Knight

* * *

The deceased Zervan should be thanked.

When the thought first crossed his mind, he froze for a few moments, amazed at the nonsense he was getting. Thank - who? A nobody with no honor or sense of duty, who had no merit other than survivability and an animal instinct that told him who had the power? The latter, moreover, had failed him. The twice-dead man deserved nothing but contempt. When the same thought flashed through his mind a second time, he thought seriously.

He never regretted his decision to stand behind his Mistress' shoulder, to lay his blade at her feet. Not literally - she dislikes grand gestures and extra pathos, simplifying etiquette to a minimum. He walked to his current position for a long time, doubting, trying to understand the will of the gods who had prepared such an unusual path for him, refusing to accept the inevitable. It had been suggested that he should be executed, for the heir to an ancient family that was as old as the duchy's - the Dinir did not call themselves kings at the time - could not be a ghoul. At the time, execution seemed the only decent thing for him to do.

It seemed so until a little short girl with an icy gaze and a steely, unyielding will entered the cell where he was placed.

Never before had he been so humiliated. In words. Without a single insult.

Later he learned that Celesta's own position in the security structure was very precarious. She was, to put it mildly, disliked, dumped with the most unpleasant tasks, almost openly called expendable material. All the more respect for the dignity with which she held. No fawning, not looking for a patron, tried to protect het older friend, carefully explained the cynical truths of the commonplace for him. Gradually, piece by piece, she reclaimed her freedom.

He did not immediately recognize her supremacy, but once he did, he never repented.

The fight with the mad priest turned into a Judgment of God and the Curse that was stopped did not fundamentally change his attitude. They cemented, reinforced a loyalty nurtured over the centuries. As a descendant of an ancient (truly ancient, not what the word now implies) family, he knew far more about magic, the gods, and their influence on the world than others, so he understood better what had happened. A long time ago this was how the gods had blessed the first sovereigns, giving them a tiny fraction of their power, confirming their claims to power. Mistress Celesta had finally formalized her status and had become a fully legitimate ruler in his eyes.

He had to admit, with the realization came relief. Before, he had doubted whether he had the right to break the vassal oath given to the present king's ancestor. Now the ambivalence was gone - a higher power had confirmed his choice.

The first hundred years of independence were not easy. They had to constantly intrigue, keep an eye on people, come up with unconventional ways out of difficult situations. Then the threat declined, the traditions of the undead had settled, the mortals, too, had come to terms with the vampires who had broken their shackles and began to press less. Life became quieter, calmer, more monotonous.

He didn't immediately notice how Mistress began to... fade.

No, she worked on things, still carefully delving into all the nuances, conceiving some new projects, keeping a close eye on the actions of adversaries from among the temples and special services. Not so. The fervor was gone. Sometimes Celesta came alive, especially during Medea's visits, but mostly she lived as if by inertia. He even ventured to bother Maitre Garresh to inquire of the minister of True Light whether the seal placed on the failure into the Abyss might be undermining the Mistress's will. He could not find Garresh, who had disappeared, and he was not at all upset - he knew that the seal had nothing to do with it.

Or did it have some effect? I don't know now. The two events - the final formation of the seal and Zervan's betrayal - occurred at the same time. Almost, the difference of a couple of months did not matter. In any case, it was as if the outburst of rage had shaken off a thin layer of ash from Celeste's emotions, recharging her with energy and spurring her to action. At the Mistress's word, bribes were handed out, reams of carefully saved dirt were tossed, "accidents" were set up, lit shelters were abandoned without regret, and new ones were urgently created. The elder himself was never left alone for a moment; he constantly felt the breath of the chase on his shoulders and most likely bitterly regretted what he had done.

He feared that after the traitor's death the brief period of activity would end, Celeste would return to a melancholy, frightening state. Fortunately, his fears were not borne out. It was as if the mistress had awakened from her sleep and began to quickly solve the difficulties that arose, firmly bringing relaxed subordinates to their senses, suppressing the slightest attempt at resistance. At last she began to plan for decades to come, not doubting her right to change the destinies of peoples.

"We're almost finished, Messen Latham," Vantal reported to the captain. "It's not a bad shop, ours is not as good as this."

"Maybe we'll visit it often in the next ten years," Latham replied quietly to his subordinate. "Misstres is dissatisfied with the state of affairs in Azar, and has other plans."

"Is that so? Well, I like Zonna, it's a beautiful city. Then don't take warm cloaks?"

"Take. It is quite possible that we will have to act in the principalities as well."

Vampires suffered from the cold much less than mortals, but they preferred to spend their energy rationally. Why drink blood and cure frost-cracked skin when warm clothing would suffice?

The amount of purchases came out a decent amount, the captain prepared in advance for a flood of complaints from the financiers. They know how to spoil the mood. However, in this case long disputes are not expected - Messena clearly ordered not to save on preparations.

To be or not to be the Holy Crusade is decided now. It is they two, Medea and her closest aide, who can convince the Mistress to give up the idea of organizing mortals to fight a shared dark enemy. The other influential risens either cannot or will not. Gardoman, despite his cunning and mastered manners, remains a peasant headman at heart, his opinions easily predicted and easily manipulated. Hustin is a genius magician, but trusts Celesta completely in matters of politics. Kalderan loves cunning combinations and will agree to organize a campaign at least out of love of art. Merck will never go against the will of the Mistress. The others are less powerful, their word will not outweigh what will be said here.

If so, the Crusade will be In any case, they have to try.

Medea had already made it clear that she agreed, he... The idea still seemed insane to him, but the longer he thought, the better he realized that the insanity was very rational. A paradox common to the mistress. The task was complex, for its implementation had to take into account the interests of many factions - some to seduce the possible benefits, others, on the contrary, to weaken or even destroy. And it was to act mainly in the land of Taleya, where the government was the least favorable to vampires. On the other hand, their unofficial influence in the kingdom is also very large, secret societies have been created there for centuries and penetrate their nets into the deepest corners.

Remembering the hidden structures that support vampires, Latham twitched his upper lip irritably, expressing his displeasure in no other way. After the damage he'd suffered recently, it would take a long time to recover. The bastard Zervan had destroyed a lot of things. Each Elder ran a particular segment, a direction, and by virtue of his status was aware of his neighbors' affairs. Mistress, through Merck, controlled religious groups ranging from rabid fanatics to those who displeased the official cults and therefore had to go into hiding. With Hastin's help, she also developed the Dark Guild, a motley collection of small groups of wizards who did whatever they wanted. In the Guild there was a charlatan next to a strong educated mage, and there were as many potionsmiths as there were fighters.

Zervan was in charge of street crime. Organizing tribute collection from gangs, issuing permits for brothels, dealing drugs, covering prostitutes. More "decent" activities, such as smuggling, bribery of officials, or real estate speculation, were more in the domain of Gardoman and Kalderan. They were the ones who suffered the most from the betrayal.

As Captain of the Guard, Latham was engaged in the personal protection of his Mistress and in contacts with the high aristocracy. His origins, his way of thinking, the manners and upbringing instilled in him as a child allowed him to be regarded as one in a small circle of people who could trace the history of their families back thousands of years to the Plague. Of course, his undead nature was known. So what of it? Some things stay forever, death means nothing to them.

Latham's agents were not harmed in any way; what happened would not affect them. So much the better. If the idea of the Holy Crusade succeeds in getting the aristocrats interested, then thay can say that half of the job is done. All that remains is to solve the purely technical issues.

* * *