It took quite a while before I looked down.
The rain quickly doused the fires. Clearly, this was the work of one of the human Archmages. Looking at the ruined and burnt-out buildings, I thought my rather good relationship with the Baron was over. Although, of course, I could try to save them somehow. But how? And was it even necessary?
The first squads of soldiers appeared between the houses. I hope they won't try to finish me off.
When I tried to pull my hand out of Cassiel's chest, I suddenly realized that his flesh was firmly attached to my hand.
In fact, what I did was merely a theoretical development based on knowledge my mother had gained from the depths of the Force. I never put it into practice.
The whole point was that my mother, I, or my sister created a certain energetic framework not even in the body of the future werewolf or the captured predator, but right next to them. After that, the two bodies effectively merged together on different levels of existence. Therefore, a werewolf in the Astral Plane always appeared as their other self.
Once completed, the frame was no longer visible, but it was still there and felt. So I assumed this frame could be destroyed. Yes, engaging a werewolf in close combat was usually pretty foolish. The average elven mage could easily kill a werewolf at range without much trouble.
But not always.
Rock cats, tigers, and snow leopards were quite massive, able to survive even moderately powerful magical spells. Sometimes recovering within seconds, they could continue the attack. However, a mage couldn't always quickly repeat the attack.
Well, in this case, it was practically the only way to kill Cassiel. After all, I didn't actually know any spells capable of destroying a full-grown dragon...
After tugging my hand a couple more times, I used 'heal' and tugged harder. However, to my horror, it didn't help much.
I had to try again. Yes, I only had enough Life Mana for a couple more tries, but the alternative was cutting off my fingers.
"Forgive me, Cassiel..." I whispered and, leaning my knees and hand against his chest, I used 'healing' again and rushed with all my strength.
With a smacking sound, his body began to release my fingers. The flesh stretched after them like tentacles, tearing and twisting.
I carefully examined my limb. The blood and even excess shreds of flesh were quickly reabsorbed into my arm without a trace, leaving only normal, pristine skin.
Looking back at the squad of soldiers that had appeared, led by half-breeds, I sighed heavily and reached out to my chest.
Both my rings were still in place—the mithril chain had withstood all the tests. The same couldn't be said for the trophy jacket, my cloak, my bow, or anything else on my upper body.
But the pants, boots, and both dark elven swords remained intact, although they did bear traces of fire in places.
Okay. There's no point in this circus after what happened.
I unclasped the chain and put on both rings. Holding the chain up in front of me, I looked at it one last time and let it slide from my wet fingers to the ground.
It's a good thing I left all my things at the castle with the horse. I hope I can get them back. As for my black steed, it looks like all that's left is dust...
In fact, I'm feeling incredibly good for a mage who's made full use of the direct transformation of 'black techniques.' The past two millennia have definitely had a positive effect on my strength.
I looked at the soldiers approaching me cautiously. They weren't pointing their weapons at me, but they had their crossbows cocked.
I could, of course, distort what happened here, but why bother? Yes, I could say I ended up here by accident and the dragon simply vanished, but that would actually be detrimental: when the Astrals arrive to investigate, they'll quickly realize the dragon never left alive. As a result, trying to muddy the waters could backfire on my relationship with the Baron. Mistrust would arise. Seriously.
On the other hand, a werewolf dragon is one of the most powerful aces up the Great Forest's sleeve. The very possibility that we can do this will keep many people awake at night. Some will desire fame, some power, some money.
I remember very well how, two thousand years ago, healers of all stripes began trying to create their own werewolves. They said, "The elves succeeded—how are we any worse?" Just look at how many creatures there were in those dark times! It got to the point where entering certain forests and swamps without a good escort was tantamount to swift death.
We had to create squads - strong squads - of rapid response, which were engaged in the purge of such experimenters and their creations.
I wonder how things stand with this now?..
Nevertheless, I must speak of the werewolf-dragon's murder. This will make my presence known. And much more loudly than if I were to flaunt the Autvii Ring of Power. And when news of what happened reaches the Great Forest, it will be difficult to declare me an impostor. At the very least, I'll have to tell Prince Eriran that the impostor is extremely powerful and dangerous.
False Ilthariel, who killed the werewolf-dragon, the heir of the House of the Sword, Cassiel...
Hmm. That sounds incredibly idiotic.
Well, Eriran... You made your move and sent Cassiel. I killed him. What next? My move is known: shout loudly about your return and gather supporters and those dissatisfied with the Council's authority. I think there will be many of them. But what then? You won't back down? Most likely, yes. You've always been stubborn and arrogant.
And what about the other Great Houses? Will they wait? Will they follow you to the end or acknowledge my authority? To what extent, Eriran, have you fooled everyone with your tales of such a terrible thing?
I sighed and focused on reality.
The rain turned to a light drizzle.
Among the approaching half-breeds, I easily recognized Esvi. I also noticed with unexpected relief a dark elf among them, hiding her face under the hood of a slightly scorched cloak.
"And where is the dragon?" asked a man.
I stood up and, straightening up, said, pointing at Cassiel's body:
- There he is. I killed him. It was a dragon werewolf.
The commander clearly didn't believe it and, looking at the body, said:
- Do such things really exist?
"They happen..." I answered gloomily.
Elmair unceremoniously pushed the soldiers aside and approached me. Her platinum-embroidered cloak had been seriously damaged by the fire: part of the hood on the left side was charred. Considering that the cloak of the 'Forest-Aware' is not only a symbol of its owner's status but also provides significant protection against various influences, I'd say she had been struck by a fiery dragon.
The elf looked first at me and the rings on my hands, and then at Cassiel's body. Immediately after, she dropped to one knee and said:
- Prince Ilthariel Autwy, we have managed to capture one of the Masters of Vieren alive.
People looked at her, not me, in shock. They probably didn't know what "Autvi" meant, but Elmayr herself had a name and status in this city. And the very fact that she was showing me not just respect but submission made them take what she said seriously.
Unfortunately, after all this, I'll have to act not just openly, but even pompously and grandly. My lips utter the heavy words:
- Interrogate...
"And then?" she asked.
I turned my head towards Cassiel's body and said, looking at him:
"Give him the body of Vieren's heir and let him go. And yes, Eymair, contact whoever you can and let them know I've returned. I'm afraid we need to gather an army."
"As you command," she said, bowing her head and hiding her face in the depths of her burnt hood.
*****
They were the last to flee. Just before the flames would have engulfed them, Eloril grabbed his niece by the scruff of the neck and practically threw her in front of him under some archway.
Twisting in the air, Eidael saw him literally being blown away by a stream of fire.
Then Eidael remembered only the howl-roar of a very dense, bright white flame, which quickly drowned out the screams of those dying in it.
She huddled, trying to escape the heat, but there was nowhere to go. The fire scorched the air, and it quickly became impossible to breathe. Furthermore, the air instantly became hot, and the elf instinctively began to sustain her body with magic.
Just as her mana was rapidly running low and she began praying to the gods for a quick death, everything suddenly ended. The flames rose and vanished into thin air.
Eidael tore off her burning cloak and, rising to her feet, looked around.
The nightmarish stench of burnt flesh hung in the air. Houses were ablaze. The burned and despairing screamed.
The street was littered with the charred bodies of citizens, frozen in the most picturesque poses. The white dragon's fury was merciless and indiscriminate—women, children, the elderly, soldiers, half-breeds, pure-bloods...
With the despair of a doomed woman, the elf ran to find her uncle, covering her mouth and nose with her hand to keep from inhaling the nauseating stench and smoke. A flame-scorched and soot-covered man rushed toward her from the smoky haze, stretching out his hands and beginning an inarticulate plea for help. Recoiling in horror, the elf continued examining the bodies at her feet.
Only thirty paces further down the street did Eidael find her uncle's charred body, recognizing him only by the remains of an elven cloak and a smoldering bow nearby.
Falling to her knees beside him, she watched the ongoing battle between the werewolf and the prince. Unfortunately, everything was shrouded in smoke, and through it all she could see was the enormous bulk of the dragon, looking down before him. But the smoke quickly rose, clearing her vision.
There was no rage, no anger, no malice. Only emptiness. The realization of one's own powerlessness before such a great force.
The booming and resonant voice of the dragon reached Eidael.
It looks like the denouement is near.
And it came. But it was completely different from what she expected. First, the elf felt a powerful surge of magic, and a cloud of darkness appeared before the dragon. He stepped away from it and uttered something, looking at his paw. Immediately, a thin gray spear burst from the darkness, throwing the monster somewhere beyond the burning buildings to the right. A small, black figure, small in comparison to the monster, rushed after the dragon.
Darkness and Death. Yes, these Forces are capable of damaging a white dragon, but can Autwy create a powerful enough impact to kill a werewolf?
Suddenly the dragon roared and, a second later, soared like a candle into the sky, flapping its huge wings.
He soared higher and higher, then began to fall limply and crashed somewhere behind the houses. The ground beneath his feet shook noticeably from the impact.
Eidael kept looking there, waiting for signs of an ongoing fight, but there were none.
A downpour poured down from the low clouds, immediately beginning to suppress the flames blazing around...
*****
The battle between the dragon and Autwy was barely visible from the elven quarter, only a huge column of smoke rising above the rooftops.
Having climbed onto the roof of the shop, Liel saw more. She also caught the echoes of spells being cast: Magisters were fighting alongside these struggling monsters, and Archmages in the castle were quickly creating a storm cell over the city (it was still unclear what they intended to do with it).
Liel perceived and recognized all this thanks to her unique ability—she was born highly sensitive to magical currents. Because of this, Lady Elmayr first took notice of her and then began teaching her. First, herbalism, and then magic.
Where the monster had raged, the city wasn't even burning, it was ablaze. Looking there, Liel felt a keen sense of fear and helplessness. The townspeople were running in all directions. Seeing a man smash one of the storefronts, she was glad that after the teacher left, she hadn't just closed the shop, but had even sealed it with magic (she still secretly hoped Elmair would return).
As the dragon soared toward the clouds, Liel thought she saw a small black figure on its white scales. Then the monster fell back into the smoke.
The dragon's rise and fall itself plunged her into a state of euphoria: it's not every day you see a white dragon, even in such a terrifying role as a mass murderer.
Immediately afterward, a cold rain poured down from the heavy clouds above. It drove the girl back to the attic, where bunches of various herbs were drying.
Descending the stairs, Liel found herself in front of Elmayr's office. The door stood wide open, revealing a cracked floor and arrows laid out on the table. A gust of wind blew water droplets into the room through the broken window.
Healer Elmair... Liel had never considered the meaning of the phrase 'Twilight War veteran.' She always assumed the other elves simply respected their teacher. After all, she was a Master of Life, with over two thousand years of practice, knowing all the Princes by name and face, speaking on equal terms with the Guardians of Peace...
Liel didn't think that the phrase 'veteran of the Twilight War' should be put ahead of all the reasons mentioned, that the other elves might be terrified to the point of trembling not even by a threat, but by just these three words spoken in a quiet whisper.
And even more so, the young girl could not have imagined that her teacher would rush off, abandoning, without regret or hesitation, absolutely everything: the store and the authority in this city that had been stubbornly built up over decades, the library with the rarest texts, and besides that, even her student...
Liel felt betrayed.
How so? And what should she do now?
Return to her parents? Will her apprenticeship really end so abruptly?
Carefully stepping around the raised slabs, the girl knelt down and peered with interest into the floor-mounted weapons storage.
There was everything here! Arrow blanks, various jars of poison, a wide variety of potions, a rich assortment of weapons, strange pouches and steel cases...
In addition to magic, the teacher also taught her sword and arrow skills. Elmayr took all this seriously, devoting an hour each day to Liel's lessons, focusing solely on weapons. As she ran her fingers fascinatedly over the hilt of one of the twin blades, shaped like a snake, the girl recalled how difficult it had been at first. Tears of pain, the realization of her own impotence, and the teacher's indifferent gaze watching her rise from the floor after demonstrating yet another technique.
The blade slid easily from its sheath. Her gaze glided admiringly along the perfect blade, Liel sighed and looked back.
So what should I do with all this? Hide it again? What if Elmayr never comes back here?
Having driven the sword back into its sheath, she put it back in place and had just risen to her feet when something softly fell to the floor next to the broken window.
Looking up, Liel suddenly found herself confronted by a straightened figure in a charred cloak, whom she recognized with a start as her teacher.
- Madam? - she breathed out in fear: - Where have you been? What is happening?
Elmayr glanced around the room and said in a calm, detached voice:
"The prince of House Vieren, Eriran, sent his son, the dragon shifter Cassiel, to kill Autwy. In doing so, he effectively started a civil war for the Throne of the Great Forest..."
Having said this, the healer sat down in front of the exposed floor and opened a side compartment. Inside were narrow metal cases, neatly stacked.
Liel swallowed and asked:
- I remember you telling me a story about a dragon in elf skin, but I never thought it was true... Did he retreat?
Elmayr, without looking up from her work, answered:
- No. The Blood Prince killed him.
The girl hunched over in fear:
- But... A werewolf dragon of this size should be practically unkillable...
The healer, taking out the last pencil case, said wearily:
"There is no such thing as immortality. It's just that some are much harder to kill than others..." She straightened up and looked her student straight in the eyes. "And yes, Liel, remember this: the two most valuable things are life and time. From this point of view, you, as my student, are very valuable to me, since I have spent a lot of my time on you, and eliminating you would only mean that it was all in vain." The girl felt a nascent fear inside her. She believed that Elmair could kill her then and there. She continued speaking, and her words sounded like a sentence. "I cannot let you go so easily. So get ready: you are following me to the best teachers of all... Because with the Blood Prince came not only Death, but also War, Liel. And they will complete your cutting..." The healer smiled creepily and added. "And they will drive you mad at the same time."
*****
I've never liked excessive attention. Formal receptions and the ethics of high society—they were quite alien to me. All my life, I've tried to stay, if not in the shadows, then in the semi-light.
It was Aviléa who felt like a goldfish in a pond in society.
Stunningly beautiful, graceful and elegant, captivating with every movement... When she spoke, everyone fell silent. Even Irullel always listened to her opinions with considerable interest. Nimble and restless. Incredibly gifted magically, even for an Autwy, she achieved Master of all Elements practically as a child—in fourteen cycles! Master of Life—at twenty-five! But her Astral mastery was considerably worse. Light was also not her strong suit.
She was destined for a great future. Due to the magnitude of her magical gift, by the age of a thousand, she was expected to reach our mother's power in manipulating the Life Force. And her special ability allowed her to create incredibly powerful effects based on the Element of Water.
Compared to her, my achievements were considerably more modest. I had no elements. Only the traditional Life and Light. My personal peculiarity—the ability to control blood, the very essence of a representative of the Eternal Race—was sometimes even called "vile." But quietly, not in my presence.
And now the one who was never destined for the Throne, who always hated it, will take it. And become the Ruler.
How ironic it all is...
So when a decent crowd of soldiers began to gather around, each of whom wanted to take a look at me, I began to feel a little uncomfortable.
At the same time, soldiers began providing assistance to the victims and searching for survivors.
The charred remains of the numerous dead began to be carried to one place, and the wounded to another. Rescue teams and firefighters began clearing the still-smoldering ruins.
The wounded were simply overwhelming. They began to be carried directly to the ashes, where the arriving healers immediately began rendering aid. With a sigh, I joined the last of them, hoping to at least slightly escape the attention. On the one hand, it was foolish: I should have distanced myself from all this and insisted on being only a "dragon slayer," but on the other... The fact that the Blood Prince personally deigned to help the injured will add a few bright spots to my image. And some might even question the official version of what happened, both then, long ago, and now.
Elves, attracted by the rumors, began to appear near me almost immediately.
A trio of archers from Rath's house shifted from foot to foot in the distance. Judging by their charred clothing, they too had been engulfed in flames. Their weapons, however, were intact, but they behaved cautiously and made no dangerous or aggressive movements. Just in case, I listened to my instincts regarding them.
A dark elf woman sat nearby, exhausted, on some charred debris, looking up at the rising sun, casting a golden light from below on a large, dark cumulus cloud hanging precariously above us. Her jacket was torn to shreds, revealing not only her breasts but also part of her tattoo. Esvi appeared, draping his cloak over her, earning a look of utter surprise.
The half-breeds were both guarding us and keeping watch over Cassiel's body, still lying where I'd killed him. As I watched, one of the elves approached and covered him with a white linen sheet, hiding his nakedness from prying eyes.
*****
Haalen walked across an incredibly green meadow, illuminated by the bright sun, which was beginning to sink toward the horizon. The grass beneath his feet, though not very tall, reached his knees. With each step, a variety of beautiful butterflies took flight, swirling around him like a veritable whirlwind.
Overwhelmed by the incredible beauty and the feeling of lightness in his body, Haalen ran toward the sun. He longed to become a butterfly like himself and soar upward, dissolving into the incredible heights...
Having run up the hill, he stopped in horror: the entire other slope was littered with the hacked and torn corpses of people and animals.
But not everyone was dead.
Elves in silver armor and silver masks swarmed across the battlefield, depicting stern, featureless faces with mouths pulled down in a sneer of disdain. One of them, with a piercing blow from a long, slightly curved blade, pinned a groaning, wounded man to the blood-soaked ground.
A horse with a broken spine was trying to crawl. Its headless owner, wearing light armor, had his foot tangled in the stirrups and was trailing in the wounded animal's wake...
A man in an orange-red cloak, clutching a bleeding stomach wound with his left hand, ran with all his might past the horse, straight toward Haalen. He tripped over a twitching hoof and fell, crying out in pain, but, looking back, he rose again and ran on. The half-breed could only stare in shock at the rapidly approaching man.
When the man was only a few steps away from Haalen, he saw the half-breed and, baring his teeth, rushed towards him.
Only now did Haalen realize that for some reason he was much shorter than the man, and that he seemed enormous and ugly. Disgust and horror made him back away, but the half-breed stumbled and fell backward. Rising immediately to his elbows, he saw the man, now looming over him, entangled in roots bursting from the ground. He screamed desperately and tried to break free, but in the next few seconds the roots tore him to pieces. Blood sprayed everywhere, literally drenching everything around him.
Haalen, covered in bloody drips, began to try to wipe it off himself, but only smeared it with his small hands.
The bloody chunks of flesh, once a living human, continued to entwine themselves with roots. Next to them, the half-breed suddenly saw a tall elf in incredibly elaborate white armor. His swords were sheathed, and he carried no other weapons. His expression was not much different from the masks of the other elves.
Suddenly, Haalen realized that he had already seen this armor worn on... On that elf who had come from the forest... And yet, their faces were just as identical...
The rest of the soldiers began to appear around him. Despite their masks, Haalen saw their eyes literally flash with power as they turned their gaze on the elf in white armor.
Suddenly, a melodic yet resonant voice reached him. It penetrated every cell of the half-breed's body, and it was completely unclear who was speaking:
"We will destroy them all! The enemies will fall! For we are the Guardians of Peace, and Ilthariel Autwy himself leads us into battle!"
The Guardians of Peace, as one, raised their bloody mithril blades and shouted in unison:
- Here is the glory of the Throne and Autvii!
The prince reacted to these shouts with complete indifference. Not a muscle moved on his face. He didn't even change his disdainful expression. The half-breed even thought it began to radiate hatred. Not at them, but at their words.
Suddenly, he turned his blue gaze on Haalen. It seemed as if he were looking into the very depths of his soul, into the very fabric of his future destiny...
Haalen woke up in a cold sweat and for a few seconds couldn't figure out where he was. He kept feeling as if a blue whirlpool was sucking his very soul straight into the Realm of the Dead.
Looking around quickly, Haalen realized that he was still in his father's house, in the same chair where he had been overcome by the Autvi wine.
It was dark all around.
The braziers, like the fireplace, were extinguished. Only three small magical lamps still emitted light, but it was clearly insufficient to illuminate such a vast hall.
Tarivel stood motionless near the large panoramic window and looked out of it.
Graceful and majestic... But now Haalen realized his father was only trying to project confidence. In reality, he was desperate.
Haalen sighed twitchingly and looked at his trembling fingers.
- Oh, gods... What a dream... - he exhaled.
"What did you dream about?" Tarivel asked, without turning to face him.
"A strange dream," Haalen whispered. "I was little, running across a meadow among butterflies. And then I found myself on the battlefield of Ritan, where the Blood Prince, leading the Guardians of Peace, routed and destroyed the five hundred thousand strong combined army of the Old Empire... I saw a field of corpses stretching to the horizon... and Ilthariel himself..."
"These are my memories," Tarivel said distantly. "Back then, I was a foolish boy who accidentally found himself where he shouldn't have been. I was shocked by what I saw there. I never thought that we, the light elves, could be so cruel and uncompromising. My life was turned upside down then, and I decided to become a diplomat to prevent such bloodshed." He paused for a moment, and then continued bitterly. "How naive I was. I thought that a word could stop a sword. I thought that an apology could end a war... I thought that the times of Twilight would never, ever return. And so...
Suddenly he stepped right up to the window and began to look somewhere up.
"What's going on?" Haalen asked, getting up from his chair.
Tarivel lowered his head and then the ground beneath his feet shook noticeably.
The half-breed ran to the window and saw tongues of a huge fire rising above the roofs of the houses.
Tarivel suddenly laughed:
- Autwy killed Cassiel. That means we still have hope.
Cursing foully, the half-breed ran to the door.
His father looked after him with clear condemnation in his eyes.
*****
A large detachment of mounted knights in full black armor appeared among the smoldering ruins. Interrupting the aid of a human woman with a charred hand and a burned face, I rose to my feet.
The baron was not among the knights.
I hope the baron didn't give them the order to attack me...
Some of them dismounted and, led by a snow-white, mustachioed man, approached me, carefully skirting the wounded. As they drew closer, I noticed the elves around me beginning to organize themselves and place their hands on the hilts of their weapons.
The grey-haired man noticed this and, slowing his pace, narrowed his eyes.
Two steps before reaching me, the knight stopped and, casting another appraising glance at me, spoke:
"Baron Gaur Tur will arrive here to clarify the circumstances of what happened here." After a short silence, he added, "Right now."
- I understand.
The man looked gloomily at the rows of scorched townspeople lying there and, playing with his mandibles, added:
- And the elves better have a good explanation!
I snorted expressively:
- Human! A civil war for the Throne has begun in the Great Forest! If you think what happened here is terrible, I'm sorry to disappoint you: such a nightmare is about to begin that all this will seem like a knife fight in an alley...
At that moment, a cavalcade of horsemen appeared among the smoldering ruins, led by the baron in his horned helmet and heavy armor, beautifully adorned with rivets. He was followed by four rather distinct groups of horsemen.
The Archmages, wrapped in their cloaks, kept apart from their apprentices. While I'd seen Kessell before, and his appearance at the head of his apprentices had met with indifference, I saw his brother in the earthy-brown cloak for the first time.
A slight lag behind the baron, but ahead of the mages, was a thin, middle-aged man with black hair, clad in light armor. He led a group of a dozen soldiers, one of whom held a green and white flag with a coat of arms in the center, depicting a golden crown with a red dragon entwined around it.
Apparently, this is the commander of the royal garrison, Sir Rien.
My fight with Cassiel messed up the Baron and me in our confrontation with the Guild. How can we eliminate all those named by that lawyer, Edwin Tarlow? And anyway? After all, what happened has discredited me not only in the eyes of the royal family but also of ordinary citizens. A little effort on the Guild's part, and I'm already the culprit of mass deaths.
I have two options.
The first is to abandon this whole matter and focus on preparations for the confrontation with Prince Eriran. This will eliminate the problems associated with the war between Karshlan and this kingdom. At the same time, I'll lose any kind of base on the very border with the Great Forest, a place where my followers and soldiers could gather, where supplies could be brought, where the wounded could be treated, and so on...
The second option is to try to strike first. My strength is limited, but it will grow. Capture, torture, present evidence... Yes, it's a chore, but I won't just have a base, but an entire city, inhabited by numerous elves and half-breeds. And then there's food and weapons. Besides, if I can get through to the king, both Archmage of this kingdom might speak for me, and that's already good. Of course, I'll also get a war with Karshlan, but once the veterans of the Twilight War rally behind me, that problem will be solved. One way or another. And one solution could very well be the radical elimination of not only this Prince Muar (or perhaps King Muar?) and his Archmage, but also...
I turned my gaze to the last group of riders, hanging back behind everyone else. There were three of them: Summoner Kaun, the vampiress, and the boy from earlier.
Vampires...
I glance quickly at the tired dark elf sitting on a piece of rubble. Next to her, a half-breed stands wary, watching the approaching cavalcade.
The last of the Altrauns. There was a time when vampires revered them. And even in the end, when the rebels withdrew from Alechethorn, they preferred not to fight the soldiers of this House.
I wonder what they'll do when they find out the Last of the Altraun is here?
Will they try to kill me? Unlikely.
Steal her? Perhaps. But why? So she can give birth to a ton of little Altrauns? Well... That's too mundane. And besides, vampires don't need rulers. Although I don't know what their current political situation is...
But for her, like her distant ancestor, to turn into the depths of Death itself... Hm.
We'll see. We need to keep an eye on her and keep her close.
Or maybe we should try playing this card?
I felt my lips stretch into a thin smile.
In any case, the time will come when I will have to put my trump card on the table, and if I have the support of the vampires, then I can take risks.
On the other hand, it's unknown what happened over these two millennia. Perhaps the vampires were enlightened about that old story of their exodus from Alechethorn and harbored some grudge against me. This, of course, left many gaps: if they know, then why was Altraun overthrown? Was too much blood spilled during the uprising? But they didn't fight Altraun. At least not seriously.
What if I was completely wrong back then? What if the Dark Ones really did plan to exterminate all vampires after the War? What if every House except Altraun wanted to wipe out vampires? After all, at the end of the War, they would have had thousands of supersoldiers loyal only to them. And there were mages among the vampires, too...
Well, yeah... And there's no one to ask - Atel hardly knows anything...