History of the World of Lineage/Age of Splendor

Contents 1 Prelude 2 Shadow Fang 3 Aria, part 1 4 Martien, part 1 5 Scryde 6 Martien, part 2 7 Aria, part 2 8 Martien, part 3 9 Aria, part 3

Prelude

If you sow the fields, the seeds will sprout and new shoots will rise. The land of Aden, once ravaged by a bloody war, reached prosperity.

While feudal lords and aging knights bound by tradition mourned the fall of the old order, others sought to bring destruction to the outskirts. Merchants were eager to secure someone's backing to carry on their business.

Zeighard Ein was known as the lord of Giran Castle, but in fact he did not rule this territory. He neglected a ruler's duties, such as collecting taxes or managing the estate. After three months Zeighard wrecked the castle and vanished with his soldiers. One way or another, the lord who inherited his domain was far more ambitious. Seeking to calm the strong opposition of the Giran merchants, he ended their long trade war with Innadril - the most diplomatic decision. Innadril, the water estate, has no way to trade with other territories except through Giran. Now the lord of that estate has struck a deal with the lord of Giran, and trade relations between the two territories have been restored.

After Heine Harbor (the port of the town of Heine) reopened and the construction of Giran Harbor was completed, the trade routes linking Aden, Giran and Innadril stretched east to Avella. The method of raising striders (riding dragons) spread among the people, making it possible to carry heavy cargo over land much faster than before. Tea, silk and spices became the rich's favorite luxuries. Traditional smithing methods also changed radically thanks to a brave sailor who stole the secret of tempering metal from Avella. One of the exotic items that became a must-have was the symbol of Avella, credited with mysterious properties and powers. The symbol has already spread widely among the people, marking an era of plentiful money and goods in the eastern region of Aden.

In the fields of Dion and at the Coliseum of Lake Narsell, the Age of Splendor was proclaimed with the greatest enthusiasm. As they say, the brighter the light, the darker the shadow. Under the bright light of the fireworks of the festival called the Age of Splendor, brazen land grabs took place.

In his book "The Eternal Thousand Days", my one and only mentor hinted that Baium, the cursed emperor, symbolized this world, ruled by lazy gods. The dark red treasure running in the veins of most godlike Humans absorbed not only the essence of five tribes doomed to death, but also the essence of angels and otherworldly creatures. The names of these beings will be linked with hatred and fear when they make it into the chronicles of later days. The first to appear was the one called Gallat (Gallate).

Three holy arks were once hidden in Giran, in the Cursed Forest and in Aden, the capital of the country. They were lost during the war, then surfaced again when the struggle for the imperial throne began. If the rumors are true, the arks hold the relics of the saint who exiled Baium to the god. Many searched for these relics, but even fanatics like Atebalt and Rodemai made the mistake of underestimating the true difficulty of their goal. They sent mercenaries and merchants to find a trace of the arks. Many of them died in the chase, when they ran into the huge creatures called the Ark Guardians.

I don't think Aria the Firstborn was one of them. Her fiery sense of fate, noble dignity and blind love could have made her refuse any compromise. Two dark elves from the north were like her. One of them was Scryde, a knight of Pavel who had once been a Bladedancer, recognized by the elders of the underground city. The other was Esen, better known by the nickname Raven's Feather. He was a Phantom Ranger who operated in Rune. The greatest irony was that the one who contributed most to all this was Tetrarch Tifiel of the underground city.

We have all known success and failure in equal measure. After getting something we passionately desired, we realized it was not at all what we really wanted. Quite often many were simply stunned when that happened!

Shadow Fang

On the steppe, the wheel of an overturned cart gave a strained, creaking sound. The mountain peaks, crowned with cold cliffs and eternal ice, were hidden in darkness soon after the sun dipped behind the ridges. Darkness - an elixir that can dissolve cruelty where blood and tears are worthless, letting greed raise its despicable head. Even ordinary worldly pleasures had vanished from this cruel land.

A gang of cutthroats who lived by robbery and murder slowly approached the cart, still making its tormented noise. Another band of those who had already settled in this territory, but they got no warm welcome from people of a similar profession. Especially once they turned into lifeless corpses no longer able to shake anyone's hand or kill for money. The robbers, freed from the burden of their monotonous life, seemed uninterested in acquiring any valuables or relics.

A young elf grabbed the wheel to stop it; otherwise it might have spun like that forever. Standing among twenty corpses, he listened to the muttering of his fellow mercenaries. They were looking for a certain treasure. One of the group, who liked to show off his knowledge, said the chest was something Baron Levin, the former lord of Giran, had hidden before he lost the castle. Still, he failed to catch his comrades' interest. They weren't interested in the contents of some box lying in a cesspit who knows where. They'd rather chatter enthusiastically about the women they would chase and the drinking bout they'd throw when they got back to the village.

"Natalie's strawberry pie is the best in Aden. I know some accuse me of unmanly behavior because I'm crazy about a mere pie. But still, I was just like them until the day Natalie baked a pie for me! If you believe her, the secret of the delicious strawberry pie is... Arrrggh!.."

A huge arrow, as big as a spear, went through the pie lover's chest, putting its jagged, curved head on display. The dying mercenary looked at the arrow as if he had never seen such a thing before, then looked at his comrades. He didn't even get a chance to say goodbye to them. The other mercenaries hastily moved behind the cart, bracing for the next shot from their unknown enemy.

The mercenaries hesitated. They weren't foolish enough to rush into the forest without knowing what was hiding there. On the other hand, they couldn't just sit around the cart without knowing exactly where their hidden enemy was. Again and again came sharp sounds like silk tearing. Each time some part of the cart was destroyed. The cart was falling apart as if made of paper. The arrows came from the direction of the road, and the mercenaries had to run the other way, into the forest. But the forest, which had looked safe enough during the day, turned into a sinister monster with nightfall. A small root tied to an old stump that looked like a witch's hand stretched just above the ground and grabbed the feet of those passing by. Dead, dry branches poked at their eyes, and rotten water under the fallen leaves sucked at their boots. Insects whose peace had been disturbed showed their displeasure by furiously attacking the mercenaries' eyes, ears and noses. Surrounded by such frightening enemies, they expected the mysterious archer to come at them soon. They split into groups of three or five and went looking for shelter, expecting an attack at any moment.

Feeling his chest tighten, the elf looked up. Despite what lurked in it, the forest looked peaceful. The windswept sky, clearly visible at night, was draped in deep indigo cloth embroidered with pearls. Soon the round, full moon poked its head out between the trees. When the wind died down, as if proclaiming someone's fate, the cry of a lone beast burst from the forest.

Birds scattered hastily, woken by angry shouts, howls of agony, terrible wailing and moans. Shadows bared their sharp fangs and threw themselves at their victims with lightning speed to tear, slash, twist, beat, claw, hurl, shove, break and finally kill. A few minutes later the forest was full of convulsive breathing and moans drowned in dark red blood. The full moon grinned, lighting the landscape with a lifeless, colorless glow.

The elf was confused; he didn't know whether he was alive or dead. In the space, which had turned misty grey, two wolf's eyes suddenly flashed bright green. The elf wondered why the giant wolf had met his gaze. The answer soon came when his head filled with the feeling that it was about to fall off, and his legs were left dangling helplessly in the air. The wolf stood on its two hind legs, firmly holding the elf's head in one hand. In its other hand the wolf held a bow that looked perfectly ordinary, like those rangers used, only much bigger. When the wolf opened its jaws, the elf could see its teeth; they looked like countless daggers stained with dark blood. The next phrase was whispered into his ear: "The Glade of the World Tree - is"

It took the elf a while to realize that the wolf was talking to him, so he missed almost everything it said.

"if you don't want to see the Glade of the World Tree destroyed, then don't touch the Seal."

The wolf carelessly dropped the elf on the ground. He tried to get up but realized his legs refused to obey him. Barely able to hold up his upper body on his arms, the elf looked at the wolf.

"Why are you threatening me?"

The wolf, which had been about to leave, suddenly stopped. Each of its steps left dark red prints. The wolf answered: "That was not a threat", - and the wolf vanished, leaving the elf behind.

Some time later, as the elf was trying to remember what had brought him to this place, he went back to where the cart had overturned. Then he realized he had been walking in the wolf's tracks. The cart lay on its side, and the dead bodies of the mercenaries were scattered around. Everything was as before, only the chest was gone.

Aria, part 1

To meet Gesto, the head of the warehouse, she had to waste four days. And not because Gesto made her wait. Ever since the angels first descended into the Tower of Insolence, watchful eyes had followed Aria at a short distance. Among them, two pursuers who had followed her all the way from Elmore made her especially nervous. Aria hid in a shabby little room at the inn and didn't show her nose until she was sure they had stopped looking for her.

Pavel's legendary "Knighthood of Moon Tears", unlike the knighthood of Aden, made up mostly of Paladins and Knights, consisted of various abilities and skills less noticeable at first glance - if, of course, its members can still be called "knights". This has something to do with the fact that this estate was on good terms with the Mercenaries of Rune. The two main forces backing the Rune mercenaries were the "Cursed Forest" and the "Dark Elves' Underground City". Aria could only guess what was going on. The important question was this: how far was the Underground City showing its true intentions toward Pavel and Rune? Aria couldn't predict anything, however she looked at the situation.

Fifteen minutes after entering the warehouse, Aria left through the back door and returned to the misty night expanse of Giran. During the twenty-minute walk to her temporary lodgings, she was almost sure she had managed to slip away from her pursuers.

When Aria returned to the inn, she didn't see the old dwarf who usually dozed behind the counter. After waiting a little, she took a burning candle in one hand, climbed the creaky stairs and walked down the corridor. As the candlelight flickered, her own shadow wavered above her, as if trying to say something. Bluish night light poured through the last window at the end of the corridor, lighting the way ahead of her. At last Aria reached her room.

She walked past her room without stopping and reached for the doorknob of the empty rooms next door. There was a sharp sound, and a small hole appeared in the window facing the street, which made Aria let go of the knob. Suddenly an arrow with a black flag tied to it stuck into the door frame. It all happened in the blink of an eye.

"Raven's Feather?"

Her muscles twitched and tensed. Blood pounded in her ears and eyes, creating a throbbing sensation. An electric current ran up and down her nerves from her fingertips to her elbows and shoulders.

Wanting to avoid being hit, she threw herself against the wall, crouched and reached the top of the stairs in one breath. With her dagger she cut off the candle to put it out and crouched under the floor candlestick. The corridor engulfed her in an abyss of darkness. An arrow flew in through the window and smashed something to the left of the candlestick. The next arrow whistled over Aria's head as she flattened herself against the wall like a frog. With a sigh of relief, the girl rolled the other way. She felt that the last arrow had been aimed at the spot where she had been just a moment before.

Aria froze, keeping silent and holding her breath. The bedroom door burst open with a crash, and a knight of Pavel leapt out like lightning, swinging two swords. Aria jumped behind him and plunged her dagger into his back. The knight used both his blades to protect himself both in front and behind from anything that might be hiding in the dark corridor. Somewhat clumsily, but it managed to turn aside Aria's dagger, which was already about to strike the fatal blow.

Dim light seeped into the room through the drawn curtains of the window. When Aria stepped into this poorly lit area, another arrow whistled past her. Despite the risk of hitting his own people, the archer shot at the place where she was expected to pass, and did it with amazing accuracy.

As Aria tried to run into the bathroom, she was wounded in the leg and thrown against the wall under the window. The knight, who had chased her into the room, immediately struck down with his sword as she tried to regain her balance. Aria deflected the knight's blow with her own dagger, which drew a howl of indignation from her opponent's throat. He made a sound of annoyance, but her defensive tactic was met by his other blade. For the first time Aria had a chance to see her opponent's face. The young dark elf seemed to be under two hundred years old. He looked strong and surprisingly calm. The young knight slowly and smoothly crossed his blade with the dagger. The center of balance shifted, and both blades trembled menacingly against each other.

"Give me the Book of Holiness."

As the sword blade flashed before her eyes, Aria made a face.

"Why are you pestering me?! Go to a bookshop!"

With her dagger Aria traced a large circle and let it slip from her hand. The young knight's blade touched her wrist, leaving a long, deep cut and drawing a lot of blood. Aria threw herself onto the young knight's chest and hugged him tightly with both arms.

With a terrible scream she hurled herself through the window. The glass shattered, and the entangled opponents rolled down the eaves and crashed to the ground. While they were still falling, Aria regained control of her body and clambered on top of the knight. Just before hitting the ground, she shifted all her weight onto her knees and brought them down on her opponent's shoulders. Seized by pain, the dark elf clenched his teeth and opened his eyes wide. A new stream of blood gushed from her wounded wrist.

"The Abyss Walker of greatest power - is the one"

Pinning the knight's shoulders with her knees, she grabbed his throat with her left hand and drew a second dagger from her boot top. The red blood that gushed from her left hand stained the knight's face red. Without hesitation Aria put her dagger to his throat.

"who wandered Hell for five hundred years".

At that moment, as if falling onto the young knight's head, she arched. A burning, agonizing pain ran along her spine and filled her whole body. Something lukewarm began to flow from this new wound, soaking her armor and underclothes, which brought the girl a whole range of terrible sensations.

The Raven's Feather arrow was amazingly silent. Aria could catch only its faint, wind-like sound when it was already too close to her. Since she was now out on the street, it was hopeless to look for a safe place to shield herself from the arrow. Aria got to her feet and ran for her life. Though she couldn't see or hear it, she knew for sure the arrow was flying right behind her. Pushing off the wall and hanging from a tree branch like a cat, she darted over the wall in a single bound. The last arrow pierced her back.

"Lord Scryde!"

The Bladedancer from the cold northern estate looked blankly at the guide he had hired. It was Esen, the Phantom Ranger, known by the nickname "Raven's Feather" among the Orcs and the mercenaries of Rune.

His body betrayed its master's will. Both shoulders screamed with the sickening feeling that every bone there was broken. He felt nauseous, as if his insides were all tangled up. His lungs breathed out of rhythm, like an Orc marching song. Overwhelmed by all these sensations, his head ached as if it was about to explode.

"Oh, gods!" When the Phantom Ranger saw his employer's neck, he dropped the thing he was carrying, ran to the Bladedancer and knelt beside him on the ground. Scryde could only raise his right hand.

"It's all right. The blood isn't mine."

Scryde thought he could get rid of the pain only by passing out or by focusing on something else. But the first option would make him look weak. So instead he asked the Phantom Ranger a question.

"Did you catch her?"

Esen shook his head regretfully and went to the thing he had brought. It was a blood-soaked leather armor, torn to shreds in the last fight. He slowly explained how the "Firstborn", with an arrow sticking out of her body, still managed to slip away from him and escape.

"A hunter who failed to catch a wounded woman. I'm so ashamed of myself."

Scryde wanted to shake his head, but when he felt the terrible pain coming from his shoulders, he decided he'd better not.

"If it weren't for you, my head would be lying on the ground at your feet right now."

Sitting beside Scryde, the Phantom Ranger calmly began sorting the arrows he had collected. Since his arrows weren't bought but made by his own hands, he fussed over them like the rarest treasure. Esen divided some thirty arrows into piles: those that could still be used, those that needed repair and those that could simply be thrown away. The Phantom Ranger put them back in his quiver and spoke again.

"So can I go on hunting?"

Martien, part 1

In essence, Dion was not a rich estate. It had no important farmland. Apart from Mandrake, it had no unique local produce. Mandrake was bought mainly by sorcerers, shamans and herbalists. Given the risks involved in growing it, the profit from each harvest was very small. Duke Byron Ashton ruthlessly wiped out the Mandrake. The lord of the estate saw it purely as a source of headaches, not a treasure of great value. Since trade with nearby estates and other countries went mainly through Giran Harbor to the south, it was hard to expect any special profit.

As a person, Duke Byron Ashton was an utter failure. It is said that his greatest mistake was believing he could improve the finances of his castle and estate by squeezing the farmers, who were already sunk in poverty. And they rose up against him, though the villagers were armed only with rakes, hoes, sickles and pitchforks. The duke mercilessly crushed the rebels with spear, sword and guillotine. When the number of farmers he could use dwindled, the duke tried to send his daughter to King Amadeo Cadmus.

Just then the age of chaos began, and people who dreamed of war came to Dion. They were cutthroats who had sworn allegiance to no country or estate. They were filled with a thirst for power and uncontrollable ambition. Soon one of them beheaded Duke Byron Ashton and seized his castle.

Even if a goblin had been crowned and then danced on the throne, the farmers of the estate would still have been so happy that they would have hugged each other tightly and wept for joy. They enthusiastically welcomed the new lord of the estate. One way or another, when the era of war began, and even after it ended, when the Age of Splendor began, the residents' pockets didn't get any heavier - Dion remained a poor estate where oppressed people lived.

The new lord of the estate was determined to make money. He started a construction project to put up a strange-looking building in an empty part of the village. Then he sent mercenaries and soldiers everywhere to catch monsters. After that, all that was left was to tame the captured monsters.

"Come on, Wind Rider! Try harder! Faster, faster! Oh, mommy!"

The Monster Race Track was packed with crowds of people. Every move of a monster drew an instant reaction from the crowd - joy or regret. Along with the names of unknown gods, all kinds of blessings and curses burst from their mouths. But the adena the spectators spent quite willingly on their bets and wagers gave the Dion estate and its residents at least some hope of escaping the poverty inherited from previous generations.

"Go! Go! Go! That little rabbit won't catch you! Yes! Yes! Yes!"

When the winner was decided, the excited crowd began to rage like waves in the wind. Some spectators tore their useless tickets to shreds and threw them away, while others cheered and hugged everyone nearby. Some of them held back smiles, hiding their joy from others, secretly checking the numbers on their tickets again and again.

Martien, the owner of the South Sea shop, jumped for joy until he knocked over the man he was hugging. Then he ran to cash in his ticket, carefully avoiding the searching looks of those around him.

"Congratulations, Mister Martien."

The race manager smiled and casually glanced at Martien's ticket. For this win the track had to pay out a considerable sum of money. But her face showed no displeasure. And not because the woman didn't care that her organization would suffer losses. The profits the track made were large enough that they could afford to treat Martien's prize money as a minor force majeure.

"My eyes met the eyes of a unicorn in the paddock and my heart almost stopped!"

"Really? Why?"

"Because her eyes are like my mom's."

She laughed loudly, but the look on her face must have meant "How silly." The manager handed Martien a hefty bag of gold coins.

"After tax, your prize comes to 328,000 adena. Please count the money and sign the receipt."

When he didn't hurry to reach for the bag, she looked at him, puzzled. Martien took two steps back and gazed dreamily at the race schedule. The next moment he spoke to the manager again, his voice full of excitement and agitation:

"Look!" - he pointed at the information board with an outstretched finger, though nothing could be seen from where she stood anyway. - "It says the odds for the next race go up 204 times. What does that mean? My mom - I mean, Wind Rider, is running in that race, right?"

Even though the tickets were all tied up in bundles, she answered briefly: "That's because she's sure to lose."

"What?"

With a sudden gleam in her eyes, she began: "Think about it. It's her second chance to win today, right? But you can't win. Storm Thunder in lane three is very promising and has been hugely popular lately. Besides, lanes two, six, seven and eight - I'm sorry to have to say this about your mom - are in a whole other league. I think someone made a mistake putting such a slouch on the list. Though I shouldn't say it out loud, her chances of winning this race are" - the manager used her thumb and forefinger to show Martien - "no more than that."

Martien, whose face had turned evenly red, objected in a furious voice: "Hey! You have no right to talk about my mom like that!"

"Why are you raising your voice? I was just repeating what others say. Please calm down, Mister Martien."

With that, she calmly went back to her work - sorting the race tickets.

"There's no guarantee she'll always lose. Today she seemed to be in good shape. When I saw her eyes this morning, they burned with firm determination to win, no matter what! I'm sure Wind Rider will surprise us with her run in the next race!"

"What's the point of looking for hidden meaning in the eyes of an ant larva? Mister Martien, you are a human, aren't you?"

"Quiet! Thanks to your nonsense, everything's become clear to me now! I've convinced myself that today will be a special day for me, one of those that turn your life upside down completely and forever!"

For another moment Martien looked at the sky above the race track. Like bubbles in a gutter, clouds began to gather, covering the sun. When the wind blew through the forest around the track, leaves and grass rose into the air on a soothing, gentle breeze. For a very brief moment, completely cut off even from the noise of the track, Martien was seized by the realization that he was looking at something utterly unchanging. Martien decided that whenever he came back to this moment later in life, he would call it the Time of Revelation.

Scryde

"I've been doing this for over thirty years. It'll all be done in a moment. Once the client is prepared, you prick him with a needle a couple of times - and that's it. Anyway, the real problem is..."

The Symbol Maker sat down on a stool, fished a pipe out of his pocket and raised it to his mouth.

With unhurried movements he packed his pipe with tobacco and lit it with a coal. When he drew on it, bluish smoke streamed from his nostrils. In the half-dark room the smoke slowly drifted to the ceiling and swirled there in a dance, forming snake-like patterns.

"You've dislocated your right shoulder and collarbone. And it looks like two or three ribs are cracked. Ah, your pelvis is cracked too. Even once all this heals, you'll have pain in rainy weather."

The lamp wick crackled as an ominous rumble came from the sky outside the window. Later a night drizzle began. Inside the room there was complete silence. Scryde squeezed out an answer after a short pause.

"You talk like a healer."

Still chewing his pipe, the Symbol Maker mixed colored magic elixirs in a bottle. When the gold and silver liquids were mixed together, the result turned clear. He dripped a blood-red ingredient into the liquid, which began to glow brightly. The mixture changed color to purple, then to indigo and finally to black. The Symbol Maker took the bottle in his hand as if it were a fine liqueur and shook it briskly. Soon the liquid became clear again.

"The human body's capabilities are limited. You have to sacrifice one ability to gain another. The essence of a symbol is balance - within the limits beyond which your body breaks down. You have to bring out a certain ability while keeping to a minimum the side effects that always come with the process. That's the technique of creating symbols, the most important part of this work. Only beginners try to create the greatest strength or the fastest speed without considering everything else. Such people often end up engraving the Sign of Death."

The Symbol Maker paused for a moment and inhaled the smoke deeply. Breathing it out through his nose and mouth, he spoke again: "You should know that these days we're two or even three times more powerful than most healers. That's because we have a fine understanding of how the human body works and what principles lie behind it."

Scryde got off the examination table he had been lying on. Since the table was usually used for making signs, it bore the marks of the work, was covered in stains of different colors and smelled unpleasant.

"You give the impression of a gifted man," - Scryde tried to button his shirt with his right hand alone, but quickly gave up. - "But what are you trying to tell me?"

"You're in very serious condition. Even if you were an orc that looks like a dark elf, I can guarantee your recovery only if you agree to rest for at least two weeks."

Scryde was in a strange position that could be described neither in human terms nor in dark elf terms. Was it because he lived on human territory, killed humans, and often served a human lord? Scryde shook his head and smiled. He was about to say something when he heard a riding dragon snort in the street nearby. Outside, someone dismounted and was walking toward them. Esen looked at the Symbol Maker as if waiting for his reaction.

"I don't have any patients booked for this time."

The mysterious visitor raised the rain-soaked hood of his cloak and looked over the building where Scryde, Esen and the Symbol Maker were. He seemed to be trying to decide whether this was the right place. The guest stopped by the building.

As soon as Esen made out that the visitor was a human man, he concluded that the purpose of his visit was not to attack them. He glanced again at the Symbol Maker, who was shaking his head irritably, pipe still in his mouth. Esen opened the door for the visitor before he could knock, catching him by surprise. The man pulled back the hand that had knocked on air and then, like a wanderer returning home after a long road, took a big step forward. Though at first glance he looked lean and frail, his gait betrayed a strange touch of cruelty. His skin was rather pale, but it was hard to guess his age, mostly because of the countless wrinkles and small scars crisscrossing his face. Esen sensed that the visitor was very cautious when Esen stood behind him.

"Did you close the door?" - the Symbol Maker grumbled.

The visitor pretended not to understand and turned toward the door he had just come through. When Esen pushed the door with the tip of his boot, it shut with a loud bang. When their eyes met, the visitor grinned and shrugged. Esen spotted his bow and arrows in the corner of the room.

The visitor addressed Esen's employer. "Are you Scryde, the Knight of Pavel?"

The owner of the house looked offended at being completely ignored. Scryde was also displeased by the fact that, it seemed, everyone always knew him everywhere.

"And who are you?"

"Oh, splendid! I wasn't sure. You've come a long way, haven't you? You're very different from the other dark elves I know, they're completely abnormal."

"So, once again, who are you?"

It felt as if the air in the room had turned to ice. Esen was torn between grabbing his bow and drawing the dagger from his belt. At the same time he suspected the visitor might be hiding something under his cloak. Yet nothing happened.

"Very well, sir. Your humble servant's name is Gustin. My master is a very noble man, but I carry out quite mundane tasks. My master said he is very grateful to you for the loyal support and cooperation your lord has given, and sent me to offer you a little help. He-he-he!"

It was obvious his speech was full of sarcasm. Scryde spoke without batting an eye:

"I don't need help from a servant, or whatever you are. I don't know who your master is, but say what you want to say and then get lost."

Gustin clenched his teeth. Esen felt a kind of sympathy for him. If an Orc had received such a flat refusal, a fight would have broken out and gone on until only one of them was left standing. Only a Human could swallow an insult of this level.

"I heard that the woman you're hunting has fled to the Water Estate."

"Why should I believe you?"

"Because you have no reason not to believe me."

For a while Scryde just looked at the human guest. Some say the eyes are the mirror of the soul, but Scryde's pupils were more like bottomless wells.

"Did your master receive a Prophecy?"

"Oh, gods!" - biting his tongue, Gustin turned his gaze to the Symbol Maker. - "You've exposed me. You shouldn't have said that out loud. Thanks to you, no one will be engraving symbols here in Giran for a while. My master told me to deal with anyone spreading such pagan stuff, just like you."

A blade with a bluish gleam suddenly appeared from under the visitor's cloak. An unexpected stream of horrific curses burst from the Symbol Maker's mouth. He grabbed the biggest needle for applying signs, one that reached the floor.

"You Bishop's mutt! Want me to sweat and draw the Sign of the Heart for you?"

Gustin smiled coolly and bared his teeth in a wide grin.

"I wonder how you'll do that with both your hands cut off?"

Not quite understanding why, Esen felt he had to help the Symbol Maker. Be that as it may, he was just a mercenary and couldn't say what was on his employer's mind. Scryde used his injured right arm to lift a three-legged stool and bring it down with a loud crack on Gustin's head.

"What are you doing!" - Gustin shouted furiously. - "This is none of your business!"

"I don't like your master." Looking at Scryde's wrinkled brow and the worried look on the Symbol Maker's face, Esen realized that the patient's right shoulder had slipped out again. "I also don't like how you both behave," he said in an emotionless voice.

Blood flowed from Gustin's forehead, made its way past the wrinkled corners of his eyes and prominent cheekbones, heading for his mouth. A trembling sound seeped from the guest's throat, but it was hard to tell whether he had a runny nose or the man was growling.

"Dark elves are all the same. You're incorrigible. Even when you're about to croak, you have to show off your pride!" - Gustin muttered darkly. He was talking to himself more than to anyone in the room. - "But what would your master say? Humans are far more complex and cunning creatures!"

"I think you don't love your master," - Scryde mocked him with a laugh. - "I really do feel very sorry for you."

Overcome by a sense of defeat, Gustin left without being able to take the Symbol Maker's life. Some time later Scryde underwent another painful treatment that lasted several hours. Afterwards he told Esen to set off for Innadril. Gustin might still have a chance to satisfy his petty thirst for revenge. Esen thought that if the sullen man had been there to witness the ordeal Scryde's treatment had become, even he would have found no joy in it.

Martien, part 2

A cat with claws out suddenly attacked a wolf. It happened in a dream, but it also happened in real life. Like a circus clown, the cat somersaulted in the air and landed on the wolf's back. The wolf growled loudly and turned to the cat. A wasp saw what was happening and broke into a wild dance against the sun, tracing "figure eights" in flight. The shadow monster raced toward the finish, the unicorn hot on its heels. Further behind, a small white rabbit and a strange-looking wind-up doll with a clock built into its belly ran after them.

"Looks like someone's missing?"

Back by the starting gates, a dusty caterpillar wriggled, straining forward. At noon the cicadas chirred loudly from the trees by the race lanes, as if cheering it on.

"Stop it!" Someone shouted and threw a glass bottle. It hit Martien on the head and bounced off, flew onto the race lane and landed on the caterpillar's back. It curled its body into a ball and rolled to the next lane, which was perhaps the best racing tactic, all things considered.

"Oh, brother! Are you all right?"

"Come on! Come on! Supreme One! You can do it! Wind Rider! Go! Go!"

In front, the unicorn and the shadow monster fought fiercely for first place. The foam-covered unicorn galloped furiously. The two beasts ran side by side for a while. The unicorn slowly gained on the shadow monster.

The caterpillar kept rolling down the lane in its ball form until it caught up with the wind-up doll and hit its little wheel. The doll fell, and the flame from the torch it carried caught the fuse running from its head.

Tick-tick-tick BOOM!

The doll exploded, its little wheel flying into the crowd of spectators. Pieces of the doll's body soared into the air and reached the main gates of the race track. The doll's head, with a jester's face painted on it, rolled to the finish line with a loud clicking, distracting the crowd's already scattered attention.

All eyes switched to another round object flying through the air across the track. The caterpillar landed and rolled like a barrel in front of the unicorn, like some nightmarish sphere with some insane, ill-fated purpose.

The sun beat down mercilessly on the snow-white unicorn racing at full speed, as if trying to catch up with something long forgotten. The shadow monster was a greedy night predator, more used to tearing the fabric that separates this world from the world of spirits. At that moment it kept up the chase in clear anticipation of catching its illusory prey, the unicorn.

"Now jump on that creature? No, not now. A little closer"

"First to arrive, lane five, Supreme One! Second to arrive: lane four, Wind Rider!"

A terrifying thunder of victory cries, curses and plaintive wails thickened into a hoarse roar that probably shook all of Dion. Shreds of tickets torn up and thrown away by the spectators flew over the track like confetti. A few wolves idling near the track were frightened by the noise and hastily ran off.

The crowd pressed tightly together, leaning menacingly on the wooden railing that separated the spectators' area from the race lanes and shaking it. Finally the fence gave way and burst into splinters. A few unlucky ones were buried under the debris and trampled as well, while the rest of the crowd disappeared from view. Some spectators rushed at the monsters and their owners but were held back by the mercenaries the track had hired.

Hugging tightly, kissing and dancing with whoever happened to be nearby, Martien flared up with religious zeal so mighty that it seemed he could have become a member of the clergy in the blink of an eye.

At that moment he decided that from this day on he would do a lot of charity in an effort to become a respected member of society. He would be generous to his subordinates, who had long been through financial hardship. "I'll get a comfortable clan hall and buy them all shiny, top-quality weapons!" - he promised himself.

Beyond the lanes he saw a dwarf woman near the track office, fighting off the guards who were trying to hold her back. She was trying to get to the finish line, whimpering and arguing about something. True, since the result was completely unexpected for everyone, it was understandable that someone was upset. Martien even felt sorry for her.

A little later the judges gathered around the dwarf woman, and before all was said and done, even the highest-ranking managers were drawn into the squabble. Huddled together, they shook their heads and argued for a while. In the end they seemed to reach an agreement.

"Attention! We have an announcement," - the race manager stood in the middle of the track, shouting in a booming voice. - "We have corrected an error made when announcing the winners of race 12."

It seemed silence had gripped the whole world.

"First to arrive, lane one, Lamplighter! Second to arrive: lane five, Supreme One!"

"My lord, all the mercenaries have been killed."

"According to the rules of the Monster Races, when any part of a participating monster's body crosses the finish line, that monster is considered to have reached the finish. Therefore, we have decided that Lamplighter, whose head crossed the winning line first, has won the race. We would also like to announce that those who bet on Wind Rider, who came third and lost the chance to win by a small margin, will receive lottery tickets as a token of our goodwill. The winner of this lottery will be decided tomorrow."

"I think they didn't catch the woman."

"I'm ruined."

In the blue noon sky the shining sun sent down golden rays like scattered arrows.

"Why would you want to look for hidden meaning in the eyes of an ant larva? Aren't you a human?" Sorting the tickets, the race organizer wasn't addressing anyone in particular.

"Let me give you a lottery ticket as consolation. To miss by that much!.." - said the dwarf woman as she picked up the head of the exploded doll.

"Come here, sir. This is a lot of fun."

In the red-carpeted room for Very Important Persons on one side of the coliseum, Lord Atebalt and his guards were dancing like clumsy Orcs. When his eyes met Martien's, he jumped into the air, tracing a figure eight with his belly.

"Hey, want to meet an angel?" - he asked, looking just below Martien's head.

"It's all because of you," said the unicorn with a sad look. "Why didn't you become an angel like I told you? When you were little, you were such an angelic child!"

"To become an angel, you need to train for three years at Cedric's School, another three years at the Ivory Tower, and then the next three years in the Village of Squires. After all that, you still have to beat Hardin at chess! And it costs a lot of money too!"

Martien wanted to run away in shame as far as he could. But as soon as he thought of it, he suddenly realized he was already running and howling like a crazed animal. The watching crowd quickly got out of his way, shrieking at him and spewing curses at him.

"Oh!" - the young dark elf woman Martien bumped into gave a quiet cry - her voice was seductive. With a look of confusion on her face, she stood there for a while longer, looking around. - "Lady Leirynn! Lady Leirynn! Where are you?"

"Elly! Elly! Didn't I tell you not to wander around here alone? There are huge crowds here. You could easily get into trouble, and what would you do then? Places like this attract all sorts of nasty types!"

Although someone who looked like the young dark elf's companion appeared a few steps away from her, the young girl didn't open her eyes and kept leaning firmly on her cane.

"Yes, the person in front of me is behaving strangely. I think he's gone mad after losing his money."

"You shouldn't talk about someone like that when he's right in front of you!"

The young girl's companion looked like an ordinary warrior. She wore light armor and carried a sword. She looked Martien up and down and added: "But he really does look like a madman."

"Hm? Really?"

Something exploded inside Martien's head. The horror that came was unbearable. And so, cursing the nightmare that was happening, he turned into a sobbing little girl. He felt an unbearable pain between his legs - as if he had been speared right there and the spear given a good twist.

"Oh, that must hurt," - the girl and her companion looked down at Martien, who was writhing on the ground. - "He was hit by the Staff of the Evil Spirit! If he can never be a real man again, will you take responsibility for it? We told you not to make trouble!"

"When someone attacks you, he probably wants to get some back. Don't you agree?"

"What kind of idiocy is this? You're older than me. Don't you have a drop of compassion?"

"And what about you? If you have so much compassion, why won't you even lift a finger to help me? Here I am, writhing in pain on the ground!" - the words pushed through his throat and came out as a muffled, suffering wheeze. The companion put both hands on her hips with a puzzled look on her face and looked at the girl and at Martien in turn. Then with a sigh she turned away from them both.

"Let's go back. Our boss is probably worried about us by now."

The girl seemed embarrassed, looking around. Then she lifted her imposing staff a little. Martien, still sitting on the ground, saw what she was doing and hastily brought his legs together. The girl knelt on one knee and carefully felt the ground around her. Her hand touched Martien's leg.

"Hey! What are you doing?"

"I'm sorry this happened. I thought you were trying to attack me. Does it still hurt?" - the girl leaned her head closer to him and added thoughtfully: "What will you do if you can't be a real man anymore?"

Speechless, Martien silently opened and closed his mouth. He suddenly realized the girl was blind. With a worried look she tugged at the toe of his boot.

"Are you that bad? If you haven't passed out, please answer me!"

"Ah, I'm, uh, fine down there."

She sighed deeply with relief.

"Is she really a dark elf? For a dark elf, she expresses her emotions surprisingly vividly and richly," - as soon as he thought this, Martien noticed that she was frowning.

"Something bad must have happened to you. But it's dangerous to just attack someone like that." He thought the girl would scold him for nearly knocking down a blind girl. But that wasn't it. "I could have been a killer who happily destroys Humans for sport, you know. In that case, your guts would be scattered around, and your heart would be fluttering on the ground."

Her wild imagination reminded him of passages from some bloody fairy tale. Martien shook his head, regretting his foolish behavior. He tried to explain why he had been racing across the track in such a frenzy. Martien was extremely embarrassed. If the elf hadn't been holding his leg so tightly, he would almost certainly have run off screaming again.

After hearing his story, the girl fell into thought. Carefully turning out her own shirt, she fished a scrap of paper from somewhere. Martien was taken aback, noticing the size of the dark elf's bust. He quickly looked at her face, then looked away altogether, remembering she was blind. He looked at her again but was disappointed that she had already buttoned up her clothes.

The girl patted him, trying to find his hand, and said, pushing the paper into his palm: "Here, take this."

Waking from sleep, Martien carefully unfolded the scrap of paper he was still holding. The road was uneven, so the cart shook terribly. Afraid of dropping the paper, Martien held it with both hands.

"Brother, are you looking at it again?"

"Yes".

His companion sighed and turned his gaze to the carriage window. His thoughts were busy with the sixty million adena that had evaporated by the gods' ill will.

"Lord Gustaf Atebalt said that if you fail again, he'll let you meet an angel. You feel the same as I do, right, brother?"

"Yes".

What Martien had gotten from the girl was a ticket that named exactly the winner of that nightmarish twelfth race. The sum written on the paper was apparently the blind girl's monthly allowance. The elf had given him the paper trying to make up for the harm she had done him by mistake, which could have left him less than a man. After that the girl quickly left. Having missed the chance to explain himself, Martien now felt a little guilty at the thought that he had sold his manhood for money. But was that the only problem that worried him?

The cart raced toward the capital of Aden at breakneck speed. When the memories of their conversation had almost vanished from his thoughts, Martien suddenly opened his mouth: "If a goddess appears before us, she can look like anything, right?"

"What?" - his companion's voice clearly showed annoyance at such silly remarks.

"She's blind, unfeeling and harsh, but still she's full of good intentions."

"That's certainly a philosophical worldview, isn't it?" - Martien's comrade crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat.

Thanks to the coachman, who put every drop of energy and skill into his work, they had already passed the White Tower of Sorcerers. "Oh!" - the man looking out the window exclaimed quietly. A gigantic grey column appeared on the horizon. Its top was hidden in the clouds, invisible. In the past it had been a bridge linking heaven and earth. But it had been destroyed long ago.

"Brother, that's the Tower of Insolence."

Aria, part 2

"Go and report that we've found the woman."

Shadow Fang had wiped out all the mercenaries who were looking for the holy ark. Six days after Aria the Firstborn vanished from the streets of Giran, she reappeared in Innadril. Lord Gustaf Atebalt, a knight of the Kingdom of Aden and head of the ancient Atebalt clan, hired several mercenaries to find her. They found a dark elf woman matching her description on the Heine pier.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. When I last saw her, her hair was tied back. She looked as if nothing in the world bothered her at all."

The ocean breeze and the southern sun must have dulled the vigilance of the Abyss Walker, who was supposedly the strongest around. She strolled the exotic streets and looked at the unusual toys the dwarves had made with skillful hands. When she entered the most expensive and extravagant district, the shop windows there seemed to catch her attention. Meanwhile, a few more people joined the pursuers.

"Aren't there enough of us? Why don't we grab her now? If we wait any longer, someone else is sure to come."

Had she found something she liked in a shop window? While her hunters hesitated, Aria stopped for a moment in front of a clothes shop by the canal, then disappeared into it. Three or four mercenaries followed her, pretending to be customers.

The shop offered armor and various gear for adventurers, along with fine garments for the most stylish ladies and gentlemen. These two kinds of buyers couldn't always be clearly told apart. For example, you could often see sons and daughters of rich merchant families admiring shiny armor, or female warriors absorbed in looking at satin dresses. Inside, the shop was noisier than the mercenaries expected. They were caught off guard by the unexpectedly large number of customers.

"Where's the dark elf woman who just came in here?"

One of the mercenaries grabbed the shop owner by the throat. The fearless elf calmly pointed at three dark elves who were glaring at them fiercely. Aria the Firstborn wasn't among them.

One of the mercenaries gave a signal, and several more burst into the shop. Some customers screamed, some frowned in annoyance. The mercenaries were slightly taken aback when they realized that some customers carried heavy items that could be used as weapons against those who kept them from enjoying their shopping. Still, the customers didn't attack them. Their shopping trip would surely be spoiled for the day anyway, so the customers tried to hold back their irritation as best they could.

"Is there a back door here?"

Pushing past boxes piled up inside the shop, several mercenaries found a door at the far end and went outside. Seagulls soared in the clear blue sky, gondolas glided leisurely along the smoothly flowing canal. Noble ladies in white, shading their heads from the sun with little parasols, enjoyed refined strolls, with no idea of and no interest in what the mercenaries were up to.

One of the mercenaries crossed the shop, approached the fitting rooms and yanked a curtain aside furiously. Inside stood a frightened woman, ready to burst into tears. Other mercenaries pulled aside the second and third fitting room curtains.

The moment they pulled the second curtain aside, a piercing shriek struck the eardrums of everyone in the shop. A tiny dwarf girl was frantically trying to cover her almost completely naked body with a tunic. When the mercenaries looked into the third, they froze like frogs before a snake. A huge male orc stood there completely naked, staring at them with fierce eyes. The orc had apparently been changing clothes. On the shelf lay a pile of clothes torn to shreds and a pair of iron gauntlets.

The unlucky mercenary who had torn down the curtain stared at the terrifying abdominal muscles and the huge green scarred chest. He should have stopped looking there, but the mercenary lowered his gaze. When he forced himself to look up again, his eyes met the orc's. He wanted to apologize, but instead his lips twisted into an idiotic grin. The mercenary tried to put the curtain back, but it fell to the floor.

"Umm, sir... I think there's been a misunderstanding," - the mercenary's tongue failed him. The tattoo on the orc's forehead crumpled into an irregular shape. Green fists, each bigger than a child's head, appeared before the mercenary's eyes as the orc made a menacing sound.

"That shop seems to be in unusual demand today. Perhaps new fabrics have arrived from Avella. Would you like to go take a look, My Lady?" - the gondolier glanced at "Espen and Verona's Boutique" with narrowed eyes. Apparently he wanted to satisfy his own curiosity more than his client's.

"No, I don't like crowded places," - the woman answered.

The gondolier looked slightly disappointed but, like a typical Innadril resident, began humming some tune. The wind blowing over the river was unusually cool and fresh, and the passenger who had happened to board his boat had paid him more than enough. Dark elf noblewomen weren't all that frequent customers, so he would be able to brag to his fellow gondoliers later.

"Where shall I take you, My Lady?"

Aria the Firstborn gathered her skirt, covered her ankles and raised her head. She held a parasol that shielded her from the strong sunlight. As the gondola passed under one of Heine's countless bridges, she folded the parasol and ran her fingers through her hair, pushing it back.

Even if she had given in to the temptation to stay here under the bridge, she sensed that her pursuers were still too close for comfort. The elf looked around and fixed her gaze on another little bridge over the canal about two blocks away.

As soon as the gondolier got her answer, he skillfully pushed off with his pole, sending the gondola forward. Aria felt the tension in her body ease for a while, dozing off. She thought it would be nice if she could just enjoy her trip along the canal without worrying about anything.

A little later, when the gondola reached its destination, the gondolier silently put his pole away and waited. Perhaps the pouch of gold coins she had tossed him helped him become an agreeable and pleasant man. The elf was tired of being chased constantly, so his attentiveness was a pleasant luxury. Aria wasn't upset even when Piriel Aurura showed up half an hour after the agreed meeting time.

"At last! How was I supposed to find you in a place like this?"

"You're the Collector," - Aria answered briefly. A moment later she added: "By the way, your scream was magnificent, as always."

"The trick is to put your whole heart into the scream. Someday you'll understand. Even you can do it."

Piriel jumped from the bridge into the gondola. If the gondolier hadn't used his pole with all his skill to balance the boat, the impact would have drenched them with water. Although Aria respected and valued this dwarf woman for her skills, she was damned annoying as a person.

After Aria said she wanted to sail all the city's waterways, the gondola started moving again. As soon as they left the shadow of the bridge, the sun met them with a welcoming smile. Aria opened her parasol again to protect her skin. The gondolier pointed out various places during the trip while the gondola moved at a slow pace.

"You've inconvenienced other people by doing what you did."

Grumbling, the dwarf dropped her backpack, which was bigger than she was, onto the floor of the gondola. The boat rocked again under the weight.

"I know, you're right."

The dwarf began unpacking her supplies. Aria was always amazed by the Dwarves' ability to carry heavy loads on their shoulders. On the battlefield she had even seen a dwarf use the supplies from his backpack to equip all the warriors of a unit with armor and long swords, and feed them too. She suspected this was the reason Dwarves don't grow taller with age.

"By the way, Espen was moping and complaining to me. If perverts hear about the Dwarves and Orcs seen stark naked and raging in his shop, they'll flock there in herds. It'll ruin his business."

Piriel finally found the item she had been looking for in her backpack. She blew on it and polished it with her sleeve. It was a glass vial with some dark red contents. Aria could tell it was old, dried blood. Before handing over the Blood of Saints, Piriel seemed to suddenly remember something and said: "I know it's a silly question for a Dark Elf, but I'll ask anyway. You look unwell today. Your face is deathly pale. Am I right?"

"Yes," - Aria readily agreed, quite unexpectedly. - "I was mercilessly attacked by two men from the north."

Piriel clicked her tongue and said: "Because of these damned relics two innocent lives were lost." With a peculiar look on her face, Aria tucked away the Blood of Saints. Piriel seemed astonished and spoke louder: "Don't tell me! You let them live? What's gotten into you?"

"Nothing. And don't talk to me like I'm some kind of murderer, all right?" Lately some emotions had been mixing inside Aria, and she caught herself voicing them out loud before she could hold back the impulse.

"I must have grown weak," - she decided. - "Even though I may look young, I lived at the same time as that crazy monster locked in the tower. I feel like an old hag whose insides rotted long ago."

"One thing I can tell you for sure," - Piriel took out her pipe to smoke. - "Neither you nor I pass for young fairies anymore."

Piriel was about to take out her tinder when she remembered she had put it at the bottom of her bag. The gondolier, still silent, took a burning twig from the coal box and held it out to her. Still holding the pipe in her mouth, Piriel smiled broadly at the gondolier and nodded.

"If that's what you think, maybe you should stop doing this," - after a little thought, Piriel added. - "All you really want is to meet that madman in the tower and talk about old times."

Aria giggled. "I can't deny I've thought about it."

"It's the privilege of old folks like us to let the young do the work while we sit and watch."

When Piriel said this, the gondolier couldn't hold back any longer - he laughed. By human standards she looked like a girl of ten at most, but of course she talked far too maturely for that age.

"That's a cowardly attempt to run away from reality."

"And what's wrong with that?" - Piriel muttered, looking at the Merchant Guild office across the canal. - "Some old people say so sometimes. For example, Heine, Atebalt, and, yes, Rodemai too."

Aria shook her head; her face was sad and tired.

"This work has to be done with our own hands. The young are our hope for the future."

Piriel giggled.

"Don't kid yourself. We made this mess, we clean it up. I'd say at least half of your motivation is that you want to save your old lover. I know you're concerned with freeing Tetrarch Tifiel. Honestly, I'm not against his principles. After all, what's wrong with Dark Elves joining forces with Elves? I'm for equality for all. Happiness for all! It's even written on the Tablet of Maphr."

"Perhaps we've talked too much," - Aria thought. There was a gulf between Dark Elves and Elves that everyone could see. Piriel hadn't exaggerated. However, when Aria handed her the money, the dwarf made an unexpected remark.

"Beware of your own kin, you don't have that many allies left."

Aria already knew this. What surprised her was that the cold-looking dwarf cared about her safety.

"Hm," - instead of expressing gratitude, Aria answered sarcastically. - "You'd better worry about your own well-being. I've also heard that someone is relentlessly hunting the Black Anvil."

"I think Master Brikus and Magister Xenovia of the Dark Elf Guild have also been ordered to get you out of the way. The two who attacked you earlier are surely already heading here. Younger members of your own profession have also turned up on the outskirts of the city. I mean Abyss Walkers. Even when you complain about your own weakness, I can't help you. Understand?"

"I know."

The sun slowly sank toward the horizon, then disappeared under the bridges in the distance. The canal looked like a ruby river, shaded with sparkling red light. Aria was pleased that in this water city of Humans and Elves even Dark Elves like herself could feel the beauty. The dwarf turned and suddenly threw herself around Aria's neck. The difference in height made the gesture even more awkward. Piriel buried her face in Aria's stomach. Aria suppressed her first impulse to throw the dwarf out of the gondola and stopped her hand mid-swing. She didn't know what to do in such a situation and didn't understand Piriel's true intentions.

"Don'tDieOkay?"

The dark elf put her right hand on the dwarf's head. She wanted to stroke and caress her but didn't really know how. At some point she slowly moved Piriel away.

"I already told you I feel weaker than before." Aria tried to stand, but the gondolier warned her with a quick gesture to sit back down. Instead of obeying, she slowly began to undress. The gondolier quickly turned away, but there was no need. Under her dress Aria wore light armor. "That's all I was going to say."

She noticed another bridge approaching and slowly turned her back to the dwarf and the gondolier.

"Whether the enemy is one or many, Human or Dark Elf, young or old"

Aria the Firstborn gathered her hair and tied it in a ponytail.

"I am still, at least for now, the strongest."

Then, like the shadow of a bird flying high above, she suddenly vanished.

Martien, part 3

Countless aristocrats and saints were buried in the Cemetery of Aden. The tombstone Martien touched was hidden in a small patch of forest surrounded by tall needle-leaved trees. A few years ago, when Martien first visited this grave, he got the impression that the cemetery was a clean and vast place. Though, as he later understood, that was only because of its large area.

"The only grave keepers here are those capricious creatures."

Martien and his companion both held their breath as a huge creature with the upper body of a human woman and the lower body of a snake slid silently past. They didn't move until the monster was completely out of sight. The guardians of this cemetery, permanent and sleepless, burned with the same hostility toward unlucky grave robbers and innocent visitors alike. They have swarmed this place since the war broke out between Elmore and Aden. Aden sent as many soldiers as it could, neglecting this huge cemetery. Toward the end of the war someone raised the issue that the cemetery should be maintained. But it was too large. To drive the monsters out of the cemetery completely would have taken enough people to build a castle. So the plan to protect the cemetery was moved to the bottom of the priority list. And by the time the war ended, the plan was forgotten altogether.

When the creature was out of sight, Martien returned to the small tombstone. "I wonder who's buried here? He must have been someone outstanding. Only such people are buried in this cemetery." But it couldn't be a member of the royal family. A special plot, still fully guarded, was set aside for members of the royal dynasty. So here lay someone worthy enough for his name to enter the annals of history, but not crowned. Martien knew nothing about it. Those who lived in the Age of Splendor weren't interested in such things.

Martien felt a strange relief at the thought that passing time erases the memory of someone's life. He kept stroking the tombstone, earnestly trying to understand why it stirred so many sentimental feelings in him.

"Are you sad? You must have been a great man who wanted to sacrifice himself. But now no one remembers you."

Suddenly the tomb statue opened its eyes, and then its mouth: "What an idiot, what silly talk is this? I'm dead. Why should I worry about such mundane things?"

"But those who buried you here put up this monument so they could remember you."

"Can you even imagine how much time has passed since the gods created this world? A human life flashes by in the blink of an eye. Even if my name were written in books, how long do you think the memory of me would live?"

"You must have been a great man to rest here."

"Maybe I was, maybe I wasn't. There's no limit to greatness."

"Didn't you try to live your life nobly so as to be buried in a great cemetery like this? Though it's long since turned to ruins."

"Who thinks about such gloomy things while alive?"

"Only those who have devoted their lives to accomplishing something."

"You're confusing cause and effect."

"You mean each of us has our own destiny?"

"That's a banal explanation."

"I may die today or tomorrow. What do you think I should do?"

"Aha! At last you're close to the answer."

"Answer me!"

"Haven't you been thinking about it all this time? You should already know. I'm just a reflection of your mind. Let's leave each other in peace. Your people are calling you."

"Brother! Shall we go now?"

Martien and his men stealthily made their way through the cemetery, the moonlight their only guide. They loaded the stolen goods taken from the cemetery into their cart and set off. When they were far from the cemetery, one of the three carts turned south. Another turned north, and the last, in which Martien rode, headed straight for the eastern gate of Aden Castle. When they reached the city, their employer was to pay Martien and his men some compensation. If everything went according to plan, he would split his share of the reward and pay his men so they wouldn't want for food and clothing.

"This can't be"

The cart suddenly stopped. Inside, Martien began to laugh loudly. Soon the clanging and clattering of weapons and armor mixed with the sound of angry voices.

"Stop!" - he shouted at the top of his lungs from inside the cart. The fight suddenly stopped. Martien was filled with a sense of satisfaction and delight. He concentrated to understand what was happening outside. At the moment no one was paying attention to the cart. The cover was lifted and one man looked inside. In the darkness of the cart someone was sitting on the holy ark.

Martien shouted shrilly to someone outside: "I'm Martien, owner of the South Sea shop! Let's talk!"

There was no answer. Martien's heart pounded in his chest. His temples throbbed. Someone's giggle broke the deafening silence.

"This is getting interesting. I'm Staris, of the 'Society of Forest Guardians'."

Martien got up from the holy ark. He went to the back of the cart and lifted the flap to look around. When his subordinates saw him, they seemed to brighten at once. He asked if everyone was all right, and they slowly nodded. The glowing cat eyes of a dark elf woman glared at him fiercely. A young dark elf stood next to her.

"Staris?"

The dark elf nodded with a faint smile on his face. Martien gestured for him to come over.

"Why don't you come inside?"

The dark elf stepped lightly into the cart. Martien's men who stayed outside were alarmed by this turn of events: "Brother" - they looked at Martien with despair in their eyes, at a loss for words.

"Don't worry, guys. Don't worry!"

The next moment Martien and Staris were looking each other in the eye. Martien sat on top of the holy ark, while Staris stood before him. His gaze settled on the treasure of the Ancient Empire on which Martien was perched. The man lit the lamp hanging inside the cart and took a look at the dark elf's appearance.

"Your face... I remember you from somewhere."

"I used to work at the South Sea shop. You paid little. Damn little."

"What did you expect? When business is poor, so is the pay. I couldn't do anything about it. Anyway, why did you attack this cart? You didn't flip a coin to decide, did you?"

"If I tell you I sent people after the other carts too, will that make you feel better?"

"I can always check to find out the truth. But I have a feeling that's not it. Why don't you tell me honestly?"

Martien had devised a trap when he was given the job of moving the holy ark from the cemetery to another place. He came up with the idea of preparing a fake cart as bait, for just such a case as this. He discussed this plan with his employer but revealed it to no one else. And although the details of the plan changed many times, one thing stayed the same - placing the holy ark in the third cart.

"I've been tricked?" - the dark elf asked incredulously. - "So the holy ark is a fake?"

Martien was seized by a taste of victory such as he hadn't tasted in a long time. He rubbed his hands and tried to calm down enough to speak. He knew his next move was critically important: "Who sent you here?"

"A highly placed person from Giran. Must I say more?"

It was an unexpected answer. The dark elf could be lying to him. He could easily name someone else. While Martien was weighing the possibilities, the dark elf spoke.

"Some time ago an envoy from high society came to see Hierarch Asterios. You don't need to know why. But the society was the kind of organization where high-ranking people gather to do something more than simple friendly chats."

Martien grinned bitterly, got up and kicked the holy ark. He muttered a curse at someone who wasn't there. The dark elf just stood there during this outburst, arms folded. "If the holy ark really is a fake, why should I care whether it breaks into pieces or not?"

"Can I tell you a secret?" - Martien was breathing heavily and looking around. An old hammer caught his eye. When the Dark elf saw Martien heave the hammer onto his shoulder, he tilted his head with a puzzled look. Martien gave him a broad grin and brought the hammer down on the ark with all his might. Although it sounded as if something had broken to pieces, there wasn't a scratch on it. But the floor under it was broken. Martien kept grinning broadly at the dark elf, showing all his teeth: "Oh, this one's real, so it's all fine"

A little later Martien and Staris got out of the cart. The gangs on both sides looked at them questioningly. Martien did a roll call of his subordinates to make sure no one was badly wounded.

Although some of them had broken arms or legs, and some even had arrows sticking out of them, no one was mortally wounded. After whispering a few words to the dark elf, Martien and his men drove off. The dark elf uttered a few random phrases that meant nothing in particular, such as "Aaarrrgh, they're too strong!", "We're no match for them!" and "Let's get out of here!"

Staris and several of his men rode toward the edge of the cemetery. In a small wood in the northwest of the Forbidden Gateway area, he found a tomb monument, abandoned and forgotten long ago. With the toe of his boot he dug up the ground in front of it.

The "Society" had obtained the key to the holy ark.

Aria, part 3

The crescent moon smiled radiantly. At the pier a horn signaled a ship's departure. The Heine lighthouse, the most beautiful of its kind, sent out a bluish beam that lit the night sky. For most residents of Heine this day was no different from others. However, some of the most sensitive felt that the atmosphere on the street was somewhat strange.

The Dark Elf Guild usually seemed empty, because few were seen going in or out. It was locked at moonrise. Even the few adventurers who usually hung around the shops didn't show up until morning. An unusually large number of Dark Elves were circling the pier and the castle gates.

"It looks like everyone's waiting for a party to start," - said Flauen, a Guard of Heine, looking at the moon curved like a Shamshir blade. When his gaze dropped, he noticed the backs of two dark elves walking away from him. One of them seemed badly wounded and walked with difficulty. The other dark elf was helping his comrade, carrying an impressive bow, a black quiver and arrows with little black flags tied to them.

"Are they good people or villains?" - Flauen muttered under his breath, gesturing at the two dark elves. - "When I see those who fight their lonely battle called life, I feel an urge to reach out to them."

"I can't believe I'll have to fight the Firstborn!"

Master Brikus muttered, slowly tying his belt. Carefully tidying his clothes, he wiped the blood from the previous fight off his armor. To Xenovia he looked excited and agitated, like a student about to be tested by his mentor.

"Have you ever met her?"

Turning gloomy, Master Brikus counted on his fingers and said: "It was 15 or maybe 18 years ago, when I worked as a Sentinel. She was invited as a special instructor."

"What was she like?"

Master Brikus pressed his lips together and rolled his eyes up. Noticing the deep crease that had formed between his eyes, Xenovia thought he might be remembering something very unpleasant.

"The only thing I remember is that throughout the training period she looked very tired. At first we thought she wasn't interested in teaching us. As for me, I just didn't like her."

Xenovia gathered a few spellbooks and potions and put them in the pouch tied to her belt. She fastened her sword at her side, hoping she wouldn't need it. She couldn't bring herself to put on armor.

"Leave that!" - Master Brikus told her, and she put aside the heavy armor that would only have hindered her magic. - "I'll always be between the Firstborn and you."

"If I were an Elf," - Magister Xenovia smiled, - "I'd say something like 'I'll always protect you, no matter what'."

"What strange things you say," - Master Brikus snorted. When his eyes met the Magister's, he laughed loudly. When he was done laughing, he put his arm around her neck and gently pulled her close. Xenovia returned his kiss.

"Even when you grow old, never become like that woman," - Master Brikus told Xenovia, gently holding her face in his hands.

"A tired woman?"

"A woman who's absorbed in thoughts of herself and treats herself cruelly."

Master Brikus felt the discomfort of his armor's shoulder plates and adjusted them. He carefully wrapped a long strip of cloth around his torso to reduce the chance of injury. He put two swords on his belt and hid two daggers in his boots. A small bow hung on his back, and his quiver was at his hip. He put on a pair of gloves and then his cloak, which neatly hid most of his weapons.

"We haven't forgotten anything, have we?"

When Xenovia shook her head, he locked the guild door. While Brikus hid the key in its usual hiding place under the stairs, she hung a sign with burned-in letters on the door that read: "Closed Today".

About two hundred guards were divided into four units, each of about fifty men lined up in a grid. They were waiting for their commander's orders. When Captain Gosta appeared and headed toward Dufis, the highest-ranking guard, they all saluted him at once. They marched through the western gate of Heine Castle and headed for the Reed Field.

"Oh, they're moving. They're coming!"

Jason Heine watched this procession from his carriage with the greatest interest. His carriage had been pulled to the western side of the road, closed to civilian traffic so the army could pass. When Innadril was built, the Heine family gave a large sum of money to the lord. In return the city was named after them. They also made a large donation to the project of the enormous Floating City. Jason Heine himself was the twelfth lord of the Heine clan, the richest in Innadril.

"You'd better draw the curtain, sir. If they recognize your face, you could be in danger."

Jason Heine laughed loudly at his secretary's anxious outburst and answered: "What trouble could befall me? They want to fight for me, risking their lives against the Tasaba clan, my enemy who stole my property. Don't you think I should at least have a look at them? Besides, to mobilize the guards for this mission I had to bribe the new lord with a huge sum of money!"

The secretary's face darkened as he tried to warn his employer: "Sir! What if someone is listening in on you!"

Jason Heine closed the window and went back to his seat. The time to leave was approaching. Opening the little window separating his compartment from the coachman's seat, he shouted loudly: "Let's get out of here!" The monsters were whipped, and the carriage slowly moved forward.

From outside came the rustle of the Reed Field, which apparently soothed their minds. Closing his eyes, the great merchant pictured the reeds dancing. And he also pictured the pale-faced killers trampling the dancing reeds on their way to the Floating City. His imagination wasn't far from reality.

"Too slow"

After the sign reading "Just arrived! New products!" in big letters was taken into the shop, Verona put her hand on her waist and stretched, loosening her back. She heard her bones crack. "Ouch!" - the girl rubbed her lower back with her fist and went back into the shop. Locking the door, she bolted it and hung up a sign "Closed for today".

"What? You're still here?"

"So what do I do now?" - Verona looked around the shop. Espen the Elf had both feet on the counter, leaning back in his chair and casting glances across the shop. Two visitors were still in the shop.

"Didn't you say you'd leave today?"

"No!" - Piriel Aurura, the Collector, sat on the floor throwing dice with a sullen look. - "I don't want to see even the shadow of a Dark Elf. I'll just stay here today."

"You're upset about something, that much I can tell," - Verona gently patted the head of the dwarf, who had lived several times longer than she had.

"I can't stand it, really!"

Piriel couldn't cope with her disappointment. After playing alone with the die for a while, she finally pinpointed the source of her bad mood, though it didn't make her feel even a little better. Piriel looked at the iron hammer, her favorite tool. She imagined hitting a certain old dark elf woman on the head with it. Somehow the thought greatly improved her mood.

"Piriel Aurura," - the shop owner was surprised to see the dwarf laughing to herself. She looked at him as if she had just woken up. "Have you ever heard of 'Drevianth Wine'?"

Piriel answered that it was a wine made by hand in small quantities in the Cursed Forest. Its ingredients are the "Pinot Rouge" grape variety, grown only in Gludio, and spider venom fermented by secret methods taught by demons. She also mentioned its silky texture and unique, unforgettable aroma. The elf merchant nodded and smiled.

"What if I told you that one of the twelve cases of wine made twenty-nine years ago at a winery called Astaron is hidden under this very counter right now?"

The Collector's jaw dropped and her eyes went wide. Espen asked Verona to bring wine glasses. The three sat on the shop floor and poured the legendary wine into glasses.

"Hey, Sorbo!" - Espen called the orc Prefect. The burly orc still felt guilty that half the shop had ended up in ruins as a result of his outburst today. To make up for the losses, he was busy repairing the shop. But, proving the common saying that you shouldn't expect Orcs to do skilled, dexterous work well, all he managed was to make the damage bigger.

"If you're not trying to develop a new combat technique with that hammer, please put it down somewhere. Come here and drink with us!"

The orc silently sat down beside the others.

"Looks like we have a spare glass."

"No, but we will in a moment."

Espen poured wine for everyone, then filled the remaining glass to the brim.

"She'll probably show up at dawn. Why don't we start drinking while we wait for her?"

As night fell, the temperature dropped and the wind blew toward the sea. One by one the townspeople and guards disappeared. The only beings wandering the streets were the Dark Elves with their moonlight-tinted skin.

About a dozen Dark Elves flew out of the alley near Brikus. In secret they reported the results of their search. Brikus was aware that one of the units sent into the city hadn't returned. It was the unit assigned to search the area near the pier.

Brikus felt his chest tighten. Three hours had passed since the search began, and still the Firstborn hadn't been glimpsed anywhere. As the night went on, more and more of the searchers became unfit for battle. They were gripped by tension and frustration. Soon their feelings would turn into confusion and terror.

In the canal a fish leapt out of the water, arched its body and reflected the moonlight in sparkling silvery glints. A moment later it vanished into the depths of the canal.

Brikus ground his teeth with curses. Suddenly he understood the Firstborn's tactics. "Listen, everyone, we're changing the search area!" - he divided the canal into sections and assigned a search unit to each of them.

"Move as carefully and thoughtfully as possible. Units don't make contact with anyone else. Remember that we are the hunters!"

Brikus couldn't shake the feeling that he was the target. Together with Magister Xenovia he got into a gondola and searched the area between the eastern and southern sections of the canal. Dark Elves had sharp eyesight, even by moonlight. For all Brikus knew, the Firstborn could have turned into a nimble fish, but he still felt he could catch her. He watched a small school of fish dart away the moment the gondola appeared.

"The Firstborn is unpredictable. Maybe she wants to destroy all of us, all 99, with her bare hands."

The young elf asked with a mix of admiration and disbelief: "Why do you say that, sir?"

"Because she doesn't want to run away. She wants to impress Tetrarch Tifiel, to prove she's right. There are many other reasons, but she has only one real motivation. Because she can."

From a distance Aria watched the gondola carrying her pursuers. Two of them were talking while the woman carefully examined the bottom of the canal.

Aria tensed when she noticed the woman suddenly raise her head and look in her direction. However, she couldn't see through the veil of deception Aria had created around herself in the dark. When the boat came closer, Aria could recognize two of the three passengers. She knew Master Brikus's face well and could guess who the woman with him was.

When the gondola finally passed under the bridge, Aria dispelled her veil of deception, swooped down and stabbed the young dark elf who was working the pole. She meant to attack Magister Xenovia, but Master Brikus blocked her way, swinging his sword. Since he wore heavy armor, the gondola rocked violently. Aria faltered, trying to regain her balance, as Brikus laughed triumphantly.

Having lost its gondolier, the boat drifted aimlessly with the current. While Master Brikus shielded her from a direct attack, the Magister chanted a spell. Aria abandoned them, escaping up onto the bank. When the Magister finished her spell, a deafening roar rushed forward, as if a thousand arrows had been shot at once.

The white marble buildings were marred by ugly scratches. The paving stones, which had proudly formed beautiful patterns, were split by large cracks, as if some giant had hopped on them on one leg.

"Why did you blow her away like that?"

The air pocket with its terrible pressure did enormous damage to the look of the city and struck the Firstborn in the back with tremendous force. Like a scarecrow caught in a whirlwind, she was carried across the canal and thrown onto the second floor of some building.

Brikus leapt onto the bank after the Firstborn, signaling to the nearest dark elves. Xenovia followed him. The streets, linked by many passages and stairways, formed a winding maze. The two pursuers jumped over the canal, climbed walls and scrambled onto the roofs of the buildings that separated them from their goal.

Brikus found broken glass and a pool of blood on the floor. As soon as he touched the blood, an arrow flew in through the broken window and stuck into his shoulder. With armor that thick, it did no serious damage.

"What a cheap move!" - Brikus shouted. - "Firstborn, you must have grown old too!"

"You don't have to remind me of that, bastard!"

For several hours before that, Aria had been busy playing hide-and-seek with numerous first-class soldiers. How exhausted was she now? Was her sheer bravado a disguise to lure him into a trap?

In the attic of the old abandoned house the ceiling was so low that it was hard to maneuver. The smell of rotting paper was overwhelming. The door suddenly slammed shut with a crash as soon as Brikus came in, and he was engulfed in total darkness.

Brikus was grateful that Xenovia had stayed behind. Since she had never been trained as an Assassin, she would have felt naked if thrown into a situation like this. Still, Aria was wounded, and the smell of blood is stronger than any other body smell.

"It's useless!"

Brikus was puzzled, because the direction of her scent was different from where her voice was coming from. He stepped aside to find another pool of blood on the floor.

"You can deceive me, but you can't hide."

With some effort he opened the buckle of his shoulder armor, which made a lot of noise as it fell to the floor. His opponent didn't attack. He took off the protection from his waist and thighs and also removed his spare weapons.

"You should have learned something from the training I gave you that day."

And again her voice came from a new direction. Some sixteen years ago he and his group had refused to take the Firstborn's training. The elders regarded this as disobedience and rebellion and imposed on them what they considered the most fitting discipline. The captain of the guard proposed a punishment that could potentially save their lives but also forever scarred their pride. Some time after that incident the captain lost his life in a battle with the swamp zombies that were trying to take the underground fortress.

"All members of the group will be locked in the underground garrison for thirty-eight minutes in full gear. Enjoy your punishment."

Locked in pitch-black darkness, they met Aria the Firstborn. Completely unarmed, she gave them the most painful and humiliating thirty-eight minutes, which they would never forget.

"Thanks for the kindness."

An arrow whistled toward Brikus, breaking his reverie. At first Brikus thought it was some joke or trick, but the arrows kept coming at him with deadly accuracy. She clearly knew his exact position. Brikus brought his sword down at random several times, making bits of old woodcuts fly up and raising more dust into the air.

"Well, if you do that, you'll hide the scent."

As soon as Brikus heard her voice, another arrow came at him. He tried to dodge to avoid being hit.

"But scent isn't the only thing you need to see through a disguise. You can get a hint from the movement of air or body heat."

"What nonsense!" - Brikus couldn't believe anyone could have such abilities.

"Oh, but it's true!" - for a moment the bowstring could be heard twanging several times. Five shots? Six shots? Brikus was wounded in his left arm and leg. His left ear was hurt too - "if you focus on just one sense" - suddenly the voice sounded very close, - "you'll never catch me, fool!" The next moment Brikus took a terrible blow and flew somewhere down. He fell to the floor, gathered himself and got ready for the next attack.

Dodging the sword Brikus swung at her, the Firstborn used her dagger, which nearly split his jaw in half. He stepped back and lunged straight. At that moment his opponent's dagger plunged into his wrist. The Firstborn twisted it with all her strength, tearing between bones and tendons with a sickening crunching sound. Screaming loudly in pain, Brikus thrust his fist forward and, to Aria's surprise, slammed it right into her face.

She spat blood and grinned, realizing her opponent still wanted to fight.

"Yes," - Brikus muttered, as if straining the words through his teeth. What fell to the floor wasn't his weapon. - "That was the problem."

He kicked a small capsule-like object lying on the floor. The capsule instantly cracked, filling the room with a bluish aura of spirits.

"Yes, it's certainly a great invention, but these days young assassins seem to rely on it too much," - Aria pulled a large shard of glass stuck in her thigh and tossed it aside. Blood gushed from the wound. She didn't want her opponent to realize that her blood loss was already too great. Aria regained her composure and turned toward the door. - "Of all of them, you had the greatest potential, Sentinel Brikus."

"I gratefully accept your lesson, Firstborn." The Firstborn's face was smeared with blood and sweat. He unwound the strip of cloth wrapped around his waist. Brikus roughly bandaged his torn wrist with it and pulled the knot tight with his teeth. "Be that as it may, I can still use my left hand."

Trying to end the fight before the spirit light faded, Brikus picked up his sword with his left hand and, limping on his wounded left leg, rushed after Aria.

At that moment black flame flickered and the door crumbled to ash in the blink of an eye. A whirlwind called up by a spell flew into the room, blowing away the walls and ceiling. A few moments passed before the heap of debris collapsed. Brikus slowly peeled himself off the ruined attic.

"Xenovia! Where's the Firstborn?"

Brikus came upon a scene he never wanted to witness. Aria was holding the Magister from behind, and several pursuers lay dead beside her. More warriors floated in the water, and the canal was already scarlet with blood. Aria's dagger was stroking the Magister's neck.

"You know, if you take a hostage, it won't make things any better for you."

Brikus was about to go on, but Xenovia raised her hand a little to stop him: "You know what, I don't think I'm a hostage."

"You're right," - Aria whispered something in the Magister's ear.

Xenovia's eyes went wide as blood gushed from her mouth. Pulling the dagger out of the Magister's back, Aria pushed her limp body into the canal. The water splashed inelegantly, and the elf's body was carried away by the current. Brikus screamed and rushed at Aria with a look of hopeless fury and the deepest hatred on his face.

"Calm down, Brikus. She's alive."

Aria tried to soothe her opponent's hostility.

But then she bit her tongue, not because someone had wounded her, but because the owner of that voice was a person she had hoped never to see again. A familiar face emerged from the shadows of the ruined building where the last clash had taken place.

"The Knight of Pavel"

"My name is Scryde."

"I'll remember."

"Yes, remember it."

Brikus, Scryde and Aria. The three dark elves kept up a show of detachment, which ended a moment later. Brikus was the first to move. Hiding his intent to attack, he took a step toward the canal. Aria reacted instinctively, closing the distance between them. She knew how dangerous it was to face several enemies at once while so unprotected. She was especially wary of Raven's Feather, the other dark elf who had come from the north.

Scryde told Brikus: "Her dagger has a bleeding spell on it. You'd better hurry up and finish this."

"I don't know who you are, but I knew that already without your hint."

What Aria couldn't understand was Scryde's quick recovery. She was sure she had hurt him enough to keep him in bed for a month, maybe two.

"It must be some elixir that helped you recover."

Some elixirs could for a time let a patient forget pain or multiply his physical abilities many times over. But almost all of them turn their users into addicts, and many have side effects that do irreparable harm to the brain.

The Master and the Bladedancer surrounded Aria from both sides. Both were trained to fight with two swords, so they could use weapons with both hands. However, neither of them could use both hands right now. It occurred to Aria with surprise that crippling and destroying men's bodies had become a strange hobby of hers.

The two dark elves attacked. Arrows with black flags flew at her across the canal without stopping. Trying to dodge just to avoid the arrows, she looked across the canal to figure out where the archers might be hiding. The blue light of the lighthouse swept overhead in a sharp line.

Aria attacked Brikus first. Turning back, she kicked Scryde's leg. With a graceful move the Firstborn jumped into the canal; arrows pierced the water, and several of them stuck into her. She crawled along the bottom, making her way to the lighthouse.

Esen raised his bow but lost sight of his enemy. When he leaned away from the lighthouse window, he came face to face with a heavily bleeding dark elf woman. She grinned and quickly grabbed his right hand. She reached for him with her other hand, but Esen hit her several times with his bow. The Firstborn's head was all bloody, her arms black with bruises, and her face disfigured by ugly swelling. The elf woman clung to him desperately with both hands. With a crunch, the finger that drew Esen's bowstring could no longer move at his will. His hunt had failed.

Aria came out of the lighthouse and collapsed on the ground.

"O my love, my dear beloved!"

She wanted to hear her beloved's voice. Not the empty shell locked in the temple, repeating the same words over and over, but the greatest and most sinister man she had ever met, the way she still remembered him.

"Hold on a little longer. Just a little more." She hid her face in her knees, her shoulders shaking.

Aria raised her frozen gaze to the sky. The lighthouse light faded as the sky began to brighten. She heard footsteps, heavy and firm. The Firstborn could tell who it was. She wiped the tears from her face with her palm.

"You left the woman to die?" - Aria asked Master Brikus. - "That wasn't very nice of you."

To Scryde, who had a worried look - the only thing she could read from his blank expression - she said: "Just as I did with her, I'll soon do with you."

She got up but staggered, lost her balance and fell on the wet pebbles. Her vision blurred; she could still see great fear and hatred on the two men's faces, but not sympathy. Their hands reached for her - not out of goodwill to help, but to use their weapons on her exhausted, drained body.

"How tired I am of all this," - she said and raised her dagger. - "Let's finish this quickly and finally rest."