The spacious study welcomed the warm summer sun, which briefly visited the normally gray and unwelcoming Metropolis domain. Broad windows spanned from the gleaming, freshly scrubbed, lacquered parquet floor to the moldings that concealed the ceiling's high cornices. The windows were so immaculately clean that they practically blended with the view of the blooming garden beyond, revealing it to the room's sole occupant. He sat at the piano, slowly and calmly running his fingers over the keys and drawing forth a quiet, unobtrusive melody. The melody blended with the sunbeams dancing across the endless spines of books that lined the room. So many books had accumulated that they replaced the study's walls. Books lay in neat pyramids on the floor, in stacks on the lone writing desk, and stood in obedient rows like loyal soldiers across innumerable shelves and bookcases. The doors, crafted in the same shape as the windows, swung open noiselessly. In came a short man with a slightly disproportionate build that made him look like a runaway puppet from a children's theater. "My lord," he said, bowing low. The person he addressed—a tall man in an elegant tailcoat and white gloves—did not immediately tear himself away from his playing. Only after a few more moments did he smoothly lift his hands, like a bird flapping its wings, and remove his fingers from the snow-white keys. "Were you able to locate Tantov's body?" he asked. His voice was as lilting and melodic as the piano's strings. "No, my lord," the short man said as he straightened. "Our people suspect that someone else got to her remains first." The musician said nothing. For a time, he simply studied his garden in silence, lifting his face to the summer sunlight. "Continue," he said after a moment. "Our sources in the Second Chancery say they don't know if they have the remains." "It's unlikely," the musician replied calmly. "If our adversaries had found her body, they would have found the Key as well. Then we would certainly know about it." "Yes, my lord. Most likely so," the servant bowed once more. "We suspect that the body is in the hands of someone from the Six. Perhaps they hope to gain something from their—if I may—discovery." "To get something..." The musician's voice carried a faint irony. "In their hands, as foolish as it sounds, is the key to the entire empire. Find it, my faithful servant. This is our top-priority task. Without the key, we'll have to use the backup plan, which I would greatly prefer to avoid." "Yes, my lord," the diminutive man said, pressing the edge of his hand to his chest and bowing again. "Now, give me the good news." "Yes, my lord." The servant placed a monocle over his eye and opened a small, leather-bound notebook. "Grand Magister Aversky, as we anticipated, bequeathed all of his research to the Mages Guild in his will. This means that we will soon have full access to it. The only remaining question is how to motivate the necessary people." "Try handling that nuance with money," the musician said, extending his hand to take a fresh newspaper from the coffee table. "It's a pity we had to remove Edward from the board. He had built walls around his mind that were too high and tiresome, made of foolish patriotism. In a few years, young Edward, with his military experience and skill, would have become a serious problem for us. Still, if you fail to buy off the people we need, then act subtly, servant. There's no need to threaten their families right away. Try to find some dirt on them, and... well, there's no need for me to explain your work to you." "I am always grateful for your advice and guidance, my lord." "My old friend...even after all these centuries, I am amazed by not only your serpentine slyness but also the sweetness of your words. Let's return to business. Are we confident that the documents we need are included in what was handed over to the Mages Guild?" "Yes, my lord," the servant adjusted his monocle and flipped a page. "According to our information, Aversky left all his grimoires and notes, without exception. At any rate, our people found no discrepancies in the Civil Registry records. Everything has concluded most successfully, my lord. Edward Aversky is off the board and can no longer hinder our plans. All of his research and achievements will soon be in our hands." "Well then, I can only commend you, my servant, for this Lea Morimer gambit. As always, even after centuries, your style of play never fails to impress me." "I had the best teacher one could hope for, my lord." "More flattery," said the musician. Though it was not visible from behind, it seemed as if a smile tugged at his lips. "I am merely stating a fact, my lord," the servant said, closing the notebook and taking a deep breath. "But an unexpected piece has appeared on the board, my lord." For a moment, silence hung in the study. "You mean young Egobar?" "Yes, my lord," the servant admitted. "We already had this conversation a year ago. At that time, you said that Aror's descendant presented no threat to us. "And you're doubting my words now, servant?" The musician's voice remained calm, and he didn't stir. "Or do you think I was mistaken?" His tone didn't change, and his silhouette didn't quiver, yet the servant instantly crashed to his knees, pressing his forehead to the floor so hard that he nearly cracked the ancient parquet planks. "My lord, I never meant to—" "Rise, my loyal servant," the musician interrupted, flicking the rolled newspaper upward. A gust of wind lifted the short man to his feet as easily as if he were a feather and smoothed the wrinkles on his suit. "Centuries have passed, yet you're still quick to fall to your knees. I suppose a dog that was trained to serve will still remember how to obey commands, even when not a trace of its cage remains." "My lord," the servant bowed deeply. "I would never presume to question your decisions. The full depth of your design is unknown to me. I am merely your hands and your eyes. Forgive my momentary frivolity." Once more, silence fell, broken only by the silent dance of sunlight across the piano keys. "Aror Egobar... How wearisome that name is! How many times he stood in my way... Even when everything almost succeeded with young Jacob, this puny Dark Lordling, Aror managed to see through my trap." The servant said nothing. In the past two centuries, he had come to understand well that at times, when beside his master, it was best to keep his tongue still. "And now he's gone, yet I'm still forced to battle his ghost. Forgive me, my faithful servant. A momentary delusion brought on by the hope that the path to my cherished goal was finally clear of obstacles overtook me. It seems the fate of the Egobar bloodline is to rise up before me. I acknowledge that Ard Egobar does indeed possess considerable potential." "My lord, we know his weaknesses. His family in Delpas may be under the Second Chancery's protection, but in a few years we could find cracks in that wall." "You may indeed find them... but if the Egobar blood is strong in that child, then by striking his loved ones we would only temper that raw steel with our own hands... No, my faithful servant. At this moment, attacking that particular weak spot, as you call it, would cause more trouble than good." "He has formed strong, mutual bonds with Orman's daughter. "Orman? A relative of the governor of Shamtur?" "Yes, my lord. The governor's daughter." "Well, that's good. For now, we need a strong Shamtur, and its governor should focus on his work instead of being mired in personal tragedy. But set the pieces on the board so that we can always make use of that move. It worked once with Aror, and perhaps it will work with his descendant as well." "Very well, my lord, but it will take time." "We have a few years in reserve. Work carefully and without haste. We're not in a hurry. It would be a shame to stumble at the very end." "Yes, my lord, you are right." "Focus on the Key. It's our top priority at the moment. We need what it unlocks. That will greatly simplify the task and save us from having to use the second contingency." "Yes, my lord," the diminutive man repeated yet again. "However, we may have to use the pieces we placed on the board in the Six's game." "Then we'll use them, but delicately. If blood must be spilled, let it be for entirely different reasons. No one should know that we are searching for the Key or that it even exists." "Young Egobar has most likely seen it." "Perhaps he has..." The musician sighed and rested his chin on his free hand. "But he doesn't know what he saw. Still, you're right. I underestimated him once. That won't happen again. Use our reserve pieces. Let them try to remove him from the board." "Yes, my lord," the servant said, opening the notebook again. "Our sources in the Second Chancery have reported strange activity in the Archive." "In the Archive, you say? Well, sooner or later, that was bound to happen". "Do you think the Colonel realized what game we're playing?" "Unlikely, old friend. If he had, we would have seen signs confirming as much. No, I doubt he truly understands. But his bloodhound's nose is superb. Maybe he's noticed some pieces of our mosaic. The most vulnerable parts of it." "There are no living witnesses left in Mountain Predator or the laboratories, my lord." "That doesn't stop them from finding some traces, though." "No need, my faithful servant," the musician said, raising his four-fingered hand and cutting off his companion. "In the past two centuries, you have proven yourself to be my finest instrument. However, even the most delicate knife leaves a trace. The Colonel will try to sniff those out. And, if I understand correctly, most likely with the help of the very same people you have so successfully led by the nose." "And yet they managed to get dangerously close to both the Key and to exposing us, my lord. We nearly let Aversky slip out of the snare." "It's true, my servant. We are in the endgame. Alas, this endgame is a pawn endgame. All that remains is for us to delegate and move pawns, ensuring that one of them can reach the final rank. I suspect the Colonel views the situation the same way, only from the opposite side." "We could behead them all in one stroke, my lord. Milar Pnev, Alexander Ursky, and Din Arnson—not to mention Alice Rovnev—each has so many spots. I never could have imagined that your slow strategy of weakening the Second Chancery would lead to such serious consequences. A century ago, we wouldn't have been able to get anywhere near them." The musician only smirked. "We'll always have time to strike at those mortals, old friend. For now, let's watch and see what moves the Colonel makes. That way we'll understand what he knows and what he doesn't. If we can, we'll use our available pieces to occupy his attention. At the same time, we'll sweep young Egobar from the board." It seemed the musician smiled again. "Admit it, old friend. Your eagerness to eliminate that child is connected to your history with Aror." "I hadn't considered that, my lord, but perhaps you are right, as always." "Perhaps..." the musician repeated. "Just as slippery as ever. Go now, old friend. Find the Key and maneuver the pieces into place. We are ahead in this game, and let it remain so until the very end." The servant bowed and left through the door. The musician unfolded the newspaper. As always, the first page of the Imperial Herald was splashed with a loud headline meant to entice curious citizens to part with a couple of kso to learn the latest news of the country. All the while, they were under the illusion that reading a few lines would inform them and thereby give them the ability to influence anything. Such shallow delusions always amused the Duke. In the center of the page, framed by the orderly lines of print, was a photograph of His Imperial Majesty. Pavel IV wore his usual modest, austere attire: a black, military-style cavalry suit, jackboots, and the cane he habitually carried, which was necessary because of his prosthetic leg. He was standing at a podium saying something, addressing an entire forest of microphones mounted on stands and a surging sea of the capital's residents. THE LONG-AWAITED OPENING OF THE UNDERGROUND TRAM LINES AND AN EVEN MORE RESOUNDING DECLARATION BY THE EMPEROR. "Finally, after all the misfortunes the city has had to endure over the past half-year, the Metropolis can celebrate not only the arrival of summer, but also the advent of a new mode of transportation. Overcrowded streetcar lines and trams that break down every winter are receding into history. With them, the townsfolk are going underground in the most literal sense. The initial project was intended to connect Risen King Avenue and Market Street. However, over the past six months, there have been constant delays to the public launch of the underground lines. During this time, the Guild of Engineers and Masons did not sit idle. The residents of New City will finally be able to travel freely to the center because the lines have been extended to New Time Avenue. A station will open by the end of summer. Thus, the underground lines—opened just a couple years after their counterpart in the Selkadian capital of Radan—are the world's largest public civic structure, stretching 34.5 kilometers with 17 stations and forming a network of three intersecting lines. The Crown and investor companies promise to expand the system manifold every three years. By the end of the decade, the total length of the underground lines should exceed one hundred kilometers. However, construction experts and economists consulted by our editorial team have doubts about whether the Crown can cope with this new spurt of industrialization. At first glance, contemporary projects to conquer airspace, build new shipyards, and implement a nationwide transportation reform present serious challenges to the treasury and the entire industrial sector of the Empire. We hasten to remind our readers that the Empire's railways currently span just under fifty thousand kilometers, and the Crown plans to double that figure within ten years. As far as we know, three large, full-cycle production plants for locomotives have already been completed. If Parliament passes the law on public budget hearings, perhaps the country will learn how much this industrial race with our competitors is costing. Even now, one can tell by indirect signs that the Crown is working itself to the bone. This work is creating hundreds of thousands of new jobs and developing our non-Star sciences, as well as Star technologies. Of course, all of this can only benefit society, but the motives for such urgency are unclear. In high circles, however, there are fears that this pace of industrialization, tied to an attempt to devalue the national currency to secure an advantage in international trade, is linked to similar processes in the Brotherhood of Tazidahian, Selkado, and Castilia. The High Ambassador of Tazidahian has repeatedly asserted that the pace of industrialization, including the Brotherhood's military-industrial complex, is not aimed southward. The Brotherhood is merely concerned by increasingly harsh statements from Urdavan. The Northerners are attempting to initiate a review of the treaty that regulates the joint use of the Whale Harbor, which connects the Brotherhood and Urdavan. Our editorial board reminds readers that, according to the International Maritime Territory Treaty of 237 After the Fall of Ektassus, Whale Harbor is an inalienable part of the Tazidahian Brotherhood. The Brotherhood allows Urdavan to use the harbor for a certain fee but prohibits the presence of a military fleet there. If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it. The industrial potential of the Brotherhood surpasses that of Urdavan several times over, in both production volume and rate of development. In fact, it approaches that of the Empire and even outpaces it in some respects. Perhaps Pavel IV wants to be remembered as the first emperor to achieve technological superiority for our country over its neighbors. One can only guess. Guess, and watch the rise in market prices for coal, steel, diesel, gas, oil, and Ertalain. That as regards the Metropolis's underground tram lines. Now, about the Emperor's loud and shocking declaration—I am not afraid to use this description. What follows is a direct quote: To ease the burden on enterprises and merchants, it was proposed at a meeting with Guild representatives to transfer the obligation of maintaining insurance contracts to the Crown, with mandatory contributions from enterprises to a new proposed fund. I, Emperor Pavel IV, have thoroughly reviewed this issue and come to the following conclusion: The system we introduced twenty years ago is gradually beginning to outlive its usefulness. Insurance left to private hands leads to our executive authorities having to expend incredible effort to combat corruption and various kinds of machinations. Therefore, taking into account the Guild representatives' statement, I am submitting a proposal to Parliament to create a Civil Health Fund. Starting in the next financial quarter, every enterprise will be required to remit a percentage of its net profit to the fund. This percentage will be calculated on a progressive scale. This tax will eliminate the need for enterprises to conclude direct contracts with insurance offices. Insurance itself will become completely voluntary for citizens because a system of Imperial Individual Insurance will be established for every citizen of our homeland, regardless of age or origin - Humans and Firstborn alike, based on the funds of the Civil Health Fund. The Crown will match each ex from enterprises with one of its own to fill the fund. New intake departments will be opened in every hospital and infirmary built with Crown funds over the past decades, creating demand for no fewer than seventy thousand new physicians of various specialties. Most importantly, starting next calendar year, every citizen of the Empire can be confident that the Crown will not abandon them in times of need and that their health and life are a priority and under protection. This medical insurance will be free for citizens. Private insurance offices will be able to attract clients on a voluntary basis, as will the hospitals and clinics they have built. In this regard, there will be no changes. Citizens will be able to choose what they prefer. We can only hope that the Crown recognizes the burden it is placing on the Treasury. However, after the expropriation of half of the Bri-&- Man Company's assets, following the mysterious demise of Trevor Man, as well as the transfer of Tarik Le'mrity's property—who also perished in the incident—into the Crown's possession, one suspects that the Treasury will find the funds for a new round of industrialization and a policy of social welfare for the general population. One can't help but wonder if it was a coincidence that the airship, which crashed into the Treasury Tower, was carrying almost the entire opposition leadership. Perhaps we will learn more details at the open hearing of the posthumous charges of high treason against Trevor Man and Tarik Le'mrity which allowed the Crown to begin expropriating their assets. The families of the deceased hope that the scales of justice will tip to their side, but, considering the Emperor's statements, one can assume that the Crown and the Black House have incontrovertible evidence and that the processes of transferring the suspects' property have already been set in motion and will not be halted. In any event, when Pavel IV made that announcement, I witnessed something I hadn't seen in a long time: tens of thousands of the capital's residents giving the Emperor nonstop ovations for ten minutes. As we all know, medicine has long been a sensitive topic that we often only whispered about in intimate circles. Credit is due to the Crown for taking such a decisive approach to—pardon the pun—treating an old wound. However, the illusion that this process will cost citizens nothing will soon pass. The final cost of goods will inevitably include the new tax expense. Yes, the Crown is clearly trying to ease this process by changing the approach to mandatory insurance. However, something tells me that the "progressive scale of tax burden" borrowed from the Confederation of Free Cities will ultimately put a new, unexpected strain on the most successful enterprises. We will see what all this leads to in just a few years. Senior Magister of Economic Sciences Note: The author's opinion may not coincide with that of the editorial board." The Duke put the newspaper aside, steepled his fingers, and looked out the window. In the garden, blue rosebuds swayed in the breeze. "Six hundred years have passed since we began the war, oh accursed blood of Agrov," whispered—or perhaps rasped or growled—the one who looked human, barely audibly. "Pavel... I hadn't placed any bets on you. But you managed to escape the Fatian trap thanks to Egobar blood. And now, once again, Egobar blood is on your side. Just as it was back then at the fortress of Pasher when I was so close. What an amusing irony. Very well, Pavel. Since you and your wretched line are still alive, enjoy yourselves. Struggle. Flail about in my web. It's more interesting that way—for me. It will also give you something to do before I sever the Agrov Kings' line and finally end our war. End it with victory." The musician carelessly brushed the newspaper to the floor, turned back to the piano, and continued to play. Book 2. Chapter 1 – The Marshals Ardi watched Tess sleep, trying to cocoon herself in the sleeping bag as if it were an ordinary blanket and not a goose down-filled envelope. Of course, she wasn't succeeding, which made the girl scrunch up her little button nose in comical frustration. Tall blades of grass occasionally tickled her face as they gently surrounded their temporary bed. Nearby, the campfire crackled, occasionally sending off sparks that died out before reaching the grass or bedding. Despite the arrival of summer, the nights in the steppe could still surprise them with cold winds. And the closer they got to Alcade, the more likely those winds were to make themselves known. Ardan turned eastward, where the sun was rising above the horizon, driving away the thick, dark night that gleamed with gemstone stars, and at the same time setting the steppe ablaze with the cheerful reflections of a warm fire. The wind blew against the young man's face as he held a staff carved from an oak branch from his homeland against his legs. They had already spent a day galloping across the steppe, accompanied by falcons soaring high overhead and the occasional wolf howling at the edge of their hearing. Ardan would sometimes howl back in answer so the wolves would know there was no prey here, only another hunter who wasn't seeking a fight over territory or food. Ardi hoped they would reach Delpas by evening without incident, admiring the beauty of the summer expanse awash in wildflowers and grass under the high azure silk of the sky. He hoped, but he understood that they would hardly be that lucky. As it turned out, not without reason. The previous evening, he had proposed and received the long-desired answer, "Yes." Now, he was sitting guard. Just as Ergar had long ago. As Milar used to say, "Knowing something is one thing, but understanding it is quite another." Now, Ardi understood why Ergar had done that. Tess squinted when she woke up, raised a hand to shield her eyes from the sun's rays, and pushed herself up on one elbow. "What's wrong?" she asked, the last traces of sleep vanishing the moment she saw the focused look on her fiancé's face. "Riders are coming from the south and heading our way," Ardan answered, seeing no reason to hide the truth. "They'll be here in about fifteen minutes." Tess unfastened the sleeping bag, got to her feet, stretched, and peered in the direction he'd indicated. "I don't see anything beyond the grass," she began, then stopped herself. "Oh, sorry." She glanced around and walked over to the horses they had rented in Presny, grazing peacefully. Tied to stakes, the animals were eating the grass without a care in the world. "Maybe we should hurry?" "We won't leave them behind on these horses, Tess," Ardi said, shaking his head. "Marshals' and bandits' horses are much faster and tougher." Tess, stroking her steed's mane, flinched and turned again toward the south. Ardi turned to look in the same direction as Tess and squinted slightly. "I see their gray summer uniforms. Unless those are bandits disguising themselves as marshals, that's exactly who is coming," Ardan said, standing up and dusting himself off. He leaned down to pick up his staff. The stones that served as points in the contour of the outer shield he had set up the previous evening still held enough charge to withstand a few rifle shots and roughly a full revolver cylinder. But probably no more. "They probably saw our tracks," Ardi continued. "But why would marshals be chasing us?" "No idea," Ardan answered honestly. He wanted to reassure Tess that there was nothing to worry about. If there was no Blue Star Mage among the marshals (or bandits), then there was nothing to fear. Except perhaps the possibility that Tess might have to witness an unpleasant scene. And that would happen just a day after they stepped off the train... As for the marshals or bandits having enlisted a Three-Star military mage, Ardan seriously doubted it and refused to believe it was possible. As he approached his horse, Ardan reached into a saddlebag, pulled out a small lady's revolver, and offered it to Tess. "I give you my word you won't need to use it," he said softly. "But I'll feel better knowing you have it." Tess only nodded quickly and took the gun, beginning to tighten the straps on the saddle. She finished just as six riders approached their makeshift "camp." By the time Ardi's fiancée pulled herself into her saddle, the six riders were already upon them. They wore sturdy trousers covered by leather chaps to guard against dust and gnats. Their gray jackets were practically caked in dust. Their faces bore streaks of that same dust, occasionally washed away. These marshals had clearly not been near water in quite some time. This explained their frugal attitude toward using drinking water. Among the riders were two women, which reassured Ardi somewhat. Bandits, with rare exceptions, usually did not have women in their ranks. The oldest, by age and rank, separated from the group. Judging by his epaulets, he was a lieutenant. He was around forty years old, with pockmarked skin chiseled by steppe winds and a weather-beaten, coppery complexion from the merciless prairie sun. The equally pitiless gaze of a pair of deep-set brown eyes was now fixed on Ardi. A sharp chin and high cheekbones completed the overall impression of a marshal who reminded one of a bird of prey. Before the marshal could misstep, Ardan lifted his staff slightly. In the same instant, the five riders behind the lieutenant drew their revolvers and cocked the hammers. "Please, Lieutenant, stop right there," Ardi said in the calmest, most peaceful tone he could muster. "Two meters ahead of you lies the boundary of my Star shield. If you or your horse touch it, nothing good will come of it." The marshal silently examined Ardan for a moment, then shifted his gaze to Tess. Only after a good half-minute did he raise an open hand. His people eased their hammers back down, but Ardi noticed that none of them returned their revolvers to their holsters. "What are you doing here, mage?" he asked in a deep, raspy voice. It wasn't as bad as Cassara's, but it was still quite noticeable—deep and hoarse. Apparently, there was someone in the world who smoked even more heavily than Milar did. By law, the marshal was obliged to introduce himself, show his identification, and state the reason for addressing a citizen. That was the law. In practice, however, if marshals observed such niceties, their ranks would be severely... thinned out. In the prairies, no one bothered with such courtesies. Likewise, no sensible person ever felt inclined to be rude to marshals. (Yonatan Kornosskiy being an exception.) "My name is Ard Egobar," the youth introduced himself. "This is my fiancée, Tess Orman. We were on the train to Delpas, but there was an engine failure yesterday morning, so we rented horses in Presny and headed out across the steppe. If you would like, I can show you our papers and the rental contract." Ardi had neither reason nor desire to behave any way other than politely and cautiously. "In the summer months? The two of you? Across the prairie?" The lieutenant's gray eyebrows crept up the furrows of his low forehead. "Have you lost your mind, Mr. Egobar? Do you have some compelling reason to court death for yourself and your companion?" "We're in a hurry, and..." Ardan gave a slight swish of his staff, making the marshals flinch. "I'm quite confident in our ability to complete the rest of the journey safely." The marshal folded his arms and propped his wrists on the pommel of his saddle. He kept a close eye on Ard's every move, and did not neglect to scrutinize his face, giving particular attention to the young man's upper lip.. "I can present a permit for travel within the Empire," Ardi hurried to head off the obvious question. "I have all my papers regarding licenses and any other issues you might have due to the fact that I belong to the Firstborn." "Ha...you talk like a proper lawyer, mr. Mage" the marshal spat on the ground. It wasn't an insult; it was just out of habit. The dust often made his throat itch. "I'm Lieutenant Rizats Klorco, and these are my people," the marshal said, motioning behind him. "I won't burden you with their ranks or the names their mothers gave them. I've disturbed your rest because people have been disappearing on the road from Delpas to Presny in the past few months. Including cowboys out on the range, settlers, and even some of our own fellow officers." Ardi frowned. Typically bandits seldom went looking for unnecessary trouble, so they made a point to avoid both cowboys and marshals, preferring to deal with wagon trains of settlers who economized on security. They also raided new settlements sprouting up along popular trails and farms claiming more and more of the plain's fertile land. This meant that there was something else entirely... "Orcs, mage. Orcs," the marshal confirmed with a couple nods. "Orc horses are a lot bigger than ours. Neither I nor my companion look anything like them. So I don't understand why you chased us half the night. I must insist that you order your people to put their revolvers back in their holsters. You have no reason to draw your weapons in our presence. We're not acting hostile and we're ready to cooperate with any lawful request you have." The lieutenant gave Ard another appraising look. Had Ard been alone, he wouldn't have been bothered by the marshals' habit of acting as if they were ready to shoot anyone who gave them the slightest suspicion. Out on the prairies, that's how things were. But Tess was with him. Her calm and safety worried him far more than the prairie way of life did. "Holster your weapons, mage?" the lieutenant snorted, barbed irony creeping into his voice. "So the rumors of mages' arrogance aren't just rumors? Or are you showing off for your lady friend? I'll have you know, boy, that one displays boldness for a lady on an entirely different field." "Perhaps, Marshal Klorco, but I still insist that you give the order to holster your weapons," Ardi persisted. "You haven't shown me any identification, so I have no way of knowing if you took those uniforms from the 'missing' marshals." "You must be out of your—" someone in the squad began, but Klorco cut him off. "I've met a few with a drop of Matabar blood in my day, boy. Can't you hear how my heart beats?" "Then you know I'm not lying." "Then why are you rushing headlong into trouble? Are you just showing off? You don't strike me as a fool who lets his lower brain do more thinking than his upper one." Indeed, half a year ago, Ardi wouldn't have acted . But after everything that happened in the capital, he had begun to see certain things from a completely different angle. If he had the opportunity to avoid putting Tess under any kind of threat, he intended to take it. But the marshal clearly wasn't asking out of idle curiosity. Just as Ardi trusted his interlocutor little, Lieutenant Klorco likewise was in no hurry to leave. For some reason known only to him. Ardi reached toward the inner pocket of his jacket, almost provoking the reflexes Aversky had drilled into him. Instantly, Marshal Klorco leveled his revolver at Ardi and pulled back the hammer. "No sudden moves, nonhuman." Tess, who had remained silent this whole time, barely managed to hold back an angry outburst. Ardi didn't see it; he just heard her heart skip a beat. Carefully, using two fingers, Ardi drew out his identification. As soon as the black leather document holder case embossed with the Empire's crest came into view, several of the marshals paled noticeably. Several, but not all. Marshal Klorco, for instance, didn't bat an eye. Orıginal content can be found at 𝘯𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭•𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔢•𝓷𝓮𝓽 "Corporal Ard Egobar, junior investigator of the Second Chancery," Ardi introduced himself fully this time. "Green Star." "A Cloak, eh... why not introduce yourself immediately, Corporal?" "Because the Cloaks, the Marshals, and the Guards dislike each other, and you were already on edge." Klorco clicked his tongue but still didn't lower his revolver or instruct the others to return their weapons to their holsters. "I'll be frank, Lieutenant. I dislike the fact that you're pointing a weapon at me." "I'll be frank in return, Corporal—I don't give a fuck," the lieutenant said with a crooked smile. "But, being charitable, a few riders are seen before an orc attack. Humans. Or half-bloods. The survivors aren't too sure about what they saw, and their stories sometimes contradict each other." "Wonderful. I'm very glad that you're conducting an investigation," Ardan put his identification away and, pointedly, lowered his staff to the ground. "As you have seen, we have nothing to do with the subject of your concern. I propose we each continue our journey in different directions." "Oh really now?" the marshal spat again. "Well, I propose that you, Corporal Egobar, follow me to the nearest station so we can verify everything you've told us. We'll also make sure that your companion is really your fiancée and not someone else." Ardan sighed wearily. "You know I'm not lying." "Besides, you were heading back to the station anyway. Your waterskins are empty, and your provisions bags only contain the last scraps of food that are no longer fresh. I can smell the rot." "Again, you're right, Mr. Cloak." Ardi raised his gaze to the lieutenant. "You're simply abusing your authority, Lieutenant." "Maybe so, mage. Or maybe I just don't like nonhumans roaming my land and taking liberties," the marshal said without malice but with feeling. If Ardan had been alone and not in a rush to reach Delpas, he would have calmly followed Lieutenant Klorco. He could understand him. The steppe had recently been ravaged by orc raids, and the marshals had fought them—humans and Firstborn side by side. The marshal was simply looking for an outlet, and, as luck would have it, he encountered a Firstborn—albeit a different kind. Ardi had encountered such behavior more than once and had grown fairly accustomed to it. "You know, Lieutenant, that I have the right to use any countermeasures against you that I see fit?" "I know, Cloak. But there are six of us, nonhuman. You've only got two Stars, and I don't see any accumulators on your fingers. Do you think you can take us all? It seems to me that if you so much as lift that staff, we'll shoot you on the spot. So just follow orders and come with us. Enough showing off for your...lady." Ardan looked the marshal in the eyes while keeping his Witch's Gaze in check. He had no desire to delve into Klorco's tired mind. "Believe me, Marshal, you provoke nothing in me except minor irritation, which I'm chalking up to the long road." Ardi was not bluffing—much to his own surprise. Less than a year ago, during an attack on a train by some strange "bandits" — who may or may not have mistaken Boris for him — Ardan had come within a hairbreadth of joining his forefathers. And now he possessed complete confidence that even if one of the marshals managed to fire off a shot, it would, first of all, become the last thing that marshal did in his life, and second, not entail a single consequence afterward. Except perhaps, as Milar would say, some additional paperwork. On the other hand, who would find out what happened out in the middle of the steppe? Ardi could summon the not-too-distant wolf pack, and they would drag off the marshals' bodies faster than anyone at the station would realize they were gone. For nearly a minute, he and the marshal stared each other down in silence until Klorco raised his hands, palms open. "Forgive me, Corporal Egobar. It seems I have a foolish sense of humor, which, as you know, the Second Chancery doesn't appreciate. Of course, no one is detaining you. But, since you're bound for Delpas, would you mind riding with us? Our station lies in the same direction, as you know." Ardan didn't need to listen to the marshal's heart to know he wasn't lying. The marshals' outpost for this sector was indeed in the direction of Delpas. "Beg your pardon?" Klorco sounded genuinely surprised this time. "Until nightfall, you will remain here, Marshal Klorco." Ardan lifted his left hand, and a cloud of vapor slipped from his lips. Broad ribbons of ice snaked over the ground and shot up into long spikes beneath the horses' bellies. Several of the mounts gave terrified whinnies and reared up, threatening to throw their riders. But as soon as Ardan spoke to them in their language—"You are not prey to me"—they instantly calmed down and resumed munching grass. This astonished the marshals even more. "I don't need a staff to... And you are still trying to abuse your power. Your company would be unwelcome to either me or my companion. So, speaking with sincere understanding of your situation and nerves, I strongly urge you to stay here. Simply to avoid any unpleasant misunderstandings for all of us." Truthfully, in the midsummer heat of the prairies, Ard would have had a hard time summoning even the tiniest shard of the Name of Ice and Snow a second time, but the marshals did not know that. Now, mirroring Ardan from earlier, Lieutenant Klorco carefully took his revolver by the grip with two fingers and slid it back into its holster. His people followed suit. "Mr. Egobar," said Lieutenant Klorco, touching two fingers to the brim of his hat. "Miss Orman. I suppose we'll tarry here a while to catch our breath while you go on ahead. Unfortunately, we won't be able to spend the rest of the journey together. Our horses are too tired." Ardan nodded silently and, no longer worried about being shot in the back, turned around, walked to his horse, swung into the saddle, and guided it forward. Only once the marshals had vanished behind them did Tess exhale and exclaim indignantly. "This is simply unbelievable, Ardi! Outrageous! Such gall! Such baseness! In the Metropolis, or even in Shamtur, they would have lost their badges and been put on trial by tomorrow!" "Yes, but this is the Foothill Province," Ardan replied with a rueful smile. Tess continued to vent until they urged their horses to a faster pace and fell silent, lest they bite their tongues. They completed the rest of the journey in peace. Ardi could hardly wait to hug his brother again, kiss his mother, and introduce them to his frowning, indignant yet wonderful fiancée. He now had a fiancée. It sounded just as unbelievable as his great-grandfather's stories.