Настучать в бубен / Hit the tambourine: Глава 5

Chapter 5

Camrad_RIP 06.10.26 в 18:30

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Camrad_RIP 06.10.26 в 18:30

Once again, a steppe night—quiet and beautiful as ever. An inconspicuous spot in the middle of the boundless steppe, a few pitiful little trees—stunted steppe apple trees—growing near a prominent burial mound. Not a soul in sight for many kilometers—no horses, no yurts, no traces that they were ever here. These traces were carefully erased by magic and summoned spirits; they did not pitch yurts, and they did not bring horses at all, having come on foot. Although for noble and not-so-noble steppe dwellers alike, this is quite shameful, for no horse means no aura.

Camrad_RIP 06.10.26 в 18:37

Are they some pathetic, broad-faced softies from stone cities who don’t know how to ride a horse? There are few ways to insult a steppe man more effectively than suggesting he retrain as an infantryman. It’s not about the desire to insult, but about what lies hidden beneath the long-neglected apple trees, beneath the burial mound that crumbled centuries ago. A small and very well-hidden underground storage complex, where a very important object was safeguarded, regularly changed location, moving across different parts of the steppe. A small group of silent guards followed in its wake, men who were responsible for the treasure with their very lives—and more.

Camrad_RIP 06.10.26 в 19:38

Actually, there wasn't much security here. Secrecy protected this place better than any army. De Lomer only found out about this place—and exactly where the hidden object was currently located—solely because of someone else’s carelessness. Probably the smartest decision would have been not to move the contents of the hideout at all, or to take them closer to a certain old man who liked to bang on a mute tambourine. But the commotion caused by de Lomer in general—and Maego in particular—really spooked the guys, so they decided to hide their treasure farther away from Morgrave and the territories controlled by Sulsham-bey.

Camrad_RIP 06.10.26 в 19:40

That’s how they were caught by Furval’s intelligence service, even though he swore up and down—and was ready to swear—that the information was, of course, genuine, but it was clear that someone helped his idiots to get it. It’s unclear exactly who, but the Neirat towers stood out so clearly and obviously in this story that it made one the boar-like merchant want to look for long ears peeking out from behind them. Be that as it may, the hiding place of a very valuable little item—or rather, a set of such items—had been found and pinpointed, and the opportunity to multiply to zero that place and what was being guarded there. To be honest, many had wanted to wipe it out before, but an even greater number stood to benefit from its existence, and so it continued to exist.

Camrad_RIP 06.10.26 в 19:44

To put it plainly, we’re talking about a shamanic portal complex of the breakthrough-stealth type—and, importantly, a portable, highly mobile one. An artifact. And not just any high-gradel artifact, but an entire complex consisting of thirteen totems each as tall as a hobbit, as wide as a hobbit, and weighing about as much as a hobbit. A true relic of a bygone era, created back in the days of the Great Horde as a response to attacks by elven special forces on the Horde’s logistical arteries. One of the now-deceased shamans, a close associate of the Chief of Chiefs, created several of these—more than ten, but fewer than twenty. Only the elves probably remember the exact number now.

Camrad_RIP 06.10.26 в 19:48

That shaman was successfully eliminated, blowing him up along with his yurt—enchanted down to the very last scrap—and his personal disciples (and one of those disciples really shouldn’t have been visiting his lover so often, given that he had as many as two wives and a concubine, especially since that lover was an agent—either of the Forest or of Neirat—who possessed methods of suggestive correction of behavioral matrices). But the totems remained. As did those who could use them by right of blood, even though their numbers had dwindled over the centuries, bloodlines had become diluted, and clans and families had merged—which is why at least five complexes that have survived to this day simply cannot be activated now.

Camrad_RIP 06.10.26 в 19:50

That family, whose blood sustains these totems and grants permission to use them, once swore that their treasure would not be used for the good of the Forest, all those who serve the Forest, or all those who might be considered its allies. Since the totems worked best on the territory of the Steppe, the only way to use these artifacts—made from hairy-legged lovers of a second breakfast drenched in scorching resin and amber—turned out to be smuggling, and smuggling that was thoroughly illegal in every respect, the blackest and darkest kind.

Camrad_RIP 06.10.26 в 20:02

Moreover, the current owners might well have been happy to renege on the promise they once made, move into the legal sector, and rake in honest money—not just by the shovelful, but by the wagonload—but it didn’t work out. Shamanism and Wild magic, in and of themselves, aren’t particularly well-suited for creating stable portal arches—not just individual paired structures, but an entire network of them. This path has always been considered the domain of High magic, the kind that, if desired, can so easily be replicated or emulated by various gifted individuals—with different bloodlines, different training, and everything else different.

Camrad_RIP 06.10.26 в 20:04

Portal arch operators must be exceptionally competent and trained specifically in this field—gifted individuals nearing the pinnacle of the adept rank. At the same time, their specialization is practically useless outside the context of operating those very arches. Each such operator is a highly valued and closely guarded specialist who, however, will never be released from their “golden cage”—all contracts there are strictly for life. At best, one might be able to negotiate a very thorough memory wipe—and even that is unlikely. Such an adept knows the keys to controlling the portal better than the back of their hand; in other words, they can always hack into such a structure.

Camrad_RIP 06.10.26 в 20:06

In contrast to these portals, the ancient orc’s work was entirely different. It could be moved from place to place, albeit with a host of elaborate rituals. It wasn’t permanently anchored to the world’s energy field. It was configured separately for each jump, requiring no second arch on the other side—only a receiving ritual, one that was simple and easy to learn. And that’s not all! This structure could even be used, to a limited extent, to transport magically active goods—the kind that, in a standard portal crossing, people tried to isolate using incredibly secure containers, often even more expensive than the goods themselves!

Camrad_RIP 06.10.26 в 20:09

All in all, deep down, they really wanted the chance to enter the legal sector. They would even have been willing to offer such an opportunity. Alas, the lives of all those possessing the required bloodline belonged to Akshtar the Mute Tambourine, and he would never allow anyone to move to any sector that was legal under the Confederation. That’s why, for more than just the first or fifth generation, the owners of this relic have been living almost as slaves alongside their treasure. They’re constantly on the move, constantly hidden away in the middle of nowhere, constantly living in fear of a visit from the liquidators sent by a host of interested parties. And just try to make a move if all your children, all your blood relatives, and all your kin live in the same encampment where the Bone Yurt stands.

Camrad_RIP 06.10.26 в 20:11

That said, these guys didn’t exactly live a bad life. They enjoyed sufficient honor and respect, and they even took turns standing guard by the totems. It was just that, deep down, they understood perfectly well that they could have become one of the rich smaller tribes of the Steppe—perhaps not the richest, but close to it—yet instead they were languishing on the fringes of history. What can one say, when even the guard of silent, blood-bound knights—who covered them at every new campsite—belonged not to them, but to Akshtar. Like guards over prisoners, overseers over slaves, ready to kill those under their protection rather than let them fall into captivity or face interrogation. They know far too much about Akshtar’s transportation and logistics—and those of his allies—as part of their duty.

Camrad_RIP 07.10.26 в 06:46

His not-so-important but most reliable means of supplying the most essential goods was hidden away not only from outsiders but also from his own people. The wild nature of this totemic structure made it impossible to use it in large cities or settlements. It was necessary to carry out the “piercing-reception” ritual in the wilderness, somewhere in the middle of the Steppe. As a result, the operational rhythm of these totems looked like this: a long stay in shelters like these, a burst of activity when it was necessary to transport a large quantity of goods from one end of the Steppe to the other within a few days, replenishing the totems with sacrificial energy, and then back into hiding.

Camrad_RIP 07.10.26 в 06:51

The old orc was very reluctant to be deprived of such a toy, even though he had a number of official—and far more unofficial—connections to both the Dead North and the Eastern Empire. The ability to quickly send or receive sensitive cargo through a portal without fearing for the integrity of the goods—and without spending exorbitant sums on magical containers that are extremely short-lived and prone to damage during transport—is a huge advantage. The lion’s share of the exorbitant cost of transporting magically active substances through portal crossings lies precisely in the need for shielding. There are very few high-magic portals in the world capable of such quiet and gentle transportation; almost all of them belong to Neirat and the Forest, with a couple in the Caliphate and the Eastern Empire—they seem to have something similar, though their range is more limited.

Camrad_RIP 07.10.26 в 08:32

Add to this the relatively faint echo produced by the use of these totems, which allows the opening point of the second portal to be concealed, and what we end up with isn’t even a smuggler’s dream—it’s a wet erotic fantasy. And worst of all, it’s not just darkness that’s being traded through these totems; Akhtar the Mute Tambourine is a very pragmatic individual—as long as you don’t touch on his personal quirks—so perfectly legal shipments of all sorts of goods are also being sent through the totems, just by illegal means and without paying taxes. That’s why there are so many interested parties, and why even the Forest hasn’t yet dared to officially shut down this trade. They’d have to answer to a significant number of people for whom such a shutdown would feel like a serrated sacrificial knife to the scrotum.

Camrad_RIP 07.10.26 в 08:36

The outbreak of the Trade War, the old asshole’s attempt on the lives of the Maega and Urvaga families, and the near-tragedy—which had countless witnesses—gave Urvaga and Furval free rein. But at the same time, they both pleaded very convincingly to ensure no one could trace the evidence back to them. Because, if anything were to happen, they would be in the right, but they wouldn’t be able to avoid problems or losses either. And so, if there were someone who could make use of the information from Furval’s spy network—but not Maega and not Singha—then, when they were finally cornered, they could declare right there at the altar of the Keeper of Oaths that they had nothing to do with the thirteen totems.

Camrad_RIP 07.10.26 в 08:44

Stepan, who had been given access to reports and intelligence on exactly what these guys were trading and what kinds of cargo they were transporting, was more than willing to become that “someone.” Not because this sabotage operation is insanely profitable for Sulsham-bey, nor out of a desire to receive a reward from a number of Neirat magisters—for whom the flow of reagents with heightened sensitivity to spatial distortions, bypassing their pockets, is a real pain in the ass. No, the Earthling is happy to participate solely out of a desire to please a certain orc, and also because this mission doesn’t require any large-scale bloodshed at all.

Camrad_RIP 07.10.26 в 10:19

Well, too large-scale.

Camrad_RIP 07.10.26 в 10:20

This time, the beacon wasn’t delivered by an arrow. He didn’t dare involve the steppe network; otherwise, the involvement of either Maega-Maedra or Sulsham Bey would have come to light. And while the latter wouldn’t have cared if it became public, he didn’t want to put Singha's grandma in the line of fire. Besides, there was no need to. Three small stones—ordinary river pebbles—were brought in the claws of the most ordinary birds. The de Lomer estate had its own falconry, and the birds there were extraordinary, magical, trained, and specially prepared to host spirit scouts, observers, or sensors. The possibilities were endless, and Maega was justifiably proud of her birds, often lending them to one ally or another—for example, to support part of Morgrave’s magical defense system. After the visit of the islanders’ combat fleet, the venerable August invested considerable resources in modifying the city’s defensive systems and, more importantly, its sensor systems.

Camrad_RIP 07.10.26 в 10:49

The Duke had no desire to miss the visit of the guests who had come to collect tribute for umpteen years yet again.

Camrad_RIP 12.10.26 в 11:23

The falcon shaman chose the most ordinary falcons—not from Maega’s falconry. He simply lured them in and worked his magic on the birds, transforming them into a fully-fledged living totem artifact. They flew the required distance calmly, guided by Stepan’s will and their innate sense of direction. Then they dropped the pebbles onto the steppe grass and flew on their way to hunt and live a very long life, for with all the beneficial spells cast upon them, these falcons will live longer than the vast majority of people. The pebbles, meanwhile, lay there for a couple of days until Singha finished her part of the work, passing on to Stepan the summoning contacts for a very interesting spirit she had obtained through her “advanced, developed work with benevolent spirits.”

Camrad_RIP 07.10.26 в 10:51

The contract was quite capricious and cunning, capable of bestowing a blessing that would later bring you no joy and be nearly impossible to undo. Its blessings were barely distinguishable from curses. The girl had to sacrifice several very valuable preparations intended for her personal practice, but she summoned him. Then, after summoning him, she simply talked, haggled, and chatted with him—until she got a migraine and a nosebleed—but she couldn’t agree on a price with him and let him go. Only later did Stepan summon this spirit, but he managed to strike a deal, for Singha hadn’t hidden her ritual from him—he had literally been standing right behind her, writing down the technique.

Camrad_RIP 07.10.26 в 10:53

They headed out of town—just the two of them—leaving Stepan’s mannequin doll behind, while Singh herself pretended to be “a little sick” and generally suffering from magical exhaustion. Half a day out in nature—it turned out to be a very romantic date; I’d go on one like that every day. But seriously, they were both so tired and worn out that they felt like either killing someone or just dropping dead themselves. On top of that, they couldn’t set up the mosquito protection; it interfered with the main ritual.

Camrad_RIP 07.10.26 в 10:56

Stepan performed his second summons at his abode; it went much more smoothly, and the spirit agreed to work—albeit for just one summons. The senior benevolent spirit was of a very rare and unpleasant subtype, an aspect of intemperance and satiety—specifically, of the sphere of Death. Stepan named him “The Little Devourer of Death” and even renamed him as such in the system’s records. The summoning wasn’t exactly extremely difficult, but it was very cunning, testing the limits of his resolve at every moment. Without Singha’s help, the Earthling wouldn’t have managed it—most likely not in such a short time, and certainly not without conducting the summoning unnoticed by any potential observers.

Camrad_RIP 07.10.26 в 11:09

And then everything went like clockwork: the tentacle-eyes, then the covering pack, then a second one, and only then, through a spiritual passage, did Stepan himself appear next to the burial mound. Or rather, it was solely his spiritual body, contorted into such a grotesque form that at that moment he bore even less resemblance to a living, physical shaman than most of the entities he had summoned. If some other shaman—who had also left his body—had encountered him in this spiritual form, there would have been a good chance of catching spiritual enuresis.

Camrad_RIP 07.10.26 в 11:34

Stepan spent a long time—almost a full day—carefully peeling back the camouflage covering the refuge beneath the burial mound. Across all spectrums, there was absolutely nothing to be seen—only a faint necrotic aura, which could easily be explained by the mound itself. This camouflage had been designed specifically to ward off shamans and those who sought something on their spiritual journeys. But Stepan had the certainty that what he was looking for was here, as well as all the experience of the Tablet of the Soul. It was precisely that necrotic aura from the burial mound that gave away the camouflage—it was far too uniform.

Camrad_RIP 07.10.26 в 11:36

It wasn’t a static stillness—the kind that would have immediately given the illusion away—no. The spiritual currents stirred, flowed, and swirled, yet they repeated themselves. It wasn’t immediately apparent; the cycle lasted nearly half an hour, and maintaining it at that level of detail would have required at least several powerful spirits. Once he noticed it and understood the mechanism of the disguise, the rest turned out to be merely a matter of technique, nothing more. He began with the “needle spirits,” literally summoned through an offering of a hundred old sewing needles, each of which had been worn out from constant use, yet not a single one had ever pricked living flesh or drawn blood.

Camrad_RIP 07.10.26 в 11:39

Without a system shop, you’d be hard-pressed to put together an offering like this; it would be easier to make it yourself, spending a year or two and hiring a few weaving guilds. And, of course, quite a few active magical reagents were used up, but those are just the usual expenses. Mostly rare ores, including a couple of varieties of magical mercury, since the summoned spirits belonged to the metal element. A hundred minor entities, each summoned separately—though in practice, the summoning is very quick; it only takes a long time to summon the very first one; each subsequent one arrives faster.

Camrad_RIP 07.10.26 в 11:40

A hundred needles—which, even in spiritual vision, looked exactly like needles, with only a single watchful eye in place of a hole—began to gradually merge, becoming a dozen strong spirits, and then a single, elder one. As they merged into a single megazord, these entities did not enlarge their form or make it stronger—no. The final needle seemed thinner than a hair, thinner than a nanofiber, thinner than the most insignificant stream of energy permeating the Higher Spheres. It was practically impossible to discern this entity in its “assembled” phase, unless one knew for certain of its presence.

Camrad_RIP 07.10.26 в 16:43

The needle slowly made its way between the layers of spheres, heading straight for the burial mound, without triggering a single sensor system hidden beneath the camouflage, and without alarming the guardian spirits—among whom were also a couple of elders. These spirits were bound to one another, their foundation consisting of two mighty shamans whom these spirits had been fed. Out of curiosity, Stepan read the story of these two—a brother and sister—who, long ago, had challenged Akshtar and did not survive their own audacity. Of course, both sides were at fault, but he still felt sorry for those orcs; no one deserves such a fate, for they are still partially aware of themselves, having spent an eternity being digested inside the two elder entities.

Camrad_RIP 07.10.26 в 16:45

The needle didn’t bother them. It simply pierced the edge of the mound, went inside, and stretched all the way to the storage chamber, where the ill-fated totems lay, each on its own stand. The spirit-needle was thinner than a thought, shorter than life itself, yet it pierced and sewed together the very fabric of reality, stretching from Stepan’s palm—one of his many palms distorted by spiritual transformation—all the way to the totems, ignoring defenses and barriers. A perfect bridge, a perfect conductor—like the needle of a medical syringe—just take it and channel a deadly poison through it. Channel it to achieve nothing, for all thirteen totems are perfectly protected against any attempt to damage their structure.

Camrad_RIP 07.10.26 в 16:47

Well, it’s perfect for its level and price range, but otherwise, it’s manageable. Stepan would have a chance to succeed… if he stopped hiding, if no one got in his way. But he won’t stop, and he’ll be hindered. And so, instead of a deadly poison, a curse, or even a direct blow—though it’s doubtful that such a thin and fragile bridge of offensive spells could even withstand that—the Earthling blesses this trash. Well, more accurately, not so much the totems themselves as the halflings languishing inside their amber-and-pitch prison.

Camrad_RIP 07.10.26 в 16:51

The blessing of this spirit—a contract that was successfully concluded with Singha’s help—provides the recipient with a very powerful blessing that greatly simplifies work with personal energy. This is not merely an increase in control, as reflected in the characteristics of the aura, but a full-fledged, comprehensive effect—one that is insidious and cunning. Working with energy is made easier, but control over it is not granted. Under such a blessing, one can easily weave spells or enchantments that could never be replicated on one’s own in a lifetime. But any overly abrupt movement of the aura—whether a surge, a contraction, channeling through the nodes, concentration on a single point, or linear pressure—will also occur dozens of times more easily, literally tearing the aura apart with an unexpected and excessively strong impact, ripping pieces from it, clogging the nodes, and tangling the energy flows into dead loops.

Camrad_RIP 07.10.26 в 17:01

These totems were constructed and brought to life using the very same hairy-legged creatures that served as the primary material for this masterpiece, retaining some of their auric characteristics—linked by the shared blood of their tortured kin. And these auras have just received a little gift like this! The power constantly circulating through the totems—the streams of spiritual energy that keep the universes of these spirit bodies in check—suddenly began to swirl with greatly increased intensity. They began to become entangled, to tear at one another, to shatter the entire monolithic and very sturdy structure. The balance between spiritual and physical matter was disrupted; the foundations of the totems began to crack; defense protocols were activated—but the defense itself was also ten times stronger and just as unbalanced.

Camrad_RIP 07.10.26 в 17:03

After thirty seconds of frantic attempts to do something—accompanied by an indescribable barrage of profanities in dozens of dialects all at once—all thirteen totems cracked in unison, and then crumbled into amber and pitch-black crumbs: the bones of the halflings, shattered by the pressure of magic. The portal complex was hopelessly damaged, with no chance of repair or even of understanding what it had been in the first place or exactly how it had happened. With a quiet creak, the spirits that had dwelled within those totems left their abodes—though not all of them; some had suffered too much and had disembodied.

Camrad_RIP 07.10.26 в 17:08

A moment later, with a wild and inaudible scream, it began to disembody the two elder guardians, who were also bound to this structure—drawing sustenance from it, yet also safeguarding it with parts of themselves. It didn’t kill them, but it ripped away a portion of their power, forcing them to break their contracts, leaving only a small part of themselves still chained to it, and then plunging them deep into the world of the Spheres. Right where an ambush awaited them in the form of combat packs prepared by Stepan—those that had been specifically honed for battle in the world of the Spheres. And the “Turquoise Left and Aquamarine Right,” which once seemed immeasurably powerful to him, of course still play one of the leading roles, but they are not the strongest or most dangerous in that pack.

Camrad_RIP 07.10.26 в 17:11

A continuous, self-looping silvery line flashed, like a string from some musical instrument. A long, high note—audible to no one but Stepan—rang out, and with it the elder spirit fulfilled the bargain and delivered the single promised blow. The orc brother was freed and could finally die when the spirit—which looked like a gleaming white ribcage with a mass of bony, bloodied tentacles—was simply torn apart into several dozen pieces, sliced like a boiled potato in a Russian salad. The sister found her freedom three heartbeats later, when the elder spirit—wrapped in the jellyfish’s tentacles—was pierced as if by a hundred invisible blades. These blades turned out to be only the beginning; through the wounds, hundreds upon hundreds of fly larvae crawled in, feeding on the bones.

Camrad_RIP 07.10.26 в 17:14

A very good contract—though sickeningly vile—yet one that doesn’t require living, sentient victims to be killed or tortured; any magical flesh that’s begun to rot and ferment will do. And he loves bones, too, so despite Akshtar’s summons, he was bound to perform quite well. And he did! Not even “pretty well”—he did an excellent job! The second bone creature lasted less than a couple of seconds in real-world time before it, too, kicked the bucket, and its stomach released the undigested sacrifice into that long-awaited eternity.

Camrad_RIP 07.10.26 в 18:00

A few minutes later, Stepan had already made use of a portal piercing hidden deep within the spheres. He entered it, and then brought his entourage with him, leaving not a single trace of their presence anywhere near the burial mound that served as their refuge. The spirits even took the guiding stones with them, carrying them off. It took about another hour to assign the entourage to their respective totems and finalize one-time contracts, awarding additional rewards to those who had distinguished themselves; then the shaman returned to his body.

Camrad_RIP 07.10.26 в 18:18

His disjointed body, aura, and spirit snapped together like Lego pieces, and a moment later, a groan of agony echoed through the underground chamber. Stepan’s stiff and partially numb body literally rolled out of the multi-layered circle-bed and immediately began vomiting foam into the bucket held out to him. In principle, he hadn’t needed to prepare himself with alchemy before such dives for quite some time, but the Earthling couldn’t know for sure how long this task would take him. He’d had to play it safe, and now he was paying the price.

Camrad_RIP 07.10.26 в 18:20

A warm and delicious drink flows down his throat—the unmistakable taste of wild honey—as strong female hands lift him up and lay him on the bed, beginning to massage his limbs and back. Lemira and Rovena, who had come from Dantmark through the passage, did everything they could to help their mistress’s “toy” regain his strength. A part of the earthling even wanted to take advantage of one of them—or even both—but the massage felt far too good, the urge to let it all out was too strong, and they were kneading him just right. It all ended with the bloodsuckers, smiling slyly at each other, helping to relieve the tension by hand, intercepting the stream of semen with their lips at the last moment, kissing the head from both sides, and using their tongues to ensure they didn’t miss a single drop.

Camrad_RIP 07.10.26 в 19:07

He emerged from his lair feeling refreshed and satisfied, even though the system had not granted him any rewards whatsoever for his operation—no feat, no achievement, not even recognition of any kind, unless one counts the (quite respectable) slight increase in his strip of experience. It’s a shame, but perfectly understandable. A significant portion of the work had been done for him—either by Singha with her summons of the blessing-destroyer, or by Furval and Urvag when they pinpointed the exact location of the funeral home, which was perfectly concealed on the magical plane. The defenses there were, well, a C-minus at best, or maybe even a B+, so they didn’t pose any particular difficulty for Stepan.

Camrad_RIP 07.10.26 в 19:09

After turning off the dummy, who had been fulfilling the role of “fetch, bring, and don’t get in the way” for the “sick” girl—who was, in reality, absorbing the gift of the Tablet—Stepan also warned her that he would be coming over for a talk soon. The passageway in the closet was immediately opened for the dummy, and Stepan and the dummy—which was visibly losing its human features—literally passed each other in the passageway. Recently, both he and de Lomer had managed to master the logistics of such rearrangements and replacements, executing the partial opening of a controlled breach in the defenses and a teleportation into the hideout directly through it with impressive skill.

Camrad_RIP 08.10.26 в 07:46

“I have the most unpleasant news for all of you, ladies and gentlemen.” Stepan’s smile and tone didn’t match his words at all, and the end of his sentence brought similar smiles to the faces of the entire de Lomer family. “I have this—exclusively intuitive, I might add—feeling that, in the near future, the smuggling routes through the Steppe will undergo a certain degree of renewal, diversification, and adjustment, but this, I repeat, is simply my opinion. I had a dream; my intuition is whispering to me.”

Camrad_RIP 08.10.26 в 18:23

Everyone present looks utterly satisfied, but Urvag stands out in particular—he’s the one who trades with Steppe and runs the smuggling operation through the destroyed portal complex, which now has no one left to rebuild (unless it’s Stepan himself), which had caused quite a bit of trouble, preventing him from becoming—if not a monopolist—at least a dominant player in the trade of steel and various alchemical reagents; but, let’s just say, he wasn’t always able to twist the arms of particularly brazen partners. Now, however, he’s in the clear, because officially he has absolutely nothing to do with it—something he’ll swear to under any oath, especially if he blesses himself beforehand with a couple of rituals devised by Maega.

Camrad_RIP 08.10.26 в 18:24

Of course, if he were subjected to a full-scale psychological interrogation, he would inevitably crack, but to carry out such an interrogation, they’d have to kidnap him by force. No one would ever sign off on or authorize such a thing through legal channels; anyone who tried would be devoured whole by August de Mont Ros. Or the entire Confederation would devour him en masse if he decided to pull something like that off on his own. But with a kidnapping—yes, with a kidnapping, anything is possible. Not so long ago, a very wealthy, very influential, and extremely shady business tycoon was, in fact, kidnapped during a combat operation—most likely an elven one. Afterward, the venerable Virantir turned out to be among those who were deeply entangled in illegal dealings with a certain Master.

Camrad_RIP 08.10.26 в 07:48

"So I suppose I shouldn’t neglect my security either, nor let my guard down while riding in the carriage along a familiar route." So said Urvag, trying to sound serious and composed, rather than giggling like an idiot, like a little child, unpatriotically gulping Kuordemar rum straight from the bottle, as his own brother did. “But the news is wonderful, even though I’m already tired of reminding you that it makes me damn uncomfortable that you don’t demand payment for your services. We, for our part—if I may say so—haven’t been sitting idly by either...”

Camrad_RIP 08.10.26 в 18:26

At that moment, they all looked over at Furval in unison; he had set aside a half-empty bottle and folded his arms across his bulging belly with an expression of pure innocence. Stepan snorted, Singha smiled, Maega snorted like a vicious fox, and Urvag simply pressed his palm to his face, mentally implying something along the lines of “there’s no way I can fix this guy now.” The banter between them—clearly a familiar routine for these two—didn’t prevent them from moving on to more substantive discussions. The trading house's intelligence operations and those of its allies were operating at the very limits of their capabilities—and slightly beyond—thanks to allies who, seeing that de Lomer were not only winning but had no intention of slowing down anytime soon, were providing truly significant intelligence support.

Camrad_RIP 08.10.26 в 18:27