Morning greeted Valos not with gentle sun, but with a leaden sky and a fine, persistent rain that drummed against the windows as if trying to drive in nails. His own head responded to the drumming with complete sympathy. Inside his skull, a malevolent gnome seemed to have taken up residence, methodically hammering on an anvil; the sharpness of each blow reminded him of yesterday's… study of the body's stress resistance through the use of strong ale.
He moved down the corridor toward the exit with the caution of a sapper in a minefield, where every step was a potential threat. Corvus walked beside him; his silent gait seemed particularly irritating against the backdrop of Valos's own heavy tramping.
On the way to the church, Corvus suddenly stopped and pointed a finger at the sky, shrouded in grey cotton wool.
— Look, boats are flying.
— Now is not the time for jokes, we need to… — Valos began, but instinctively looked up.
He fell silent.
In a break in the clouds, at an altitude where usually only birds and the rare daring mages circled, two boats were drifting. Not ships with wings, but actual boats — long, narrow, with raised prows and sterns, seemingly carved from whole trunks of dark wood. Complex runic patterns shimmered along their sides. They moved gracefully and completely silently, like ghosts of bygone eras.
***
The Church of the Two Principles in the town of Tropan was small, ascetic, and smelled of old wood, wax, and dampness. Father Gennady, a man whose face resembled the dried bark of an old oak, met them at the altar. His hands trembled, but when he began to recite the prayer, his voice was firm and resonant.
— And from His uncreated Flesh, the Creator raised the earthly firmament, and with the breath of His Will He gave life to the waters, and with the gaze of order He set the heavenly lights. And so that creation would not sink into the chaos of a single essence, He left His two Children: the Principle of Flesh, so that life might bloom in countless forms, and the Principle of Will, so that form might gain meaning and law. He Himself withdrew into the abyss of contemplation, questioning...
Valos listened, standing beneath the stone vaults, and his cynical inner voice made sarcastic annotations. «Left two Children. Apoca, then, is the illegitimate one? Or that very 'question' into which the Creator withdrew? A brilliant theological construct. Explains everything without explaining anything.»
Finishing the prayer, Gennady sighed heavily and looked at Valos with his clouded but perceptive eyes.
— Your lands, my lord, are tainted. Not with a disease of the flesh, but with a disease of essence itself. Miasmas. The trace of heavy magic, of unclean death. The ether here is thick and sick. The old rites of purification… — he shook his head, and Valos saw in this gesture not refusal, but an admission of frailty. — My strength is enough to bless a well, no more. More is needed. A ritual is needed. Young hands, a pure will, support from above… or a powerful artifact.
Valos nodded, showing no disappointment. He had not expected more. The old man had confirmed the diagnosis and outlined the cost of treatment. It was information. Pragmatic, useful information.
— Thank you, Father. Your words are already help.
They left the church, back into the rain. The plan, vague until now, began to take shape.
***
Returning to the castle, Valos sent Corvus to check the perimeter in case the «boatmen» decided to land, and secluded himself in the library with a cup of strong tea and yesterday's capital newspaper, the «Crown Herald.» He searched for any news of oddities, but his gaze snagged not on the crime chronicle, but on the classifieds section on the last page. There, between advertisements for hair-growth potions and offers to buy broom from the northern mines, a modest but clear notice stood out:
«Agency for Land and Maritime Protocols (ALMP)
Ensuring order, stability, and prosperity.
Services include:
— Arbitration of trade disputes.
— Mapping and assessment of magical anomalies.
— Cleansing and reclamation of lands affected by magical or demonic contamination.
— Consultation on compliance of local regulations with Concordat Edicts.
Contact via official communication channels or the nearest ALMP office.»
Valos froze, holding the crisp sheet. In his mind, now free of fog, a click sounded. «Privileges. The Queen granted not just money and rings. She gave a credit of trust and access to the system. A system that has a department for cleaning up the aftermath of magical disasters.»
He leaned back in his chair, and for the first time that day, something resembling a smile appeared on his face.
***
His father's study smelled of leather, wood, and that particular scent of calm, iron authority that was Eldrid's own. The Count listened, his hands folded on the desk, his face impenetrable.
— Thus, we use the resource provided by the Crown to solve a problem which, I suspect, the same Crown is obliged to control. We conserve our own strength, demonstrate loyalty by using its own tools, and obtain clean land. A win-win.
Eldrid was silent for a long time, his gaze studying his son.
— An engineer. With an escort. You realize what this means? People of the Concordat will come to us. They will see everything: the fortifications, the dwarves, the traces of the battle. They will write reports.
— They will write them regardless, Father. After the affair with the necromancer, we are no longer just a dot on the map. Better they see a controlled territory cooperating with the Crown than suspect us of being separatists hiding the aftermath of a catastrophe.
Eldrid looked at him for a long time, his gaze sweeping across his son's face, as if searching there for familiar features beneath a layer of cold calculation. Then he sighed heavily.
— Alright. You won one war. We'll trust your intuition in this as well. What needs to be done?
— We need to call the Queen.
***
The «frog pond» — a chamber in the western wing of the castle — resembled a strange hybrid of an orangery and a laboratory. Along the walls stood transparent crystalline enclosures, in which, on artificial bogs among reeds, sat frogs. They were well-fed, lazy, and serene. «I look at you, amphibian comrades, and feel black envy. You sit, eat flies, get cleaned, and there are no necromancers, demons, flying boats, or gods asking idiotic questions about the meaning of existence. The perfect life. Although… no. Too boring. Life without difficulties is not life, it's preservation. But this level of "difficulties" we have — that's not life either, it's some endless, handwritten nightmare.» Valos shook off the sentimental thoughts.
Eldrid, without unnecessary ceremony, opened one of the enclosures where a frog slightly larger than the others sat, with a crown carefully painted in gold on its back. He took it in his palm; the animal settled trustingly. Eldrid pressed his thumb on its side.
Cro-o-o-oak.
The sound was low, vibrating. After a couple of seconds, from the frog's throat sac came a clear, slightly distorted but utterly human female voice.
— House of Tropan. How may I help?
Eldrid straightened, his voice taking on official, albeit respectful, notes.
— Count Eldrid Tropan and his son, heir Valos. Thank you for your previous assistance. We are contacting you regarding a new matter. On our lands, at the site of the recent battle, a magical anomaly has been detected — spontaneous generation of lower life forms, miasmas. Local resources for cleansing are insufficient. We intend to exercise our right to Concordat services to eliminate this anomaly. We request that specialists be dispatched.
There was a brief silence on the other end, interrupted only by the faint hiss of the astral echo of the connection.
— The situation in your region is known, — the voice finally answered. — The magical traces of the battle were significant. Your request is justified. A third-class engineer for stabilizing magical anomalies is already en route to your region for a routine inspection of portal nodes. He will be given an additional assignment. He will arrive tomorrow at noon. Accompanied by special security. Await him.
Click. The connection ended. The frog in Eldrid's hand croaked peacefully once more and fell silent.
Eldrid carefully returned it to its enclosure and closed the door.
— Special security… — he murmured, exchanging a glance with Valos. In these words, there was a sense not just of protection, but of an isolation procedure. The Concordat clearly did not want the «miasmas» to spread.
— And the engineer was already en route, — Valos added. — So they are watching us more closely than we thought. Or they simply calculate well.
Eldrid suddenly slapped his forehead; a dry, almost forgotten semblance of a smile touched his lips.
— Damn. I forgot. Alina. She was supposed to arrive tomorrow.
— Alina… — he murmured. — Yes, she was supposed to…
He cut himself off, throwing a quick, appraising glance at Valos, in which something complex flickered — a mixture of paternal anxiety and a ruler's calculation.
— Alright. Tomorrow will be an interesting day. Be ready.
Valos only nodded.
A specialist from the Concordat. «Special security.» And Alina, whose visit seemed too conveniently timed.
***
Late in the evening, sitting in his room, Valos once again immersed himself in contemplation of his inner «Slot» — the white, perfectly organized chamber in his consciousness. From the outside, it looked like a trance: he sat in an armchair, staring into emptiness, utterly motionless.
Lyra, who had been assigned to him without leave, observed this from the corner of the room, curled up on the windowsill. Her cat ears twitched, picking up the slightest sounds.
— He's either finally gone mad, or invented a new way to sleep with his eyes open. Either way, soon he'll start catching flies. Instincts will take over.
Corvus responded to Lyra only with a questioning glance, then threw a brief look at Valos's motionless figure, and then at Lyra. In his red eyes, something flickered that she could not read — not irritation, not protectiveness, but rather… understanding. He had seen the result of such motionless concentration in the training yard, when Valos spent hours practicing the same strike, trying to compensate for his lack of natural talent for magic and fencing with sheer stubbornness.
Suddenly, Valos shuddered and blinked. His gaze became focused, returning from the inner spaces. He slowly turned his head toward them.
He stood up, his movements once again filled with purposeful energy, no trace of the morning's lethargy. The problem had been identified, the solution set in motion. Now remained the most difficult part: controlling the process when representatives of a system entered his domain — a system whose true goals were shrouded in darkness, and whose methods were prescribed in protocols he could only guess at.
Rain drummed against the window. Tomorrow, it had to cease being merely rain. It had to become the backdrop for a meeting that would determine whether the Barony of Tropan would become an ally of the system, its victim, or… something else. Something told Valos that the engineer was unlikely to come alone. And that his «special security» might prove far more familiar — and far more unpleasant — than mere soldiers in grey uniforms.