Aerisnitari woke with a startled open-eyed reaction. For the first time in a long time, nothing flickered before her eyes, preventing her from concentrating, and her thoughts weren't tangled, like a hisna kitten in a tangle of silk threads. Her mind was clear and... free?! With a jerk, the ancient Athar sat up on the spread-out bed and looked around in amazement. The room she found herself in was small and, aside from a few rather large bloodstains on the floor, quite clean. Apparently, this had once been the quarters of an officer in the local guard detachment. The overall squalor and functional furnishings indicated this. Near the entrance to the room, Aerisnitari saw a guard consisting of two Athar priestesses and one of her sons, Atere. They stood half-turned and stared intently at something, occasionally uttering vague, excited cries. Atere said:
- It's very bad - they couldn't get past their security.
Suddenly, a very bright blue-white light appeared where they were looking. It showed the ancient one that the Athar were very different from each other. One of them was clearly taller, and her irises, usually black for an Athar, were now a deep, blackish blue. The blue light reflected in her eyes like bright ice, filling them with an otherworldly light. Her features were narrow, predatory. The priestess nervously gripped the hilt of the short sword hanging in a sheath at her belt. Even this uncontrolled movement was smooth, flexible, and precise. Her neighbor surprised Aerisnitari no less, primarily with the color of her hair—it was exactly like that of the Light Eldar. Suddenly, there was a flash of yellow. The blue-eyed woman exhaled sharply:
- Lord!
Her cry was drowned out by the drawn-out sound of an explosion.
"We need to kill the illithids, otherwise the portal won't close!" Atere hissed.
"Another one's coming!" A distant crunch was heard in response. "Cut in half!"
The blue light disappeared, leaving only yellow.
"They shouldn't have done that. The Lord, if he gets mad, will crush them into greasy ash." A bright scarlet flash lit the priestess's face for a second, and the sound of a distant explosion reached Aerisnitari again.
The golden-haired priestess chuckled and commented:
– The Lord is in his element.
The blue-eyed interlocutor nudged her and pointed somewhere with her hand:
- Look! They're breaking through!
The golden-haired girl slightly twisted her full lips, expressing disdain, and replied:
– Are they running? Run, run – it's easier for the lord… But we'll still get you.
Unable to contain her curiosity any longer, Aerisnitari leaped from her couch, noting the presence of clothing and badly scarred armor. Her memory helpfully summoned fragments of the battle in the streets—the fire, the red-hot scythe lodged in the protective hemisphere, the ensuing explosion, the pain, the flames that appeared next to it, oblivion. Fragments of her life flashed before her eyes. Memories of the last few days, like a key, unlocked everything that had happened over these eighty-odd years: captivity, helplessness, pain, torture, pregnancy, the emptiness in her heart... But the image of her black-haired daughter, devoured alive before her eyes by Erruu, and the torture she had inflicted on her sister, finally finished her off. Aerisnitari felt a terrible weakness and fell to her knees, covering her face with her hands. The touch of Atera's hand and the distant, yet so familiar battle cry, almost a prayer, brought back the sense of reality. Eltruun's voice, an ancient one would have recognized even after a thousand years, was the sound of it:
"Let us not fear the Eternal Darkness, and it will receive us like a mother! Let us become its smiting whip! And crush the enemies of our people! Forward!"
Atere hugged her, his soft voice soothing.
- It's okay, Mom. Everything will be fine.
He said something else soothing, but his quiet words were drowned out by the roar of a distant explosion.
A joyful exclamation came from a pair of Atar nearby. Her fingers clenched into fists. The Ancient One summoned all her mighty will and managed to calm herself, hiding her emotions. Aerisnitari took a deep breath and said:
- I'm fine now. What's going on here?
Atere helped her up and, without answering, led her to the exit. Only then, having shown her the ruins of the hated city and the raging battle on its border, did he solemnly pronounce:
- Ishakshi has fallen. We are winning.
Looking around the battlefield with no small amount of surprise, Aerisnitari couldn't help but notice a figure engulfed in bright flames, slowly flapping large fiery wings.
- Who is this?
"Asheras, son of Taenori. Hand of the Goddess. Reborn. As you can see, Mother, he has absolute control over the Element of Fire. His soul is fused with the elemental of this Element. Extremely strong and powerful. You will like him, I am sure." Atere chuckled.
"And this?" The Ancient One nodded at the strange ataras flickering here and there.
"When the Great Houses attempted to assassinate Asheras, the goddess elevated their emissaries, making the Atretases of Khitan into the Athar of our House. They worship Asheras as a god and obey him unquestioningly. They call him their lord, just like everyone else..."
"Yes…" Aerisnitari looked again at the athar hovering above the battlefield.
"The goddess sent him to rescue Elviaran, and he successfully accomplished his task. Yes! In case you're wondering: Asheras killed Erruu."
"He saved my sister? Where is she?" The ancient woman's voice wavered.
- In the next room.
- I need to see her.
Atere sighed:
"Let's go. Get ready—she's severely disfigured and emaciated. If Elviaran hadn't been an Atar, we wouldn't have been able to save her. Asheras transfused her with his blood, so the prognosis for her recovery is positive. Now the converted Atar are supporting her with their power and also transfusing their blood."
The golden-haired athar, after briefly swabbing both visitors with their teras, allowed them inside without issue. But just as Aeristnitari was beginning to wonder if the guards were a bit thin, she crossed the threshold and discovered a pair of icy-eyed priestesses flanking the entrance. They had camouflaged their auras to such an extent that they could only be detected visually, literally by burying one's nose in them. And this was very unpleasant. Firstly, because of one of the rules of camouflage, which stipulated that camouflage can only be effective when the one hiding is stronger than the one seeking. Secondly, there were two of them. Two great priestesses, each stronger than the nine-hundred-year-old athar. Not by much, but stronger...
All this flashed through Aerisnitari's mind in a split second. And then her gaze locked with the priestess on her right. And that's where the "third" lay. Looking into the icy eyes of the Athar, the ancient saw virtually no emotion. Not a hint of servility, submission, indecision, or fear... Only faith in her own strength.
Aerisnitari was distracted by his son's voice:
- Mother?
On the narrow bed lay her sister, Elviaran, wrapped in blue silk bandages embroidered with the symbols of I'si'tor.
Looking at her, Aerisnitari felt her legs turn to jelly. On wobbly legs, she walked to the bed and knelt down. Overcoming herself, she touched the bandaged body and forced herself to speak:
- Elviaran... Forgive me... I... I... couldn't resist...
Images of the past flashed before her eyes, where she had cut Elviaran's skin with a narrow dagger. The ancient woman shook her head, wanting to say something more, but suddenly her sister turned her bandaged head toward her, and her eyes gleamed in the crack between the strips of silk. Her whisper seemed to penetrate the very depths of Aerisnitari's tormented soul:
"I forgave you long ago, sister. Don't cry. Everything will be alright. The goddess is with us."
* * *
The ruined city was oppressive not only in appearance but even in smell—the stench of burnt flesh and fabric was overwhelming. Despite the acid rain that had fallen, many ruins continued to smolder even now. The four- and five-story buildings that were often encountered, completely burned out, resembled skeletons. The wealthiest houses were virtually undamaged. Some of them resembled hives—evidently, where the illithids lived.
With a rhythmic flapping of my wings, I flew a hundred meters above the rooftops. It was relatively safe here—after all, few locals could fire a bolt or cast a simple spell, and this distance gave me time to react to a potential attack. The squad of mages was nowhere to be seen. Had they hidden in the ruins? Then Eltruun would have to carefully comb the city, and I would have to cover her squad from above.
The city wasn't completely deserted—here and there, figures of survivors of the Elemental rage and proto-forces flickered. It seemed my appearance over the city had caused panic among the survivors. Too bad there's no time now, but in the future, I'll have to organize a raid and see who's lurking around here.
I came across streets literally piled high with corpses. Did I feel remorse looking at this? No. Doubt? Also no. In my earthly family, only my grandfather suffered from introspection. And then only in old age. All this has no place on the battlefield. Where a second of hesitation can cost a life, all these emotions do not exist. For me, war and mercy are practically incompatible. There is only me, the goal, and the means to achieve it. To treat myself cruelly, like an arrow fired at the enemy? But it was not for nothing that the ancients said that only he who believes he died yesterday is a good warrior... Maybe that's why Echaialin took me? Elos needed a whip that would crush her enemies, an all-crushing one. By augmenting my being, my soul, with a phoenix, she forged what she needed... Me. From the moment I was born in this world, I was no longer who I was on Earth. And was I even fully human there? Can a soldier who carries out any order without fear or hesitation consider himself human? I don't know. Here and now, in this city, I, like a fine blade, have hardened and accepted the realities of this world. What comes next? Etching? Sharpening? Polishing? It doesn't matter, though. For now, the goal has been achieved—I've rescued Elviaran. Even better—her sister has also been saved. Luck? More likely the will of the dark gods.
I need to talk to Elos about my next steps. Should I destroy the Sixth Temple or not? What about the four Great Houses? Questions, questions... But will she even give me some answers? And does she even know them?
Gods... On Earth, they're mere ephemeral beings, unseen by anyone but the chosen few. Here, however, any being can enter the center of the Force and converse with one deity or another. Incredible... Unthinkable... But it's true...
I approached the city center. The stone buildings gaped with empty window panes. The recognizable dwarven architecture dominated here—angular structures resembling those on Earth. Despite the recent firestorms that had scorched the buildings' interiors to the ground, the stone shells remained standing. It was very dark—not even the glowing moss, much less the lamps, remained. The only source of light was myself. And that's bad—everyone can see me, but I can't see anyone.
Something radical needs to be done. Searching for them like this is pointless. And first of all, I need to think. Bridges! They'll have to cross this chasm. Which means an ambush is needed. But there are plenty of bridges. I'll take up a position where they'll all be visible. I looked at the distant ceiling and several large rock formations on it. They were located right above the chasm. Next problem: I'm a strong source of light. I need to camouflage myself. Hmm, what good is the Darkness to me if I don't use it? Dropping between the buildings, I wrapped myself in a powerful spherical shield of Darkness, infusing the space around me with this Power. Making sure my flame was securely encased in the shell of Darkness, I darted as fast as I could, like black lightning, toward the ceiling. I hope they don't notice... All I can do is wait.
How's Elruun? I searched for her squad and found them. Not bad, very good. They camouflage themselves, just like me, by cloaking themselves in Darkness. Except I cloaked myself directly in the Force, while they created a more stable and familiar spell, "Black Shadow." No variety. They should have created something like "Canopy of Darkness" or "Concealment"... Incidentally, from here, her squad is completely given away by the camouflage, precisely designed to conceal them. Maybe a small squad can be concealed with "Black Shadow," but not three full Tatretts, looking like a river of black ants against the ash-gray background of Ishaksha's streets. Although Eltruun's choice is understandable: her squad consists, at most, of senior priestesses. And "Canopy of Darkness" consumes an order of magnitude more mana, while "Concealment" is a spell of the same level and principle as "Haze."
A faint movement to the side. And there comes a squad of mage-slaves... It's precisely because they're not using anything that they're practically invisible against the street. Damn it! Eltruun's heading in the wrong direction! And our communication amulets burned out yesterday. The others remained in the camp. What should we do? Summon a Darkness entity for communication? Stupid. The Force is straining too much. It would be less noticeable to fly right up to Eltruun and start giving orders.
Something red flashed before my face. Concentrating, I almost cursed—the Dark mana imbued in my disguise began to mingle with the elemental's Fire, creating faint flashes of "Crimson Flame." The elemental, realizing the problem at the same time I did, slightly drew its aura back into my gift. My body reacted instantly, gaining, albeit a small amount of weight. I had to grab hold of the stone ceiling with my hands. "What if we send the spirit of Fire?" the phoenix suddenly suggested. "Elemental spirits can move instantly. Just what we need." And won't he be afraid of you? "Of course he will! That's why you will summon him. I will be drawn back into your gift, and when you send it out, I will emerge." So, I'm left hanging here by my fingers? But the suggestion is sound.
Having splashed a little Darkness onto the rock, creating a comfortable grip, I found myself hanging over the abyss. Before summoning the spirit, I further condensed the Darkness around me. Concentrating, I formed a call. A spirit's call is something extremely complex or dangerous only for a mage of the level of a simple priestess. For me, a little concentration, a little Fire mana as payment for my services—and he was already hovering before me, awaiting my command.
Everything was fine, but which of these dark spots was Eltruun? I hadn't even noticed the elephant... What should I do? "There she is," a whisper suddenly sounded within me. The next moment, revelation descended upon me—I recognized the name of every priestess below. I sensed them all. Information about all the Dark Eldar of my House below poured into my brain like a pulse. A sphere of awareness began to expand around me. The information was quite interesting and very personal: tension, potential, the composition of the gift, and, most interestingly, the faith of each Eldar.
But this was interesting until the information from our camp reached me. The sensation was comparable to standing in a bathtub under a regular shower, only to suddenly be hit by a torrent like Niagara Falls. Through the avalanche of data flooding my consciousness, I felt my fingers loosen. Suddenly, the pressure of the information vanished, and only by reflex did I manage to grab the ledge again. Irritation welled up within me, and I vented it on the small spirit sphere, glowing with a warm orange light. Just as I was about to explain the task to it verbally, I stopped myself, remembering that spirits communicate through images. I smiled vindictively: I'll dump the information about her detachment on Eltruun, let him experience the will of the goddess on his thousand-year-old skin. I won't be the only one to suffer, will I? I'll also pass on a bird's-eye view of the city and a schematic movement order. Ancient Atretas, by definition, can't be a fool. So let her sort out her own mess...
Having received the task and the mana as payment, the spirit blinked and vanished, only to reappear beside Eltruun's face. A second later, the priestess lay sprawled on the back of her hisna. Had she lost consciousness? No, she seemed to stir. The Elemental Spirit, having completed the task, vanished. A command in the Language of Death, and the Tatretts altered their course. The trap snapped shut. A squad of slave mages approached one of the stone bridges spanning the chasm. It was time.
I unclasp myself from the cliff, and the phoenix joyfully spills from my gift. Its fire mixes with the Darkness of my defense, giving birth to "Crimson Flame." The rocky outcrop I was clinging to shatters into pieces. I grab the largest with my teras and direct its flight toward the bridge. My attention instantly heats the surface of the piece, and I slam the rock onto the bridge, carrying it into the chasm's depths. As it plummets, the red-hot stone illuminates the walls of the chasm as they slip past. The slaves try to scatter, but the explosions of my dual fireballs destroy the nearest buildings, blocking passages and streets with burning barricades. Only behind them do I leave a passage for the Eltruun riders, who immediately block it. Slowly flapping my wings, I descend before the rallied, motley group of slave mages. Monitoring their movements and spells, I notice the most varied dome defenses. Despite being of different races, the illithid slaves demonstrate amazing coordination. It's like an egg within an egg. Cracking this using traditional methods won't be easy. I have a feeling I'll have to attack personally.
I hover above the chasm's depths. I generously share my portion of the Fire Gift with the phoenix—the elemental responds by blazing with a brilliant flame, making my opponents visible. Everyone, including the Eltruun priestesses, is obscured by the bright yellow light. Aren't the masks helping? They only protect from the light, and now there's the heat too. My Fire begins to draw in the air, and the wind rushing toward me drags clouds of ash, dust, and dust with it. A pair of hot, dusty whirlwinds forms behind me almost instantly. They don't bother me at all, only the wind whistles and howls like wolves as they intertwine like two snakes. My voice would be inaudible over all this background noise if not for the elemental's power.
– Surrender! You have nowhere to run!
- No, spawn of illiti!
The Light Eldar said this with such certainty that I glanced at my hand, just in case. No tentacles. So the problem wasn't me. Hmm... Distorted perception is no joke. Meanwhile, behind them, a squad of hisna-riders, led by Elviaran, silently drew up.
"If you don't surrender, I won't put up with any ceremony… You will all die."
The Light Eldar smiled resignedly:
"We didn't expect anything else, demon."
The next second, he sprawled on the ground, revealing what lay behind his body—a long ice spear, wielded by two Dark Eldar but fashioned with the runes of the bearded dwarves. Taking advantage of my confusion, they launched it at me. With pure rage, I managed to churn and unleash a Crimson Flame projectile toward me. A brilliant white-blue flash! Pure reflexes forced me to twist slightly and shield myself with my left hand. Ice shards fly at me through a cloud of strange white flame. They are extremely fine, reminiscent of crystal dust. Like a harsh abrasive, they cut the skin off my arm and scatter my left wing. The cloud of white flame dissipates in the air, and the shockwave sends me careening into the abyss. Phoenix screams in pain, and I lose my bearings. Like an earthly octopus, in despair, I imbue my teras with mana and throw them in all directions, hoping to cling to the edge of the abyss. And a couple of my teras succeed. Then I get slammed hard against the rock, knocking the wind out of me. Clenching my jaw in pain, I throw all the remaining teras over the edge and, like a spring, launch myself back to the surface.
My eyes open onto a magical battlefield—priestesses and mages exchanging spells and magical blows. My appearance is a surprise to everyone. But while the Atretases shout a joyful battle cry, the mages don't hold back in their language or curses. My fury merges with the rage of a phoenix.
Raising my left hand, I looked at my blood, like white-hot metal. The flayed skin made my hand look like a dead man's paw. Unexpectedly, I licked the brightly glowing drops. What an unusual, even pleasant, taste. The phoenix inside me hissed with rage. Suddenly, I realized the pain didn't bother me at all—it even felt good. Well, I'm becoming a masochist... Sadness... Someone will definitely answer for this... The blood from my hand began to form a bright white sphere above my left palm, and I screamed:
– Your death will horrify even those who have seen a lot!..
The magical firefight immediately ceased. The resulting sphere split into five parts, which elongated, becoming like twig-like arrows. The Light Eldar and company hastily built up their shields and prepared another ice spear. The remaining mages began firing their spells at me, trying to distract me from them. It was even amusing – defending against the Elemental Spells of the fourth and third circles was easy. I broke the fourth circle with my teras, and deflected the third behind me. They were too weak.
Having given the dwarves time to create a spear a third of the way through and for hope to blossom in the eyes of the other mages, I mercilessly crushed it, launching five of my weapons at them. They pierced all layers of defense as if they weren't there, each hitting its target. The arrows sank into the flesh only three fingers deep, and despite their red-hot heat, they barely burned their targets. One of the dwarves, bewildered and desperate, grabbed an arrow, hoping to pull it out. But he failed—smoke billowed from his fist, and the arrow suddenly came to life and began to embed itself in his body. In horror and pain, he fell to the ground and began rolling around, trying to tear at his chest with his scorched hands. I looked at the firefly—he had drawn a dagger and was actively eviscerating his own stomach. My phoenix has complete control over its body, every part of it, and since we share a body, I allowed it to control my blood. Slowly approaching the firefly, I knocked the dagger from its weakening hand with a sharp blow of the ters and stepped on its chest. With a final cry of pain and despair, it died. From its throat emerged a phoenix product, grown to the size of a fine snake. What a vile creature! Something like a red-hot slug. The elemental snorted distinctly in response to my thought. The worm pulled itself into my leg through my boot, burning a large hole in it, and I felt the pain quickly subside. Raising my hand, I saw whole islands of new skin growing. Hm. Is it possible to cure Elviaran with this? "I don't know. Even we rarely heal ourselves, let alone treat someone else... Besides, only my will makes this creature useful. Without it, it's just a cocktail of valuable substances and blood." Yeah. They supply it with that all the time anyway.
The other four "slugs" cured me completely. The mages had been suspiciously quiet all this time. Well, damn them. Literally.
Looking at my left arm, I saw that although the new skin had grown back, it was significantly darker. This effect made the small scars on my chest, forming dark stripes, almost give the skin a tiger-like appearance. Those bastards...
Irritably, I tore off the remains of my jacket and threw it aside—it didn't reach the ground, instantly burning up in mid-air. All that was left were laced pants, rips showing through like fashionable ripped jeans, and partially intact boots. However, it looked like all this wouldn't last long.
The left wing finished repairing itself, and I gently soared to a height of about five meters. Throwing on one of the Darkness-based spherical defenses, I looked at the Atretases of my House. One of the priestesses, it seemed, had been waiting for this, forming a series of signs into the phrase: "The Darkness summoning ritual is ready. Shall I begin?" I always found the four-finger sign, a question, amusing. Grinning, I returned the "Begin" sign. The priestesses began to act, and behind them, the Darkness began to rise like a column of black oil smoke.
At the same time, the mages also completed their surprise: it turned out that several Dark Eldar had decided to sacrifice themselves to create a "Dead Giant." I realized this only when I saw a tall, terrifying, and repulsive humanoid figure rise from behind the mages, with a pair of extra arms protruding from its belly. The bodies of several Eldar—it was now impossible to tell how many there were—fused into one. The "Dead Giant" possesses incredible vitality and strength, but is slow and clumsy. Methods of combat? The first circle of Elements and the first through fifth stages of Power. And, naturally, proto-powers. Which, for me, is a waste of resources. Besides, I have wings—I'll fly about ten meters, and then what? Throw stones? Tear chunks out of myself?
I was about to try something similar and have a good laugh, but a black pillar of Darkness curved like a question mark and crashed down on the mages' protective dome like a waterfall. Before my eyes, an entire layer of the hemisphere was being breached every second. In ten seconds, the Darkness had crushed half their shields, and the mages were only able to restore one.
In desperation, they unleashed their "Giant" on me. I yanked half my Darkness mana into my teras, transforming them into black snakes. I grabbed the creature by its tuba-like legs with surprising ease and hurled it over myself into the abyss. This must have required a great deal of energy, as the teras immediately became transparent again. An interesting effect. Swiftly flying to the edge, I conjured and launched a pair of twin fireballs after the tumbling, nightmarish figure, imbuing them with proto-power. But I wasn't allowed to calmly watch their joyous flight—lightning struck me in the back. Air, third circle. My defense could withstand a hundred more such blows.
I turned around just as the last layer of the enemy's defenses cracked and the Darkness itself descended upon the mages. Oddly enough, the effect was similar to a powerful waterfall—the mages were pinned to the floor by a solid stream of Force. So much so that they couldn't even move. The effect was quite interesting, even from a magical perspective: the multicolored auras of the enemy mages were flattened almost into a pancake. Naturally, in such a position, any spells or any kind of terast-based influence were out of the question. The priestesses seemed fully prepared for this, and an entire tatrett, simultaneously jumping off their hysns, fearlessly stepped into the stream of Force. On them—I realized with a shock a second later—the spell had no effect whatsoever. The priestesses bound the mages right there, pouring some potion from small bottles into some, and placing terast collars on others.
Realizing my help wasn't needed, I returned to observing the falling creature and the fireballs. Before my eyes, the glowing red dots reached the bottom, swelling with crimson explosions. Not bad, despite the pit not being all that bottomless; it's clearly no more than a kilometer and a half deep. Red-hot stone glowed where the fireballs had impacted. Who the hell knows if this thing was killed or not? Wasn't this a Death Force-based creature? Just in case, I conjured a huge triple fireball. Pouring nearly a thousand ergs of Crimson Flame into it, I used my three teras as guides and fired the projectile downwards with all my might. The explosion shook the floor so hard that several buildings in the city collapsed. Dozens of priestesses, including Eltruun, also leaped to the edge on their hysns and began watching with interest as the large, crimson-veined, flaming cloud of the explosion slowly and solemnly rose toward us. The cloud cast enough of a gradually fading crimson light for me to spot two roads serpentining down both sides of the chasm. Hm.
Flying up to Eltruun, I drew her attention to the road by pointing at it with my hand:
"If we can find the time and soldiers, we'll need to organize reconnaissance. Erruu and the dragons lived somewhere around here."
Eltruun nodded thoughtfully and asked:
- Are we leaving?
- Yes, I'm covering from above.
Eltruun nodded again and began issuing short, abrupt orders. I flew higher and began to survey the surrounding area. Unfortunately, a large cloud of hot dust and ash, resembling a mushroom cloud, rose from the chasm and obscured the other side of the crevasse from my view.
The priestesses, having swaddled our loot, began moving toward the camp. I flew over the small escort detachment. The city seemed empty—the survivors had obviously gone into hiding. Cautiously probing the area—I didn't want to foolishly suffer losses—we finally emerged from the charred ruins of the Ishakshi suburb and encountered a Tatrett looting under the direction of Arichitos. Even though she was dressed in a full set of traditional light armor, my imagination conjured up the image I'd recently seen, albeit from afar. However, I didn't allow any emotion to overwhelm me. Only my gaze, uncontrollably, slid from her masked face, first to her chest, and then lower. Mentally slapping myself, I struggled to regain clarity. And I felt regret that I still had a long way to go before reaching puberty.
Gently lowering me onto the granite slabs of the wide street, the phoenix drew its fiery aura and wings back into the center of my gift. My miraculously held-on pants and boots didn't even think of smoldering. Motioning to Eltruun to "Continue moving," I began to look around with interest.
It seemed this part of the city had been less severely affected by fires and other destructive phenomena. This area was very different from the poor suburbs. Despite its location on the outskirts, the houses here were solid and, like those in the central quarters of Ishaksha, made of stone. The looters' actions were simple: they would kick in a door or breach a wall, after which a detachment would burst inside. A brief skirmish with the few defenders, and then they would drag out their wounded, then prisoners, then corpses, and then a group of looters would enter the cleared house. They would remove any items of value from the houses, piling them in huge piles opposite each building. Another squad of five warriors, under the supervision of their commander, sorted the loot, separating valuables, money, magical artifacts, rare fabrics, and simply beautiful objects. Another group of priestesses searched and sometimes undressed the corpses lying in the street.
Crouching before a "small" mound, roughly waist-high, of despised, yet so desirable and necessary gold, I rummaged through it with half-hearted interest. Honestly, nothing special. After fiddling with a white gold goblet, adorned with gems and beautiful carvings, I carefully placed it back. The prisoners interested me far more. Heading toward them, I spotted two young senior priestesses hanging out behind me. Glancing sideways at Arichitos, who was trying hard to appear preoccupied with her duties, I sighed. In my opinion, her instructions were entirely unnecessary—the machine of the well-played tatretta worked practically flawlessly, and the couple of lightly wounded, each with a senior priestess bent over them, didn't count. She could just as easily have been taking a nap or secluding herself with a priest or an ariry. Same with these "guards." Who's going to protect whom, if anything happens... Although the potential enemy will have to pay attention to them, and that will give me the time I need to concentrate and mount an adequate response. By the way, why the hell haven't I updated my passive defense? Oh, I feel like I'm going to get a beating in the House...
Having performed the necessary manipulations with the atami, I finally reached a few captives. Children, teenagers, a couple of women, a battered, handsome young man... with long, smooth, black horns curling backwards? My intense gaze sent him into a panic. Strangely, his reaction was different from the others. A perfectly meaningful look in his eyes, with bright purple irises and triangular, bizarrely rotating pupils. Even the phoenix cooed in surprise and interest. Looking at the boy with my magical gaze, I was even more astonished: his aura was incredible. Many, about fifty, undeveloped ters. Not a single one completed! Unthinkable! Incredible! Tormented by this mystery, I emerged from my magical gaze and began to scan the prisoner with my gaze. Slightly wavy, neat, short-cropped black hair, a narrow, almost Eldar-like face with large eyes framed by long eyelashes, full, almost feminine lips, a slender neck... Wait! How did I know it was a boy? It was clearly a girl, dressed in the remains of practical male armor. I looked into her eyes and saw terror splattering there. I try not to betray my excitement, my voice even. I have no doubt they can hear me—a whole arek of tense priestesses has gathered behind me:
"A Terrast collar, or give her a potion. Take her to the mages at camp. Have them send an additional Tatrett and my four Athars." "I've become quite attached to them, and now I feel uncomfortable and a little lonely."
A clear, submissive and humble response came from one of the priestesses standing behind me:
– Yes, Atar Asherah.
Once again I allow my gaze to glide over the strange creature and add:
- I'm extremely interested in her, don't even think about cutting her.
The rest of the captives are less interesting: a varied mix of dwarves, eldar, humans, and orcs. Their eyes are empty.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see two priests fasten a steel collar around the horned one's neck. Then they place her arms behind her back and bind her elbows, wrists, and knees with a leather strap. I notice she's wounded. The high priestess stands next to me and answers my silent question:
"An excellent swordswoman. She wounded Aches, the sword master, in the shoulder joint. And there were three of us... A straight sword. An amusing technique. They wanted to kill her, but I stopped her, thinking you'd be interested."
"You were right. If something similar happens again and can be taken without unnecessary sacrifices on our part..."
"I understand, Asheras." Out of the corner of my eye, I see her bow her head respectfully.
- Yes! If you find any storage, let me know.
An entire arek is sent off with the captive. Although the camp is just a stone's throw away, anything can happen. They'll return with another Tatret.
The number of prisoners is growing. Unfortunately, they're mostly children—almost all adults prefer to die fighting. And for Arikhitos and me, the lives of our soldiers are more valuable than those of a common hybrid slave. Although, the Atretases, overconfidently, don't even use spells in close combat, relying only on crossbows and composite whips for support. But that's enough—it's rare for an Eldar to be wounded.
At the far end of the street, I spot a ratsh slipping past. They're obviously scouting. They appear again, but from a different alley. The squad leader exchanges hand signals with us, identifying himself, and transmits a short message: "The illithids and their slaves are retreating from the city into the depths." Then he disappears again into the labyrinth of alleys of ruined Ishakshi.
It doesn't immediately dawn on me that this is victory. The accumulated fatigue leaves the news unmoved. Even the phoenix grunts almost indifferently.
Lying down on a pile of some fabrics, chewing dry rations helpfully served by some priestess, I began to wait for reinforcements and watched the process of looting with languid interest.