4

Eliana, as she'd announced, went to the temple to consult with the priests. Milindor went to the town hall, though he sincerely doubted this visit would yield any results. The healer probably hadn't considered that just because she wasn't bothered by his race didn't mean she was the same way about the officials, who had repeatedly made the half-elf suffer with their arrogance and arrogance. He preferred this to inaction, however. With a quick, springy step, he crossed the market square, heading toward the town hall. He wondered what he would do if the alchemist didn't return soon, and what he should do towards Eliana. He wanted to help her, to be of some service to her for how she treated him and for what she had done for others, for having saved his life, after all, but on the other hand, he didn't believe her mission could succeed. And despite their recent encounter with the Emissary, she hadn't realized the scale of the threat. She would stay here; why should she rush into certain death? But since when had he cared so much about his own life? If it weren't for her, he wouldn't even have reached Taur Caras. Lost in his own thoughts, he closed the massive door leading to the city's ruler's residence behind him. He wasn't even surprised that no sentry stopped him from entering, that there was no guard guarding the building.

Milindor returned to the inn, clearly reluctant. He was almost certain he wouldn't learn anything from the town hall or the guards. But now, when he truly realized he'd heard nothing beyond sarcastic remarks about his origins, he felt disappointed. The city's ruler refused to even speak to him, and the guard commander seemed to have taken him in only to vent his hatred for all the "changelings" the land harbored. This, of course, especially, in his opinion, the filthy race of half-elves. It wasn't the first time Milindor had to hear this, and it wasn't the first time he'd been unable to do anything about it. But it hurt him just as much each time. And now he was even more bitter that they hadn't made any progress. Unless, of course, Eliana had managed to learn something. When he returned to the room, the door was already open, and the healer was sitting in a chair, staring at the sun setting behind the tree line. Seeing her friend enter, she simply looked at him questioningly. His expression, however, was eloquent enough. She merely smiled sadly, her eyes seeming to say, "I didn't fare much better; we'll have to investigate everything ourselves." Soon, they descended to the common room for dinner, momentarily forgetting their failures. The innkeeper greeted them warmly, clearly pleased that at least he could count on these guests today. Besides them, the hall contained only a few dwarven miners and a group of visiting merchants, likely returning from the north and, willy-nilly, having had to stop in Taur Caras for the night. Contrary to the innkeeper's earlier announcements, no locals were present. Soon, the merchants and miners, having finished their meals, hurried to their rooms. The hall was almost completely silent. Milindor wasn't a regular at taverns, but he couldn't recall ever seeing an inn practically empty at night in a city as large as this one. Sitting alone made no sense, so they too returned to their room. The half-elf had the impression that everyone he met knew something only he and Elian knew. The uneasiness of the newcomers, the emptiness of the streets, were beginning to coalesce. He felt they couldn't guess something that seemed obvious to everyone else. But what could he do when no one was willing to share their knowledge? Night had come quickly, shrouding the city in darkness and spreading mists like a spider's web between the narrow streets.

Milindor awoke in the middle of the night, brutally ripped from his sleep by a piercing scream coming from the distance. Eliana was also awake, standing by the window, whispering softly, her petite figure casting a long shadow in the moonlight, reaching the doorway. When the scream faded, silence reigned again, the only sound audible was the healer's soft whisper, her shadow seemingly elongated, taking on a grotesquely distorted form. Milindor's eyes drifted around the room, listening intently to the sound of her words, the meaning of which he didn't understand. His eyes closed, and he sank silently onto his bed, settling into comfort. Just as he reached the edge of sleep, a prolonged howl brought him back to reality. A cold shiver ran through his body. Hundreds of nights spent in the depths of the forest had hardened him to the howls of wolves, but it wasn't the wolf that was howling. Of that, Milindor was absolutely certain.

Eliana continued to whisper, a light breeze ruffling her long, black hair. The half-elf watched her with growing curiosity, yet also anxiety. He was burning with curiosity to see what she was doing, but he was afraid to betray that he wasn't sleeping; he knew he wouldn't understand anyway, or perhaps he would only interrupt something he should absolutely not interrupt. Suddenly, a savage scream pierced the air, assaulting her hearing with unholy force. Eliana flinched as if the full force of the scream were aimed at her, and soon more screams rang out, reminiscent of the sounds of a slaughtered animal… or a human. The healer staggered, but quickly regained her balance; her lips continued to utter almost inaudible whispers, or perhaps it was the wind itself singing her thoughts. Milindor felt the air thicken around him, a milky mist seeping through the open window, and a piercing chill approaching from the forest. He pulled the covers tighter around him, the springs groaning under his weight, but Eliana didn't even stir, though she must have heard it. Time passed, and the only sound that reached their ears now was the soft moan of the wind, gradually growing louder before finally fading away again. But with the wind, the murmur didn't cease; this time it came from below, as if ghosts were wandering the city streets, murmuring among themselves. The moon briefly disappeared behind a cloud, and the room grew completely dark. As his eyes rested, his other senses took over. His keen hearing registered all sounds, every single one, even those he'd rather not hear. And there were thousands of them. The corridor was saturated with them, the streets were full of them. Rustling, rustling, clattering came from everywhere. But the most distinct sounds were footsteps, the footsteps of many feet. Some bare, barely audible, others in boots, striding confidently through the darkness. Several pairs of feet clad in iron boots, heavy footsteps on the cobblestones echoed ever closer to the open window. Somewhere above the inn, several pairs of membranous wings flapped, a flock of crows took flight over the forest, their prolonged cawing mingling with the hooting of owls. Nothing remained of the silence; new sounds were constantly percolating in the ears. Iron-shod feet paced around the inn, and soon the lock on the entrance door creaked, giving way almost without a struggle. Footsteps echoed from inside the building. Eliana continued to stare into the distance, her lips seemingly silent. Milindor was afraid to utter a single word; instinctively, he reached under the bed; the sword was still there. The dagger under the pillow was also there.

Figures in iron armor were already emerging onto the second floor, leisurely ascending the steps. Others, these barefoot, continued to move through the streets in a ghostly procession honoring a forgotten deity. Initially, a quiet, monotonous chant rose from their throats, joined by more and more voices. Gradually, it grew in volume. It seemed that at any moment the entire city would join in this demonic symphony. People moved blindly, obedient to some alien power, which grew in power as this strange chorus grew. The crash of breaking boards echoed right next to Milindor and Eliana's room. Alarmed voices came from behind the wall, but only the clang of a drawn weapon answered them, followed by a cry of pain and despair. An inhuman shriek, and then hollow laughter. The half-elf knew exactly what was happening there; he could almost touch the cooling bodies and slowly dripping blood. He gritted his teeth, gripping his sword until his knuckles turned white with the effort. Another crash, the simultaneous breaking of doors and window frames, the tinkle of shattering glass, a wild scream, words of hurried prayer, a desperate cry for help, mocking laughter, the swish of a blade, the groans of the dying. Silence, murmurs. The half-elf quivered in bed, unable to move even the slightest. Only his gaze drifted to the inconspicuous door. Staring at the brass doorknob, he froze, waiting for the inevitable. Finally, what had been only a matter of time happened: the doorknob moved down at the touch of a hand. When he reached the very bottom, he heard someone leaning their entire weight against the door; any moment now, the fragile structure would be reduced to a pile of splinters. The numb hand still clutched the sword's blade. The healer's whisper transformed into loudly spoken words. The moon once again illuminated the entire room with a pale glow. A torrent of words flowed from Eliana's lips, battling the eerie chanting of the demonic choir. A muffled growl reached them from behind the door, and then someone pushed with all her might against the flimsy door. The crash of breaking boards merged with a terrifying roar of triumph, which almost instantly transformed into a roar of despair and suffering. A sheaf of splinters exploded, glowing with blue flame. The iron-clad figures standing in the corridor fell to the floor, howling in pain as if struck by lightning. Their bodies, convulsed, dissolved into thin air. Eliana, still reciting mysterious incantations, leaned against the wall, gasping for breath, her body trembling.

The choir's music faded, but the musicians continued to move in a mad dance. The fog cleared slightly, and the air seemed to clear slightly. The stars shone like they did every night, but this wasn't a night like any other. Eliana stood for a while longer, leaning against the wall, gasping for air. When she regained some strength, she sat up in bed, looking at her companion, who still clutched his sword. Seeing the expression on his face, she said:

"Don't poison yourself with unnecessary thoughts, the hour of your fight hasn't come yet, you weren't ready yet. We have to leave here in the morning. Then you'll decide what to do, because you can't wait here for Arille.

" "I know," he replied, quite calmly, "I'll go with you, there's nothing else left for me.

" "You can still go back; if you go alone, maybe they won't pursue you."

"I'm slowly beginning to understand what this is all about; running away isn't an option.

" "I'm glad you say so. Then we leave for Alfirithorn tomorrow. I'm exhausted, I need to sleep, even for a while, but someone has to keep watch; they might come back.

" "I'll take care of it, goodnight.

" "Goodnight," she replied, almost in the land of sleep.

The last hours before dawn passed completely peacefully, as if the inn hadn't witnessed the night's events, as if everything had already been forgotten. But it wasn't so easy to forget. Throughout the night, the half-elf nervously glanced at the ash-blackened remains of the door and the scorched marks left by the attackers. When the light finally began to clear, he woke Eliana, and soon they were both walking down the stairs leading to the common room. The hall was empty, of course, not even the innkeeper was there, but they remembered the nighttime raid. Milndor hadn't expected to see him. They hurried to the back of the inn, where they had left their mounts the previous day before retiring. If they hadn't found them, the half-elf wouldn't have been surprised, but to his delight, both stood as they had when he'd first seen them less than ten hours ago. Now, with a slightly lighter heart, they rode through the city's stony streets, carefully observing the nearby buildings. The emptiness of the city, so different from the nighttime bustle, calmed them somewhat. The healer feared they might return, or that the inhabitants of Taur Caras would try to stop them somehow, but so far nothing of the sort had happened. Leaving the city through the northern gate, they faced mountain peaks gleaming in the sun; behind them, they were leaving a new stronghold of the dark forces, of that they had no doubt. But they were heading for the old one, going where no sane person would dare go.

The day was quite warm, and the sky was covered only with thin clouds drifting south with the wind. They had already been riding for several hours and should soon reach the outskirts of the former elven stronghold. They stopped before a mountain stream that skirted the town two furlongs away. Here they could eat breakfast in peace, without looking back, and discuss what still remained to be agreed upon. But they preferred, above all, to simply talk; perhaps this was the last time they would have such an opportunity, so, enjoying the delicious meal and the beautiful weather, they reminisced about past adventures, which today seemed incredibly simple and pleasant. It was only noon, but time was passing quickly, too quickly. Finally, the moment had come when they had to finally take up the challenge.

"It's time, Milindor," she said, rising from the ground. "I'm ready. If you haven't changed your mind, we can set off."

"I haven't," he replied confidently. "I'll help you. Just tell me what my task will be."

"You will protect me," she smiled at him, and the half-elf felt a mischievous glint in her eyes. "And when I try to destroy the portal, you will have to destroy Ashgort, the demon who is its guardian. He is not the most powerful warrior, so you are not in a hopeless situation.

" "He will yet taste the blade of my sword," Milindor rose, a menacing flame flashing in his sallow pupils. "You will see, we will cleanse Alfirithorn of demons.

" "No, we would have to lead legions of soldiers to accomplish that. Ours is only to destroy the portal, through which new beasts continue to arrive, and through which flows the dark power that weakens the barrier. If we succeed, we will restore balance, and just as demons, though real, will be as dangerous to humans as the legends of the cruel barbarians of the First Age. They will be unable to harm them, unless they themselves cross the boundaries of the ancient walls."

"And if we don't manage to do that?