Готовый перевод Нова Проспект / Nova Prospect: Shapeshifter (Эредин)

Shapeshifter (Eredin)

* * *

//"Excluded, my King," Ge'els spat out the ceremonial address like a piece of rotten apple.

The audacity of the refusal foreshadowed a far more imminent split in Tir na Lia than Eredin had hoped.

//"We can't imprison more Aen Elle in an iron cage," Ge'els continued. Morning rays fell on a breakfast of dried figs and baked apples pedantically laid out on a golden saucer. - "The decision of the Council is unanimous."

Eredin drummed his fingers on the transparent table in the room that had once served as Soochong's office. Fingerprints remained on the flawlessly smooth surface.

//"We are under siege, Ge'els, the extent of which you have hardly seen," Eredin replied slowly, stressing each word. - War is out of the question. The Dh'oine will die, not by our hand, but with its help. Our job is not to die with them.

The numbers on the black screen flashed, and 10:33 turned into 10:34. Screaming lines appeared and disappeared in the background: The numbers on the black screen flashed, and 10:33 turned into 10:34. Screaming lines appeared and disappeared in the background: (TAI YONG MEDICAL MARKET CRASH EMERGENCY STATE IN HENGSHA)

//"Is war out of the question? - Ge'els shrugged. - Perhaps. Your ambition was far greater - the destruction of an entire world. And for that, you abused the subtle matter of the universe. Did you not ask the Council's opinion when you did such a sacrilege?"

What does someone who has never held anything heavier than a brush and a palette of paints in his entire life think of himself?

//"Enough, Ge'els," Eredin crossed his arms over his chest and continued: - "The judgment of a man sitting in the rear is always more prudent than that made in battle. I have no time for ethical discourse. I have at least a dozen wounded in my care and bodies I would rather bury on our soil.

Sharp even for Aen Elle, the counselor's ears flattened against his skull, and he abruptly pulled back the hem of his emerald-embroidered domestic garment.

//"We will do our best," Ge'els paused, taking a tassel of grapes from his saucer, "to help you solve the riddle of the barrier holding you back. But there is nothing more we can do."

A cold rage, fueled by hunger, came to his throat, especially when Eredin noticed the mother-of-pearl harp on which, judging by the carved stool and the notes spread on the pedestal, he had recently been playing. When he returned, the first thing he would do would be to restore order in his own country.

//"Believe me, Ge'els," he warned, "very soon it won't be you judging my decisions, but me judging yours, and in a much less formal setting.

There was no place for cowards in his country. Eredin leaned back in the wide leather chair, signing his sentence in his mind. Even through the scent of tanned leather, a rotten odor wafted into the room, the nature of which he preferred not to think about.

//"And I hope - consider it the advice of a friend, not a subject - that the voice of reason will overpower the voice of pride," Ge'els replied, not at all embarrassed by the threat. - For the sake of all of us. My thoughts and prayers are with you.

There was no wish on the High Speech that signified a great dislike for his interlocutor. Eredin nodded, signaling that the conversation was over, and Ge'els silently complied, disappearing from his mind.

Hopes for reinforcements dissipated like smoke.

The realization was creeping up on Eredin like an assassin from an alley, slow but inexorable. They were in a fatal minority, one in a hundred - it only took one glance through the frost-covered window to see that. Their prisoners are a bargaining chip, and the Spiral Gate is an unreliable ally.

//"I repeat: we are ready for peace talks. If you release the building and the hostages immediately, we guarantee your safety," a mechanical voice reminded him for the dozenth time in common.

And yet they want negotiations, preferring to trap them rather than attack them head-on. What drives them? Fear of the Abyss? Prudence? Cunning? A lottery that Eredin had not the slightest desire to participate in.

Eredin took in his hand the apple that Soochong had saved for his afternoon snack. The green sphere seemed almost waxy in the artificial light. He could only pick up the Sumimoto Agricultural Holding emblem glued to the peel with his fingernail the second time. There was nothing in this world that didn't carry a stigma.

There's nothing worse than sitting around waiting for someone to try to kill you, except to endure a splinter in your foot. Maybe we should back off and wait it out. But where?

Eredin sank his teeth gingerly into the white pulp. He had never fled from anyone before. Maybe only once. But that had been an opponent that dh'oine would have dreamed of in a nightmare.

The apple tasted like an unripe melon, contrary to all laws of nature. The juice splashed onto the papers scattered on the table: drawings of bones, skulls, and numbered pieces of paper. Out of the corner of his eye, Eredin saw something familiar in the pile, and his gaze lingered on a pamphlet with a man looking down at him through glasses on his nose with a mixture of concern and fatherly condescension.

Beneath the portrait was inscribed in large, bulky, gnome-like ideograms: William Taggart, "On Being Human. Washington, Detroit, London, Geneva, Warsaw, Moscow, Shanghai, Tokyo." Each of the titles was signed with a date.

Warsaw and Shanghai. Eredin walked over to the relief globe on the mahogany pedestal. Eredin shook his head as he found the cities on the map and zoomed in, the world here at least forty thousand miles in circumference. Big enough, but not so big that it wouldn't die of a multibillion disease.

But this scale didn't stop Tai Yun Medical from capturing them in one city, and torturing them thousands of miles away. The hovering machine he had to fly crossed vast distances in a matter of hours. The game of hide-and-seek would become a humiliating but short-lived farce.

Damn.

"Damn it!" Eredin growled, spinning the globe. Continents and oceans swirled before his eyes.

His scolding was answered by a low, vibrating hum that might have been a car noise if it hadn't been for a distinct, deliberate note, a rhythm like a prayer or a song. Eredin listened, frozen, but the sound echoed through the building and disappeared.

Any decision, no matter how risky, must be made as soon as possible - otherwise there is no need to make it at all.

Eredin pushed open the door and slid across the marble floor, which was covered in ice. The crimson streaks on it showed the amount of blood that had been spilled here. The smell of death hung in the air like the stench of rot in a swamp.

He found the mage interrogating one of the prisoners, in one of the many identical rooms with massive tables, gray chairs, and a black rectangle instead of a wall. It also held a supply of colorful sweet concoctions that even a mare wouldn't drink, and bags of nuts.

Finding neither armor nor staff, Karantir donned a medical robe with blobs embroidered, tying his hair into a ponytail. The clothes of the short dh'oine made him look like an orphan who had long since grown out of his rags.

The captive was a russet-haired girl, distinguished from the others by the glimmer of intelligence in her eyes. Scared out of her wits, she babbled like an infant, spilling everything she knew and didn't know. Women, especially human women, had never been tortured in Eredin's memory; it was harder to silence them than to loosen their tongues.

"I apologize for the intrusion, Caranthir," Eredin said, tapping on the doorjamb. The girl jumped in her seat and fell silent.

//"Give me a few moments," Сaranthir raised his hand warningly. Eredin nodded, sitting across from the girl, and picked up the sheet on which the words were written in flawless elven script.

++"Trade guilds, i.e. corporations. Sumimoto, Tai Yun Medical, Steiner-Bisley, Picus. Capitalism. Democracy. Augmentations. Freedom of speech. Mass Media."

"In addition to muscle, brain matter, and skin," Caranthir continued his interrogation, "you took semen samples. Why?"

Eredin tore himself away from the sheet and looked at the captive, though something in Karanthir's tone told him that the action was devoid of any eroticism. The girl shifted her horrified gaze from Caranthir to Eredin and back again before answering:

"Hybriden", and as if justifying herself, she explained: "Die Bestätigung, dass ihr genetisch mit Menschen kompatibel seid. Das mussten wir herausfinden."

If she thinks she's speaking in the universal, she's sorely mistaken.

The girl was fiddling with a dainty pendant, fingering the chain with manicured fingers. Even though she had a black eye, she was quite pretty for a human female - delicate features, graceful ankles, and no iron save for a flashing earpiece. Eredin smiled slightly at her, but she stared back at her reflection on the table, her head slumped against her shoulders.

Shyness suits women.

"And by what method exactly did you wish to create them?" - Caranthir leaned over the captive.

"IVF", the girl blurted out and immediately corrected herself: "In-vitro-Fertilisation. Es ist... es ist, wenn ein Kind in einem Reagenzglas erzeugt wird....."

Caranthir frowned. As much as he liked to talk to others as if they were unintelligent children, he didn't like to be addressed that way.

//"I am aware of that," he interrupted her. - How did you manage to keep the seed and ovocyte outside the body? Freezing causes them to break down."

"Nein, nein, man kann sie nicht einfrieren", she shook her head. Her thin hands, resting on the leather armrest, were covered with beads of sweat. "Sie können kryokonserviert werden, ähm ... wie soll ich sagen?"

Eredin sighed. They don't have time for lectures, especially ones that won't help in any way to get back to Tir na Lia. He repeated it louder to himself and glanced at the mage.

//"Hold that thought, Katerina. We will continue our conversation," Caranthir signaled one of the riders to lead the prisoner away, and Eredin gave her a glance. And he thought the sorceresses' clothes were frivolous-but they were a far cry from the barely knee-length skirts worn by the local dh'oine.

Caranthir coughed expressively, sitting across from him and reaching for his notes. The iron arm hung there as a mechanical outgrowth, a mute reminder of the experience, but Eredin had not yet taken the time to ask when he intended to get rid of it.

"Biology?" Eredin raised his eyebrows, "How does that help us understand the nature of waves?"

//"Dh'oine is far from this science," Caranthir waved a healthy hand. - She couldn't even correctly define the nature of light, calling it either a wave or a particle."

Eredin himself was far from such matters - he had no idea such knowledge could ever be of use to him - and shrugged.

"Ge'els has refused us reinforcements," he said. "The Council is on his side."

//"Did you expect anything different?" - Caranthir shook his head, jotting something down on paper, biting his chapped lips.

"At least respect."

//"Respect wouldn't help us," Caranthir twitched his sharp chin. - Nor would reinforcements. You know what's going on outside."

Eredin grimaced as he looked at his general's haggard face. There was no fear in his words, only a cold calculation that matched his magic.

"Even less will defeatist talk help us," Eredin sieged him. "What do you suggest? Surrender?"

Caranthir set aside the thin tube with three drops that served as his quill and looked up.

//"Retreat," he corrected Eredin gently. - The gate to the Spiral will begin to expand, but this world covers more than forty thousand miles. We'll have months until the earth begins to collapse."

Eredin had expected the conversation to turn in a similar direction. There was some common sense in Caranthir's suggestion, however repugnant it was to him.

"Are you suggesting we play hide-and-seek," he objected, "until we get slaughtered?"

They're not the ones who need to be afraid and hide. What's at stake for them? Their own lives? No matter how highly Eredin values it, the entire world's lives are at stake for the dh'oine.

//"Are you suggesting a fight?" - Caranthir shook his head.

"A deal."

The building chose that moment to shake once more, as if in anticipation of an earthquake. A bottle of orange liquid fell from the table and shattered, leaving behind the scent of overripe orange.

"We've put a noose around the neck of their worthless world," Eredin said, pleased that his words had immediate confirmation. "If they want it off... They'll have to make compromises."

//"Take it off? - Caranthir interjected, frowning. - It would cost me my life, and even with those sacrifices, your plan is unlikely to succeed. And believe me, I'm not willing to give my life for dh'oine."

"They don't know that," Eredin smiled. "They don't know anything at all, except that we opened the Spiral. So we can close it. I won't try to dissuade them from that."

Caranthir was silent for a moment, clinking his pipe as he did so.

//"There is no creature more treacherous than the dh'oine. - he said at last. - They have every century brother kills brother, son kills father, and father kills son. Any agreement we make will be trampled on in an instant."

"Let it rest on their conscience," Eredin shrugged. "Let them delude themselves that we have something to offer them while we try to get our own."

Caranthir grinned, pulling back the collar of his robe, and nodded in agreement. The skin, livid with ugly, inflamed scars, blotchy from ugly inflammatory scars, staining the smooth, pale neck, looked in the artificial light like a drowned man's. Now Eredin could get a closer look at the hand: made of gleaming metal, the hand and elbow woven of black threads. The palm was exactly like a skeleton's: long fingers with hypertrophied phalanges.

"Sooner or later it will have to be cut off," Eredin nodded at the iron piece.

Caranthir's face darkened, dryly replying, //"Let me decide that."

Eredin couldn't help but sympathize with him. The one-armed general, mage or not, would inevitably be forced to retire. For Caranthir, with at least a couple hundred campaigns under his belt, there was nothing more repulsive than the rest.

"Your body rejects iron," Eredin said.

//"They call it resistance to neuroposin," Caranthir touched his fingers to the injection marks, small dark dots near his shoulder. - A serum that prevents tissue scarring... We have similar ones."

Though Eredin didn't know much about alchemy, what he said seemed like persistent self-deception.

"The mechanical arm is incompatible with magic," he used the last argument.

//"You know what else magic is incompatible with?" - Karantir asked thoughtfully, running his palm over the smooth metal. - "With the Dimeritium coating. A thin layer of it and the use of magic will not be an obstacle to a working hand."

Eredin stared hard at his companion, wondering whether it was cowardice or, he feared more, recognition of a technology so repugnant to his heart. When he realized he was sitting across from the telepath, he stood up abruptly from the table and pushed open the door, pulling on the cold, clammy brass handle. Caranthir didn't say a word.

* * *

It took their adversaries less than ten minutes to accept the terms of the negotiations: no weapons, no unknown devices, and an ice barrier between the two sides, any attempt to break which would be the end of the negotiations.

Eredin had no illusions: no matter what conditions they set, the dh'oine would have a thousand ways to get around them. His mages had one last trump card up their sleeve that they didn't realize they had: telepathy. Though the thoughts of someone speaking a different language are nothing more than a stream of images, scraps of thoughts, places, and faces, a grain of truth can be found in any chaos.

The room they had chosen for the negotiations was one of the most spacious in the building, and its size could rival that of the throne room. The deep night created dark corners in which anything could hide.

Caranthir stood to his right, his left side occupied by Deirdre, who was glad for any respite. Though she was inferior to her mentor in telepathy, Eredin had insisted on her presence. Deirdre's face was dh'oine yet unfamiliar, showing that the Aen Elle could call for help at any moment. Besides, her beauty would have made even a monk forget his vows and was as much a distraction as a colorful banner.

A sense of vague, ominous paranoia hung in the air, and with each click of the clock hand, Eredin felt more and more like he was facing a battle. The fact that it was to be fought with words rather than swords made no difference.

The instant the hand of the clock stopped at twelve and stood still, a human figure appeared in the doorway.

There was not a speck of dust on the man's clothes; they seemed so clean that they reflected the light, and not a single hair was out of his perfectly symmetrical black mustache. He reminded Eredin of a moneylender, both in his relaxed manner and in the deep deceit that lingered in the wrinkles of his fake smile.

When Eredin saw the second man enter, he put his hand on the hilt of his sword, causing everyone to freeze in painful poses. What kind of fools were they to call this creature to negotiate? After all he had done?

Such a farce was doomed to end even sooner than he had anticipated.

"Mr. Bréacc Glas," the first to enter said, ensured Eredin's hand had not moved beyond the hilt. His voice, though it seemed far away from the ice wall, sounded cheerful and loud. "I'm glad you agreed to the meeting. Andrew Rand, Director of Public Relations for VersaLife."

The high ceilings made the words fly off the walls, trapped, and the room repeated after Andrew, "Life, life, life, life. The door behind them closed on its own, the deadbolts reset with a resounding clang.

Eredin gazed at the stranger: while everything about Namir was made, chiseled, and designed to inspire fear, everything about Andrei was designed to inspire favor - the white-toothed smile, the flawless, as if polished, skin, and the suit that fit like a second skin.

//"Careful, they're armed," Caranthir warned. - Note the recesses in the ceiling. That... that creature just thought of the weapons hidden there."

Namir is a weapon in himself.

"I find your escort rather tasteless," Eredin hissed.

"I find your escort unexpected," Andrew flashed his polished teeth. "I was not informed about the ladies in your squad."

The man's gaze slid over Deirdre's neckline, accentuated by the massive obsidian necklace around her slender neck, for a split second before settling on Eredina. Deirdre caught his gaze and jerked her chin up and straightened, freezing the insolent man with a stare.

"As for Mr. Namir's presence, I'm afraid the security chief's presence is non-negotiable."

Eredin cast a glance at Caranthir, wanting to know what was going through their heads.

//"Wishing you health and prosperity, Eredin," Caranthir replied calmly. - Namir - so in colors worthy of some demonic dimensions. For a machine, he has a very rich imagination."

The mage chose an inopportune moment for irony.

//"Pass me everything you see," Eredin warned him.

Interpreting the lingering silence as a desire to end the conversation, the man went on conciliatingly:

"We deeply regret that we didn't give you the warmest welcome, but don't get us wrong, Mr. Breakk Glas, you were the first to show aggression. The woman you cut in half..." Andrew shook his head, sighing heavily. Eredin couldn't remember who he was talking about," he said, "I'm afraid we've become hostages to a deep misunderstanding."

A nauseating and disorienting wave hit Eredin. The images suddenly rushed into his brain, palpably alien.

...silhouettes on the walls.... mechanical scolding...a man flailing in rage with unnaturally blue eyes... Заставьте их закрыть его и избавьтесь от них. (Make them close it and get rid of them.)

It felt disgusting, like eating food chewed by someone else, and he could find no explanation for anything he saw.

"Hm," Eredin said, trying to hold back the urge to gag. "That's a shame."

"It's extremely unfortunate," Andrew repeated emphatically. "But I find it even more unfortunate that Daigun Square has turned into a black hole. Or what should I call your creation? A portal?"

...Silence. The streets of a deserted city. All is still - only dust, driven by the wind... Главное, чтобы они не выкинули фокус, как евреи в Масаде. (Infiltrate on my command. We don’t want them to play Zealots in Masada on us.)

Eredin first made out the protruding glass fish-eye of the camera in the darkness, looking at him intently.

"Unless it's a one-way trip," Eredin replied, making the threat carelessly through the noise in his head. "I'm afraid your world will soon become crowded... but not for long."

...Numbers... Running lines, a line pointing downward at a steep angle... Money. Money. Money. Уничтожьте их, пока никто не узнал. (Eliminate them at any cost before anybody learns.)

Andrew's thoughts gave off a golden glint of greed, and he was using the same word as an absolute. It would be better if he had gotten some noble idiot as a negotiator, ready to throw himself on the edge of a sword to save the world.

"Oh, that's interesting. Will you stay to watch the grand show?" Andrew smiled so the skin on his lips stretched to the limit.

//"Avoid a direct answer," Caranthir interjected. - They aren't sure what's keeping us."

"For all my love of a good show," Eredin began slowly. "I am willing to sacrifice such a spectacle. Not out of charity, of course..." he thought for a moment about the most obscure formulation: "...out of scientific interest."

Namir had a look on his face as if he'd heard the stupidest joke of his life. He crossed his arms over his chest and stepped back, taking cover in the darkness of one of the niches. Eredin didn't like he couldn't see his hands.

...Troops surrounding the buildings. The mechanical servants, laden with weapons like Christmas trees with needles... The rattling hands of a bizarre device... Оно радиоактивно и искажает время. (The thing is both radioactive and distorts time.)

In contrast to Andrew's whirling thoughts, Namir's thinking, on the other hand, resembled a fine-tuned machine, if bloodthirsty machines existed.

"What a commendable zeal for science," Andrew waved his hands, sensing falseness like a hound senses blood. "Apparently, I was misinformed when I was told that you didn't think very highly of our achievements. What interested you?"

Andrew tapped thoughtfully on the veil of blue ice separating them with fingers too well-groomed for a man of dh'oine, from which wires stretched like subcutaneous worms to his temples.

It was as if the room was growing darker. This darkness seemed to have a life of its own - something dense, bunched up, and as if it could even feel.

Just as Eredin was about to answer, the sound of a body being thrown into the water came from somewhere below. It was much louder than any normal-sized body would make when it fell. Andrew and Namir looked at each other with a lightning glance.

"Mr. Bréacc Glas," Andrew wrinkled his tanned forehead, "we don't have much time. What exactly do you want?"

//"A waste of time," Caranthir commented sharply. - They are consumed with thoughts of how to get us to close the Gate and slaughter us like cattle, and they have the means to do it. If we don't backtrack, they'll go in for the assault. Give them a false hope."

Eredin took a deep breath.

"For starters, I want to trust you, Mr. Rand. To do that, I need to see if you're truly sorry for what you've done. His head," Eredin nodded at Namir, "will be the perfect proof."

He thought for a second about another possible sacrifice, but he would not deny himself the pleasure of doing it to her personally. Eredin would give a lot to look at her swarthy face now.

//"Chances, Caranthir?"

//"Tiny," Caranthir thought disappointedly. - But at least he thought about your suggestion, even though he conveyed an entirely different to Namir."

Eredin struggled hard not to give himself away with a smile. Deirdre didn't, and her gray eyes lit up at the scent of intrigue.

"He tortured my companions and mutilated my general," he continued. "I do not find my request baseless, Mr. Rand."

There was absolute silence for a moment. Unlike Andrew, whose astonishment was reflected in his dilated pupils, Namir didn't even change his face as he continued to stare at Eredin with a predator's scrutiny.

//"After thinking of your monstrous demise, Namir thought of his family," Caranthir narrated. - This creature has a family, can you imagine?"

Caranthir carelessly conveyed the image of two boys with little white hats piled on their dark, curly heads and a woman in huge dark glasses hugging them by the shoulders. The southern country. Palm trees blurred with heat and white square buildings.

Human children are used to growing up without fathers.

"Mr. Bréacc Glas," Andrei finally squeezed out of himself, "you and I are adults...."

Before he continued, he made a sharp motion to adjust his silk orange tie, the same unnaturally bright color as Deirdre's hair.

"And the elves," Eredin corrected him in a playfully friendly tone. "When this trifling request is fulfilled, my mages will be at your disposal and your scientists at mine. How many lives will we save in exchange for one... can you call it a life?"

Namir grinned. His eyes reflected a beastly, bottomless hatred, but his face remained impenetrable.

"I'm flattered you didn't have the guts to even try to kill me yourself, elf," he said calmly. "But desperation is a damn bad counselor."

"Trust is only mutual, Bréacc Glas," Andrew interrupted him. "Is Zhao Yun Zhu still alive?"

Who? Oh, yeah. A cracked porcelain doll.

"As long as it benefits me," Eredin shrugged.

Andrew shook his head, and Eredin wanted to see doubt, not denial, in that movement.

"You don't have to make a quick decision, Mr. Rand," he said encouragingly. "You have until dawn. One more thing... Any one of us would prefer death to another captivity, and what happens outside will be your problem alone."

There was tension in Andrew's gaze, clearly showing that all his recent relaxation was contrived.

"Until dawn, Bréacc Glas," Andrew said dryly, forgetting his manners for the first time. "I need confirmation that Zhao Yun Zhu is really alive within the hour."

"Until dawn, elf," a grin parodying a smile froze on Namir's face.

They left first, never once turning around.

* * *

As much as he'd enjoyed knowing that Namir could be destroyed by his own, the feeling of fleeting triumph dissipated as soon as he returned to the cadaverous-smelling floor. Deirdre and Caranthir were as grim as he was, standing with their backs to different corners of the meeting room.

Eredin was so hungry that the food of the local dh'oine no longer seemed so unappetizing, and he decided to snack on a brown bar wrapped in thin paper, which, oddly enough, tasted much better than he would have guessed.

//"We'll need to disappear before dawn," Caranthir was the first to speak up. - Whether they decide to make a sacrifice or not."

Everything was moving inexorably toward that decision.

"First we'll make sure that instead of assaulting us, they walk into a trap that collapses beneath their feet," Eredin said, taking a bite of half a candy bar at once.

Caranthir had a look on his face like he was suffering from a migraine.

//"They will be dead, Eredin, sooner or later. All the inhabitants of this world will be dead. There is no point in additional effort."

"They're not afraid of us," Deirdre said offhandedly. "They're not even afraid of the Spiral, though, more because they don't understand what it entails. But they are afraid of something. I'm not quite sure what it is... Something to do with colors?"

"With what?" Eredin was taken aback.

Even the palm trees standing in the corridors turned out to be skillful imitations.

"They're afraid of falling," Deirdre said, hesitating slightly, as if she sensed she was talking nonsense. "Shore. But they imagine lines and numbers."

The feeling of vague fear in Andrew's mind mixed with greed he remembered, but it was the first time he had heard the word.

//"You are wandering in the dark," Caranthir said grimly. - There are plenty of people in the building to help you solve this mystery."

* * *

"Shares," Katarina said clearly. Her voice was like a little girl's, high and brittle.

She had grown a little bolder and was no longer huddled in the back of the chair, either getting used to it or feeling more confident in the presence of a woman, which, by the way, was completely in vain.

"And why do they inspire such fear in your masters?" Eredin asked.

On the girl's face, surprise mixed with confusion, but after a while, she frowned as if she had guessed something.

Deirdre sat in a wide armchair and leaned back with an expression that made even Eredin slightly wary. Comparing the two women, he thought he must have been blind or desperate if he had thought the human woman pretty a little earlier.

"You're telepaths, right?" Katarina asked slowly.

Amazing perceptiveness.

"It's none of your human business," Deirdre's voice sounded foul, and frost began to gather on her fingertips. "Why. You. Afraid. Them?"

Eredin raised his hand warningly, somewhat concerned that Deirdre's hotheadedness would overstep the proper boundaries.

"Weil", Katarina said in her broken language. "Was mit dir gemacht wurde, ist illegal. Das ist ein Verbrechen. Experimente an Menschen. Weder Investoren noch die Medien werden das gut finden."

The growling and harsh words cut Eredin's ears as much as the music he'd heard in that dungeon. Deirdre shook her head impatiently at the unfamiliar words and licked her parched lips. Eredin rummaged in the cupboard in the corner and pulled out a bottle of water and three glasses, setting them on the table.

"Why would the mass media care," Deirdre pushed her curls back from her face and asked, "What your guild - the corporation - did to the aliens?"

A stray memory crept into Eredin's mind of one of the campaigns when the Riders had been taken to an underground city with an unpronounceable name and a matriarchal order, and Deirdre had been tossing back her red mane as she wriggled beneath him in one of the stalactite caverns.

"Das ist illegal," repeated the girl confusedly

Strange that it's a threat to them: as far as Eredin knows, human laws only exist in the codes of human laws.

"Against whose laws, exactly?" Deirdre sighed, her slender fingers clasping the glass he'd graciously offered her. "And why should your masters obey them?"

The girl's face stretched in surprise, but she quickly controlled herself. When Eredin lowered his eyes, he saw the holes in her stockings, the long, thin arrows, as if invisible claws had traced down her legs. This picture added to the sense of an unseen presence.

"Gegen die internationalen Gesetze der Welt. Gegen die Genfer Konvention. Wenn Leute wie Taggart das herausfinden..."

Both the name and the title stuck in his ears like fishhooks.

"Geneva... the city, isn't it?" Eredin contributed. "And Taggart is its ruler?"

The girl looked at him with a kind of hopelessness and nodded briefly. She said something else, but her words were drowned out by Caranthir's request to come up.

"Find out more about him, Deirdre. And study the major cities of this world with her," Eredin said, rising from the table. "Rulers, sympathies, alliances. And all things being equal, I'd prefer those where at least one plant left."

* * *

Karantir, leaning on the nearest table with his left mechanical arm, stood by an iron box from which he was trying to shake out some brown liquid. The Riders had eaten and drank much stranger things on their campaigns, so Eredin didn't ask. Instead, he opened the faucets above the sink, from which the same trickles of blood-warm water poured, and washed his face.

After he'd gotten through the machine, Caranthir proudly placed before him a steaming brown liquid that smelled vaguely like burnt cocoa beans. The red clay mug bore the inscription "Best Boss 2027".

//Zireael will try to escape," he began the conversation first. - And she will do so at the first opportunity and have plenty of them.

That cursed name had long ago become bitter on the tongue.

"The last thing I care about right now is Zireael. We need to plan a retreat."

Caranthir took a careful sip.

//"None of us ever cared for her. We weren't looking for her, we were looking for... as you once put it? A pearl in pig shit. The remnants of Aen Hen Ichaer in a genetic cloaca."

Eredin noted with a smile that Aen Elle had a habit of philosophizing at the most inopportune moments, and he was no exception. Caranthir was right, he had picked up Zireael and far more poetic epithets. The fact that such a precious gift had been chosen for such an inappropriate vessel had always seemed to him to be Nature's evil joke.

"Too bad you can't separate one from the other," he sighed.

//"You cannot separate child and mother," Caranthir stretched thoughtfully, "gene and host, fetus and womb... Immutable truths. And like almost all immutable truths, they turned out to be false."

Eredin looked at his interlocutor with genuine interest.

//"Anything different about her, Eredin," Caranthir made a wide circular gesture, setting the cup aside, "as it turns out, is quite retrievable.

From the number of small sips Caranthir was taking, the cup began to seem bottomless to Eredin.

"How?"

//"Solve et Coagula, the most ancient of alchemical principles. Primo, separate: seed from the father, ovocyte from the mother. Secundo, combine: in any suitable vessel."

The idea of separating the gift from the vessel appealed to him, but what he said was vaguely reminiscent of Avallaс'h's laboratory endeavors, which ended in nothing but the creation of mangled and unlivable creatures.

"Doesn't that violate the mystery of Nature?" Eredin wondered.

//"Since when did knocking up a dh'oine become a great sacrament?" - Caranthir snorted, flicking his hair back from his pointed ear and tilting his head.

" Let's not stoop to vulgarity," Eredin frowned.

Caranthir tilted his head in apology.

//"I know you're disgusted by artificial methods, but... Trust me, this is the best way to preserve the Elder Blood without resorting to a human womb."

Would Eltara be willing to bear such a child? She'd always wanted to be a mother, though that hope was fading with each passing decade. No, the prospect of carrying partly human blood, albeit mixed with Elder blood, would not please her, but Nature had it that women loved everything that grew in their wombs. Yes, it would be a great gift upon his return.

"Do what you must," Eredin allowed.

Caranthir nodded.

* * *

Even after the successful completion of the operation, Eredin had no intention of killing Zireael. At least not until she tried to escape or raise her weapon on him again.

It was no longer possible for him to convince her that such ventures ended only in death. As Deirdre had said, teaching a monkey to play the lute was easier. However, in a couple of hundred years in Tir na Lia the monkey will play - if not from despair, then under the influence of the environment.

It took a couple of centuries to turn people into servants. Mages devoted no less than a hundred volumes to the description of this process, with pedantically written instructions on selection. If the official chronicle is to be believed, eugenics had nothing to do with it, and the people themselves preferred to bend the knee to a race that culturally surpassed them dozens of times over.

There are many ways to tell the same story.

Eredin paced the marble floor, pondering how to prove to Andrew without unnecessary risks that Zhao Yun Zhu was still alive. When they would leave the building, leaving the dh'oine in the trap...

His thoughts were interrupted by a nearby explosion. Not powerful enough for an assault, but strong enough to be accidental. Feeling the blood rushing to his temples, he rushed toward the sound. He ran straight into a cloud of stinking smoke, the walls still humming from the explosion.

Breaking through the acrid smoke and covering his mouth and nose with his hand, Eredin saw what remained of the body of one of the youngest of the mages, no more than seventy years old. The thing that had killed him had tried to pick him up off the floor, judging by his disemboweled torso and severed arms. Death was instantaneous.

Who... Dare?!!!!

There was no sign of either Zireael or Zhao in the room.

Eredin took a deep breath despite the acrid smoke.

Oh, no... She is no longer destined to see the lights of Tir na Lia. Zireael couldn't be too far away - there were still traces of the Elder Blood in the air. She can't be too far away... Eredin closed his eyes and gripped the hilt of his sword to white knuckles.

And he stepped right into the trap.

He saw her first, green eyes glistening and ashy hair sticking to her forehead. Eredin saw the man behind her two fatal moments later.

As he raised his hand to shield himself from the blow, he realized he was too late. A red haze blurred his eyes, and he felt a ball of lead pass through his chest. Zhao screamed something unintelligible.

The pain didn't come immediately, but when he felt it, it filled his entire consciousness.

He felt the thin maiden's hand wrench the sword from his numb fingers with non-maidenly fury. Zireael glared at him with hate-filled eyes, but Eredin expected a blow in vain. She spun around in a short feint, swinging at the one to whom that blow was akin to a mosquito bite. The cut left a bloodless line as if a knife had torn through the canvas.

Namir said something to her in a threateningly affectionate tone, and Zireael made the only correct decision - to run.

Eredin lay on his right side, feeling the blood trickling between his fingers, and watched as Zireael slipped onto the green brocade upholstered couch and vanished into thin air. Namir put two fingers to his ear.

"HAWK DOWN BLUE RED COMMENCE," a multiply amplified voice boomed out to the entire building.

The swiftness with which Namir rushed after Zireael was hard for even an elf's eye to discern, especially when everything in front of his eyes was blurred.

I must stay awake. Eredin lowered his gaze, the scarlet wound on the left side of his chest making him look like a pierced vessel.

//"Either a lung or a heart," Eredin thought aloofly, "I'm bleeding out. How long will it take if Caranthir or Deirdre don't get to me in time? Half an hour?".

A man from such a wound would be dead by now. But soon his eyes began to close, too. Eredin clung with all his might to the slipping consciousness, the sounds, to the soft music, but it faded, replaced by an unnaturally cheerful voice.

"...Вдалеке от азиатского хаоса, с вами сегодня Франсуа Ламберт этим утренним солнечным женевским утром. Уильям Таггарт сегодня со своей лекцией - Быть человеком... (Far away from the Asian havoc, Francois Lambert today with you on a sunny Saturday morning in Geneva! William Taggart today with his lecture «On being Human»)

//"EREDIN, EREDIN, EREDIN," a woman's voice repeated. Whether he was imagining it, or whether he really heard screams, rumblings, and gunshots. Somewhere outside and to his left, a hissing sound and a suggestive scratching on the stone reached him. A sharp odor of sulfur and lime joined the putrid stench.

//"They smell blood," Eredin thought, and by 'they' images one worse than the other appeared in his mind, "just like our hounds."

There was the sound of breaking glass. An icy wind blew into the room like smoke. Eredin opened and closed his eyes, and each time he did not know whether he was seeing reality or visions. He heard a terrible shriek pierce the air as if some night bird had rushed down for prey. He saw Deirdre shout a spell, gesticulating desperately. The concentrated magical energy made the air sparkle.

He was unable to turn around to see who Deirdre was fighting against. Judging by the look of horror on Zhao's face, with death itself. The woman tried to crawl back to the wall screen, where the man from the pamphlet was moving his lips silently.

The whistle of webbed wings cut through the air, and the winged beast lunged at Deirdre like an arrow from a crossbow. As it fell on its back, the sorceress raised her arm sharply, spreading her fingers to cast a magic spell. The icy arrow struck the creature, and it hissed into the image of the crowded square.

Zhao covered her face with her hands, trying to hide from the hail of splinters. The creature that had fallen beside her was still fluttering its wings like a flying machine and bared no less than three rows of teeth as sharp as blades.

Deirdre sprang toward Eredin, but her trembling hands betrayed her, and the carelessly cast healing spell only caused more pain. Biting her lip until it bled, she whispered the name familiar to Eredin to herself. She repeated it louder, telepathically - so loud that anyone susceptible to magic would have heard it hundreds of miles away.

Geneva.

The last thing he remembered was a woman's long, emerald-encrusted fingers clutching at him and the shimmering glow of the portal.

The pungent smell of ozone.

And.

White.

Light.

* * *

It seemed to Eredin that he had been falling through the portal for an eternity. And that eternity was accompanied by an ingratiating male voice, speaking to him in an unknown language.

"Что это значит - быть человеком? Что это значит - отличать добро от зла, естественное от неестественного, правду от лжи?" (What does it truly mean - to be human? What does it truly mean - to know the good from bad, the natural from unnatural, truth from lies?)

The gaping hole in the air closed with a deafening rumble, and Eredin collapsed onto his back. His confident speech was cut short. He heard the shrieks, and from the last of his strength he rose on his elbows, choking on a bloody cough.

The man with the glasses recoiled from them like a lightning bolt that had suddenly struck too close, hiding in a tight ring of heavily armed guards. William Taggart. The second hand of the clock hanging above the stage stopped.

Dozens of muzzles stared straight at them. Eredin tried not to move, frantically breathing in the odor of the rising dust.

Deirdre sprawled to his right, at the very base of the low stage. This teleportation must have taken all her strength. Her dress was tattered, and stained brown, and a small trickle of blood trickled from the corner of her lower lip. She had almost given her own life for him.

Beneath them was the very scene he had seen on the screen.

At least a thousand dh'oine looked up at them. The crowd, which had recoiled at the first deafening clap, now closed around them in a tight ring. Many of them were waving banners. Eredin's eyes mottled at the colorful garments with shouting inscriptions.

ОСТАНОВИТЕ НЕЙРОПОЗИНОВЫЙ КАРТЕЛЬ (STOP THE NEUROPOZYNE CARTEL)

ТАЙ ЮН - ФАШИСТЫ (TAI YONG MEDICAL ARE FASCISTS)

ДАЙТЕ НАМ БЫТЬ ЛЮДЬМИ (LET US BE HUMAN)

Short, bright flashes flashed before his eyes, accompanied by a methodical clicking sound. The guards split into two - some trying to shield Taggart, others slowly approaching them, keeping their weapons down.

"Да вызовите вы скорую, ради Бога!" ( Сall the ambulance for God’s sake!) Taggart called out to the guard. In life, he appeared older than his portrait, almost at the very sunset of his short life, "Ты не видишь, что они ранены?" (Can’t you see they are wounded?)

His voice boomed across the stage, hitting the crowd: the acoustics were excellent. Eredin had never heard so many voices shouting at once.

With an interdimensional howl, another portal opened beside them.

* * *

Eredin rose on the bed, gulping convulsively for air as if brought to his senses by a sharp blow.

Where is he?! What happened to the Riders?!

He was lying sprawled on an unusually comfortable hospital bed. The room was flooded with bright sunlight, and outside the window, he could see an azure lake, polished like a sapphire, as if from the landscape of some fairy-tale gingerbread country.

The mechanical janitor moved across the parquet in silent zigzag motions.

Still in the same world.

The fresh cotton-scented, starched sheets creaked as he rose on his elbows and pulled the covers off. His whole torso was bound tightly with bandages, but there was nothing else to restrain his movements, not the bandages or any of the other human tricks. He felt no pain, only a chilling daze throughout his body.

What the devil?

Without knocking, a stocky, broad nurse in a high hat and snowy white gown, her wheaten hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, entered the room. Eredin straightened, resting his arms on the hospital bed.

"Oh, don't get up," she said in common, and smiled a broad and silly smile, "rest, rest. The doctor will be here soon, Mr. Bréacc Glas."

"Where am I?" Eredin asked. "Where are my riders?"

"Clinique La Colline," she answered softly. "Geneva. Your companions are in the other wards."

Eredin concentrated with difficulty, trying to search space for signs of Caranthir and Deirdre's presence. Yes, she wasn't lying.

She's not lying?

"And by whose grace?" Eredin exhaled.

"We never," the nurse replied sternly, "leave the wounded bleeding in the streets, Mr. Bréacc Glas. It's inhumane. But I think you should thank the Earth Liberation Front."

Earth... Liberation... Front? Eredin was lost in speculation as to whether she was laughing at him.

"Perhaps you'd like to read something?" she interrupted the long pause. "Turn on the TV?"

"Excuse me?"

She smiled sympathetically and pressed a button next to the bed. The black screen lit up instantly.

"Mr. Bréacc Glas..." she said before leaving the chamber. "What Tai Yun did is monstrous. Please don't think so badly of all people."

It was as if he'd gotten into a performance of some comedy where the actors weren't overacting just the tiniest bit.

" Don't worry," Eredin said with a strained smile. "Not at all."

The nurse shivered slightly at his smile, like most people seeing elves for the first time.

//"My name is Deirdre Seabagar," the television said. Eredin looked up in disbelief.

//"I greet you on behalf of the people of Aen Elle," Deirdre's miniature copy continued. - 'We have come to warn you of the coming danger... Unfortunately, too late,' Deirdre paused dramatically before continuing: - "For three days we have been tortured, mutilated, and raped by people calling themselves the Tai Yun Medical Guild.

What...is...she...talking about..?

The screen showed the crowd with a perfectly rehearsed howl. Swearing mingled with shouting, some threatened with fists, some tried to get away, some stared at the stage with blank stares, and mothers covered their children's eyes and ears.

Even the tattered top of the dress had been calculatedly arranged to expose only the smallest bit of the semicircle of her breasts. Eredin did not know whether to admire or be horrified by the woman's pretense. Deirdre struck that fine string that echoed in a man's soul at the sight of a beautiful maiden unjustly scorned, if not scorned by him.

Anyone who dared pull a stunt like that on Deirdre would have lost their reproductive organs immediately, but it was hard to believe, looking into the bottomless gray eyes and quivering lips, the soft alabaster skin smeared with blood.

//"But the horror we have endured is nothing," Deirdre continued, "compared to the horror you are about to face.

Eredin thought that in three hundred long years of life, nothing could surprise him anymore, but he was sorely mistaken.

Caranthir, standing behind Deirdre, did not spoil the picture but rather emphasized it with his lifeless mechanical arm and his hospital garb. He looked like an escaped prisoner who had seen the sun for the first time in a long time. The gray-haired man in the background was adjusting his glasses, glancing back and forth at Caranthir and Deirdre with a glow of righteous indignation.

//"We came to warn you... But if it's too late to warn you, we'll do everything we can to save you."

By the Powers That Be, Deirdre, be careful what you promise! Deirdre's finely chiseled face changed to the puffy face of a human woman.

//"The whole world is shocked by the performance of a woman calling herself Deirdre Seabagar," a woman in a black suit and short-cropped hair said, enunciating each word clearly, "The Fermi Paradox was resolved this morning when pointy-eared creatures appeared out of nowhere and interrupted William Taggart's speech in Geneva. Their non-human nature has already been confirmed by the staff of the local medical science center."

The pictures on the screen twitched as if in hysterics: Deirdre, Caranthir, the flooded and destroyed city, his own motionless body, William Taggart, the raging crowd, and the twitching lines tending downward.

//"I remind our viewers that the accusation against Tai Yun Medicals is still only an accusation. But, coupled with the collapse of Hensha's second level, it has caused the corporation's stock price by ninety percent. Tai Yun Medical, already a company with the largest market capitalization in the past, fell out of many leading financial indices in a single hour."

Hearing too many unknown terms, Eredin hit the off button and leaned back on the bed, trying to digest what he had heard.

There was a polite knock. Eredin permitted to enter, and a rather refreshed-looking Carantir appeared in the room. He was cradling a weighty carmine volume with a satisfied look. Eredin couldn't see the full title of the book, but it began with the word Feynman.

Despite his discomfort, Eredin couldn't resist applauding.

"Bravo, my friend," he smiled sincerely for the first time in a long time. "Brilliant work!"

//"Thank Deirdre," Caranthir thought with proper etiquette modesty. - She didn't agree with me on the text, of course," he nodded at the faded screen. - It was a bit of an act-especially with you sprawled out on the stage, bleeding all around you - but it was effective. She's always had a thing for the stage.

"And it worked?" Eredin shook his head. "How stupid do they have to be?"

Caranthir frowned, moving closer to the bunk and placing the book on the white bedside table.

"Our enemies, Eredin," he said aloud, enunciating each word, "have tormented their world, destroyed everything created by nature. They dwell in stinking cesspools, replacing flabby flesh with iron. But believe me, they are far from stupid."

There was a note of steel in his voice that he'd allowed himself in conversations with him only a couple of times during their very long acquaintance.

Eredin exhaled noisily, holding back a fit of anger. He had lost almost all his riders in less than a week, and now he was lying on his bunk, saved by his general. Caranthir was right. Eredin wished passionately that his words were a lie, but desire alone was clearly not enough.

"The truth is yours," he said, incredibly dryly, picking up a glass of water on which was written in blue italics: Clinique La Colline, Geneve, a member of Versalife Healthcare Chain ©. The letters shimmered like diamond sparkles.

Despite the beautiful cover, the water was surprisingly tasteless.

Caranthir looked at him gravely and walked over to the window, admiring the lake and the fountain spurting. The bluish swelling on his neck was much less.

"Remember I told you once," he said conciliatingly, "that propaganda was the most ingenious invention of mankind? That was before they invented mass media."

* * *

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Переводчики: Camrad_RIP