The city was burning. Magical protective signs, heated to a blazing heat, exploded, sending sparks to the houses that followed. People who managed to escape the city huddled in small groups, watching in horror as everything they owned was destroyed in a matter of moments. The thin thatched roofs caught fire so quickly that no one hoped to extinguish them. Inside, amid the flames, more than half the inhabitants remained: mostly women with small children, the sick, and the elderly. However, none of the survivors were willing to save them. Everyone knew the fire had been magically ignited. Those infected would burn anyway. If not in the fire, then by the so-called embers. So why waste more lives?
A young girl stood at the top of a nearby hill. She gazed at the great red jewel that had once been home to hundreds of creatures. Her pale, beautiful face betrayed no emotion. Only her eyes betrayed a certain kind of emotion. Fear? Satisfaction? Fascination?
Even she could hear the screams of people burning alive and the wild howls of animals mad with fear. The girl stretched out her hand, humming softly. A moment later, a tiny firebird flew onto her hand. "You've fulfilled your mission," she whispered. She slowly clenched her fist. The bird crumbled to a pile of ashes. The woman shook it from her hand, watching as small, glittering particles fell, the wind carrying them straight into the flames.
After a moment, she shook off her numbness, looked away from the embers, and approached the man lying nearby. She nudged him several times with her boot. He didn't move, though his chest rose steadily. "You'll get over it," she murmured, checking his pulse. She
raised her head and sent a short signal directly to her mountle's head. The alarmed animal resisted the command for a long time. Where he was called, the scent of blood, smoke, and that strange extrasensory force was much more pronounced. However, the call grew stronger. The creature hesitantly raised a paw, nervously extending its claws, the tip of its long tail tracing intricate shapes in the air. The girl rubbed her hand against the man's clothing, trying to remove the source of the scent that so disturbed the animal. The man finally felt someone's touch and stirred, moaning softly. She looked at him, narrowing her large eyes, gleaming with a strange golden sheen. She pulled an ArThe stone from her pouch and tossed it near the fallen creature. "
Hold this, human," she said in a foreign accent, "this is for what I took, for those few days of illness. It will be enough for you to eat sumptuous food, drink well, and have the best whores for the rest of your life. I think it's a fair price."
The man barely opened his eyes. Directly in his line of sight lay an estate so vast it was unimaginable to those who had for generations cultivated small lapine trees for the tables of wealthy nobles. With a tremendous effort, he raised his gaze to the mad woman who had so easily disposed of such wealth. But she was no longer there. He struggled to crawl to retrieve the stone. The desire to possess it was stronger than his suffering. He had to hurry, for the Ofrestam Forest was notorious for its vast number of all sorts of thugs, scoundrels, and vagabonds who would quickly take the stone. In the process, he thrust a knife under its owner's ribs, just in case. The movement caused the man unimaginable pain. With a trembling hand, he touched his neck. He felt a sticky liquid beneath his fingers and two distinct puncture marks. This quickly reminded him of the nightmarish moments before sunset. "Later," he thought, reaching for ArThe. If he survived, he would go to the Priests of the Three Temples to have this nightmare erased from his memory. The only thing that mattered now was the stone. When it was finally in his hand, he allowed himself to drift back into unconsciousness.
***
That Derrknevian whore has done it again! Jahne shouted nervously, combing her long, blond hair. "Another City just like that..." It was as usual again. The message the day before, in a dream, "Get out of the city. Leave everything to the beasts. When the sun goes down, death will come," she hissed, pursing her lips contemptuously, "and the next evening, red flowers. This is the 16th city in the last Triah. We've been chasing this bitch for over seven trines. And here we are again. Another peasant who has suddenly become fabulously wealthy, his neck perpetually wrapped in a silk scarf.
Ugh," she spat contemptuously. "And what's next? Where should we go now? Another coastal city or a return to the mountains?" How are we supposed to save the country from that infernal vampire if we don't even know where to go? We can't be everywhere! What do you think? You're the commander after all... and... ugh... in the dark, say something. Where are we going?
We'll catch her this time," the young man replied calmly, feathering another arrow. He'd been listening to these kinds of arguments every day for the past few days. They were starting to annoy him, but he refrained from commenting. They only made his companion talk twice as long. Today, however, he finally had some satisfying news, the side effect of which would be some peace and quiet—we're going somewhere on the Champee Plains.
The girl fell silent immediately. After such a presentation, she couldn't argue, even though riding through the Black Mountains during the Darkness Hreen was probably the stupidest idea. She contented herself with making a contemptuous face, expressing her feelings about the man's decision. Except that he was Sentient—mee'ffe, as they said with the Queen. There's no arguing with a Vision. What comes is the truth. One just has to read where and when this "truth" will come true. She quickly regained control, pursing her lips and maintaining a neutral expression.
"Did you throw the trioshkas?" she asked cautiously. Her commander was a calm, even phlegmatic man whom she had long since dominated, but now he had Visions. Even a little toddler from the deepest corner of town knows that a Vision changes. A little, a lot, completely. Differently. And Jahne wasn't a brat. She was one of the Huntswomen. And the best royal Huntswomen at that. You have to be careful, because a calm partner can suddenly become a deranged madman who will stick one of those brand new arrows in her eye. Just like that, for stupid questions.
"You do it," he continued calmly, as if he hadn't noticed her expression. "Tree, Candle, Plate, and opposites," he recited, pointing to the symbols to be used. "At dawn. That means you have time. Sleep. I'll wake you," he said, throwing the girl a warm blanket. She turned around uncertainly. Today she preferred to obey; before doing anything, she would have to find out how much he had changed and how much he could afford now.
The man took a few steps away, threw down his quiver, and sat down, leaning against a tree. He stared blankly at the dying fire. It was warm, so much so that they traveled without fire most of the time. However, today he needed light to make arrows. He always had to have a sufficient supply; without them, he would be defenseless. Magic was unsuitable for direct defense against common thugs and wild animals. A sword was heavy and unwieldy. That's why the royals were given the best possible weapon. A lightweight bow with tiny retractable blades on the handle that cut better than anything else. "Soon," he whispered. He tried to reassure himself. He was already tired; from constant wandering, from failures, from his entire life. He glanced at his sleeping subordinate. He closed his eyes, recalling her long, muscular legs, her ample breasts, her wonderful hair that fell in lush, blond braids down to her shapely buttocks. He was tempted to approach Jahne and... But he remained seated, gazing at the stars shining exceptionally brightly almost directly above his head
.
The Ponel, smaller, cousins of the wild, untamed mountle, ran almost silently in the darkness. Humans could see almost nothing, but to their sensitive eyes, even the glow of the largest moon was enough to transform the darkness into a faint gray. These animals were indispensable in a land where the sun didn't rise for over 100 days of dark hreen. With a light load, they ran tirelessly for half a mafth, provided they were occasionally fed fresh meat and watered to satiety. Jahne and his commander had already traveled a quarter of the Traveler's journey, which was almost two days. The Trioshkas demonstrated that they must hurry if they were to make it in time for the fulfillment of this Vision. When the Eye, the medium moon, stood at its zenith, an obstacle stood in their path that could become a goal if they arrived early enough: the River with the Summoned One. In ancient times, when the kingdom of Clutre was still a shaky union of a few wealthy peasants, the source of the river was the home of great magicians. They resolved to conquer the youngest of the three goddesses: Liaffne, the Lady of Death. From the land of the second sister, Sulle, the Lady of the Bodiless Ones, they summoned the Summoned One, a powerful apparition, whom they forced into obedience with a circle of blood. However, they made the mistake of thinking they were wiser than the Summoned One. Ordered to make them immortal, the demon killed them all, granting them immortality in return... in legend. Unable to return without appeal, he himself entered the river, becoming the most powerful guardian of the border of the newly formed state. At least, so went the old tale told to children before bedtime. The fact remained, however, that the river housed the powerful Bodiless One, and the slightest attempt to approach the shore ended in the wrath of the malicious god. Yet no one could dislodge him. The great magicians who summoned him were killed by him, and in modern times, magic has been largely forgotten. Jahne looked at her partner reproachfully. "How can that one reach Champee and cross the river when the Summoned lives here?" her eyes said.
"Not yet... we're the first," she read his lips. "We're waiting.
"
When the Wanderer rounded like a pregnant woman, and still nothing happened at the river, Jahne began to doubt whether they had interpreted the visions correctly. Her commander paced nervously, remaining stubbornly silent. He responded to any suggestions from her with a nervous grunt and hurried off into the forest. Eventually, she stopped paying him any attention. In fact, she was even glad to rest. She finally had a moment to herself; she replenished her supply of arrows, mended her clothes, and did a thorough laundry, although attempts to draw water almost ended in drowning in the Summoned One's churning waves. She could finally eat, sleep, and not have to bruise her behind in the saddle. The ponels were also content. Set free, they spent their nights hunting and their days sleeping, their muzzles smeared with the sweet blood of small creatures. The Nameless One endured the most inactivity. He wandered the riverside forests, bringing Jahne game to preserve. He sat all night, staring into the dark, boiling river. He waited for the Vision to come true. He couldn't sleep. No one could, if he received such a Vision.
The Nameless One woke at dawn. It was hard to truly call it dawn when the sun hadn't even appeared on the horizon. Only an inner conviction told him that now was the time another day should begin. In the distance, he could hear the soft whisper of the Summoned One. Two moons gleamed in the sky: the setting Wanderer and the tiny speck of ArThe, which, against the dark sky, looked like a stone bearing the same name, against a velvet, charcoal-gray cloth.
Jahne slept beside him. He got up and covered her with his blanket; the night was exceptionally cold and damp. He reached for the leather satchel with the symbol: Nameless One burned into the side. An old, foolish Sentient tradition; a name must be seen in the Vision. A name signifies destiny. Until someone experienced the Vision of a Name, they were called Nameless, usually for a very short time. As soon as the gifted person arrived at the Queen's Palace to learn how to use their talent, they immediately gave themselves a name. Often, it didn't come from a vision, but from the mee-ffe's overactive imagination. No one wanted to be Nameless, no one except one. The commander rubbed the mark on his bag. Nameless. Although he could already name himself. He had had the visions for so long, only he hadn't told anyone about it. Fatrien – Death of Friends; that was his name, that was his destiny. He preferred to remain Nameless.
He took a knife from his pouch and headed toward the wall of trees. It was the only place he felt happy. The forest spoke with a thousand voices: murmuring, buzzing, chirping. He was like one vast, living being. The commander ran forward. He wanted to forget his dilemmas, his problems. He ran, deftly avoiding obstacles. He was part of nature. He felt no fatigue, only the wonderful, green song of the ancient forest, filling every fiber of his being. Finally, he stopped by a tiny forest stream. He scooped up some crystal-clear water and drank. He stripped off his clothes and, naked, waded into the rushing current. He sat at the bottom, enjoying the cool current caressing his burning skin. He looked up at the dark sky. Just above his head hung a branch of an old tree. Its silver needles gleamed in the Wanderer's rays. A tiny spider weaved thin ropes...
...Spiderwebs... blood, blood. Blood on his hands. The entire room was covered in blood. The amulet's bluish light. Silence. An eerie silence. A dead, motionless body. An eye staring into emptiness.
The Nameless One dug his fingers into the sandy bed of the stream. The vision ended as suddenly as it had begun. This time it was so real. He felt himself trembling. He breathed rapidly, fighting nausea. With the last of his strength, he reached out with his talent to his companion. He hoped she was safe. For now, she was. Jahne was busy repairing the weapon, not suspecting anything bad. But his abilities were screaming of danger. He had to hurry. He focused his will, trying to use magic to regenerate his strength. Faster, faster! Something bad was happening! Faster! Mindlessly, he pulled his clothes over his wet body. To get there before anything happened. It was time! It was time!
***
Jahne was sharpening her weapon when she heard the muffled squeal of a ponele. The animals cowered, mortally terrified by something. The girl knew what; they reacted this way to the scent of mountle or inhuman magic. Or both. She quickly grabbed her bow and quiver. Moving as quietly as possible, she hid in the undergrowth. With a trembling hand, she pulled out an amulet with the symbols of the three Goddesses. She readied her bow, drawing the thinnest arrow to the string. "Oh Goddesses, don't miss." She had a good spot, a favorable wind. Unless something unexpected happened, a dead body would soon lie at her feet. The girl trembled with excitement. If she succeeded, she would soon be home. A warm, soft bed, a private visit with the Queen. Oh, Holy! If she got that cursed whore, maybe she could become Queen of the Court!!! Wealth, honors, and... and... perhaps the Commander would finally see her as a woman, not just a partner in the Queen's Hunt. Jahne felt as if she had been waiting for an eternity. The moments passed slowly, like a cart pulled by a lazy farmhand. Finally, a beautiful sight met her eyes: an enormous silver-gray animal, practically floating in the air. Its long, silky fur flowed with the momentum. A young girl sat on its back. Compared to her mount, she seemed tiny and fragile. Jahne shook off her momentary stupor. She calmly released the string. She watched her arrow fly, fly... as if time had stopped. She aimed for the base of the skull, the most reliable spot; no one could live with a three-handed shaft in their brain—not even a vampire. Especially not with a little help. The arrow flew straight to its target, but the Goddesses seemed to be against her on this day. Just as she was about to slam into the girl's head, the mountle dodged to the side, causing the bolt to strike lower: in the stomach. The vampire doubled over in a paroxysm of pain. Golden, shimmering blood flowed from the wound in a copious stream.
"Black and whoredom," Jahne cursed viciously. She regretted that no one was with her. "It's the stupidest thing to hunt a vampire alone," she thought, running in the direction where the hunted one had disappeared. "The only hope lies in the Summoned." When she reached the river, panting, she saw a sight that froze her blood. Her would-be victim was walking in the middle of the river. The blood flowing from the wound created the only thing that could tame the Water Spirit: a bloody circle. The terrified mountle tried to retreat, but the will of its owner inexorably drove it forward.
"We'll do the same," said the Nameless One, appearing right next to Jahne. "We have time, she's tired, injured, we'll catch up with her. Get some sleep now."
Jahne looked at the man. His eyes gleamed with utter determination. She shuddered at the mere thought of what this madman intended to do. Blood magic burned a mark on the soul. It opened a path to Sulle's world. It opened a path to the human soul for demons like the Summoned. Only someone mad, or one who had no other choice, would choose blood magic.
The
Nameless One sharpened his knife with a grim expression. Beside him lay a shackled, small, furry creature. This morning he had captured it to use its blood for a grim ritual. Jahne, utterly nervous, followed the circling creature. From below, it seemed a tiny speck, but who knew what it truly looked like? The girl felt a cold, damp nose nudge her thigh. It was one of the ponele, frightened by its owners' unnatural behavior, coming for a little caress. She cupped the large, shaggy head. "Don't be afraid, little one," she whispered, burying her face in the grayish fur, "everything is fine." A pink tongue, almost the size of her hand, licked her cheek. People always wondered how anyone could ride such large and, moreover, so dangerous creatures. The huge mouth full of sharp teeth and the long, devilishly sharp claws gave a truly sinister impression. But in reality, these animals were very gentle, unlike their closely related mountles. No one had managed to tame them. No one except That One. Jahne shuddered. "Soon your blood will flow down my blade," she thought vengefully.
She glanced furtively at the Commander. Perhaps for the last time in her life? Who knows what will happen after the ritual? The Nameless One looked up at the girl. "It's time," he muttered. His dark brown eyes gleamed in the darkness. He stood and began removing the excess layers of clothing. He untied his long black hair and went to retrieve the victim.
Jahne stood in the triangle they had drawn earlier. They used the simplest, yet simultaneously the most powerful and difficult, form of symbol, invoking only the greatest deities. Each took the vertex of the goddess who represented their role in the ritual: Jahne—Exstente—Goddess of Life, as the one who would shed blood but survive. The Nameless One—Sulle, Patroness of Magic, as the one leading the ceremonies. The animal they were to sacrifice—Liaffne—at the vertex of Lady Death. The commander approached the animal and, with a deft movement, slit its carotid artery. Blood flowed from the wound in a rapid stream. However, the man's will prevented it from spilling, but gathered into a quivering ball. As soon as the animal stopped moving, they immediately felt a presence trying to invade their minds. These were apparitions from the Spirit World, drawn to the blood, trying to possess their minds. Jahne extended her forearms toward the Commander. He approached and gently slashed her wrists. They could begin the main part of the ritual. The Nameless One began the act. The demonic pressure intensified. The man gathered the sphere to himself and approached the shore. There, he released the will that held its structure. Blood spread across the water, creating a thin but solid surface. He stepped back, still focused to the highest degree, and led Jahne and the mounts into the water. The girl sat on the edge of the raft. She dipped both hands into the water, allowing the current to wash over her wounds. It was an offering to the Summoned One. She felt sweat dripping from her forehead. Before she could think, she ran her hand across her face. Blood from her wrists flowed into her eyes. She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting the excruciating pain. She felt as if the blood would burn out her pupils. Suddenly, everything vanished. She blinked several times and slowly opened her eyes. The world became unreal. All the figures began to look like hazy, unreal shadows. She looked around, utterly astonished. A few steps ahead of her stood the most beautiful man she had ever seen. His naked, muscular body radiated a ghostly white light. The girl felt a powerful wave of desire sweep over her.
"Come to meeeee," she heard a soft voice like water.
"Yess ... She had just taken a step forward when something violently yanked her back.
"Jahne!!! Don't let yourself be possessed!!! Don't answer the Summoned One's call!!!" the Nameless One shouted, shaking the girl's shoulders. Jahne turned to the man. The world slowly began to return to normal. The hazy mask she was staring at began to take on the Nameless One's features. She fainted
.
The Castle of Nine Prayers, once the pride of the Champee Plains, stood abandoned, neglected for time immemorial. The ornate stucco, veined with gold and reddish ochre, was crumbling and crumbling. The ornate sculptures and fountains were so deformed that it was impossible to recognize who, or what, they once represented. Everything of any value had long since been stolen. The left wing was completely gone. The concave basin accumulated leaves, dead animals, and all manner of detritus, along with water that, with no outlet, had stagnated, emitting vapors so foul that for years life in the area had been practically nonexistent. Now, however, this inhospitable place had become a haven for a wretched creature. A girl lay on a pile of rotten leaves. Her breathing was rapid, shallow, gasping for air. Nearby, a young mountle paced restlessly. He felt the bonds binding his mind weakening. Weaker and weaker. If he left now, this dying creature wouldn't be able to hold him. He could have what his instincts had always driven him to. Through the overwhelming stench, the faint scent of a female permeated the air. Freedom. Female. Young. Simple acts that had been taken from him could now return. Suddenly, he heard the hated beckoning sound. "Please. This is the last time. Then I'll free you myself. Help me. One last time." The animal didn't understand the words, but it understood the meaning. Old habit made it obediently approach the fallen woman. The animal lowered its large head so she could climb onto its neck. Its gleaming fur was drenched in a golden, sticky liquid. Golden eyes gleamed in the darkness. "To the people," he heard the order, "I need to eat to regain my strength."
***
"She was here," Jahne whispered, rubbing a dried, golden mark on the floor. "But where is she now?"
The Nameless One closed his eyes, trying to read more from the traces he had left behind with his talent. He moved along the walls, rubbing his fingertips against the smooth marble slab.
"She left very recently," he said, opening his eyes. "I can feel her emotions, her feelings, but I can't say where she went. I can't read the thoughts she left behind. But she was definitely out to feed. To regain her strength, she needs people. Jahne, where is there a town, a settlement? Where can I find a human?
" "If we keep looking like this, we can forget about catching her," the girl snapped. "There might as well be a lot of shepherds, wanderers, bandits, political emigrants, and who knows what else. Do you think she'll look for a town to suck someone's blood in the middle of the street?" She grimaced, looking at the man with the "Look for her, try to locate her where she is now. After all, we've been following her for a while now. You should probably be able to discern her mind. She's not far away... Unless that talent of yours is useless..."
"I'll look for it," mee-ffe replied sadly, sitting on the floor and closing his eyes.
After a few moments, Jahne approached the man. She gently touched his arm, waiting for him to notice her.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I know it's hard. I didn't want to take out my frustrations on you... Forgive me...
" "I understand." The Nameless One lightly stroked the girl's cheek. "I'm nervous too. But I found it," he said, rubbing his stiff neck. "Let's go and finish this finally. Then we can start a new life."
Jahne stared into the Commander's dark eyes as if hypnotized. She didn't know how it happened, but suddenly her lips were right next to his. She felt a warm hand on the back of her neck, beneath her hair. She closed her eyes, feeling the approach of what he had always been waiting for. Soft lips lightly brushed hers. She parted her lips, waiting for more. After a moment, she sank into a wonderful kiss.
The man gently stopped the caress and whispered, "Later. Let's finish the task first. Then we'll go where the sun rises."
***
They reached their destination at sunrise on the Eye, a small satellite emitting a pale reddish light. The startled ponels reluctantly took their next steps. Jahne dismounted; on foot, she'd walk faster than she would have to fight the frightened animal. The trail led to some desolate wasteland, in the middle of which crouched a human dwelling. The poor farmstead presented a pitiful sight: low, broken roofs, walls made of rotting planks, trampled earth; piles of manure and food scraps piled up in the corner. It was quiet. As quiet as anywhere else. Not even the flutter of insect wings could be heard. The sound of their footsteps was the only audible sound. The entire area was frozen in a sense of fear and terror. The girl slowly approached the low door of the mud hut. At first, she couldn't see a thing. The interior was as dark as the depths of hell. She took a hesitant step inside. She stopped, trying to adjust her eyes to the darkness as quickly as possible. She felt the Commander's rapid breathing on the back of her neck. The amulet hanging from her chest could provide light, but she didn't want to exhaust it too early. She cautiously put out a foot, exploring the space. It was empty. She took another step with more confidence. And another... She was carefully moving along the wall when she tripped over something. She fell to her knees. She felt soft flesh beneath her fingertips. She rubbed the amulet, igniting a pale light. It was the body of a young girl. Two neat wounds were visible on her neck. A man lay nearby. His head had been smashed. He had clearly been trying to defend his wife. He didn't stand a chance anyway. "female dog," Jahne thought vengefully. She lifted the medallion and looked around, searching for the perpetrator.
In the corner, a figure sat huddled on the dirty floor. In the blue light of the medallion, her face seemed carved from precious white marble. A thick mane of tangled black hair obscured her eyes, obscuring her expression. A saber of silver metal lay on her lap.
"You came to kill me," she said dispassionately, not even moving. "You hunted me like an animal, and now, when I'm weak, you've come to kill me.
Why?" she concluded pathetically.
"You're a monster," Jahne whispered, trying to make her voice hard. "You deserve death for what you've done to these people.
" "And what have I done to them? I'm a vampire. To live, I must eat. Is it my fault? I've always been what I am. Is it my fault? Why won't you kill me for breathing?"
Jahne felt her hands ache, gripping the hilt of her long dagger spasmodically. This whole conversation was irritating her terribly. They all knew the fight would happen anyway. Now they were just observing each other, trying to sense the best moment to attack. This was to be Jahne's first direct combat. The royals weren't trained in hand-to-hand combat. Their main method of operation was to follow a precise Vision, to lay a trap. A quick and painless death from a silently feathered arrow, not mindless hacking. Jahne gritted her teeth, fighting the nausea that gripped her at the mere thought of what she was about to witness.
"They were young, they didn't have children yet. They could still do a lot of good," the commander added in a quiet, flat voice.
"Children. That's your only goal. To grow up as quickly as possible, to have children who could continue to breed. You're not original. The first rodent that comes along wants the same thing... but why? – she laughed a short, ironic laugh. – Everyone is born to die. Throughout their entire miserable lives, they search, strive, want to leave a mark. Even if it's in the form of offspring; an extension of their own life. And even if they did the most beautiful thing, death would still come for them... and... it wouldn't matter to them. So why bother? Nothing makes sense anyway...
They watched each other, trying to sense their opponent's next move. Words, cruel, brutal, true, fell from the vampire's lips. But no one heeded them. Only the movement mattered, the delicate twitch of the sword. Their meaning would be understood later. If they survived.
"And yet," the vampire continued after a moment of silence. "A miserable human, whose life is like dust, ashes above a burning city, constantly trying. Constantly clawing to crawl through another day. Even though he knows that every moment brings him closer to death... Life, one's own life, is everyone's greatest treasure... He would constantly do anything to postpone the moment of end. He steals, cheats, kills. To survive... I, too, am such a stupid creature. So similar, even though you despise me, thinking I'm different from you. And I want to live, despite everything." She stood up with difficulty, supporting herself with her sword. Golden fluid was still oozing from the wound in her stomach.
"I will sacrifice this 'greatest treasure' of mine today, if necessary, to kill you," Jahne said hoarsely.
"Pff..." the other heroine huffed. Stupid, contrived words that mean nothing anyway... like everything in this world. I don't believe you. She staggered over to Jahne. "I'm not afraid of you," she whispered, bringing her face close to hers. "You won't kill me... you can't. The mere thought of you stabbing my heart makes you nauseous. It's not the same as the silence of an arrow from around the corner." She lightly touched her lips to the girl's neck, as if reveling in the proximity of life's path. She drew them upward and whispered directly into her ear, "Why are you trembling? Are you afraid? And yet you speak so beautifully..."
The Nameless One watched the scene unfold in horror. It seemed the vampire was slow, but even now they had no chance against her. She was too fast anyway. The only way to get out of this alive was to find the right moment. Wait. That's the most important thing. Otherwise, they had no chance.
"Why didn't you do anything?" – With a movement intangibly quick to the eye, she moved away to the opposite wall. – You could have killed me… I was so close… Or perhaps you were afraid that if you moved, I would sink my teeth into your neck…? After all, nothing is more important than my death… She threw off her cloak. Slender limbs bulged beneath the thin fabric of her tunic. Golden blood seeped from the wound.
– Stupid, thrice-thrice-stupid people – she snarled. – You stand there and look at me as if I were a strange phenomenon!!! – You came to kill me! Come, then, because there will be no mercy here anyway! Come!!! Come!!! – Her large, feverish eyes cast hostile, terrible fires. The sword cut the air with a quiet whistle. They moved.
***
– Are you all right? – whispered the Nameless One. – Are you alive? Ugh… – he groaned, pressing his hand to the wound to stop the bleeding.
"She's alive," Jahne replied, breathing heavily. "
I almost... checked her. I don't think I can... move... without help..." His voice was getting quieter.
Jahne pushed the security medallion toward him. She could manage without it, but the commander probably wouldn't. For what they'd done, the queen would reward them by buying herself another one.
She struggled to her feet, took a few unsteady steps, and collapsed heavily next to the dead body. Vampires had very strong constitutions. It was always necessary to check if the spirit had left the body. She touched the demon's cheek. It was so cold it burned. This was not normal. She leaned forward, pulling back her eyelid to check the pupils... from the terrible, corpse-like mask, a completely living eye stared back at her... "I want to live too," the dead lips whispered silently... at all costs... Jahne stared into the enormous golden eye. She saw her entire life reflected in it... she exerted all her strength, but still couldn't tear her gaze away. Suddenly, she bent over, falling limply onto the dead body. Blood trickled from her bitten lip. A shudder racked her body. Her heart thudded with a final effort, like a bird held in her hands... Peace reigned. After a few moments, the silence was shattered by Jahne's long sigh. Her eyelids fluttered as if waking from a long sleep. She slowly opened her eyes, which had beautiful golden irises. She blinked a few times, humming softly, and they became blue again.
"He's dead," she said. She stood up, turning to the commander. "Are you alright?
" "Yes," he replied in a stronger voice. "Let's get out of here. This wasn't a good Hunt.
" "Go to the ponele. I'll take the weapon. And do something about that hand.
" "Okay," he smiled faintly. "Don't worry.
" The girl picked up the empty amulet and placed it on the chest of the dead body. She moved her lips, but didn't speak. Her mouth formed a silent apology: "Someone must die. May your goddesses take you to them."
***
She left the dark room. The sun was just rising outside. For the first time in over 100 days, the sky was turning blue. Although the golden ball appeared only for a few moments, she immediately felt better. A new era was beginning. A new life. A new life. She briskly strode toward where the Nameless One sat. As soon as he saw her, he smiled and mounted his mount. The girl ran up, jumping onto the other one. The Nameless One threw aside the rag he'd been using to staunch the bleeding and deftly took the reins. They didn't need to say a word. The gentle rays caressing their faces gave them hope. Faith. They felt a surge of joy. Finally, their mission had been fulfilled. They could return home. They were together. That was the most important thing. They set off at a mad dash toward the rising sun.
...on the grass, where the commander's hand had thrown it, lay a bloody rag. In the first, timid rays, it gleamed with a wonderful, golden glow...
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