told Pann about this degenerate, honestly warning him that by befriending her, he would immediately become an enemy to any of his friends, to which Pann only nodded silently and clarified, saying, what would her mother give for his help in sending such an individual to the judgment of the ancestors. Singha, who mentioned this proposal in her notes as one of the possible conditions of the bargain and agreement, fully accepted the idea that, for such a gift, if not her mother, then her grandmother would be ready for anything, except for directly betraying the interests of the family and the house.

"But then, who is he? Where did he come from, my dear?" Urvag rubs his face with his palms, stuffing another portion of tobacco into the pipe, while the khao summoned by his mother eats the ashes spilled on the carpet and the smoke gathering under the ceiling. "It's already clear that he wasn't sitting in that cauldron with worms, but was in Dantmark, since I read a couple of letters and wrote a couple more. I have acquaintances among the Dantrels. He was in Dantmark, not in that hole where our daughter ended up. Urkh, Singha, I'm not furious right now only because I'm horrified! I have immense respect for your benefactor, if only because he didn't faint at the sight of that worm-infested filth, and even more so because he pulled you out... By the way, did he show any interest in deepening the alliance between us?"

"Father!" Singha jumped up indignantly and embarrassedly, almost choking on dried apricots.

"Urvag!" Her mother was equally indignant. She would not have married her off to the elven king if she had not first looked at him through the eyes of her ancestral khao, which can see the compatibility of blood and gift. “We had an agreement! No, I'm not against it, not at all. Such a kalym-khan-shat, like a cloak from his shoulder... A risk he took to save Singh. Where did he save him from? I don't know. If his blood doesn't weaken the family line, then I agree. But only after seeing him. In person. With my own eyes.”

Singha sighs to herself... She doesn't mind either, of course not out of great love, but out of gratitude and sympathy for sure. And the power he will give her family, much more than the arrogant Nertm! Even without the right bloodline, with only the Tablet, he will give her so much power that her mother's doubts are ridiculous. But Pann clearly made no advances; she clearly saw and understood that he was not interested in her in that way, that he saw her as a sister in gift, a problem, and a headache, not the passion and love of his life. Of course, she was not at all opposed to changing this opinion; there had been cases in their family's history when it was one of the steppe shamans, rather than the chosen husband, who had to win someone's heart. But she would not use the most dishonest methods against Pann, and she would try to prevent her mother from doing so... not to mention the fact that Pann would see the spell and break it. And she simply did not know how to seduce and tempt. Pann, however, is not far behind her. She struggles to suppress a satisfied smile as she recalls his embarrassment when he confessed his involuntary betrayal. He is even younger than her and not nearly as experienced as he would like to appear.

Singha didn't know.

Singha didn't understand.

Singha was confused.

And so Singha waited for the development of events, in that usual for young and not so young romantic indecision, hoping that everything would somehow work itself out, resolved and turned out, of course, only in a happy picture. There is such a fortunate coincidence of circumstances that is not too often, but it happens! Especially if you help it to happen with all your might.

"He can't be anyone I know." Maega looks even more tired than her beloved husband, because she also conducted a test of Singh's mind, body, and anakhao-lash, and then, without even resting, went to this conversation. "Different khao. Different tricks. Everything is different! And he can't be someone new either! Khao-seran are not born from the emptiness of the starry heavens. They are born. They are taught. They are raised! And here you can see the work! You can see blood thicker than tar! His retinue! The way he fights! This is taught over many years, and there are no teachers for it, because they only teach their children! It is learned in battle. In duels! In wars!"

"If he appeared out of nowhere, as you say, could he be, well, the one they are looking for?" Urvag asks calmly, but inside he is tense to the limit, even Singh can see it, she doesn't even need a special gaze. "Immeasurably powerful spirits unknown to you appeared suddenly, and you and I, who know all the magisters of the world, if not by name, then by reputation, cannot understand who he is."

Singha struggles to suppress her laughter, but she doesn't quite succeed, so her chuckle elicits an immediate reaction. Two accusing and demanding gazes that are somehow difficult to refuse. Well, if her mother hadn't already checked this part of her memory several times. Singha could hardly remember what she had been asked in a trance, but the general points were hard to miss. She just shakes her head, and a moment later, her mother shakes her head the same way, being the first to understand everything her daughter wants to say but unable to find the words.

"Out of the question. I checked. I checked thoroughly." Maega is lying, because she didn't just check thoroughly, she checked so thoroughly that any secret guard would have shed tears several times over such paranoia. "And he... is not suitable. I saw a copy of the gift, called Master. It's quite inaccurate, approximate. Without the glimmers of memory of the winds and the heavens. But he is anyone but a khao-sera-khan, not a khao-seran, not a speaker at all. A magician, a sorcerer of the stone cities. There's no way to confuse him."

The young shaman just nods at every word, because it's true, even though she, especially after getting to know the images-memories of the Tablets, thought quite differently. In her defense, if her mother had learned about the Tablets, she would have thought the same thing. Singha would have told her, but she was very afraid that someone else's secret would leak outside her family. Her mother and father might have decided not to get involved, simply passing the secret on to someone else. She doubted, she didn't believe, she didn't want to believe, but if her father and mother were afraid, if they didn't dare to believe... it would be easier to wait for mutual promises to be made, and then Pann himself would tell them, there was no point in keeping the secret.

"What bothers me about his proposal is his obsession with secrecy and his desire for us to remain silent." Urvag, exhaling rings of blue smoke, thoughtfully leafs through the notes that Singha passed on to her family and clan. "Such precautions would make any Augustus lurker want to drink, and for silence... He doesn't care about the deal. Considering what has been passed on. If it works out, fine. If not, no harm done; consider all my investments a gift. Understandable, I won't argue, someone as gifted as him will find support anywhere, except among old enemies. But as for keeping our negotiations secret, he seems willing to spend a small fortune to ensure our silence, even about the very fact of his existence. How much did you say he would spend to summon the khao that would seal the deal?"

Her mother rose from her chair and paced the room, as if reevaluating the question and searching for errors in her answers. She searched and found none, because there were none. The daughter was able to convey to her mother images of what the khao-lamir summoned for confirmation was like. So powerful that it was frightening to even think about. Even for her family, all three of them, her mother, her, and her grandmother, not to summon such a thing without spending ten years, but probably much more, on concluding a deal and searching for a suitable khao. And Pann was going to summon this same spirit to talk to her mother and father. No matter what the outcome, even if they couldn't come to an agreement at all. It wasn't even wastefulness, but something even greater, like wastefulness, but elevated to an absolute and becoming the edge of the power of some kind of khao-tkhash.

"I can't spend that much in a year." Maega gives a rather modest assessment. "And I don't like that either. I don't like holding a meeting in the wilderness. And without loyal people nearby."

"But you don't need people, do you?" Father says gently and tenderly, embracing Mother, who allows herself to be calmed, accepting his embrace and the caress of his heavy fatherly hand on her night-colored hair. "He doesn't mind, he even emphasized it separately, you can call all your combat contracts. And we can take people with us. We just have to leave them far away so they can't see or hear anything, but they can run there in twenty heartbeats, especially under the influence of potions. And then there are my sworn servants. I think that for three times their half-yearly salary, paid in one day, they will agree to part with their memories. And we'll hang amulets on them, I'll take combat wands from the arsenal. We'll grab the Guardian's relic to secure the negotiations. And most importantly, my love, we won't go there ourselves until we've checked everything thoroughly. If there's even a hint of an ambush or something like that, we won't be there.

The girl involuntarily looked away because when her father and mother showed such tenderness, she involuntarily felt superfluous, as if she were peeking at something very, very sincere and not meant for other eyes. They both rarely allowed themselves to show weakness in front of anyone, even her. Especially her mother, especially after everything her daughter had been through. She always tried to be strong, to be stronger than the whole world in Singha's eyes, and so it was hard to see the uncertainty in her eyes.

"It's me who has to persuade you, Urvag." She says, adding a hint of guilt to both her spoken and unspoken words with a slight bitterness. "Such an opportunity, such a benefit. And all this... I know what honor and gratitude are! If he came to the gates of my house and knocked, I would stand by him, even if half the steppe were chasing him! Half the world! But these secrets, all of this... I feel like I'm getting tangled up in these webs."

"Well, I could use a son-in-law like that, too." Father winked again at Singh, who was snorting indignantly, but immediately became serious. "And I am also grateful to him. For saving my daughter. That deserves a little credit. Or maybe not just a little. Perhaps he has every reason to fear enemies. It's already clear that he wants to hide himself. Well, if there's no malice behind his desire, I'll be happy to help. And if there is malice, then we simply must find out for sure."

Her father speaks calmly, confidently, and correctly. It is easy to agree with him simply because he says the words that both mother and daughter think. And yet the father has a very sober, as he says, or cynical, as the mother says, view of life and people. It turns out that her savior is simply a powerful magician who, for some reason, does not want to show himself to the world — fine, it is possible and necessary to help, to thank him for what he has done. And, of course, to benefit from еру help, even mutually, which on the part of the second person in the de Lomer trading house was an example of nobility and humanity. But if Pann turns out to be just another bastard who, as her uncle would say, wants to “pursue an aggressive trade policy against them or just screw them over,” then you need to know for sure so that there are no misunderstandings later. The usual routine of life for a representative of the Trading House, powerful and wealthy, but having made too many rich and powerful enemies and allies, many of whom are worse than enemies.

Singh has no doubts about Pann. She understood perfectly well that he needed them precisely for what he had told her and offered her. He needed those who would help him enter the big world and fit into it so that they would not chase after him even more actively than they did after the one who called himself Master. She would gladly help him with this, and she had no doubt that her mother and father would agree. It was too beneficial for all parties, and if she had learned anything from her father's business wisdom, it was this simple truth: when mutual benefit binds reasonable people, that bond is much stronger than any oath of allegiance, friendship, family ties, or temple vows.

* * *

The deadly dangerous, powerful, and influential Night Mistress of all of central Morgrave, trusted agent of the secret guardians of the Forest, owner of the best brothel in town, that is, the ” Wicked Rose,” like most other respectable establishments of this kind within the city limits, as well as simply a very prominent personality, was engaged in utter debauchery in her office. No, she often engaged in debauchery within these walls. The position and nature of the venerable Anrietta's activities had an impact. She had the opportunity to engage in extremely intimate and vulgar indecencies in her office, especially in the company of her faithful assistant, Lada. The owner of Rose appreciated beauty in all its forms and made no particular distinction between women and men, as long as they satisfied her ideas of beauty.

Oh, that sweet and loyal Lada, a short brown-eyed brunette with surprisingly plump lips that are always painted scarlet, a cute little nose, and long eyelashes, almost always giving reports dressed exclusively in sandals and jewelry, showing off her enormous breasts, especially against the backdrop of her short stature, which had been considerably enlarged by alchemy! Slender, graceful, always well-groomed, and ready to come to her mistress's aid. It is not surprising that Henrietta used her not only as an extremely competent administrator and personal assistant, but also to relieve stress. Therefore, the very fact of intimate closeness between these two, behind the closed doors of the private office of a quarter-elf, was not surprising at all. Such things happened regularly behind that door. No, no, the real indecency was not expressed in this at all, although it was undoubtedly vulgar, licentious, and full of pleasure.

The thing is, it wasn't Henrietta sitting in her favorite chair, her long legs spread wide, allowing her assistant to passionately and skillfully eat her out, bringing her boss to climax. It was Lada sitting in that very chair, sprawled out in complete relaxation, sipping expensive wine from a glass, while Anrietta knelt between her legs. She buried her face in the juicy pussy and the shaved arrow on pubic area pointing downwards, trying her best to bring as much pleasure as possible to her lover. Lada just smiled, gently and tenderly stroking her boss's long black hair, sometimes loosening her grip, sometimes pressing her harder into the crotch that craved affection. Neither the boss nor the subordinate noticed anything unusual, strange, disturbing, or dangerous in their actions, as if this was how they always spent their time behind closed doors.

The eating out session was replaced by passionate kisses, with which the Night Mistress covered the maid's feet with her lips, Lada lazily bent over the table, allowing Anrietta to lick her buttocks and her herb- and honey-scented ass, which had been washed beforehand, since the brothel had all the necessary supplies in stock. Then the faithful maid wanted to sit on the face of her tired and satisfied mistress, who only opened her mouth wider and worked her tongue at an accelerated pace. In general, it was utter debauchery, given the position and power of the first and second mistresses, but there was no one who could point this out. It was a closed and well-locked door, as well as a completely screened and regularly checked room. The women themselves considered what was happening to be perfectly normal and saw nothing wrong with it, just as they did not see several other details, even more disturbing than the sudden change in tastes and roles in bed.

They did not see the beautiful stranger, who appeared to be about twenty years old, radiating passion and beauty, innocent and wicked at the same time, a beauty that was not marred by the horns protruding from her wheat-colored hair, nor by her thin, whip-like hairless tail with a heart-shaped thickening at the end, nor by her impossibly charming eyes with clockwise-spinning pupils shaped like crosses. They did not see how she methodically and calmly broke through the high-quality protection on shelves, in hiding places, and storage rooms, reading documentation and secret correspondence, sometimes even restoring that correspondence or conversations using an amulet from the void, combing through the information space with a fine-toothed comb. She had already received her share of caresses from the lips of the Night Mistress, her assistant, and several other inhabitants of the Wicked Rose. And she didn't come here for the lips and tongue of a cheeky slut, although she got those too, but not just for them. Nor was it for the correspondence and secrets of elven intelligence. That was also a secondary goal, a pleasant bonus to the results she had already achieved.

After completing the search, she reinforces her suggestions. This is a very complex and extremely secretive structure. In the past, she would have spent months preparing for it, and she would not have been able to pull it off without leaving traces of her infernal presence. Not just hide, but leave no trace, even if the high priest searched for them point-blank. Thanks to this suggestion, Anrietta will, from time to time, find herself in a completely subordinate role to one of her assistants, with different scenarios and activation contours. Some suggestions would copy what is happening now, when neither the victim nor the mistress is aware of the wrongdoing, when what is not normal seems normal to them. Others provoked the local whores into a fit of authority, which they would show towards their mistress, and she, as if by magic, would be unable to gather her strength and object. Some of the scenarios were forgotten immediately after completion, some would seem like dreams, some would remain memorable, constantly reminding her of themselves, but considered simply a moment of weakness, shameful and sweet in its shamefulness, because of which Anrietta allowed herself to be fucked.

Little by little, the suggestions will unfold, accumulate, and exert an increasing influence on the victim until she, sincerely and without prompting, becomes a whore of her whores. Exclusively in an intimate and depraved sense. Otherwise, she will still be the owner of Rose, remain the deadly Night Mistress, an extremely competent administrator, and a successful agent of the Forest. It would seem that this is all just some kind of joke, of no use, giving her nothing but wasted time and the risk of being exposed, but that was only an illusion. Having finished her business, the demoness received instructions and rewards not from these mortals, whose souls she, alas, could neither defile nor take for herself, despite all her desires. No, the reward, the real treasures, for which there could be no analogues, she would take from the gift of the One who, in Her mercy, had raised Her power and protection over her.

What are these souls to her if she receives much more, has already received it, and will receive more?

Images flashed before her eyes, forming lines and letters that were both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time, confirming the completion of her task and awarding her a prize. A dozen and a half powerful souls to choose from, each corresponding to a high-ranking adept of magic, a great warrior, an outstanding craftsman, a senior priest, or someone else of similar stature. The three souls chosen were truly outstanding, each of whom could be equated with a master of magic, a high priest, a person of royal or ducal blood, an outstanding commander, or someone else comparable. And two whole “meta-impact tokens,” each with five charges, whose power was always extremely restrained and kept her vice in check, made the demoness want to laugh and shudder in a mind-consuming orgasm.

They say that Duke Augustus's beautiful wife is considered a close friend of Queen Sivila, is that not so? And what would happen if a sweet demoness who means no harm were to use a token with the telling name ‘The Wickedness of the Seductress’ on her? After all, one of the tasks that has not yet been completed but has already been received is to infiltrate the palace of the ruler of Morgraf. And even though the main target of the mission is Augusta de Mont Ros's son, the respectable and sweet Christian, as well as his eternal lover with long ears, nothing will stop the demoness from expanding her actions a little, adding a little something personal to them. Harmless, not dangerous, posing no threat to lives or souls, but so spicy, so desirable, so sweet, and capable of sweetly repaying the honourable Queen for her less than royal reception.

The demoness, who had only recently become a demoness in a very conditional sense, finished her business, leaving behind the mistress and maid who were still making love, becoming transparent and shimmering like mist. And this mist seeped through walls, stone and spells, barriers and closed fields, through foundations and paving stones, flowing underground, where it was destined to gather again. This creature, which does not fully realise how much it has already changed and how much it will change in the future, had many tasks, many activities and entertainments ahead of it, for in this glorious free city there are so many interesting things, so many interesting personalities, that it is impossible to resist another prank.

* * *

There are countless jokes, witticisms, and obscenities about the women of the Tavr folk, especially regarding their prominent breasts, which can be considered part of folklore, if not legend. There are about as many jokes about these boobs, breasts, udders, and other epithets as there are about the height of the halfling if not more. Well, how can you not laugh? A walking cow with a milk-producing udder the size of a watermelon or even a pumpkin, and what's more, this milk increases male potency and, with prolonged use, increases the size of men's penises and women's breasts who are not Tavrians. All these statements were inevitable; long gone are the days when no one knew these jokes. Much has been forgotten or simply omitted; it is much easier for the hornless to think about what is funny, pleasant, and beautiful, diligently ignoring other details that do not fit into the overall picture of their primitive understanding of the world.

For example, most jokers don't realise that along with huge breasts come very strong back and abdominal muscles to carry such weight and not bend worse than the base of a bow. Or that the tall stature of these horned beauties is not only a reason to call them big mamas, but also a huge body mass, harmoniously distributed and disappearing into tight ropes of muscle hidden under delicate skin. About the fact that the hand-tamed cows who entertain clients in brothels, whether voluntarily or under the spell of mind-controllers, do not represent such a significant stratum of the beast-people who descended from the primordial Horn and Hoof. That among such beauties there are also warriors, just as tall, horned, and busty, but capable of putting the Orсish female fighter to shame with more than just their appearance. Or two. Or three. Or five at once, some of whom are not female, but male.

Many tried to joke about Mguuna's breasts and horns, but not everyone was able to repeat it. She could be deceptively calm, but when necessary, she would explode in a cascade of instantaneous and lightning-fast movements, attacks and defences, bursting into a rage befitting a wild buffalo, a rage terrifying and unstoppable, especially when directed correctly. Mguuna knew how to direct her fury and strength perfectly, developing her not particularly strong gift from childhood, directing it not outward but inward, strengthening herself, making her body faster, more resilient and more enduring. If necessary, she could run across thin ice that would not even support a child, run in full armour and still not sink. But it was much easier for her to put all her body weight into a single light touch, and then increase the force, breaking bones and piercing stone walls, cracking heavy armour like a watermelon rind and breaking shields like fresh waffles.

In general, Mgunua Iron Boot had a very specific reputation among mercenaries, turning her, who did not like to obey or follow subordination, into a highly sought-after mercenary, even though she worked alone. Of course, she had to serve under someone's banner for a while. She had to deal with people trying to make her an offer she couldn't refuse if she wanted to stay alive. But she was protected by the spirits of her ancestors, her own martial arts skills, and, of course, Lady Luck, allowing her to slip away, survive, win, or all of the above, time and time again. It was inevitable that someone would try to make the warrior, who was as pretty as most gifted Taur, their personal bed warmer — sometimes with a potion, sometimes with an amulet, sometimes with a hired brain-twisting magician. But Mguuna did not drink or eat anything without checking it with her family amulet to detect anything unnecessary in the food, she ate from her supplies, trusted no one, and did not skimp on equipment, on which she spent the lion's share of her gold and silver paid for with someone else's blood.

After the second known to society, and the fourth in general, who tried to charm her but instead bumped his head on her sabaton, the number of those who desired her body decreased significantly. She preferred not to give, but to take, and usually did not ask for permission. Just as usual, those she chose did not resist much, if at all. And if some snot-nosed kid who had just picked up a spear a year ago babbled something about his great love left behind in his native village, it always helped to break another of his bones and pour a not-too-expensive elixir down his throat for hardness of the dick. In general, the Taura had a difficult character, but she worked hard for her money and the problems she brought with her, and what she did with the prisoners or why she herself should not be sent after them did not concern her employers as much as her ability to break through any formation or knock down an enchanted door in the estate along with pieces of the wall, which was noticeably weaker than the door.

It had been like that for quite a long time, but then that unfortunate incident happened to Mguuna, after which everything went downhill. Even though she didn't feel particularly guilty. Well, yes, she was ordered to stand guard and make sure that the remnants of the baron's retinue did not try to rescue the baron's brats — two little girls who had just started to talk, and a beardless youngster, about thirteen years old. She said outright that she didn't take prisoners and didn't look after them if they needed to be taken alive, but it's hard telling that to Zhmerg the Great, and he'll tell you off himself. Mguuna was stronger than the gifted veteran and had no doubt that she would defeat him nine times out of ten without even getting hurt. But Zhmirg had almost a hundred swords behind him, while Mguuna had only herself. She had to resign herself to it, she had to act as a nanny, which made her furious and blinded her eyes with a scarlet veil. And then there was the little baron's bastard, who was only alive because he had been ransomed, who tried to escape, thinking that the sensitive ear of the woman who had covered her eyes would not hear his footsteps. She wasn't asleep; she never sleeps in battle, she was simply absorbing power from the world and its underbelly, but the bastard didn't know that.

She met him with a lazy glance and suggested that he return to his cage himself, but he did not listen until she stood up. She broke his leg. He screamed, even though she demanded silence. He yelled, and the little ones yelled, because no one gave them any food, since the one who promised to find a wet nurse somewhere in the captured castle had safely forgotten his words. She demanded that the bastard shut his mouth and shut up his half-brothers, otherwise she would not be responsible for her actions, but he responded by calling her a mad cow who wanted to starve him and his sisters to death, because they wanted to eat. In Mguuna's very simple mind, which did not dwell on complex matters, there was no room for compromise or pity, especially for an insult that could only be washed away with the blood and brains of the offender. She remembered Zhmerga's words and honestly suggested that the bastard cut off his tongue; she would accept the payment, she would even accept it if he cut off only the tip, given the natural frailty of a human calf. She even threw him a knife, as the eldest of the blood relatives present.

He tried to stab her with the same knife and called her other, very nasty names, which was the last straw for Mguuna's patience and willingness to forgive. She broke the bastard's remaining limbs, cut out his tongue, and poured potion over it, healing his cut mouth. Then she wrung the necks of his half-brothers, cooked them, and poured soup down his throat, just like the potion before, burning him with the broth, feeding him as he had asked. That's roughly how she explained it to Zhmerg, who had turned white with rage, while a couple of his henchmen proved themselves to be even more delicate, vomiting on the floor. Zhmerg didn't understand her, even though she tried three times to explain how and with what words she and her ancestors had been insulted. Zhmerg said something about ransom and the rules of noble warfare, about how things weren't done that way, and then he stopped paying attention to his own words. And he knew exactly what he was saying because he grabbed his sword and staff before he finished his sentence.

Mguuna clearly proved that her feelings were not deceiving her; she really did knock Big Guy to the ground, even though he had three assistants. But she was helped by the fact that the second, younger magician in the squad was too busy vomiting bile from the smell of well-cooked meat. Tavra dealt with the people who had betrayed her and the half-orc, then killed two patrolmen who had arrived too late, broke out of the castle she had taken by sword, and left without eating. She took some trophies from the wallets of the dead, but she was still upset about the blood money she didn't receive, because she had performed well during the assault, defeating two magicians and almost a dozen defenders with her hammer and shield! These were the thoughts of Mguuna, for whom the conflict with the mercenary banner that had decided to betray and abandon her was already over. Her trouble was that the other hornless ones, for some reason, did not agree that the quarrel had ended with the death of one of the quarrelling parties.

And it would be fine if they wanted her blood, without the patent holder of the ++Great, who is no longer even called Great. Yes, he died in an honest battle, without dirty tricks or treachery, but she could understand the desire to avenge their leader. She would have understood if her blood relatives had wanted her blood, even though it was already a rotten business. She honestly took the payback of a young, hornless boy, and even spared him, as an elder and a man, so that there would be someone to continue the family line. But no! It seemed that everyone, from the patrols to the roadside thugs, had begun hunting her. She found out about it separately. She knew how to ask painful questions, and the reward for her was given not only by the defeated baron, no! It seemed that half of the nobles in the region had contributed to that fund, even the very degenerate who had hired ++Great and her for his little noble private war!

She walked, and they followed her. She killed, and new ones came to replace those she had killed. She offered her services in exchange for protection and shelter, but was met with either attempts to attack her or attempts to deceive and capture her in order to hand her over to her enemies. In the end, even her strong and tireless body began to give way. When she, who had not entered cities or large villages for three weeks, began to simply kill everyone in her path for crackers and dried meat, dirty, unwashed, and exhausted, she was almost killed by two ordinary serfs, whom she could have previously scattered fifty without spilling a drop of her blood... Then Mguuna realized that it was time to change all this somehow. Pouring the last potion on the wounds left by the vile hornless peasants, and drinking the penultimate one, feeling her insides burning from not having eaten for a long time but having drunk a year's worth of potions, she got a little sleep. When she woke up, she went deeper into the forest, walking for a long time, covering her tracks and masking them with amulets that had not yet lost their power.

The hut in the forest, a small farmstead, was clearly abandoned, as was the second and last house. She came out there the third day, already on her last legs. She might not have made it, already falling from exhaustion, but she was found by an old man who lived there with his mute and slow-witted granddaughter. He found her, brought her home, gave her herbs and light, rich soup. From him, she learned that no one had been here for years, even the grandson went shopping, leaving for a week, but he had left five winters ago, tired of sitting in this wilderness and babysitting his feeble-minded sister and his gradually declining grandfather. Nodding in agreement, in her tribe, those who were mentally challenged from birth were simply killed out of pity, so as not to spoil the bloodline, she broke the necks of both the old man and his granddaughter, after questioning them thoroughly to make sure they weren't lying to her, having already sent the long-lost grandson for help. But no, they hadn't lied. Even when she tied up the old man, who was feeble-minded, he only begged and cried, but did not confess to anything evil or despicable, so she even buried the bodies, which stank of burnt flesh, shit, and blood, according to all the customs, making a simple cenotaph out of stones from the stove in the second hut. After all, they saved her life. That deserves gratitude and respect.

The amulets she had, as well as the talismans left over from her native tribe, allowed her to close a protective circle that would prevent anyone from finding her with magic. She didn't seem to leave any blood anywhere, deliberately wiping it away or pouring potion over it, but you never know, anything can happen. Mguuna never skimped on such specific things; even before this whole stupid thing with Zhmerg's betrayal, she had enough enemies and people who might be looking for the mercenary with bad intentions. The cellars of the hermits who had helped her were not overflowing with abundance, of course, but there was enough food there, albeit mainly vegetables and grains. Despite the rumors and offensive comparisons to cows, the Tavrus also respected meat, and without it, they were as miserable as the hornless ones. Still, she would have had enough food for a couple of months, not to mention the fact that she was quite skilled at hunting.

The first month was tough, of course. She ate her fill and regained her strength, completely devouring all the meat and lard reserves there were. Things got easier after that. Her body regained its strength and mobility, her gift became obedient again, and her existing skills allowed her to hunt quite well, so she ate her fill of meat. Little by little, the supplies in the cellars ran out, and she had already hunted all the nearby game. The old man had long since resorted to setting snares, as his frail body prevented him from hunting large game and, to be honest, small game as well. Another year or two, and he would have starved to death if he hadn't died of old age first. Having regained her strength and healed her wounds, Mguuna was planning to leave this shack any day and try to travel through the wild territories without entering any large settlements. Of course, they were looking for her, but not throughout the entire Confederation, right? In Edoras itself, with its guild strikes and magistrate intrigues, the need for good swords never dried up.

In the past, Mguuna did not favor long contracts, during which one must bear the burden of service and obey anyone. She preferred quick deals, for one or two battles or a siege. But she had no choice, and without the protection of one of the sides in the eternal conflict within the walls of Edoras, she would once again be hunted down like game. She did not like being game. She much preferred to eat game, so she roughly mapped out a route and decided to leave as soon as the next rain ended, the following morning. She settled down on the bed she had made for herself, unable to fit in the small beds of hornless, the fugitive closed her eyes and fell into a deep sleep. During her wanderings, she had mastered the art of falling asleep instantly, a magical technique in itself, and so she could get a good night's sleep in just a couple of hours, replenishing her strength much faster. The price for this ability was a complete absence of dreams, both pleasant and nightmarish. A small price to pay, especially since Mguune never had particularly vivid dreams anyway.

That night was an exception. Even in the deep well of sleep, her sensitive ear was aware that she was asleep and dreaming. She dreamed of a wide green meadow covered with wildflowers just beginning to bloom, gentle rays of sunlight that hardly irritated her eyes, cool breezes caressing her body, grass blades gently tickling her stomach and chest. It took Mguuna a moment to realize that, for some reason, she was naked in her dream, and it took her a moment to realize that she was not walking on two legs, but crawling on all fours like a tame cow. This thought and the streams of wind whistling in her ears, as if trying to tell her something, something audible and inaudible at the same time, which made her smile happily in her sleep, laugh, and fall into the grass, rolling from side to side, hearing only the rustling of the wind, feeling only the touch of the grass, understanding only what she wanted and needed to understand.

She woke up in a great mood, having just sweated and drooled on her pillow, but that was no big deal. What was much more unpleasant was that she couldn't wear her sweat-soaked clothes on the hike. She shouldn't have fallen asleep fully clothed, but she had been knocked out and passed out instantly. So, after pulling the rags off herself, Mguna decided to stay a little longer. She didn't put on her spare clothes either, preferring to walk around naked. The weather was beautiful. There was no one to be shy about, and no fear of attack. No, she didn't leave her trusty hammer behind, preferring to keep it close at hand, but she didn't think she needed her armor. If necessary, she knew how to make her body stronger than metal. Well, not stronger than copper, and not for long, just for a couple of heartbeats, but the fact remained that she had the ability. She was consciously proud of her skills, her body, her strength, and the blood she had spilled with her own hands. A true daughter of the beast people, a living symbol of the Horn and Hoof, she couldn't help but boast about herself.

So, thinking about how beautiful she was, Mguuna involuntarily began to caress and stroke her body, touching the muscles outlined under her smooth skin, her large, soft breasts, her unexpectedly burning loins... Taura did not like to masturbate, considering it a weakness and simply something base. If she wanted someone, she took them; if there was no one to take, she dispelled her physical heat with another martial arts training session. But now she didn't want to dispel the heat; she wanted to continue touching, stroking, caressing, and not letting go of her breasts, her tender cow's udder, her soft tits of a good cow. At some point, she stopped caressing the rest of her body, only caressing her breasts with her fingers, her large areolas and nipples, caressing and pinching, squeezing, twisting, pulling, and at some point, the stimulation became completely irresistible.

"Gmooo!!!" With a roar, animalistic and dull, Mguuna cried out to the world, surrendering to waves of pleasure and loudly, hoarsely, informing the world how good it felt for her, the bitch. "Ha-a-a... Well, I'll stay there a little longer."

The decision not to rush and wait a little longer came quickly and decisively, without causing any doubts or surprise, just as his desire not to put on clothes and walk around naked did not cause any doubts or surprise. Just like the strange obsessions that made her touch herself several times a day with slight embarrassment, sometimes sunbathing, pouring water from an old, long-unrenovated well over herself, sometimes just because he felt like it. Caressing mainly her cow tits, Mguuna moaned loudly, came, broke into a lustful cow moo, promised herself over and over again that this was the last time, and repeated everything again and again. At night, she slept, no longer sinking into a sleepless state, but simply closing her eyes to wake up in the morning on a rumpled bed, already tugging at her teats or sticking her fingers into her lustful pussy, cumming again and starting a new day.

Five days passed, filled with sweet moments and a kind of tight fabric that constricted her head, muffled her thoughts, and prevented her from concentrating on anything else, on anything at all. Mguuna thought to herself that this must be how the victims of brainwashers feel, which made her laugh so hard that she came just from laughing, starting to tug on her udder after the peak to reach it again and forget about the silly thoughts of a good cow. A good, obedient animal doesn't think such thoughts; they are too funny and unnecessary, like thoughts in general. Why should she think? She is already good, beautiful, and sweet! Her height — wow! Her horns — wow! Her muscles — like steel! Her physique — like the ideal of her ancestors! Her udders are like the milking udders of a lustful and submissive cow! So why should she think at all? No, let others think, while Mguuna continued to float on waves of pleasure, playing with her body. It even seemed to her that her udders had become even bigger than they were — for the Tavrs, she was not the most voluptuous, just what she was.

Food supplies were gradually running out, but Mguun, who had devoured even the provisions set aside for the journey without any restraint, was somehow unconcerned. Her whip-like tail lashed her bare thighs and buttocks, her breasts bounced playfully as she walked, her hands gently held her breasts and circled around her areolas, keeping her on the verge of climax, on the verge of moaning, on the verge of coming. She gradually rethought her plans, realizing that such a dumb and beautiful cow didn't need to go to Edoras or anywhere else to sell her hammer. That's exactly what they expect from her; they expect her to do what she has always done, but she will act differently, not like a wild buffalo, but like a sweet and domesticated animal, waiting out the storm in a comfortable barn. And a little while after that, she will wait it out too.

Will it be difficult to find some cute little hornless man, preferably gifted, to shake your huge udder in front of him, moo like a domestic animal, an obedient cow, gentle and affectionate, let him fondle her body, let him fuck her, thrust into her and copulate with her, because a good animal will always let you fuck it? It's not difficult at all, no one can resist, anyone who wants to will give her everything a good cow needs. And she will give it too. With this thought, Mguuna, who had just finished, got up, stretched, again pressing her hands against the low ceiling of the hut, and then went to the door, wanting to go outside. And she was very surprised by what she saw when she opened that door. Instead of the street and light, there was only the dark abyss of some underground tunnel, in the middle of which stood someone wearing a brightly decorated mask. He stood and looked straight at her, and she looked at him, blinking in confusion and trying to understand, to remember how an experienced warrior should behave in such a situation, rather than a submissive domestic animal.

She closed the door, then opened it again, this time seeing exactly what she needed to see. The sun, the breeze, the overgrown farmyard, and not some incomprehensible thing that the good, obedient animal had already forgotten. Shrugging, feeling her muscles ache slightly, as after a good workout, Mguuna walked around, exercised a little, not wanting to lose her shape, and climbed into the cellar. She understood that she had already eaten all the food she could, so she needed to get dressed and go hunting, but for some reason, she wanted to check. And not in vain! She must have become a completely stupid and dumb cow with all this constant wanking and nipple pinching if she could miss such a mountain of supplies! With a satisfied “Moo!”, Tavra began to take barrels of pickles, assorted salts, smoked hams, and whole bundles of sausages out of the cellar. At the same time, her magical gift sensed quite clearly and without difficulty that these supplies were full of magic, as if instead of spices, the best magical herbs her tribe had gathered had been put into the sausages.

She wondered where the poor, barely alive grandfather and feeble-minded, hornless girl had gotten such treasures, but immediately realized that this was a question for a clever and cautious Tavr warrior, not a submissive and stupid animal, not for an obedient and lustful cow, so she quickly forgot what had come into her head. Instead of thoughts, hunger came, a strong and downright savage hunger, forcing her to devour a delicious veal ham in one sitting. The Tavrs could eat veal and beef; they just didn't like it, but when necessary, they chewed it, especially when on a campaign. a healthy bowl of porridge with butter, milk, and dried fruit, a loaf of bread as big as half a head, fresh and smelling of yeast, half a dozen sausages, and a sweet cake on top. The fullness slightly dulled the strange but pleasant, it must be admitted, languor in her tired muscles, which seemed to have been through a long battle, and after Mguun, with the dull gaze of an obedient animal looking at her slightly enlarged breasts, she began to drift off to sleep. She fell asleep, burying her face in her cow's udder, snoring loudly.

The awakening caused the mark to jump up and run to the outhouse, moaning at the same time from the hunger that had returned. Half asleep, she did not duck low enough and hit her forehead on a piece of the door frame, which today seemed particularly depressingly narrow and low. Having somehow relieved herself, quickly washed up, and caressed her body, which was thirsty for sex, she stomped back into the house with her bare feet. She even felt sorry that she had inherited her mother's feet instead of her father's hooves. There were female taurus with hooves, but more often than not, they had feet, or the ability to transform their feet into hooves. Alas, Mguuna, being gifted physically and mentally, knew almost nothing about the ways of beasts and did not know how to turn into a buffalo, praising Horn and Hoof. And she did not strive to do so. She knew perfectly well that a shapeshifter was only frightening and invulnerable to the untrained eye, whereas in reality, a normal hammer, armor, and heavy shield would be far more effective than animal strength and power. But now, wiping the dirt from her recently washed feet, she wanted to learn how to turn them into hard hooves that didn't get dirty so easily, yes.

Hunger again, eating reserves, which seemed to have only increased, caressing the dull cow's udder again, the flowing slit, the tight asshole unaccustomed to fingers. She never expected that even such caresses would appeal to her, but she came so hard that she began to moo again and tug at her tits like a dull, lustful cow. Again, a feeling of satisfaction, like after an exhausting workout. And again, it seemed to her that she saw a hornless man in a mask flash before her, who poked her with his finger and stroked her left tit, right on the nipple, neat, dark pink, tense and outlined by an areola the size of a saucer. Blinking in confusion, Mguuna, like a good and obedient little animal, immediately forgot about the strange vision and returned to satisfying her hunger. Slamming her plump ass onto a wooden bench, she mooed with anger when the too-small structure cracked under her. Angrily throwing aside the now useless furniture, she sat down directly on the floor and began to eat, since even sitting down, she was still quite a bit taller than the table.

Once again, Mguna fell asleep right after eating, collapsing onto her back and breathing heavily, as if her cow udder was weighing her down with all its considerable weight. Nonsense, of course, but she enjoyed lying there, stroking and pinching one breast, while with her other hand she would stick her fingers, covered in honey from the jug, into the crack or the hole. She liked to come and be lazy, like a stuffed animal in a barn, to come and fall asleep, to come and remember, to come and dream, to come and come again. She dreamed of green meadows, warm hands caressing her body, a heavy and faithful hammer in her hands, with which she protected those warm hands, guarded, defended, and sheltered them. And gave. She gave her cow tits, her slit, her hole, her mouth, her whole body, the obedient body of a fierce and gentle animal, a faithful cow and guardian. It's not so bad, is it? Everyone is looking for her, everyone wants to dump her or betray her, insult her, and then refuse to die for the insult! And if she becomes someone's, then it's no longer her problem; all she needs to do is protect, serve, and, of course, give. Give to fuck. Give to stick it in. Give to grope. Always give. Give to everyone. To whoever they tell her to. Give. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck in the pussy. Fuck in the mouth. Fuck...

" ...in the ass!!! Moo-oo-oo!!!" Mguuna wakes up with a scream, splashing passion onto the floor and her hands, and then, on all fours, rushing to the door, barely squeezing through it sideways, so broad were her strong shoulders, rushing to the toilet. "Moo-oo-oo-oo!!!"

After satisfying herself several times, she only fondled her cow udders in the latrine, not touching the shit, but as soon as she washed herself, she caressed her whole body, breathed heavily, and went back into the house, tearing off the door jamb along with a piece of the wall in her irritation so she could somehow squeeze through the low and narrow opening. Her trusty hammer flew into the far corner, breaking the stove and only by a miracle not covering everything around with soot. It was too light, too small; she was stronger and needed a bigger hammer. And the hands of some small, hornless, cute calf, yes, so that she would be stronger than him, bigger than him, so that she would be his protector and obedient animal, his domestic cow. But she would be stronger and bigger, so that they would take her and beat her, beat her strong and healthy, but submissive and obedient, beat her and fuck her. She would give it to them. She would let them fuck her.

“I'll let you fuck me,” she said, looking down the hallway toward the porch, which was replaced by a familiar tunnel where the hornless man stood, now without his mask, so she could see his young, handsome face. ”I'll let you fuck me. Pet cow.”

Mguuna just blinked, and the vision of such a beautiful hornless calf, which would definitely suit the obedient and submissive cow with huge and tender tits, a wet and hot slit, a tight and accessible ass, disappeared without a trace. She mooed with anger and channeled her anger into destroying food, devouring it in huge quantities while caressing herself, tugging at her tits and sticking her fingers deeper into her throat, shoving a caramel honey cake in the shape of a huge sausage, cumming and moaning incoherent phrases. How good that little calf would fuck her... she would give it to him. She would let him fuck her. She would let him touch her. She would let him decide. Command. Instruct. Lead the animal. The cow. Obedient. Lustful. Submissive. Cow-o-o-o-o-o!!!

"...ooo!!!" Exhaling and washing down another peak with a full bottle of magic mead, the satisfied Mguuna fell asleep right on her breasts, huge and soft, as befits a tavern, dreaming that the calf she had dreamed of would kiss these breasts, each one the size of one and a half of his heads, with his lips and gently licking them. "Sleep..."

Tavra awoke with the first rays of the sun, as if imbued with the ideas of sun worshippers. Yawning and holding her mischievous fingers in check, she walked to the well, taking the enchanted bucket standing nearby, from which endless warm water flowed. Her sweaty body, covered with the remains of sweet honey, was quickly and decisively washed, then smeared with oil that glowed with magic, each drop of which contained almost more magic than the entire Mguun. Having finished with the water and oil, she stared irritably at her clothes and armor. The armor and clothes were completely unsuitable in size. On free rations, Mguuna had gained considerable weight and height, not in fat, if you don't count her tits, ass, and to a lesser extent her thighs, but in muscle and height. She didn't become particularly muscular; she had always been as strong as a rope, but she had simply grown taller, her shoulders had broadened, her arms and legs had lengthened, and her back had become even stronger to support her heavy udders.

She sensed new strength in her body. She sensed her awakened gift and the magic coursing through her body. She knew that she was now a much better fighter than she had ever been before, and not in the same way as before. Not a deadly battering ram storming the enemy ranks, but a defender and guardian, preserving the life of those she had decided to protect. And, it must be said, as a defender, she would clearly be even better than a battering ram. Behind such a mass as she was and had become, it was easy to hide, easy to protect. But she has nothing to wear, except for rags and bandages, and that's it — in her distress, Mguuna tossed one breast and then the other with her left hand, finding no way to dress and arm herself. The faithful hammer, pulled out from the far corner and covered in soot, was still deadly, but now it was somehow very light and frankly too short for the length of her arms.

With an irritated moo, as befits an obedient and submissive cow, the mighty Taura suddenly smiled, having caught the idea whispered by the breeze, and then walked, barefoot again, because her boots would not fit, to the barn, where she found a small object lying right in the centre of the long-empty room. It was shiny, enchanted, almost overflowing with magic, made of a silver alloy unknown to her. It was a bell with a collar, just right for her neck. Being an obedient and good cow, Mguuna put on the quietly jingling bell without hesitation, feeling the sound of the bell, which had accepted its owner, reverberate throughout her body and soul. Smiling, she jumped up and down several times, realising how the powerful protective and amplifying magic of the ornament was permeating her. It was far more valuable than a hundred sets of armour, which she had suddenly outgrown.

So, shaking her bouncing breasts, smiling and swishing her tail from side to side, she returned to the house to find exactly who she needed. That very boy, a calf, fragile, weak, and so small that the top of his head barely reached her breasts. If she stood close enough, she could simply put her breasts on his head, burying her face in her stomach. It was strange that she could stand in this little house, because the ceilings had been so low until recently that she had to hunch over noticeably. Smiling submissively and affectionately, as best she could. She had never learned how, but now she had to. She got down on all fours, crawling closer, jingling her bells and swaying her enormous breasts, as if wanting to enchant the calf, to glue his gaze to her swaying udders.

"I'll let you fuck me. Fuck my mouth. My pussy. My ass. Fuck me all over. And protect me. Guard me. I'll let you fuck me. I'll keep you safe. And fuck you. She smiles triumphantly, feeling the thin, purely symbolic leash wrap around the bell, indicating that he likes the little animal. "I'm Mguuna. Good. Obedient. Your little cow. Moo-oo-oo-oo-oo!!!"

She only broke into a contented moo because someone stroked her head and hair, touching her heavy, carefully polished horns and directing her gaze upwards. Looking at the thoughtful and slightly tired face of the calf, whom she had so skilfully charmed and bewitched, the satisfied smile only made her arch her back more, as if inviting him to take her while she was giving. But, of course, she understood that she would have to give herself when the calf decided, since he had hired and accepted her, since she was now his animal, his cow. Her thighs were almost dripping with desire to give her body to the boy right away, to let him fuck her, to jump on top of him, to shake her cow udder in his face, to give him all of herself, give herself anywhere, any way, anywhere, so that he would become entirely hers, so that he could not think of driving away his animal, so that he would forever have an obedient calf-protector who would do anything for his cow.

"I'll call you Big Tits," he says, scratching her under the horn, and his words seem to resonate in the bell and her strangely empty head. "That's what you've always been called, and you don't remember anything else."

Big Tits frowned in confusion, trying to understand something, but it was as if she had heard what her calf wanted to say to his cattle. However, he did not think long, but, alas, instead of fucking her body, he stood up and pulled her along, pulling on the leash. She immediately followed him, mooing contentedly and crawling into the tunnel that had opened up in the passageway, ending up in an unknown place, but clearly in a richly furnished house. Big Tits moaned contentedly, realising that she had made the right choice and that the young man she had chosen was rich and clearly a talented wizard, since she could sense so much magic in him. He would never let anyone hurt his cow, and she would protect him like an obedient and loyal cow with big tits. Big Tits with big tits are ridiculous, but she has always been proud of her udder and bore her name with pride, and those who thought to laugh at it were habitually put either on the doctor's bed or straight into the damp earth.

"Put on your robe and sit over there in the corner." The order is given, and Big Tits eagerly obeys. "Yes, glory to the tits, closed, to the max. There are still... twenty left. Fuck you."

Staring into space and rolling his eyes comically, the calf utters some nonsense, but the woman, her body covered with a thin layer of fabric, sits in a chair that creaks pitifully so as not to bump her head on the high ceiling, and just smiles, fighting the urge to caress her stupid udder while her calf-owner decides what to do with his cattle. She believed that the most correct answer would be, of course, ‘fuck,’ but it is not for the cow to tell the owner whom and when he will fuck; it is only for the cow to spread her legs, expose her asshole, open her mouth wide and shake her tits, because her tits are the best thing she has and the best thing about her. It's no wonder her mother named her that way — Big Tits.

"Wow." Another female voice, slightly hoarse, is heard, and Big Tits, lazily fantasising about how she will be fucked and how she will jerk off the youngster's cock between her udders, glances at the speaker, assesses her appearance and quickly calms down, seeing no competition in her. "Such the tits! How does she even walk? And why is she so huge? I've seen the Tavrs before. A man, really. But he was a bitch, much smaller. Ah, so this is the assignment, then? It's not for nothing, right? Well, if it's not a secret. Otherwise, I understand. I would never pry into other people's secrets. You could lose your life that way. I had an acquaintance, a shitty guy, to be honest, just a faggot, even though he was from the same street. He was always pestering the senior with questions, and then he just disappeared one evening, and that was it, they told us straight up not to look for him."

Short, not very pretty, flat, and annoying. She was not a rival for Big Tits, because Tavra knows what a good and obedient cow-calf should be, lustful and faithful. The calf, distracted from his thoughts, looked at the contented and bouncing maiden, blinking perplexedly. The calf squinted his eyes, and as if splitting into two, a ghostly silhouette floating above himself, he looked at the black-haired girl, who was confused, and immediately merged into one.

"Did you drink the whole jug of coffee? It's not a drug, of course, but too much of it is harmful." The calf replies in a dull, dry tone, his thoughts clearly elsewhere, perhaps even between the udders of Big Tits. "Or are you just feeling the effects of the painkillers? Hmm. Yes, I see. A complex option. It'll calm you down a bit now."

"Uh-huh... Phew, I didn't even realise I'd been jumping around half the day, I'm exhausted." As if deflated, the girl sat down on another chair, sprawling out on it like a jellyfish washed up on the seashore. "This coffee won't make me crave another dose, will it? And what about that cow?"

Big Tits did not react to the insult, for which she would previously have broken skulls indiscriminately. A good cow has an owner, and he will deal with everything himself, while she just glanced with complete superiority at the trifle unworthy of her attention. Neither changing her position nor even moving would be possible with such taunts. They told the cow to sit there, and she would sit there until given the command. It would be desirable to give her the command to give it up, as she really wanted to fuck.

"No, it won't, you're just not used to the absence of pain, and the aura that grew after taking the class also played a role." Finally ceasing to stare into space, her master relaxed in his chair, assuming a very similar posture, exactly the same as that of his interlocutor. "And with this one... I would have gladly killed her, to be honest. But first, the conditions of the assignment prohibited it, and then I felt pity for my efforts.

"No, I don't understand why you're so angry with your, um, patroness." Big Tits simply ignores some forgotten words of her master, who adores his little animal, being crazy about her, as befits a young calf who has been given such a beautiful cow to fuck. "I mean, I remember you explaining, but still... in short, you yourself said not to keep your words to yourself. And here we are. This. You're filthy rich. Here. Why kill her at all? Just because you didn't want to do something you didn't like? No, I was also given a shitty job, but... bitch... fuck..."

The girl, who had been abruptly interrupted, turned slightly green and covered her mouth with her hands, as if holding back the urge to vomit, but at the wave of the boy's hand and the wave of magic, she immediately calmed down, nodding gratefully to him and still breathing heavily. She looked at Big Tits with such malice that if she weren't a submissive creature, she would have wrung her neck simply because her ancestors taught her not to leave behind those who looked at her like that. How many of them were there, looking as if they thought that if they didn't say a word, harbouring a thirst for revenge, she would leave them alive? There were too many, too many of them left without a second smile or with their heads crushed into bloody lumps, because Big Tits didn't always manage to leave those who deserved to be there in the ground. Fortunately for the girl, a good cow doesn't have to break the necks of stupid whores herself; she has a master who will decide everything.

"Fuck... I've seen a lot, but, bitch, it's still fucked up." It's as if it's broken, the little bitch said, shaking her head and wiping the tears from her face. "Maybe I'll kill her myself, huh? I won't boil her in a cauldron, I just don't want to live next to such shit. Was it even worth it?"

"Don't worry about safety, she's no longer aggressive and is surprisingly obedient to both you and me when I give her instructions." Big Tits smiled triumphantly at being recognised as obedient, secretly hoping that the little brat wouldn't make her her mistress, although the animal would, of course, be obedient to her too. "Was it worth it... well, at least it increased my meta-skill of ‘creating a group.’ Five slots instead of three, and a bonus ability to always know the direction and distance to group members. Closed shamanic love spells are, of course, largely useless, but there are also some very useful contracts there. The artefact around her neck is also a powerful thing, and the Tokens... well, all three are very elite, maybe I'll find someone to use them on, even though they have the typical colouring of Her Milfness. How are you doing? I see you've been training, you'll definitely reach the level by tomorrow evening. How does it feel?"

"How?" The girl mumbles, somewhat lost. "I'm still in shock, but I like it. Honestly, until I moved the quill directly into my palm, I didn't believe that I could now perform magic. I saw my Tablet, I knew, but I didn't believe it. And also... well, you said you could help... the curse is stronger the more I cast spells..."

"And why the hell do you think I was messing around with that scum, struggling to stretch the spatial transition to God knows where?" Pointing her finger in her direction, Big Tits, being an obedient little cow, didn't notice, dreaming of letting her hornless master fuck her as soon as possible. "An artifact of choice with pre-set parameters for perfect performance. Here you go. Wear it for good health. Literally. Consider it a gift for all the birthdays you missed. They bind themselves to your blood, aura, spirit, and even part of your soul. And they gradually integrate into your subtle bodies until their effect becomes part of you. Not immediately, not guaranteed, but if the system doesn't lie, then by the time you reach the rank of master, they will chew up your black blood, turning it not into an instrument of execution, but simply an instrument. Your own personal instrument. One with which you can twist the divine messengers into a ram's horn, and simply humiliate and smear the priesthood..."

On the master's outstretched arms, Big Tits saw two heavy bracelets made of a material completely unknown to her, like dark grey metal, dullly shining in the rays of magical lamps. The massive decorations were not really decorations, but rather combat armour covering the arms from the elbow to the wrist. In the dull glints of light reflecting off the surface of the artefacts, the mark seemed to see something sinister.

* * *

They settled her in quite nicely, no worse than she was used to living. The man who took her in, who reacted very harshly to the secret phrase she told him, did not take any money for lodging or food, only for the alcohol he bought at her request. This host, who called himself Robert, did not know the answers to most of her questions and asked her respectfully not to ask him anything at all, lest someone ask him questions later, God forbid. The room assigned to her, with a normal bed, clean linen, and sturdy walls, was nice and comfortable, except that it rocked on the waves, but the river expert, who was wildly missing her Little Bream, was ready to put up with it.

Tahira arrived in Dantmark after everyone had been on high alert for quite some time, repelling a real demonic invasion. She managed to gather the latest rumours and was very, very, very glad that she hadn't rushed. She could have made it, as her adoptive father would say. No one forbade her from walking around the city, so she looked at new boots, searched for possible jobs, talked to a couple of shady characters who offered her odd jobs, and silently left when she showed no interest. The coins she had snatched from the ashes of Reed's estate were still enough, and would last much longer, because she had also taken some gold, and she didn't risk spending too much. She wanted to go on a binge, with drinking, random sex, and maybe even some fun weed, which was only available here.

She wanted to forget, to forget her nightmares and how she had lost everything, how she had spent several months as someone else's whore, not even in control of her thoughts. She wanted to scream, climb the walls or slit her throat, but screams and tears don't help anyone, and all those who deserved to have their throats slit, who were to blame for her pain and misfortune, had already met a far worse fate. Some with the help of Tahira and her hands, some with the magic of an unknown benefactor who pulled her out of the deepest shit, out of a complete and hopeless mess. The woman did not dare to disobey the instructions of this benefactor, even though she only knew him by the voice in her head. In other circumstances, listening to voices in your head leads to madness and destruction, but only if that voice cannot witchcraft you at the level of another master, no less. Then the opposite leads to destruction — not listening to that voice.

At times, she was tempted not to go to Dantmark, to turn off the road, hide in some small town or village, perhaps not even near Dantra, and wait it out there. It was unlikely that they would be able to find her so easily, and something told her that they would hardly even look for her at all. But breaking a word and a promise to someone who saved you is worse, and breaking a word and a promise to a master of magic is far more deadly than putting a noose around your neck. She didn't rush, but didn't delay either, reaching the city, settling in at the address recommended to her, and waiting. A week passed, then another, and soon a third, but the patrols remained reinforced and angry, though the city had calmed down noticeably. She didn't rush anyone, didn't ask anyone anything. They told her to wait, and were feeding her for free, so let it be that way for as long as possible.

Her anticipation was interrupted only in the evening, when there was a knock at her door, which would not have been alarming in itself, but the ‘renter’ half of the house had gone to the port for night loading and would certainly not be able to return unnoticed, because the front door creaked as if someone was trying to fuck a sheep. And yes, she speaks with confidence. There was once a great inventor in the Little One's team, who left the team when he was caught inventing. He was polite, not aggressive at all. The knock repeated itself, and Tahira, realising that she hadn't imagined it, quickly got up, straightened her clothes, tied her hair back with a string and, overcoming her timidity, quietly said:

"Come in... it's not locked." She was shocked by her own tone, speaking like a housewife rather than a river pike, but she couldn't overdo it.

"Hello, Tahira, it's good to see you." Said the young man who entered the room, dressed like a typical city dweller and even without weapons, if you don't count the knife in his belt, and with a face that she didn't recognise at first, but then she did, because it's hard not to remember the doctor who brought you back from the dead. "Haven't you been bored here?"

"Calm currents, Pann." She mechanically shook hands with the boy who had sat down in the chair without further ado, staring at him in bewilderment, trying to reconcile his presence here with what she knew about him. "What, are you also under the wing of my venerable saviour? I wasn't expecting that, to be honest."

Pann looked at her in bewilderment, then smiled and giggled like a fool, burying his face in his hands. When he looked up at her, he seemed cheerful, but melancholy and tired, as if slightly disappointed. Tahira was about to say a lot to him, starting with the fact that he needed to answer questions normally, and ending with the fact that, despite the fact that he had saved her, she could give him a good beating in a purely friendly manner. But she didn't have time to speak, and didn't quite understand what she could say if Pann turned out to be closer to the unknown gifted one than she was. And who knows if their acquaintance and the young man's decision to spend the winter in Lyady were accidental? In any case, Pann finally spoke, and she heard him.

"God, I understand all kinds of punks who don't know how to use a gift, but you, Tahira." With this look, her grandmother scolded her granddaughter when she again messed up one of the spells she hadn't fully learned. "Activate your magical vision, huh?"

Tahira, who had been about to seriously explain to the boy that he shouldn't talk to her like she was a child, activated her vision as she became very curious. Then she suddenly froze, slowly lowering her raised hand and sitting back down on the bed, feeling her knees buckle. Deathly pale, she blinked several times, trying to shift her gaze, but the result was the same, unless, of course, she was hallucinating. Somehow, the missing part of the picture immediately fell into place. She understood why her saviour's words sounded familiar, as if she had heard them somewhere before. The correct pronunciation, scholarly and pretentious words in places, but quite understandable and even pleasant speech, and a hint of magic, witchcraft rather than shamanism, but just a tiny bit, the most recognisable.

Tahira looked at the doe cornered by the wolf pack, at Pann's aura, and saw someone who could take on a dozen like her, and at full strength, not crippled and useless like now, not even good for lubricating a blade. And somehow she immediately understood that it was Pann, the very one from the Upper Lyadies who had treated her broken head, and not someone else wearing his skin. And the fact that her wound was as dangerous as the late Lomsh had said became obvious: the shaman who had saved her had deliberately downplayed the danger of the wound so as not to have to explain how he had brought her back from the brink of death. She didn't give a damn that someone like him had been forgotten in that village, why he was walking around in such clothes, without an entourage or a personal guard, why he allowed her, the village elder, Skhirm, and even that boy who ran around with him to speak to him in such an equal tone. But what finally overwhelmed and broke her was another realisation, logically following from the previous ones.

"Damn it... my love spell is tied in a knot... then..." She doesn't dare say it out loud, but he understands her perfectly and, unexpectedly, laughs, not maliciously or mockingly, but kindly, although who knows, others would cut her down and skin her alive with exactly the same smile. "I apologise..."

She doesn't have time to finish her sentence because she is interrupted by a calm and not at all authoritative gesture from Panna, which is not a problem, given his aura. She falls silent, her teeth chattering, because what kind of bitch would you have to be not to fall silent in such a situation? She may not have been able to keep her mouth shut, as Schirm Gulyash sometimes scolded her, but she still knew her limits. And now, Tahira understood that she had long since crossed that line and gone way beyond it, by a huge margin.

"So, let's get everything straight right away, dear." Without changing his good-natured tone and expression, he interrupts her, obviously not a youngster. "I communicated with you, presented myself to you as a petty and insolent shaman from the village, and you communicated with me in exactly the same way. Keep it up, without bowing down or humiliating yourself, or else I'll get angry. And yes, I saw your love spell and knew you didn't use it out of malice. In fact, I knew it from you, because I knocked you unconscious and asked you a couple of questions. And when you answered them, I simply reversed everything, and we slept together as usual. Almost as usual."

Tahira, who now understands that her lover, the boy who seemed so innocent to her, turned out to be not just unexpectedly good, but too good, giggled nervously. She wasn't upset that he had gotten into her head, not only because he was a terribly powerful master but because she would have done the same thing if he had tried to bewitch her. Well, if she knew how to put someone into a trance and make them talk quickly and unnoticeably, and not just on her ship and after half an hour of fucking with the tying of spell knots. But at the same time, she calmed down noticeably, and she saw the calmness imposed on her, but she was sincerely grateful for it, otherwise she might have shit herself, and another realisation dawned on her. And, only because of the spell of calm, which seemed to have completely removed the steering wheel in her head, she also said with sincere indignation:

"So it was you who gave me boobs, Pann?" And, as if forgetting for a moment who she was talking to, she continued to express her indignation. "Because of you, I almost came right there behind the counter of that shopkeeper with his melons! What the hell, Pann?"

"A petty revenge for your spell, especially since you admitted to me, under the guise of ‘truth,’ that you really wanted to enlarge your breasts and had dreamed of having voluptuous curves your whole youth." She blushed, although, yes, it was logical that he could have known, since he had asked her about it, but she still wanted to be indignant, even though she had already calmed down for the most part and was well aware of who she was waving her oars at. "No, if you want, I'll reduce them back to their original size, no problem at all, just say the word."

"No! I mean, everything is fine! Completely fine! I'm used to it now!" She was indignant in public and threatened to cut off the balls of the joker who had slipped her the alchemy potion as soon as she found him. What's more, she would have kept her promise, but inside she was glowing with happiness that her long-held dream, which she was ashamed to admit to herself, had come true. "And I don't dare distract you, since you are so powerful and important."

"I like you much better this way than when you're scared stiff." He grins so contagiously that she doesn't even have time to be frightened by her own audacity. "All right, I don't have anything special to do until this evening, so we can chat. I didn't really dig into your memory, I just cleaned out what that half-wit left in your head, the one who needed to shove his diploma up his arse with a red-hot poker. So tell me, how's it going?"

Tahira talked and asked questions, and, importantly, she got answers. Even a complete fool would have realised that Pann wasn't telling her everything and was simply leaving out some of the answers, but she didn't expect complete honesty. So they talked, and over time, Tahira somehow forgot who she was talking to. He behaved exactly the same as he had then, forcing her to believe in the absurd idea that he wasn't pretending back then, if you don't count the limits of his gift, but was simply being himself. Arrogant, a little pretentious, a little boring, but a perfectly normal guy, not the kind you would call the love of your life or your brother, but the kind you can trust without hesitation and not be afraid of getting stabbed in the back.

The former smuggler recounted how she got to Dantmark, pausing briefly to recount a minor adventure during which she and a dozen other guests at a roadside inn, almost abandoned and long used more for overnight stays than for lodging, had to defend themselves against two dozen green-skinned freaks in that ramshackle building. Whether it was a small nomadic tribe, a large hunting clan, or just a gang of vagabonds, the bastards besieged them and tried to smoke them out for two days, but the very rainy weather and the absence of magicians prevented them from setting fire to the old inn where their future victims were hiding. But, having lost five men killed and a couple more wounded, and having managed to shoot only one of the men with a short bow, but killing him instantly, right in the eye, the shorties retreated. The corpses, according to their age-old and now cursed habit, were taken away to be eaten later, the flesh of their recent comrades.

Pann shared an entertaining story about how he encountered an elk possessed by an evil spirit in the forest, an elk so formidable that even Pann had to check his trousers afterwards, and how he negotiated with the elk and gathered strength from its source. Tahira, who had a vivid image in her mind of how this creature sat slightly to the side and stared at the shaman gathering magic, just shook her head. Under such a gaze, she would not only be afraid to develop her gift, but she would be afraid to breathe. But this one didn't care, he didn't give a damn, like a wolverine successfully stealing prey from another bear. She listened to these stories, commented on them, and gradually understood and realised that she really didn't like certain things that weren't said in Pann's words but could be guessed. She didn't even want to think about bringing up the subject, but she didn't have to:

"Oh, damn it, Taira, I don't read your thoughts out of pure politeness and respect, but I have a highly developed spiritual body and high Sensitivity, and I see your emotions and superficial images reflexively, just as you hear with your ears or see with your eyes." The girl froze and with great difficulty forced herself to remember that if he had wanted to, he would have done her harm long ago, but instead he just grumbles irritably like an old farting grandfather. "Come on, I can see what you want to ask, don't hold it in."

"This, well, Big Search, they're all there, well, they're not looking for you, are they? You're not the ash... man the sun worshippers are looking for, are you?" She didn't know much, just a little more than Schirm had managed to find out, but she simply wasn't interested, or rather, she was interested, but it was immediately clear that there was no point in that interest. "Well, they were talking about someone who had recently received something like ancestral magic, only not ancestral. Some kind of Chronicle written in the soul, with which even a simpleton can become a fucking magician in a couple of years, not a lifetime. You, too, well, if you didn't steal... didn't embellish, yes, didn't embellish, you took up the gift quite recently, and you are young for your age, not in general. Well. There you go."

No malice, no classic look of complete regret with which those who are extremely intelligent and now know too much are silenced, not even mockery, just some kind of irritation and not even fatigue, but annoyance, like Schirm used to show when he tried to deal with the few papers that a smuggler had to keep. Burying his face in his hands, Pann lets out a nervous laugh and, raising his head, looks angrily at the sky, as if it were to blame for all his troubles. Well, no matter how hard the priests try, Reistaroanism among magicians is still around. Many of the gifted consider themselves to owe nothing to the heavens, and the heavens themselves to be frankly arrogant. It was not Tahira who thought so, but one of her former lovers, a mere apprentice of a certified adept, a mere lad, but with so much pride that she could hardly tolerate him. He was handsome, good tongue, and had a big dick in his pants. Both of those things had to work hard that night, and Taрira learned about who the Reistarians were and what they wanted. Nothing, because it's not a religion, but a philosophy, like a river brotherhood code, saying that an honest deckhand can't trade or wear purple, because the other guys won't understand."

"Oh, how I would love to see this individual, preferably from a distance and with a pack of higher spirits at the ready." Her frantic thoughts, which by the end had gone off in all directions, were interrupted by the discontented tone of Pann, who looked at her with the sad eyes of a cat that had been kicked in the rear. “No, I have nothing to do with sunlovers, a big search all over the world is not for me, and I have not tried to take advantage of, quite literally, the whole god. But my trouble, and perhaps someone else's, is that I do indeed have the Chronicle of the Soul. Incidentally, I haven't heard this name before, apparently due to the peculiarities of translation, first from Elvish to Theocratic, and only then to Confederate. So, I do indeed have the Chronicle or the Tablet. Exactly the same, or maybe slightly different, as the one your Master has."

Tahira believed him primarily because she saw no need to lie. She would have followed anyone who pulled her out of the shit and then helped her slit the throats and gut Reed and his gang, even if he was a complete asshole. Well, if she had been asked voluntarily. This guy, Schirm used to say, was a master at fucking with people's minds, much more so than that dead fucker who had broken her. She believed him and therefore listened without the slightest surprise to his proposal, which was quite obvious, because why would someone like him personally talk and communicate with someone like her? Yes, they had sex, yes, it was good, he even messed with her head, thank you for not killing her favorite passion loop, but if he wanted to help her so much, he could have pulled her out and cured her without revealing himself and leaving her to wonder for the rest of her life who she owed her salvation to.

"The power of the Tablets allows me to share it with someone else, making you potentially no weaker than I am now, even stronger." He spoke honestly to her, offering something that any normal gifted person would bite off their hand and sell their soul for. "You will be able to wash away coastal cities with waves instead of sailing boats down the river. Or become the queen of the entire river. Or on the River. I have the power and potential to become even stronger, but, to be honest, I sorely lack those whom I could trust, if not with my life, then at least with some of my tasks. Yes, I won't hide it, you'll have to swear allegiance, and for a long time, at least fifty years, but I can guarantee the contract. In return, I offer full support, development, strength, and the opportunity to get everything that strength will give you in the future. So, Tahira, shall we work together?"

"Let's work, Pan." She says without pausing, shaking the outstretched hand, and then asks more specifically. "Should I call you by your name from now on, or what else? Boss, big, honorable, sir, or something else?"

Pann's eyes widened, and he seriously considered what had prompted Tahira to come to the unlikely but seemingly obvious conclusion that he hadn't even thought about it until now. She wanted to giggle, but she was stopped by another moment, by Pann's face, which had become serious again, and by his hand, which still held hers. Before she could think that he had grown tired of playing the buddy game, he leaned over Tahira, frozen in mild fear, and gently touched her cheek with his hand, stroking it without malicious intent. Actually, she could have broken his fingers for such tenderness, but here and now she wouldn't dare say a word, even if he stroked not her cheek.

"Firstly, you can just use my name, as before." He said thoughtfully, withdrawing his hand and, seemingly a little embarrassed, letting go of her handshake. "Secondly... Tahira, remember what I just said. Even without wanting to, I can read you like a book. And I can say for sure that you agreed to my proposal more out of gratitude and a little out of fear than out of your desire. I'm not angry. I won't get angry in the future either. But try to just take it and explain the reason for your feelings to me in simple words in Confederate, as if for slow-witted people. I really dislike half-truths and certainly don't want to force you into anything — that would be stupid, because it could come back to bite me in the future. If you don't like my proposal, just tell me what you really want, and I'll listen and try to fulfill it."

"There's nothing I can hide from you," Tahira grumbled, finally realizing that he wasn't pretending to understand, but really didn't see anything wrong with her waywardness. "Fuck, bitch, fuck, I feel like a complete piece of shit, but... Anyway, you asked, and I'm answering. I... I'll follow you and go with you. I'll go anywhere, I remember my duty. It's not because I'm afraid of ending up in an unmarked grave if I refuse you, no, don't think that. I'll go honestly and honorably. But... it's all too much for me, just too much. I love the river, Pann, the all-good Dantra, I love its currents, its backwaters, its shoals, and even its reefs, although those reefs are a pain in the ass. I'm good at that, that's who I was, well, myself. I never chased power, I only trained my gift out of interest, when I wanted to learn a new trick, I wanted to make the Little One a little faster and stronger."

Tahira suppressed the unwelcome tears welling up in her eyes with hatred, brushing them away with a sharp flick of her hand, looking into Pann's puzzled eyes and seeing no condemnation or disappointment. Having calmed down a little, the river expert, reader of backwaters and currents, continues to try to convey her point of view. Small, perhaps even insignificant, but her own, genuine point of view — the one they had asked her to share.

"I am a simple subdecker, from the common people, not even a city dweller. You talk to me about the rank of master, or even magister, about the whole river under my power... but I don't want it." She is not so much afraid; she is almost fearless now, but she feels awkward, awkward about leaving a debt unpaid, a huge debt, and people said all sorts of things about Tahira, but no one called her ungrateful, except for Reed. “I'm a little fish, a little more toothy, a little more nimble, but small, and I like being that way. Skirm is dead, the whole crew is dead, and the Little One is no longer mine, but all the assholes involved, as I already understand, have long since been fucked to death. I have no one to take revenge on. When I didn't know yet that you saved me, I thought you needed someone like me to steer the ship, whether it was a deckhand or a merchant, because... what else could you get from me? I was always ready for that. It's what I know how to do. What I love. My whole life. I know I sound like an ungrateful bitch, but you asked me to be honest. There. That's it. I'm done."

There was no car, no threats, not even a rebuke, just a thoughtful hum and a nose scrunching, like a book smarty-pants, really. Pann strode across the room as she sat obediently on the bed, thinking about how badly she'd just fucked herself up. His measured footsteps were a little soothing, dispelling the not-so-cozy silence and the sub-palooza's gloomy thoughts. She, who had always sent such moods to the bottom catfish, having got used to hiding from problems behind the strong hull of the Little Leshc and the equally strong back of Schirm Gulash, felt completely dissolved.

"Honestly, I'm surprised. Even stunned. But more in a good way." Silently awaiting his decision, Tahira shows with just a glance that she would listen very attentively to the rest of his speech. "Whoever I met among the gifted, by this point, they were all eager for power. Even if they were ready to give up the Tablets, they didn't want to. This is the first time I've seen someone so filled with awareness upon reaching the river, as you have. Well, I hear you, and I'll try to help you. There is a small merchant ship here, from which a ship's magician recently departed after purchasing his contract. The ship travels throughout Dantra and also sails to Mlatra, an expert of your level would be beneficial. You'll learn the areas you didn't know before, since you already have the basics, and a merchant doesn't need to know every backwater as well as a smuggler does. I can help get you hired as his replacement and make sure they don't cheat you or take advantage of your plight."

//“He's not an asshole, even if he is a little too kind,” thought Tahira, smiling sincerely and gratefully at her savior. “I hope he doesn't get hurt because of his kindness. That would be a real shame.”

But her wonderful mood immediately faded when she realized what Pann had said and understood that she would now have to become insolent again. Well, if there was one thing Tahira never lacked, it was insolence. Quite the opposite, in fact. In many ways, it was her insolent words and statements that prevented her from being killed along with the rest of the team, leading to brainwashing and became Reeds whore..

"Their magician, what is he like anyway?" She bites her lips, remembering everything she could do and knew, figuring out what she could still do and understanding that she had too little left. "As a craftsman, not as a man."

"A very strong student or weak adept, as I would say, but diligent and very experienced, he skillfully controlled the currents and knew how to perform rituals." Without any questions in response, clear and to the point, if only her late team would respond the same way sometimes, instead of bleating and mooing like donkeys. "And keep in mind that I am giving my own assessment, and my standards are sometimes too high."

"Then it won't work." The girl says with bitterness and slight hope at the same time. "I can't handle it right now. I've weakened a lot. The little one is no longer mine, but belongs to the one who tore him away from me... well, that bastard certainly didn't care about my health and gift."

"Tsk, tsk, tsk... So this is what you were afraid to tell me and too shy to ask for?" He let a slight hint of resentment slip into his voice, a mocking tone that made Tahira's suppressed pride flare up. "I'll heal you anyway. I'll remove the effects of the traumatic rupture and allow part of your gift to be restored. And on top of that, I'll add one more thing. I have a gift from the Tablets that can randomly strengthen your aura. In the sense that it's equally strong, but in different aspects — Source, Resistance, Control. A little bit of everything. I'll also add a couple of aura modifications to make sure it doesn't disappear, and I'll ask a friend of mine for some textbooks on river magic, if she has them, so you can gain some qualifications. And also... yes, you understood correctly.

Tahira really guessed right, breathing a sigh of relief. She understood perfectly well that as a future master of magic, who had sworn a bunch of oaths of allegiance and had become, in fact, the personal student of a fucking awesome magician-shaman, she was allowed to know who her teacher was and that he had the very Tablet that the whole world was looking for, conducting the Great Search. But they don't reveal such secrets to a girl who left behind pleasant memories, with whom they rolled around in bed, they don't leave them in her head. Not even because the girl might rat them out, but because there are a bunch of rotten bastards who will extract everything they need from the girl's head and memory. Tahira had already encountered one such bastard. And if they don't kill her and twist her brain, there is only one option left — to simply take her memories. Tahira knew some folks who work at night do this regularly so that they can lie with a straight face that they don't know or remember anything, although she was disgusted by such crap.

"I don't mind, Pann, if that's the case, it means they're definitely not going to stab me in the liver." Taira even giggled and beamed with happiness that she had been understood and her answer accepted, which made her opinion of Pann grow so much that she almost tried to pull him in and kiss him, but she got shy at the last moment, because it's one thing to brazenly pull a village shaman into bed, but a fucking master is a whole different story. “Listen, if I've already gone too far, can I make one last request?”

"Of course you can," Pann replied without hesitation. "If something is unnecessary or too presumptuous, I will simply refuse, but I will not get angry."

"The Little Bream..." Tahira couldn't find the words, the bitterness squeezed her throat like a noose around her neck. "It's under someone else's control now, I could sense how the magician appropriated him for himself. Appropriated."

"Return the ship to you?" Pann's thoughtfulness is not the kind that makes one consider whether to send curses or steel right away; it is more like he is trying to figure out how to approach the matter. “It will take some effort, but it is possible. However, it will not happen instantly. You will have to wait and spend a considerable amount of time assembling your crew. I will remove myself from this task, but I will check your crew to ensure there are no obvious traitors.”

"No. Not return. It's too late to return him, he's not mine anymore." Tahira spat out bitterly and angrily, her face contorted with overwhelming emotions. "Let it drown. It plowed the river, so let the river be its grave."

"It's no problem, you can even do it with the people on it, if they're involved in your situation." He thought for a moment, rolled his eyes, leaving only the whites, which, combined with the bubbling aura, looked fucking creepy, and then continued as if nothing had happened. "Yeah, yeah, they're involved. I didn't think about them, I only cleaned up the ones who knew about the fact that you weren't killed after the interrogation, but were given to that asshole, what's his name.... I don't give a fuck about dead bodies, though. I'll do it. I'll fix your memory too, make it look like you're free to go, but with formal patronage. Maybe I'll even give you and your ship some tasks to keep you on your toes. Now lie down on the couch, close your eyes, and count to twenty."

Taira lay back down, relaxing and for the first time since all this shit had started, since she'd opened her eyes in the small room in Reed's mansion, since she'd been herself again, feeling for the first time that everything was going to be okay now.

And, for once, she was absolutely right.

* * *

Avelius, smiling broadly and having just left the barber's, returned to the Bead in high spirits. He had landed a very lucrative contract, a double one in fact, first to Morgrave, then back to Dantmark, and both times with a ready-made and guaranteed paid cargo. Moreover, both cargoes were not only very expensive, but also sturdy and did not require special transportation conditions. Add to all this the delivery of letters and small parcels to coastal villages and towns, and it becomes clear that his first personal trading voyage would indeed be a success. Well, if we avoid stupid mistakes and don't die foolishly under the blades of breakwaters, on treacherous reefs, or from eating stale salted meat.

To be honest, Avelius did not expect to become captain of the Bead so quickly, assuming that he would definitely be under Uncle Bastia's command for another year or two. Of course, for five years, his uncle had been telling his nephew that his old bones, which weren't really that old, needed rest and relaxation, but he was in no hurry to retire. And then, suddenly, everything fell into place. A successful, very successful deal, followed by the repayment of an old debt that he had given up hope of ever getting back from his former comrade, who had begged Bastius for this debt, and now, at this very moment, he had secured a comfortable old age for himself, even though he was not yet an old man. Moreover, he secured his comfortable life not with funds withdrawn from the business, but with an external inflow, so the business would not suffer either.

Alas, there is no gain without pain; one thing always compensates for another, unless you are one of Fortune's favorites. Bead's crew lost Cherz, the ship's magician, an expert in water magic and rituals, who had worked side by side with his uncle for at least twelve years. If only he had died, they would have mourned the poor fellow, buried him, and started looking for a new one. But no, the moustachioed freak is still alive! After several disturbances in Dantmark, the number of inhabitants of the local magic tower noticeably decreased, the retinue of the venerable magister Miller became smaller, and the bastard saw this as an excellent opportunity. That same week, he emptied his savings, paid off his contract early, and somehow persuaded Uncle Bastius to part ways amicably. The latter showed weakness, which was unacceptable in business, and let go of someone he considered a friend. Although he could have pointed to specific clauses in the contract and demanded a much larger sum, an unpayable sum, forcing him to fulfill the honestly concluded contract for the full term!

Instead, Bastius shows weakness and simply lets his personal magician leave, taking everything with him, absolutely everything, practically robbing Bead! His, Avelius's personal Bead! Yes, of course, the amulets that formed the ritual circle at the stern were made by Cherz himself, at his own expense, having long since replaced the standard circle with his invention. But it was part of the ship, and the ship belonged to Avelius and Bastius, not to that bastard Cherz! Finding a new ship's magician, signing a contract with the clerk, accepting the magician into the crew, and testing his skills. All of this required time, money, and effort, and Avelius did not like to spend any of these three items on this list. With the departed and accepted on a trial basis, not sent to the bottom-dwelling catfish, which was even more offensive, Cherz the Bead worked like a well-oiled machine. Avelius was considered the captain and owner, as was now clearly and officially certified by two clerks, and three-fifths of the work required was simply commercial: finding orders, collecting payments, and assessing risks. Without a magician? A pile of problems and questions that needed to be resolved the day before yesterday, if not last week! Is it any wonder that these events did not improve Avelius' mood?

Fortunately, his dear uncle, feeling guilty for his weakness in front of Cherz, helped the ship get a new magician, who was even more likable than Cherz. The girl, recommended by acquaintances, was attractive, with huge breasts, a pretty face, and, if the recommendation was to be believed, a good gift and the ability to use that gift. Avelius received clear instructions from his uncle on how to conduct the conversation, what to promise, what to bargain for, and so on, but here the young man of twenty springs decided to do things his way. He was now the captain and the main person on board, and it was up to him to decide on specific issues. After Cherz, so to speak, betrayed Avelius by leaving, daring to bite the hand that had once been extended to him by the family, the new captain was absolutely determined not to allow the possibility of another deception.

Instead of the recommended and already sent contract, as required, the contract was ritually processed with runes and worked like a fairly high-quality oath of confirmation, he offered the bitch who had come to settle down a more suitable and noticeably less fair option. She, of course, tried to express her indignation that she had been promised something completely different, and if the busty slut had had the pride to turn around and leave, Avelius would certainly have had an unpleasant conversation with Bastius. Bastius's snotty kindness had already cost the Bead its magician and Avelius a pile of problems, so he was ready to make this sacrifice on the altar of his success. Fortunately for them, the girl who introduced herself as Tahira was successfully pressured into signing the contract and had already begun her duties.

Stepping aboard the empty ship, the cargo not yet loaded and the crew enjoying their last days of leave, the man immediately felt a familiar, fleeting itch all over his body, especially behind his ears, as if right under his skull. The girl clearly knew her stuff; the recommendation hadn't lied, the letter of praise hadn't failed. She had spent the whole week on the Bead, getting used to it and imbuing it with her magic, which slightly annoyed Avelius, who had to drag himself here. Nodding to the port guards loitering on the pier, paying them separately for their attention to Businka, as well as to the three sailors sitting in the shade, because there is no trust in the guards, he went to his cabin. Yes, some weakling like his uncle, with all due respect to family ties, might say that dragging a pretty magician into bed, having just twisted her arms, was not the smartest idea.

Someone could have, but Avelius remembered how leniency toward the previous magician had ended. Where could this slut, who had already signed the contract, go now? That contract had a separate line stating that he could impose additional penalties for insufficient compliance with orders. And it wasn't that the specific orders weren't specified, but there was a rather vague wording, “and other tasks of a general and personal nature,” which this fool overlooked. Her salary was fixed, and he wasn't stupid enough to repeat his previous mistake on his uncle's advice and offer the magician a percentage of each successful flight, which could be reduced to zero or even driven into the red. Yes, he would not humiliate someone on whom so much depends, contract or no contract, but the very possibility of this option, directly voiced by Avelius, made the girl considerably more compliant and agreeable.

"Oh, you've already undressed, Tata, I approve," Avelius says manfully, in a tone that immediately makes girls wet, at least in his opinion, but he doesn't care what girls think. "Never mind, I'll join you in a minute."

He begins to take off his clothes while Taira, half-sitting on the bed in Bead's only private cabin, just smiles at him, nodding and uttering a short “Uh-huh.” She doesn't really need to say anything. After removing his clothes, he ran his hand over his smooth chin, feeling the unfamiliar cleanliness of his skin. After all, he is now the captain, and he needs to distinguish himself from Uncle Bastia and look more respectable, so he shaved cleanly, like a nobleman. Approaching the bunk, since the cabin was quite cramped anyway, he habitually helped himself get ready with his hand, finding himself directly opposite Tahira, who had slightly changed her position and was obediently spreading her legs, opening up her wet slit. Avelius grinned at her readiness and obedience, until he buried his face in that slit, accelerating his movements firmly, almost to the point of discomfort, his fist clenched on the rock-hard erection.

Hearing her moan like his personal magician-whore, he torments her even more fiercely and contentedly with his tongue and lips, showing her who is really in charge here and who is just a hired hand on his ship. With a moan muffled by her thighs tightly wrapped around his head, he reaches his peak along with the girl, pointing his cock straight at the floor, demonstratively showing that he is so much higher than her that even his semen will not touch her. However, he does not say any harsh words, preferring to bring Tahira to a submissive and obedient orgasm a couple more times with just the touch of his lips and tongue. Yes, the idea of pushing through and enslaving a stupid whore turned out to be probably the best in his not-too-long career as a riverboat captain!

Rejoicing at this thought, he lazily wonders whether to humiliate the whore a little more by licking her feet, which are unworthy of walking on his ship, collecting even a single speck of dust from the floorboards of his cabin, or to limit himself, as usual, to spilling his seed. Still, he was not going to leave in her power anything that could be used to curse him. However, Avelius moaned again and repeatedly sprayed the deck boards with contempt. He came to the conclusion that he would definitely not let this trash off the hook, so he would do both, and perhaps even a third. He wonder if he tells her that she is so worthless that he is not interested in her as a woman at all and demands that she put on that ladies' savior that appeared out of nowhere in the cabin, fastened to her thighs, and then work it properly, will she cry or will she kick up a fuss?

No, she won’t kick up a fuss, but will obediently do everything he tells her.

Just like all the previous times.

* * *

Leaving the ‘captain’ even in his sleep, smiling his fucking smile, snoring in his cot and farting his ass, Tahira, who had dropped her lady's toy, lazily got dressed, and then went aft to continue taking over the boat. The girl, who had regained and even strengthened her maimed gift, could not be pleased with the gift the unknown benefactor had given her. Not only did she find it very easy to subdue the floating beauty and fill it with herself, but she gained a strange power over the minds of all those who stepped on the planks of her boat. She didn't try to use such power for something rotten, of course, she didn't even think about it, but this bastard had asked for it. He was acting like a fool, upsetting people and disobeying orders from his bosses.

The sub-decker, when the man started bullshitting her and shoving the contract under her nose, was a little confused, not believing for a moment that it was part of her mysterious benefactor's plan. The one who had returned her gift, who had managed to make her, perhaps, stronger than she had ever been, who had managed to instil in her the previously unimaginable ability to resist other people's magic, who had opened her aura and as if inserted there what her grandmother with envious ignorance generalised called ‘ancestral harness’.... This human or non-human, whoever he or she was, simply did not trade on such trifles; there was no need for them. Having received orders to settle down as a magician in a new place, honestly fulfilling the contractual terms, but, if necessary, fulfilling the errands of her benefactor, she was quite nervous.

She didn't want to disappoint the unknowns, or bend to the obviously very stupid scheming of a self-important fucker, or disturb the unknown. I had to choose the third option, focusing on a small and inconspicuous amulet sewn into the standard protective amulet hanging around his neck. Very surprised, it was obvious from the tone, the benefactor was even more surprised, and afterwards, confirmed her thoughts with a short ‘what a fucking moron’. What came next was an order to act on the situation. To leave or to push back, or anything at all, and she, having offered her option, achieved only a stifled chuckle, and then she was given the go-ahead. So she, lazily and lostly waving away the honour of signing up for the fucker's servitude, gradually subdued, albeit very partially, the new ship, and then influenced the ‘honourable Mr. Avelius’ as well.

Walking barefoot across the polished floorboards, she pulls on her trousers and boots as she leaves the captain's cabin. Yes, she has already adjusted to the ship, has already become closer to it than she was to Malyutka Leshch, but she must not show anyone how good she is, unnaturally good for her current strength. The ancestral arcane was even too good, dangerously good. Tahira suspected that she was now working for that very respectable boss who had so merrily fucked over the entire solar gang that the whole world was now looking for him as the Great Search. It was obvious, after all, that only that evil Chronicle could strengthen someone as unremarkable and crippled as her to such an extent. She suspected it, but kept quiet, knowing that if she were interrogated, she would simply forget some of her guesses. The brainwasher was really good. They weren't lying to Skhirm back then, but she honestly admitted that she was ready to take even that risk. Yes, it may well be that she, too, was brainwashed... but she didn't believe it. There was no need for all that fuss when it would have been easier and more correct to simply leave no thoughts or doubts in her head.

Yes, they told all sorts of stories about the unknown benefactor, mostly extremely negative ones, but who didn't they tell stories about? It's as if they're dividing up Dantra's sleeve again. Only now they are dividing the whole world and trying to sink the new player, but the bitch doesn't want to sink. Tahira had been all sorts of things, including an outright bitch, but never ungrateful. And her saviour, it seems, was also one of those who did not skimp on his assistants and was not shy about fulfilling their requests in advance. A day ago, she finally stopped feeling the ship that had sunk and broken into separate rotten planks in an instant, which made her smile sincerely and sadly. Serves them all right, and let Little Lesh sleep peacefully in the same waves where Skirm and her former crew found peace. They all travelled the river. They all fed off that river, and it was only fair to feed the river with themselves, for by that point, they no longer cared. Such is the life and death of those who row along the river, whether they are honest smugglers, self-loving messengers, greedy traders, or cruel pirates.

The former, now definitively former, smuggler nevertheless asked her saviour whether she should now address him as Master, since she had guessed who he was. She would even have agreed, without question, to have these thoughts cleared from her head by being told, for example, that she worked for some trading house, which she also reported directly. In response, there was a wave of merriment and incomprehensible sounds and images, which Tahira perceived as loud, almost horse-like neighing, interspersed with the howling of a coastal jackal, followed by a half-smothered order not to think too much in that direction. At the same time, she was told that she had nothing to fear during the interrogations, which reassured her considerably. She did not want to expose a good person, or whoever he was, accidentally or otherwise, and she did not want to go swimming among the ranks of the purged witnesses who knew too much.

Well, she works for this Master, but who cares – he's not that scary.

If she ever meets him face to face, she will thank him. It's not a problem for her.

STATUS OF YULA, DESCENDANT OF RAISTAR THE APOSTATE AT THE END OF THE EPILOGUE (after the TERRIBLE UNKNOWN FUCKING SHIT Stepan the Normal accepted her into the group and consulted her on the distribution of characteristics and talents):

Name: Yula, descendant of Reistar the Apostate

Level: 2

Class: Wizard

Characteristics: (free: 0)

Talents (free):

Constitution: 2

Sensitivity: 2

Power: 5

Control: 4

Source: 7

Spirit: 2

Resistance: 2

Knowledge: oral and written speech: Free Cities (GIFT); basic skills of criminal activity; advanced basic fundamentals of management and control of internal energies; basic skills of creating the basics of magical weaving; basic fundamentals of working with coordinate positioning

Minor knowledge: negligible distance control

Acquired Properties: Minor Innate Spatial Positioning; Inherited Curse of the Black Blood [REVEAL EFFECTS]; Minor Curse Resistance; Higher Artifact Symbiosis: Shackles of Atheism

System modifiers: none

Special: One-time offer to reset levels and choose a base class for further development (USED).

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Переведено на Нотабеноиде
http://notabenoid.org/book/86785/587475

Переводчики: Camrad_RIP