Chapter 1

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The mountains separating the lands of the former kingdom of Salvatia from the western steppe are geologically old. In practice, this means that they are not too high, minerals have long been extracted from them, and wide passes, convenient for riders, abound within them. The largest pass is the Gate of Fickle, securely locked from invasion by Lascaris but even without it, there are enough places where a detachment of a hundred horses can pass. Dangerous directions are covered by a system of fortresses that are part of the western army of modern Taleya and are considered quite well fortified.

Sometimes small gangs of raiders slip past the fortresses. Sometimes tribes gather, with the help of gods or "mercenaries" from neighboring powers, successfully storm fortifications and frolic in the lands of the kingdom until the troops come up on red alert. Either way, life in the Frontier is not safe.

"It is strange that there is not a strong sense of wickedness in the vicinity. Isn't there a monastery nearby?"

"No, Messena. It is simply that the commander of the local garrison carefully performs his duties and maintains good relations with the surrounding nobles."

"I never would have believed it was possible to purge the earth of creatures to such an extent. Of course, I've heard reports, but this is a case where you have to see with your own eyes and see for yourself to understand. I'll take you up on your invitation, Medea."

From the outside, the three could easily be mistaken for traveling nobles. Good clothes and weapons; numerous servants, who brought a table and chairs from a nearby inn at a moment's notice for the lords who wished to sit in this particular clearing; the night darkness did not prevent them from talking, which indicated either a spell of vision-in-the-dark or a drink of an expensive elixir for the same purpose.

In some respects, the possible observers would be right - all three were true of high status. The one man, Latham, had long held the rank of captain of his mistress's guard and led risen units focused on comprehending the Warrior's Path. A striking beauty in gorgeous robes, incredibly graceful, mesmerizing at a single fleeting glance, Medea was a member of the Council of Elders and ruled the second largest community in Zonna. Well, that means... She drove her assistants to nervous breakdowns, despite the fact that they themselves were undead. Nevertheless, the community grew from age to age and successfully intrigued the court of the ruler of the Land of Blueness.

The last of the gathered, a frail teenage girl in a simple hunting costume, wasn't supposed to be here. Everyone knows that Celesta, Mistress of the Night, does not leave Taleya.

"That's wonderful!" When she heard her sister's last words, Medea fairly clapped her hands. "I will inform my people immediately to prepare for your arrival!"

"You don't have to tell anyone anything," Celesta flatly refused. "I remember your secrets well. I wouldn't want an army of monks with holy relics waiting for me when I arrived in Zonna."

"It's not true!" Medea pouted. "It's not that bad."

"Are you saying it's even worse?"

"You're kidding, right?!" The beauty waved her fan and narrowed her eyes in an exaggeratedly wicked way. "You're kidding! And anyway, the largest temple of the Lord of Hell in my city stands, and no one is going to tear it down!"

"Honor and praise to you," the older risen bowed her head slightly, despite her appearance. "I don't argue-our position in the Land of Blueness is more secure than anywhere else. But there are hunters there, too. Besides, I don't like the potential your community has built up being wasted. Why isn't the Sultanate ours yet?"

"It's hard work," Medea didn't flirt this time and spoke seriously. "The Sultan's court sees us as agents of their enemies, and in good conscience, they are right. Our servants have to act very carefully. Sooner or later the situation will change but do not count on quick results.

"Too bad. I have big plans for Birat."

No further explanation was needed. The Principality of Birat was situated on the eastern shores of the Good Sea, and, by the will of the gods and former Taleyan intelligence officers who had fled there from the civil war, the servants of the risens wielded considerable influence there. Elder Gardoman, in charge of the revenue sector, a kind of vampire Minister of Trade and Finance, had for centuries demanded that the number of communities in the Duchy be increased and that the existing ones be strengthened by specialists. Not that Celesta objected-not at all. She saw the potential of Birat. What confused her was the isolation of its structures from the metropolis and the separatism problem that had plagued her in the past. The Mistress didn't want to have a purge every twenty years, so it was better not to lead her subjects to the wrong ideas.

"You don't have to go to Birat through the Azaras," Latham said. "There's the Archipelago."

"Not the best option either. Deep Harbor's intelligence is currently the best in the world. There's no telling who's on the hook for who. Besides, I'm confused by the success of their College of the Nine Pillars. If the mages there have learned how to bypass our concealing veils, then there's no point in trying to reestablish the community. They'll find it anyway."

"What does Hustin say?" Medea asked in an indifferent tone.

Too indifferent. It looked like the currently quarreling couple was about to have a new round in their relationship.

"Swearing."

"Ha!"

"In any case, something has to be done about the Sultanate," Celesta didn't allow the "I knew he was a loser" theme to develop. "In the next three or four years, of course, we won't have free resources, everything will go to eliminate the effects of the current crisis, but then we'll take care of the Azaras. Zervan, Zervan... They have about an hour to go, Latham. Get your men ready."

"Messena," the servant and bodyguard rose smoothly from his chair and made a farewell bow and headed in the direction of the inn.

After seeing him off with a approving glance, Medea turned to her friend:

"Are you serious about visiting Zonna? Don't think anything of the sort, I'm just happy, but you said that your connection to the seal wasn't completely severed."

"I suspect it won't go away for long," Celesta pursed her lips. "I knew there was a catch to that offer of the true priests. But I can leave the city now. If, halfway down, it turns out that the distance to the seal matters, I'll be right back."

"Let's hope for the best," Medea agreed. She thought a little, tilted her pretty head to the side, and shrugged. "It's better this way than before, anyway."

"I'm certainly not going to argue!"

Celesta has spent four hundred years in Taleya, not of her own free will. After an unfortunate (or too fortunate, as the case may be) ritual by the great wizard Tyran, the priests of the True Face of Morvan made her the kind of offer you can't refuse. They demanded a keeper, an operator of the seal that had been affixed to the rift in space that led to a dimension the human sources call Abyss. In return they were promised power, knowledge, and answers to a number of questions about the nature of the risen.

In the main, the priests did not lie. Celeste received what she requested. The deal had allowed the vampires who served her not only to get through the civil war relatively unscathed but also to strengthen their kind's position considerably. Nevertheless, to sit for four centuries in one city, albeit the Capital...

When the seal finally stabilized, and the vampire leader was able to at least just step beyond the invisible but well-felt border, one of her closest, as she believed, associates forced her to go not where she wanted, but where she had to go. Not surprisingly, the Mistress had been in a quiet rage for the past month. The risens who knew her well were not deceived by the supposed calm; only the accustomed Medea dared to ignore her friend's condition.

Not wanting to fill her pretty head with problems, the faithful confidante turned the conversation to the construction of the future shelter. Now the problem of headquarters did not exist - the intricate network of catacombs provided reliable protection, and in a pinch the vampires planned to escape through the dead land. The vast sphere of the Tyran Curse destroyed any life that entered its confines. Even the vampires themselves couldn't stay in it for more than a few hours, which, however, was usually enough. The only exception was Celesta, who was immune to the Curse, adding weight to the rumor mill about her near-divine essence. But as time passed, the curse weakened and became less aggressive. In addition, wizards in the royal service and monks of certain orders had long researched it and even obtained some practical results. For now, humans could not invade the sphere. While what?

The vampires wished to prepare in advance for the time when the Curse would disappear and with it the safe escape route and the opportunity for mortals to invade their fiefdom. That's why the construction was started. Of course, Medea couldn't help but participate in the discussion of the project, because who else than her?

"Okay," Celesta put her palm forward after half an hour of discussion. "Spare me the details. If you say it's black and white with flecks of red, then so be it."

"But I explained!" Medea raised her hands to the sky, invoking higher powers as witnesses. Her friend's earthiness depressed her.

"I just don't understand why, after two years of discussion, we're back to where we started."

"Well, what if something more appropriate had been found?"

"I doubt it. Well," the mistress jumped down from the chair in which she was sitting dangling her legs with pleasure. "I'm going for a walk, and you get the bodyguards closer. It's about to start."

"Latham will not be pleased," the beautiful elder remarked, as if in passing.

"Let Latam have his way, and he'll cover me with pillows stuffed with the softest down."

Medea laughed softly after her friend's departure, then turned toward the inn, where two figures loomed vaguely, and whispered:

"Ral, Fango, keep me company."

She had no doubt she was heard.

Vampires changed with age. Slowly, much more slowly than mortal humans, and in a completely different way. Their appearance remained the same, but their power grew, which, in turn, was reflected in the strength, dexterity, and endurance of their physical bodies. In addition, they had abilities that were often mistaken for magic, which were formed depending on the worldview and the Path the risen was following. To develop them or not, was up to each of them.

It was believed that the older a vampire was, the stronger he was. It was not entirely true - those who didn't consider it necessary to learn and work on themselves stiffened at the same level or slipped into degradation altogether. At best, their growth was stunted to the point of being completely invisible. But when it came to the elite of undead society, the rule was ironclad.

Celesta was at the top of the hierarchical pyramid. She was old, one of the oldest risens in the oikumene, and spent a great deal of her time dealing with reports, meeting with her subjects, parsing reports, and other activities that are inevitable in life (or after-life) of any ruler. At the same time, she had access to all the resources and developments of the Community, as well as a desire to learn and a firm understanding of the need for great personal power. Such is the time, such is the race. There was no other way. In addition, as a bonus, she had a seal on the Curse, crumbs of power which the Night Mistress of Taleya could operate at her own discretion. These crumbs were enough not only for her, but also for her closest associates.

With each year, decade, and century, Celesta's abilities grew. She perceived the world far more entirely now than she had at the beginning of her journey, and possessed capabilities that would have seemed miraculous in her earlier life. She suspected that she could win the coming confrontation alone. However, her turbulent past had weaned her from taking unnecessary risks, and what else were servants for but to protect their mistress? At least that's what Latham thought, and she had no intention of arguing with him. But she wouldn't go along with his demands, either.

Walking silently was unexpectedly difficult. There were no truly dense forests around Taleya, the people had ennobled the area around their Capital, and Celesta had forgotten how to walk through the thicket. The branches rattled beneath her feet, and the few living creatures froze, diligently hiding from the higher undead. Small animal minds exuded fear and hopelessness. The Mistress sensed everyone in the area - the intelligent ones more clearly, their consciousnesses shining brightly, the beasts and birds shining much dimmer. Plants had no intelligence, but they created some background, so a kind of "echo" came from them as well. The gray fog was dispersed by the gusty Medea with a blazing torch behind her, Latham was shining with steel glints of loyalty, and the other vampires who had come with them were preparing for battle.

In front, exuding thirst for blood, permissiveness, and the desire to tear the weak, came a black-red wave that smelled of beastly notes.

The attackers outnumbered three times the number of those who had prepared to meet them on the wide lawn near the inn. The vampires who came with Celesta might have seemed doomed, but in such confrontations, quality trumps quantity, so they had no fear. The Guardsmen were experienced fighters who had spent centuries mastering the art of war; they did not count a pack as their equal when they approached. Their captain felt the same way, or he wouldn't have taken only two fives with him. Ten guardsmen, Latham himself, Medea, despite her outward appearance, a creature not of this world, able to surprise in battle, two henchmen of the beautiful elder - with such forces you can fight against any opponent.

The commander of the attackers understood this, and he did not intend to underestimate the enemy. Celesta saw two groups, five and four consciousnesses, split from the feverish hunt and begin to circle the sides of the guardsmen who were preparing to fight. Preparing to strike from behind? Latham had enough sensors but just in case, Celesta sent him a message about the maneuver she'd noticed. In response came a respectful sense of displeasure at his Mistress's self-righteousness, which she habitually ignored.

Instead of turning back, she headed toward the nearest of the splinter groups. Experience, and the glow from the attackers' minds, suggested that of the five, only two might be troublesome, the other three standing on the first stage. Not only do they have no powers at a decent level, but they also cannot even go out in the sun! One on one, an ordinary trained warrior has a chance against them; in the coming skirmish, they will be nothing more than meat for blades. Celesta will start with them, to keep them out of the way.

With the rustle of leaves, the light of the moon, and a gentle whiff of wind, the illusion weaved by the Mistress enveloped the five congeners. It lay weightlessly on the exposed, defenseless minds, and gently overcame the natural barriers, leaving an instantly disappearing feeling of unease. It settled in the subconscious, in the depths, surreptitiously weakening vigilance, reducing the criticality of thinking, and affecting the senses.

After a minute, she could do anything she wanted to them. No, the vampires had not grown weaker; their bodies still obeyed them precisely. They simply paid no attention to Celesta's actions, perceived her as a natural part of their surroundings, her actions seemed normal to them. Up to a point, of course - their instincts fought against their imposed judgments and in the end they always won.

If give them enough time.

She appeared beside the first vampire, like a ghost in a children's scary book. Not the leader of the small pack - the latter was running farther away - but beside the second strongest. An indistinguishable movement of the blade drew a fine line from her foe's right collarbone to his left armpit, and almost immediately, without looking at the work of her hands, Celesta was swiftly beside the leader. He suffered the same fate. The head and upper torso of the first victim had just fallen to the ground when the risen leaped up to the third, a short lad with a short red beard, and blew his head off without a hitch. The smell of blood wafted through the night forest. The others began to suspect something, stopped, and looked around, trying to see the leader, who was slowly settling in two pieces on the moss.

They didn't have time to understand anything. Celesta killed them quickly.

/ Trash, mentally assessed the dead for the last time, the girl froze in stillness. - Didn't even feel threatened until it was too late. Though perhaps I'm not being fair? My regular training partners are Guardsmen or Latham himself, their level is well above average. We need to do a few more fights.

There was no difficulty in executing the last thought. The pack had already covered the remaining distance to the scattered Guardsmen, took them in a semicircle, and seemed to have moved on to insults. Judging by the emotions of Medea, who was sitting a little to the side, she didn't appreciate the quality of the scolding. Deciding that stealth was enough for today, and that she wasn't expected on this side (or rather, not expected at all), Celesta rushed as fast as she could toward the main scene.

She was just in time for the start of the fight. A moment more, and the two sides would have come together in a fierce fight, all the more frightening because not every human eye could keep track of the fighters.

From the outside, Celesta's appearance looked... It didn't look like anything. The hunting costume, in shades of green and brown, obscured the contours of her body, so that she appeared beside the young vampire standing at the edge of the field. A mere mortal would have been pulverized by the light touch of a slender maiden's hand, but the risens were tougher - this one had merely been flung aside as a gourd of broken bones and mincemeat. He was not yet dead, he had not yet fallen to the ground when Celesta turned toward her next victim. There was no need to be delicate now, and a terrible mental blow fell upon the vampire, who groaned, grabbed his temples, and fell to his knees. Thin streams of blood ran from his ears and nose.

Next object. Celesta remembered them, all of them, remembered each one by name, biography, habits, could name their strengths and weaknesses. She could, but she didn't want to. Almost a month ago they had become to her objects of the hunt, targets of pursuit, evidence of a mistake, to talk to them pointless - they should just be destroyed.

To draw strength from the seal. She looks at another vampire, crumbling to dust as if caught in the scorching heat of the sun. Celesta knows what she looks like now: a short little girl with alabaster-white skin and eyes flooded with Darkness. It must have been terrifying.

Her appearance was finally responded to, the senses acutely struck by someone else's fear.

"B...ch!

That's just not true - she's never slept with men, though Medea encourages it. There is no desire, no reason. She is undead, why should she? Still, Celesta doesn't like being called that, and the vampire who screamed first loses his head. From the neat cut on his neck, blood gushes into the sky.

As if they got the signal, the attackers scattered. There was no more pack, it was gone, and now it was every man for himself. In principle, the Mistress was fine with that - it was easier for the guardsmen to finish off the fleeing ones. But the irritation that had been building up all month demanded a special meal...

She looked at one particular back, and then she extended her arm toward the fleeing vampire, making a short, beckoning motion with her hand. As if strung by an invisible rope, the fugitive flew back, straight to her feet. Halfway there, he managed to turn and claw at the ground with his huge claws, but there was no point in trying to stop - he didn't even slow down.

Only he lost his arms. The legs are also cut off by invisible blades.

"You have no idea, Zervan, how happy I am to see you," Celesta said in a neutral tone, looking at the former elder.

"Mistress! Have mercy!" With difficulty, the immortal's stump crawled on his back, looking into her eyes pitifully.

Humans believe that old vampires gradually lose their emotions and turn into a cold pure minds, subject only to rational reasoning. The opinion is generally correct - that the flamboyant, passion-driven young die often, and that only those who know how to restrain their impulses survive to a hundred years of age. Or, as Celesta has just realized, those who have not been driven to it.

Medea rose hastily from her chair and headed for the battlefield. Her sister froze, a monstrous effort to suppress a wild outburst of anger, the grass around her was rapidly fading and turning to ashes, Zervan whimpered, trying to crawl away from the outpouring of uncontrollable power of the Mistress of the Night. The beautiful elder stopped at a respectful distance. She hadn't seen Celesta in such a state in two hundred years, and she was a little rusty about how to act in such cases. Walk up and hug her? If her sister went berserk, she would have to do so, despite the mortal danger.

"Mercy?!" at last Celesta exhaled whistling. Medea straightened slightly, her face relaxed in relief. "Have mercy. Mercy. You, Zervan, are still alive for one reason - I need to know exactly what you told humans. How much they know now, thanks to you. No, not just one reason. Why? Why, Zervan? You held on! You kept your impulses in check, you tried not to kill, not to let the beast go free. So why did you sink so low in a measly two years?"

She bellowed the last phrase as she loomed over the trembling captive. Her eyes were bloodshot, her fangs protruded, and she didn't look like a fragile girl who had unwittingly wielded a sword. Before the vampires, clad in a dark aura of power, stood the demon.

Not wanting to talk anymore, Celesta jerkily grabbed the former elder, a member of her Inner Circle, one of the world's strongest risen, and now just a traitor by the throat. He tried to look away, but Mistress brought his face closer to hers, forcing him to look. Zervan twitched, resisted, and almost immediately collapsed - his flesh-altering art and immense physical strength meant nothing now.

Medea came and stood at the side of the captive, and on the other side, looking apprehensively at the Night Mistress, the bodyguards froze. They seemed to prefer to be elsewhere at the moment. They had never seen Celesta angry before, and she rarely displayed her full power, so now the two not-so-young vampires were amid a reassessment of their importance. Useful, but ill-timed. The reader is defenseless in a deep memory-reading, he must be guarded, and Medea would wipe them both to powder if even a hair fell from her sister's head.

The vampires spent an hour surrounding their Mistress in complete immobility. The bodyguards did not dare ask questions, sensing their mistress' tension, and Medea was unwilling to discuss what had happened with anyone. She spoke when she saw Latham return, covered in someone else's blood:

"Has anyone escaped?"

"The six managed to escape far enough, they are now in pursuit. We'll catch up."

"Yeah, try harder... Was it just me, or were they trying to attack our mortal servants?"

"Vantal met those four," the captain reassured her. Judging by the slight nod, she was satisfied with the explanation, so he asked in turn: "Messena decided to read the traitor's memory right here?"

"She wants answers right away," Medea replied in a flimsy manner. She'll tell Latham about the breakdown later, in private. Perhaps. "Zervan is a rare lucky man. He got off easy."

"I agree with you, noble lady," the aristocrat nodded. "His actions deserve more than that."

"Seven hundred years together, after all. Celesta showed leniency."

In the opinion of Latham, who never liked Zervan and was at enmity with him, he did not deserve mercy. However, he did not express his opinion. A vanquished old enemy, a glorious victory - why spoil the good mood with an unnecessary quarrel?

After a short time, a brief shiver ran through the captive's body. There was no other visible action, both victim and executioner remained perfectly still, but Medea immediately began to act. A small bottle of wine and a carved bone goblet emerged from the broad sleeves of her luxurious robes, and the cork popped merrily. Filling the vessel halfway with wine, the beauty tossed the bottle to one of the bodyguards and quickly slashed herself on the wrist with a sharp fingernail.

As soon as Celesta swayed, her friend was beside her, one arm under her chest, the other holding the goblet to her face.

"Drink."

Celesta greedily sucked down the mixture, replenishing the energy she'd expended. Her pale face, her cheekbones, and her uncharacteristically prominent fangs showed that learning another's memory was not easy for her. Zervan was, after all, an old, experienced risen, and he resisted to the last.

Gratefully stroking Medea's arm, Celesta broke free of the embrace. She glanced at the body on the ground, twitched her upper lip dismissively, and turned her back as if to close this page of her long life.

"Latham?"

"Three are still alive, Messena, the rest are dead," the captain reported. "No casualties among the guardsmen, though seven received various wounds."

"I am interested in a stranger from Seven Rivers named Gurban-ogun. What about him?"

"I personally blew his head off, Messena."

"A pity. I wouldn't mind talking to him again," Mistress said dryly. Her anger had passed, she was in control again, and she resembled no otherworldly monster. "We owe much of this crisis to him."

"I'm sorry, Messena."

"Don't apologize, Latham. Who knew?" Celeste shrugged. "No means no. Let's go reassure our mortal subjects that it's over."

Before she turned and walked away, Mistress took one last look at the lump that was sprawled at her feet, staring blankly into the night sky. She hesitated, then her eyes poured dark for a moment, only to return to their usual steel-gray color at once. Celesta didn't say anything, didn't give any orders, just made a sign for the others to follow her.

She was leaving.

Behind her, the body of the former elder slowly scattered in ashes.

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