Losers begin to read the book of war online. Vadim Panov: Wars are started by losers Wars are started by losers

Secret City - 1

For thousands of years, humanity has desperately fought for the right to reign on Earth. For thousands of years, warriors and heroes, inquisitors and priests exterminated non-humans with fire and sword, erasing even the memory of their existence. Witches, werewolves, gnomes... Our ancestors persecuted them and mercilessly destroyed them, believing that there was only a place on Earth for humans. It seemed they had won...
Years passed, and gradually people forgot about caution. All the wealth of the world was in their hands, and temptations consumed the gloomy inquisitors. The warriors returned to the plow, the heroes put on slippers and took their places by the fireplaces. Boring stories became more and more colorful, turning real events into myths and fairy tales. The memory of glorious victories died with the last hero.
But history has not yet known final victories...

Why are you worried? - the boy turned around sharply.
He didn't take her by surprise.
- I? - the woman arched her thin black eyebrow in surprise.
The boy was embarrassed:
- I feel. You know, I clearly feel the aura. You are very worried.
The woman smiled faintly. Just a little bit, from the corners of his lips, literally making him look for a smile on his beautiful, thin face.
“You have enormous power, Lyubomir, you can’t hide anything from you.” This will be useful to the future ruler of the Great House. Where's my box?
An elegant golden box, containing only the most beloved jewelry, stood on a small table to the right of the chair in which the woman sat. All you had to do was extend your hand.
The boy quickly walked around the chair, took the box and threw back the lid. He looked about thirteen years old. Fair-haired, nondescript, thin, too puny by the standards of the Green House, he would even look funny if not for his eyes. Lubomir’s huge, bright green eyes were riveting, hypnotizing, they reflected the incredible power inherent in his heart. The power of wild, primordial magic, a power that any magician of the Secret City would envy.
- Please, hold the box.
This time the woman gave the boy a real smile. Full, clearly defined lips parted, revealing an even row of small white teeth, small mischievous dimples began to play on the cheeks, and dazzling and slightly crazy lights flared for a moment in the bright green eyes. Lyubomir staggered: her smile acted no worse than a drug, making you forget about everything in the world and wait, wait, wait for that wonderful, intoxicating light to slip through the woman’s eyes again. He took a tiny, completely imperceptible step, and now they were separated by some five or six inches. So far an insurmountable obstacle.
“We need to choose something not too flashy,” the woman said thoughtfully, looking at her rich collection.
Lyubomir did not take his eyes off her tanned shoulders, slender neck and thick head of blond, almost white hair, styled in an intricate hairstyle. Unable to control himself, he bent slightly and caught the subtle scent of jasmine coming from her hair.
- Isn't it lovely? - The woman gently stroked the ring she had just put on. - Don't you think so?
The boy nodded frantically:
- Very beautiful.
The ring was truly made with taste. A thin gold strip, covered with a bizarre ornament, was closed with a large, unusually cut emerald, capable of sparkling, it seemed, even at night, in the light of the stars.
It was presented by Mecheslav, the broad-shouldered Baron Mecheslav - ruler of the Sokolniki domain. Lyubomir saw how a woman blossomed at the appearance of this dull brawler, and every time impotent rage tightened his cheekbones and forced his small, fragile palms to clench into equally small, fragile fists.
“I like the way he plays,” the woman said quietly, looking thoughtfully at the emerald. -Whose soul lives in it?
“A hero or a beauty,” Lyubomir smiled, “or maybe a jeweler.”

Vadim Panov

Wars are started by losers

Years passed, and gradually people forgot about caution. All the wealth of the world was in their hands, and temptations consumed the gloomy inquisitors. The warriors returned to the plow, the heroes put on slippers and took their places by the fireplaces. Boring stories became more and more colorful, turning real events into myths and fairy tales. The memory of glorious victories died with the last hero.

But history has not yet known final victories...

Why are you worried? - the boy turned around sharply.

He didn't take her by surprise.

I? - The woman arched her thin black eyebrow in surprise.

The boy was embarrassed:

I feel. You know, I clearly feel the aura. You are very worried.

The woman smiled faintly. Just a little bit, from the corners of his lips, literally making him look for a smile on his beautiful, thin face.

You have enormous power, Lyubomir, nothing can be hidden from you. This will be useful to the future ruler of the Great House. Where's my box?

An elegant golden box, containing only the most beloved jewelry, stood on a small table to the right of the chair in which the woman sat. All you had to do was extend your hand.

The boy quickly walked around the chair, took the box and threw back the lid. He looked about thirteen years old. Fair-haired, nondescript, thin, too puny by the standards of the Green House, he would even look funny if not for his eyes. Lubomir’s huge, bright green eyes were riveting, hypnotizing, they reflected the incredible power inherent in his heart. The power of wild, primordial magic, a power that any magician of the Secret City would envy.

Please hold the box.

This time the woman gave the boy a real smile. Full, clearly defined lips parted, revealing an even row of small white teeth, small mischievous dimples began to play on the cheeks, and dazzling and slightly crazy lights flared for a moment in the bright green eyes. Lyubomir staggered: her smile acted no worse than a drug, making you forget about everything in the world and wait, wait, wait for that wonderful, intoxicating light to flicker through the woman’s eyes again. He took a tiny, completely imperceptible step, and now they were separated by some five or six inches. So far an insurmountable obstacle.

“We need to pick something that’s not too flashy,” the woman said thoughtfully, looking at her rich collection.

Lyubomir did not take his eyes off her tanned shoulders, slender neck and thick head of blond, almost white hair, styled in an intricate hairstyle. Unable to control himself, he bent over slightly and caught the subtle scent of jasmine coming from her hair.

Isn't it lovely? - The woman gently stroked the ring she had just put on. - Don't you think so?

The boy nodded frantically:

Very beautiful.

The ring was truly made with taste. A thin gold strip, covered with a bizarre ornament, was closed with a large, unusually cut emerald, capable of sparkling, it seemed, even at night, in the light of the stars. It was presented by Mecheslav, the broad-shouldered Baron Mecheslav - ruler of the Sokolniki domain. Lyubomir saw how a woman blossomed at the appearance of this dull brawler, and every time impotent rage tightened his cheekbones and forced his small, fragile palms to clench into equally small, fragile fists.

“I like the way he plays,” the woman said quietly, looking thoughtfully at the emerald. -Whose soul lives in it?

A hero or a beauty,” Lyubomir smiled, “or maybe a jeweler.”

He hated this ring.

The box returned to the table. Lyubomir took a couple of hesitant steps and stopped in the middle of the room.

You didn't explain the reasons for your excitement.

She had already studied the boy enough to understand that he would not forget his question.

Do not consider it an exaggeration, Lubomir, but today is a great day for our people, which we have been waiting for a very long time. Some even stopped believing that the prophecy would come true and you, Messenger, would come. That we will have hope again. “She slowly looked over the boy’s fragile figure with a gentle glance. - Today is one of the most important days in my life, I have to convey great news to the people of the Green House. Do you really think that I can be calm?

However, most of the people will remain in the dark about my appearance,” Lyubomir turned around sharply again.

And it will continue to remain,” the woman emphasized.

“Aren’t you too smart, puppy, for your thirteen years?”

We are obliged to maintain secrecy.

We have too many enemies. - The woman looked at her reflection in the mirror. Everything seems to be in order, although... She raised her head slightly and carefully straightened a stray hair with her nail. - Didn’t Yaroslava tell you?

It's strange, she's usually quite talkative.

“I owe a lot to priestess Yaroslava,” Lyubomir frowned. - She was with me almost from birth and...

Yes I remember.

“How did that weasel even find out about your birth? Damn schemer."

Yaroslava said that I should be presented to the people, but you insist that only the royal council should know about the arrival of the Messenger.

I have reasons for this.

I'd like to know them.

“No other way Yaroslava whispered. She will not rest until she removes me from the throne.”

The Barons of the Green House must know that the prediction has come true and the Messenger has arrived. - The woman absentmindedly took a powder puff from the table, but almost immediately put it aside. The makeup was applied perfectly. - There are only eight barons, and we can rely on them. If all the people know about your coming, then rumors will inevitably spread throughout the Secret City. In two, maximum three days, analysts of the Great Houses will calculate your appearance and announce a hunt. And perhaps they will even start a war.

Lyubomir was silent for several seconds, standing in the middle of the room and looking somewhere at the ceiling. All this time the woman did not take her eyes off his reflection in the mirror.

What do they care about me? - the boy finally asked. - I don't want war.

Unfortunately, your appearance is already a sufficient reason to start it. The Great Houses will not wait for you to grow up, learn to control your power and destroy them. They will try to be the first to arrive. If you were in their place, you would do exactly the same.

Lyubomir shuddered:

I'm not in their place.

It doesn't matter. Thousands of years of persecution have honed our instinct of self-preservation; we sense threats better than anyone in this world. You are prophesied to revive our empire. The Green House will rise, and the dancing crane will establish itself in every corner of the Earth. For the rest of the Great Houses, this means death.

“I bring war,” the boy said quietly. - I bring death to the Great Houses.

Until now, he had rarely thought about his destiny, and the woman’s harsh words unsettled him. The Messenger's heart began to beat faster.

You are destined to lead the campaign. - She smiled again. Fun, for real. - You have a great future, Lyubomir, a great destiny.

It turns out they have a reason to kill me.

There is always a reason for murder,” the woman said. - But don't worry. Great House People know how to keep their secrets, and in extreme cases we will protect you until you get stronger.

“I am the Messenger,” the boy said firmly.

His heart had calmed down and was now beating with rare, heavy beats.

"Messenger!"

The woman's beautiful eyes flashed fiercely. For the first time in ten thousand years, a man with magical abilities was born among the people, and it had to be right now. She is still so young, full of strength, she had so many plans, so many ideas...

I have a gift for you, Lubomir. - The woman stood up and rang a small golden bell.

She pulled herself together easily. Having realized even at the very first meeting that the little animal was capable of feeling the slightest mood swings, she became very cautious.

On the tray, which was held by the maid of honor who appeared, lay a thin gold hoop decorated with a large emerald.

This is your first crown, my little prince.

The woman herself put the jewelry on Lyubomir’s bowed head and gently kissed his forehead, the scent of jasmine once again enveloped the boy. Lubomir was almost happy. The suspicions with which the priestess Yaroslav had imbued him dissipated.

Today you will see your subjects for the first time, Herald.

I won't disappoint them.

Your Majesty,” the door opened slightly, “it’s time.”

Beauty Vseslava, queen of the Great House of People, high priestess of the Green House and guardian of the Well of Rains, looked at her reflection for the last time and nodded slightly to the boy:

They're waiting for us, Messenger.

The throne room of the Green House shone with that senseless, pretentious pomp that always characterizes solemn, but unnecessary events. True, only a regular could feel it. But an infrequent visitor to large royal receptions or a commoner inexperienced in refined etiquette would be shocked by the splendor of the decoration. The dark green mosaic of the floor smoothly flowed into the soft olive tones of the silk-covered walls, cut through by the bright lightning of the malachite columns directed towards the high ceiling. Dense bushes bloomed in special flower beds along the walls, creating a unique aroma of delightful freshness in the hall, and a huge rock crystal chandelier, supported by numerous sconces, flooded the room with dazzlingly bright light. The royal throne, elegant, decorated with large emeralds, was located on a low podium, and right behind it, on a large shield, a dancing crane gracefully spread its wings - the coat of arms of the Great House of People.

The throne room was impressive, it could not help but impress, but the guests who arrived today were regulars at royal receptions and, of course, noted the absence of that light atmosphere of unbridled and carefree fun that always distinguished the Green House under Queen Vseslav. The pomp was emphatically everyday, the solemnity was emphatically official, and even the lackey's smiles were emphatically duty-like. Her Majesty made it clear in a relaxed manner that the event for which her subjects were gathered in the palace was not a holiday.

And if not a holiday, then what is all this fuss for? - Baron Svetlomir muttered quietly under his breath. - Current issues must be resolved in a working manner, I swear by the beard of the Sleeping One.

The Baron had long since passed his seventeenth decade, and dialogues with himself were rather the rule for him, although, on the other hand, no one questioned his colossal experience and worldly wisdom. Usually, Svetlomir’s entourage was attended by one of his many grandchildren, who tactfully interrupted the ruler of the Izmailovsky domain, preventing the dialogue from developing into an argument or, which is completely unacceptable, into a scandal. But this time only a select few were allowed into the throne room, and the associates of Svetlomir, as well as all the other invitees, were waiting for their leaders in the hall of the palace.

After drinking a glass of champagne, Svetlomir felt the need for more lively communication. He smartly twirled his gray fluffy mustache and turned to Baron Svyatopolk standing nearby:

The circle of invitees today is surprisingly narrow, son, don’t you think?

Being at least fifty years younger than Svetlomir, Svyatopolk was not at all offended by such familiar address:

If Her Majesty had limited herself to inviting only the barons, we would have had to look for each other for a long time in this hall. Frankly, I never thought it was so big.

Svetlomir shook his head displeasedly:

Speak slower, son, you're swallowing your words.

The ruler of the Izmailovsky Domain was not going to admit that he simply could not keep up with the train of thought of his young interlocutor.

“I agree with you, Baron,” Svyatopolk said almost syllable by syllable. - Such a small reception is not in the style of our queen.

The young baron looked around. The invitees felt uncomfortable in the spacious hall designed for royal receptions. There were no magnificent retinues, arrogant viscounts and cutesy ladies. There was no usual fuss and hubbub, proud looks and pompous speeches. The leaders of the Great House of People - eight barons and eight priestesses of the Green House - were scattered throughout the magnificent hall and only occasionally exchanged short phrases.

Svyatopolk looked with displeasure at the simple, tightly buttoned dresses of the priestesses and closed his eyes. Royal receptions are always a celebration. Ladies compete in the splendor of their toilets, barons sip wine with an important air and glance sideways at the young fairies, who are still allowed revealing outfits by the strict rules of the sorceresses of the Green House. By all accounts, Vseslava, even after becoming a priestess, remained a mischievous and liberated fairy at heart, which some considered a disadvantage, but many others considered a very great advantage. Fairies at receptions are the center of attention. Noble youth will certainly hang around them - viscounts, governors and even noisy knights of the Great House of Chud. Loud laughter can be heard from their companies, there are always enough toothy epigrams and ambiguous jokes in stock, and at the end of the curtain, the young miracle lieutenants always agree on duels with the young human viscounts. On the right, near the malachite columns, people from the Dark Court are usually grouped: sedate shas in long dark blue robes - dark-skinned and big-nosed lovers of good cognacs; The sharp-tongued Erlians are born doctors and big gluttons; finally, the navas - tall, thin, studying with impenetrable black eyes the splendor alien to them. No one knew whether the Navs enjoy royal receptions, but they always appear on time, never once offending the honor of the Green House with a refusal, they line up closer to the wall, and only Santiaga, with the ease of an aircraft carrier, cruises around the throne room, scattering compliments and tasting collection wines . This Santiaga is still strange...

Svyatopolk shook off his obsession.

“I heard that for some reason Vseslava did not want to officially convene a large royal council,” Svetlomir muttered in the meantime. The old man managed to knock back another glass of champagne and became flushed. “That’s why we were sent personal invitations to this “audience.” What do you think about this, son?

She's clearly hiding something.

Queen Vseslava always hides something, but this time her secrecy is for the good,” said one of the priestesses of the Green House, who walked past Yaroslava.

The tone in which the word “queen” was pronounced left no doubt about her attitude towards the mistress of the Great House of People.

The men bowed politely to the high priestess and looked at each other.

“She’s clearly aware,” Svyatopolk noted.

Priestesses are always in the know, not like us barons,” Svetlomir sighed. “They’re just wiping their feet on us, I swear by the beard of the Sleeper.” In my domain, I can’t even sneeze without asking permission from this... priestess. The girl decided to teach me, I swear by the beard of the Sleeping One. I collect taxes and I...

“I don’t think everything is so bad, dear Svetlomir,” the young baron answered judiciously. “After all, the men of our family are not capable of magic.”

“Magic,” the old man chuckled. - We need to take people’s example: no magic! And they live well, I swear by the beard of the Sleeping One. If men are not capable of magic, then it is not needed!

Of course, of course. - Svyatopolk lovingly rubbed the emerald on the baron's chain and decided to change the subject: - By the way, did you notice some opposition in the voice of the respected priestess Yaroslava?

Did you notice too, son? - Svetlomir responded vividly. “I think she still can’t forgive the queen for the elections.” Remember, Yaroslava also laid claim to the throne.

But two years have already passed.

What's the difference, son? - Svetlomir smiled meaningfully. - Yaroslava is sure that the election results are rigged, I swear by the beard of the Sleeping One.

“Gossip,” said Baron Mecheslav, who suddenly approached, with calm confidence. - Vseslava is younger and smarter than Yaroslava. The choice of priestesses was absolutely justified.

I agree,” Svetlomir nodded. - Stupid rumor. I don't know why I remembered him.

It is unlikely that such conversations will benefit the Green House. - Mecheslav squinted at a flock of priestesses standing nearby, among whom the long figure of Yaroslava stood out.

Absolutely right,” Svyatopolk bowed his head.

Everyone knew about the special relationship between Her Majesty and the stocky ruler of the Sokolniki domain, so it would be extremely imprudent to show disrespect to the queen in the presence of Mecheslav. The Baron was considered the best swordsman of the Great House of People.

Unfortunately, the queen has many envious women,” Mecheslav concluded.

The costs of power, Svyatopolk confirmed. - By the way, Baron, do you happen to know why we have gathered?

Of course, I know,” he was instantly found, staring at his interlocutor with dull green eyes. - Wanting to consolidate the nation, Her Majesty decided to increase taxes by a quarter, plus the cost of energy from the Well of Rains is rising. This will be officially announced today.

The barons' faces fell sharply.

Are you seriously?

This can't be true! We are already barely making ends meet!

You can't tell by looking at you, friends! - Pleased with the effect produced, Mecheslav could hardly restrain his laughter. - Look at me: this is the one who is sick of need.

The barons pursed their lips. The Sokolniki domain was the richest possession of the Green House, but its ruler was famous for his amazing carelessness in dress. And now his suit was pretty wrinkled, and the only jewelry he had was a massive gold bracelet on his right wrist. Mecheslav even neglected the baronial chain.

You're kidding... - Svetlomir grumbled dissatisfied.

Mecheslav silently patted him on the shoulder, but did not have time to say anything: the pompous butler floated into the hall.

The noise died down. After a short pause, the butler looked importantly at those present and in a loud, well-placed voice proclaimed:

Her Majesty the Queen of the Green House Vseslava!

Contrary to the expectations of the majority of those present, Vseslava did not appear from the main doors, so as to march importantly through the entire hall, accompanied by numerous ladies-in-waiting and pages, but came out from a small, almost invisible door behind the throne. A moment of confusion followed, and only after that the barons, according to etiquette, bowed deeply.

Thank you for answering my call.

With a wave of her hand, Vseslav released the butler and remained with her vassals. Straightening up, the barons and priestesses widened their eyes: for the first time since her accession to the throne, the queen looked so modest, so much like a priestess. A simple dark green dress, emphasizing Vseslava’s ideal figure and leaving her fragile shoulders open, an emerald diadem and only one ring - this was even more unusual than the strange “audience”. Seized by vague forebodings, those present huddled around the throne.

“My faithful subjects,” Vseslava began, having never taken her rightful place, “the news that I want to tell you is worthy of convening a large royal council. However, after discussing all the nuances with some priestesses of the Green House, I decided to deviate from the accepted rules in order to maintain secrecy. Each of you, my brave barons, has received a personal invitation to an audience. In your domains you will say that the discussion was about changes in the tax policy of the crown.

“As your Majesty wishes,” the people, burning with curiosity, submissively bowed their heads.

Wars are started by losers

Vadim Yurievich Panov

Secret City #1

Sometimes wars start casually. In broad daylight, men jump out of cars parked on an ordinary Moscow street and, without hesitating anyone, open heavy fire from machine guns. And at the same time they are aiming at a group of some nondescript short guys in red bandanas who have just finished shopping at the nearest McDonald's. Of course, panic immediately begins, passersby rush in all directions, and one of them suddenly turns over the table of a street cafe and takes cover behind it, clutching his backpack to his chest.

And he does the right thing.

After all, unlike most ordinary people, Artyom knows well what will follow all this. One of the reasons for the outbreak of war lies in his backpack. The only thing Artyom doesn’t know is that in the Secret City, wars are started by losers, but ended by heroes.

Doesn't know yet...

Vadim Panov

Wars are started by losers

But history has not yet known final victories...

- Why are you worried? – the boy turned around sharply.

He didn't take her by surprise.

- I? “The woman arched her thin black eyebrow in surprise.

The boy was embarrassed:

- I feel. You know, I clearly feel the aura. You are very worried.

The woman smiled faintly. Just a little bit, from the corners of his lips, literally making him look for a smile on his beautiful, thin face.

“You have enormous power, Lyubomir, you can’t hide anything from you.” This will be useful to the future ruler of the Great House. Where's my box?

An elegant golden box, containing only the most beloved jewelry, stood on a small table to the right of the chair in which the woman sat. All you had to do was extend your hand.

- Please hold the box.

“We need to choose something not too flashy,” the woman said thoughtfully, looking at her rich collection.

– Isn’t it lovely? – The woman gently stroked the ring she had just put on. - Don't you think so?

The boy nodded frantically:

- Very beautiful.

The ring was truly made with taste. A thin gold strip, covered with a bizarre ornament, was closed with a large, unusually cut emerald, capable of sparkling, it seemed, even at night, in the light of the stars. It was presented by Mecheslav, the broad-shouldered Baron Mecheslav - the ruler of the Sokolniki domain. Lyubomir saw how a woman blossomed at the appearance of this dull brawler, and every time impotent rage tightened his cheekbones and forced his small, fragile palms to clench into equally small, fragile fists.

“I like the way he plays,” the woman said quietly, looking thoughtfully at the emerald. – Whose soul lives in it?

“A hero or a beauty,” Lyubomir smiled, “or maybe a jeweler.”

He hated this ring.

The box returned to the table. Lyubomir took a couple of hesitant steps and stopped in the middle of the room.

– You didn’t explain the reasons for your excitement.

She had already studied the boy enough to understand that he would not forget his question.

– Do not consider it an exaggeration, Lyubomir, but today is a great day for our people, which we have been waiting for a very long time. Some even stopped believing that the prophecy would come true and you, Messenger, would come. That we will have hope again. “She slowly looked over the boy’s fragile figure with a gentle glance. – Today is one of the most important days in my life, I have to convey great news to the people of the Green House. Do you really think that I can be calm?

“However, most of the people will remain in the dark about my appearance,” Lyubomir turned around sharply again.

“And it will continue to remain,” the woman emphasized.

“Aren’t you too smart, puppy, for your thirteen years?”

– We are obliged to keep secret.

- Why?

– We have too many enemies. – The woman looked at her reflection in the mirror. Everything seems to be in order, although... She raised her head slightly and carefully straightened a stray hair with her nail. – Didn’t Yaroslava tell you?

“It’s strange, she’s usually quite talkative.”

“I owe a lot to priestess Yaroslava,” Lyubomir frowned. – She was with me almost from birth and...

- Yes I remember.

“How did that weasel even find out about your birth? Damn schemer."

“Yaroslava said that I should be introduced to the people, but you insist that only the royal council should know about the Herald’s arrival.”

– I have reasons for this.

– I would like to know them.

“No other way Yaroslava whispered. She will not rest until she removes me from the throne.”

– The Barons of the Green House must know that the prediction came true and the Messenger has arrived. “The woman absent-mindedly took a powder puff from the table, but almost immediately put it aside. The makeup was applied perfectly. “There are only eight barons, and we can rely on them.” If all the people know about your coming, then rumors will inevitably spread throughout the Secret City. In two, maximum three days, analysts of the Great Houses will calculate your appearance and announce a hunt. And perhaps they will even start a war.

Lyubomir was silent for several seconds, standing in the middle of the room and looking somewhere at the ceiling. All this time the woman did not take her eyes off his reflection in the mirror.

- What do they care about me? – the boy finally asked. - I don't want war.

- Unfortunately, yours

Page 2 of 20

its appearance is already a sufficient reason to start it. The Great Houses will not wait for you to grow up, learn to control your power and destroy them. They will try to be the first to arrive. If you were in their place, you would do exactly the same.

Lyubomir shuddered:

– I’m not in their place.

- It doesn't matter. Thousands of years of persecution have honed our instinct of self-preservation; we sense threats better than anyone in this world. You are prophesied to revive our empire. The Green House will rise, and the dancing crane will establish itself in every corner of the Earth. For the rest of the Great Houses, this means death.

“I bring war,” the boy said quietly. – I bring death to the Great Houses.

Until now, he had rarely thought about his destiny, and the woman’s harsh words unsettled him. The Messenger's heart began to beat faster.

“You are destined to lead the campaign.” – She smiled again. Fun, for real. – You have a great future, Lyubomir, a great destiny.

“It turns out they have a reason to kill me.”

“There is always a reason for murder,” the woman said. - But don't worry. Great House People know how to keep their secrets, and in extreme cases we will protect you until you get stronger.

“I am the Messenger,” the boy said firmly.

His heart had calmed down and was now beating with rare, heavy beats.

"Messenger!"

– I have a gift for you, Lubomir. “The woman stood up and rang a small golden bell.

She pulled herself together easily. Having realized even at the very first meeting that the little animal was capable of feeling the slightest mood swings, she became very cautious.

On the tray, which was held by the maid of honor who appeared, lay a thin gold hoop decorated with a large emerald.

- This is your first crown, my little prince.

– Today you will see your subjects for the first time, Herald.

- I won't disappoint them.

“Your Majesty,” the door opened slightly, “it’s time.”

Beauty Vseslava, queen of the Great House of People, high priestess of the Green House and guardian of the Well of Rains, looked at her reflection for the last time and nodded slightly to the boy:

- They are waiting for us, Messenger.

The throne room of the Green House shone with that senseless, pretentious pomp that always characterizes solemn, but unnecessary events. True, only a regular could feel it. But an infrequent visitor to large royal receptions or a commoner inexperienced in refined etiquette would be shocked by the splendor of the decoration. The dark green mosaic of the floor smoothly flowed into the soft olive tones of the silk-covered walls, cut through by the bright lightning of the malachite columns directed towards the high ceiling. Dense bushes bloomed in special flower beds along the walls, creating a unique aroma of delightful freshness in the hall, and a huge rock crystal chandelier, supported by numerous sconces, flooded the room with dazzlingly bright light. The royal throne, elegant, decorated with large emeralds, was on a low podium, and right behind it, on a large shield, a dancing crane gracefully spread its wings - the coat of arms of the Great House of People.

The throne room was impressive, it could not help but impress, but the guests who arrived today were regulars at royal receptions and, of course, noted the absence of that light atmosphere of unbridled and carefree fun that always distinguished the Green House under Queen Vseslav. The pomp was emphatically everyday, the solemnity was emphatically official, and even the lackey’s smiles were emphatically duty-like. Her Majesty made it clear in a relaxed manner that the event for which her subjects were gathered in the palace was not a holiday.

– And if not a holiday, then what is all this fuss for? – Baron Svetlomir muttered quietly under his breath. – Current issues must be resolved in a working order, I swear by the beard of the Sleeping One.

After drinking a glass of champagne, Svetlomir felt the need for more lively communication. He smartly twirled his gray fluffy mustache and turned to Baron Svyatopolk standing nearby:

– The circle of invitees today is surprisingly narrow, son, don’t you think?

Being at least fifty years younger than Svetlomir, Svyatopolk was not at all offended by such familiar address:

“If Her Majesty had limited herself to inviting only the barons, we would have had to look for each other for a long time in this hall.” Frankly, I never thought it was so big.

Svetlomir shook his head displeasedly:

“Speak slowly, son, you’re swallowing your words.”

The ruler of the Izmailovsky Domain was not going to admit that he simply could not keep up with the train of thought of his young interlocutor.

“I agree with you, Baron,” Svyatopolk said almost in syllables. “Such a small reception is not our queen’s style.”

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born doctors and big gluttons; finally, the navas - tall, thin, studying with impenetrable black eyes the splendor alien to them. No one knew whether the Navs enjoy royal receptions, but they always appear on time, never once offending the honor of the Green House with a refusal, they line up closer to the wall, and only Santiaga, with the ease of an aircraft carrier, cruises around the throne room, scattering compliments and tasting collection wines . This Santiaga is still strange...

Svyatopolk shook off his obsession.

“She’s clearly hiding something.”

“Queen Vseslava always hides something, but this time her secrecy is for the good,” one of the priestesses of the Green House said as she walked past Yaroslava.

The tone in which the word “queen” was pronounced left no doubt about her attitude towards the mistress of the Great House of People.

The men bowed politely to the high priestess and looked at each other.

“She’s clearly aware,” Svyatopolk noted.

“The priestesses are always in the know, not like us barons,” Svetlomir sighed. “They’re just wiping their feet on us, I swear by the beard of the Sleeper.” In my domain, I can’t even sneeze without asking permission from this... priestess. The girl decided to teach me, I swear by the beard of the Sleeping One. I collect taxes and I...

“I don’t think everything is so bad, dear Svetlomir,” the young baron answered judiciously. “After all, the men in our family are not capable of magic.”

“Magic,” the old man chuckled. – We must take people’s example: no magic! And they live well, I swear by the beard of the Sleeping One. If men are not capable of magic, then it is not needed!

- Of course, of course. – Svyatopolk lovingly rubbed the emerald on the baron’s chain and decided to change the subject: – By the way, did you notice some opposition in the voice of the respected priestess Yaroslava?

“Did you notice too, son?” – Svetlomir responded vividly. “I think she still can’t forgive the queen for the elections.” Remember, Yaroslava also laid claim to the throne.

- But two years have already passed.

- What's the difference, son? – Svetlomir smiled meaningfully. – Yaroslava is sure that the election results are rigged, I swear by the beard of the Sleeping One.

“Gossip,” Baron Mecheslav, who suddenly approached, declared with calm confidence. – Vseslava is younger and smarter than Yaroslava. The choice of priestesses was absolutely justified.

“I agree,” nodded Svetlomir. - Stupid rumor. I don't know why I remembered him.

– It is unlikely that such conversations will benefit the Green House. – Mecheslav squinted at a flock of priestesses standing nearby, among whom the long figure of Yaroslava stood out.

“That’s absolutely right,” Svyatopolk bowed his head.

“Unfortunately, the queen has many envious women,” Mecheslav concluded.

“The costs of power,” confirmed Svyatopolk. - By the way, Baron, do you happen to know why we have gathered?

“Of course, I know,” he instantly found himself, staring at his interlocutor with dull green eyes. – Wanting to consolidate the nation, Her Majesty decided to increase taxes by a quarter, plus the cost of energy from the Well of Rains is rising. This will be officially announced today.

The barons' faces fell sharply.

- Are you seriously?

- This can’t be! We are already barely making ends meet!

– Looking at you, you can’t say that, friends! – Pleased with the effect produced, Mecheslav could hardly restrain his laughter. - Look at me: this is the one who is sick of need.

“You’re joking…” Svetlomir grumbled displeasedly.

Mecheslav silently patted him on the shoulder, but did not have time to say anything: the pompous butler floated into the hall.

The noise died down. After a short pause, the butler looked importantly at those present and in a loud, well-placed voice proclaimed:

– Her Majesty the Queen of the Green House of Vseslava!

- Thank you for answering my call.

“My faithful subjects,” Vseslava began, without having taken her rightful place, “the news that I want to tell you is worthy of convening a large royal council. However, after discussing all the nuances with some priestesses of the Green House, I decided to deviate from the accepted rules in order to maintain secrecy. Each of you, my brave barons, has received a personal invitation to an audience. In your domains you will say that the discussion was about changes in the tax policy of the crown.

“As your Majesty wishes,” the people, burning with curiosity, submissively bowed their heads.

Vseslava approached the throne and, standing half-turned towards the hall, gently ran her hand along the armrest upholstered in green velvet.

“Power,” she said thoughtfully, “power.” Do we remember what this means? The days of true greatness of the Green House are long gone. Many centuries have passed since our empire ruled this world and the shadow of the crane’s wings lay over its entire expanse. Now we are forced to huddle in this tiny city, coexist with small races, discuss invisible problems with other losers, share with them the pitiful crumbs that we get, and hide, hiding our true essence. Our life has turned into a meaningless fuss. We live only to live. Every morning we greet the sun like stupid farmers: with gratitude and resignation to fate, and every day our children remember less and less about the greatness of their race. More and more half-breeds are appearing. We are degenerating.

The barons became worried. It was the first time in their memory that the Queen had raised such a serious issue. Several years have passed since the last war between the Great Houses, is it really happening again?

- Remember

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my words, we will show these scoundrels, I swear by the beard of the Sleeping One! - Svetlomir, flushed from drinking, joyfully declared and shouted loudly: - Lead us, queen! We are with you!

– What can we be proud of? – Vseslava continued meanwhile. – What awaits us ahead? What will we leave for our children?

It's clearly war! The barons began to steal glances at each other.

War? But with whom? With the Dark Court? Hardly. Vseslava is a young woman, but not crazy. Again with miracles?

– It’s time to establish our order in the Secret City! – Svetlomir did not let up. - By the beard of the Sleeping One, I am happy that I lived to see this day!

Svyatopolk, who was tired of reining in the unruly old man, silently finished off the warmed champagne. In the last war, his Perovsky domain suffered greatly from the invasion of knights, and the baron was not eager to get involved in a new fight. But he was clearly alone, everyone else was sensitively catching Vseslava’s every word.

– I do not call you to war!

A sigh of disappointment swept through the hall. The Queen smiled:

- Bye. I encourage you to remember an old prediction made eight thousand years ago.

Eight thousand years ago, Queen Isara, the last ruler of the great Empire of People and the greatest of the priestesses in the history of the Green House, sensing the coming decline, gathered all her strength to cast the Great Prophecy. The last and most powerful spell in her life.

Vseslava threw back her head and, closing her eyes, quoted:

“And the hour will come when, from the darkness of extinction, a ray of hope will shine for a once great family, a man will be born who is superior to a woman in witchcraft, and his name will be the Messenger. The power of the Messenger will be great, no one can compare with him either in witchcraft, or in witchcraft, or in black magic, or in white, or in fire magic, or in air magic, or in earth magic, or in water magic. And there will be no enemies worthy of him. The Messenger will become a great emperor and will rule for two centuries less one year, and after him Man will rule the world until the Sleeper awakens.”

The Queen fell silent and opened her eyes:

– Thirteen years ago the Messenger was born.

Screams were heard in the hall. Yaroslava straightened up proudly, a triumphant light began to play in her eyes. Svetlomir wiped away the tears that came out:

– Finally, a male sorcerer, I swear by the beard of the Sleeping One, a man! War is just around the corner! Long live the Great House of People!

– Death to the enemies of the Green House!

- Long live the Messenger!

The queen swayed, the rage of the barons terrified her.

The small door behind the throne opened again, and a thin teenager, dressed in a simple green knee-length shirt and pants tucked into short boots, stepped hesitantly into the hall. The boy's long blond hair was tied with a thin gold hoop with a large emerald.

In complete silence, the Messenger approached the throne and leisurely looked around at those present. His heart beat slowly, and with each beat the heads of the rulers of the Green House bowed lower and lower.

“Queen Isara’s prediction has come true,” Vseslava announced. - The messenger has arrived!

“...A press conference at the police headquarters confirmed the worst fears of journalists: a series of mysterious murders that shocked Moscow were the work of one maniac, who, thanks to the light hand of our observer Karim Tomba, was nicknamed the Vivisector. Let us remind you that only young girls become victims of the maniac...”

("Moscow's comsomolets")

“...A sensation in the market of magical services! Yesterday evening, the press service of the Great House of Chud announced a ten percent reduction in the price of Source energy, thus violating the agreement reached six years ago between the Great Houses. The mages controlled by the Order have already reduced the cost of the final product, which indicates that this action was clearly planned and aimed at redistributing the key market of the Secret City. The rest of the Great Houses remain silent, but we are sure that the dumping policy is a miracle..."

("Tigradkom")

Moscow, Vernadsky Avenue,

The Great House of Chud, or the Order, as this family was also called, occupied three slender high-rise buildings designed in the Brezhnev Art Nouveau style. Located at the very beginning of Vernadsky, on the right as you drive from the Moskva River, their elegant towers contrasted with the massive and faceless municipal boxes lined up on the other side of the avenue. Tall, thin, they looked like three battle cruisers that had accidentally entered a small trading port, and powerful satellite dishes and a well-groomed appearance only emphasized this comparison.

The inner life of the Castle's inhabitants was reliably protected. Every inch of the surrounding area was monitored by CCTV cameras, a high wall and lush treetops screened off the vast interior from prying eyes, and the only gate facing the avenue was equipped not with a newfangled barrier, but with a heavy steel plate with the image of a rearing unicorn. No one knew for certain what other traps the Grand Master’s guards had prepared for the uninvited guests, but Franz de Geer, captain of the guard, was a master of war - the leading battle magician of the Order - and he earned his living conscientiously. The networks he had woven around the Castle were ready to discern and drain the energy from any sorcerer who approached the headquarters of miracles with bad intentions. The castle was a real fortress, ready to withstand both a multi-day siege and a swift assault. Always ready, despite the truce between the Great Houses.

The ceremony of the solemn meeting was maintained down to the smallest detail.

As soon as the guests' cars crossed Lomonosov Avenue, the heavy gates began to slowly open, and a small motorcade, consisting of a snow-white traffic police interceptor with flashing lights on and two black, classically curved Rolls-Royces, without slowing down, drove into the courtyard. Here the cars separated. The interceptor and one of the Rolls turned right and disappeared into an underground garage. The second limousine smoothly circled the central tower of the Castle and stopped on a small platform in front of a wide marble staircase, on which, in an extremely rare case, Franz de Geer was waiting for guests.

An honor guard of two dozen guardsmen was lined up to the left of the stairs. Due to the heat that was tormenting the city, the dress uniform was significantly lightened: cuirasses were replaced by red jackets, decorated with a golden image of a rearing unicorn, and closed steel helmets were replaced by gilded helmets, the multi-colored plumes of which were blown by the light breeze. Otherwise, everything remained as always: lace, leggings, shiny boots and straight cavalry broadswords. On the other side of the stairs fluttered the standards of the active lodges of the Order: the red and blue lodge of Swords, the red and black lodge of Dragons, the red and yellow lodge of Salamander, the red and green lodge of Ermine and the largest, bright scarlet - the standard of the Great House of Chud. Heavy canvases swayed proudly in the silence of the ceremonial meeting, recalling the glorious history of the Order. And behind the backs of the guards and standard bearers, the square was surrounded in a dense ring by numerous onlookers who had come running to gawk at the rare guests from all over

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As soon as the car stopped, the pages opened the doors and, stepping back, bowed deeply.

A tall man in a long dark blue coat with fine gold embroidery on the shoulders slowly climbed out of the limo and, leaning heavily on his black staff, took two small steps towards the stairs. The newcomer’s face was hidden by a low-pulled hood, his hands were hidden by the long sleeves of a cloak, and the public could only be content with the lanky figure of the guest.

The appearance of the advisers of the Dark Court, the highest hierarchs of the Great House of Nav, has always remained a mystery.

From the opposite side, a thin man, as tall as the adviser, in a superbly tailored suit and an expensive tie, stepped out of the car. Having carefully looked at those greeting him with his black, deep-set eyes, he straightened his impeccable hairstyle with a slight movement and, quickly walking around the Rolls, took a place behind his companion. A whisper ran through the crowd: this Nava, Santiago, the Commissioner of the Dark Court, was not liked in the Castle. He was the punishing hand of the prince, and more than one gallon of knightly blood was shed through his fault.

After a short pause, Franz de Geer bowed slightly:

– The Grand Master is awaiting the envoys of the Dark Court!

The interior decoration of the Castle met the tastes of its owners down to the smallest detail: rough stonework, vaulted ceilings, massive wooden furniture, weapons and tapestries hanging on the walls... The only thing missing was dogs and horses. Wall lamps, stylized as torches, only emphasized the striking difference between the modern appearance of the building and its interior.

Having risen to the fourth floor, the guests and their accompanying people found themselves in a large, brightly lit room, decorated with numerous marble bas-reliefs. The miracles were proud of their history to the point of boasting, as a result of which visitors to the throne room were forced to admire the long-forgotten exploits of the glorious knights. Between the stone paintings there were shields of appropriate size with the coats of arms of all the lodges of the Great House, including those whose memory had faded from the red heads of the miracles themselves. The largest shield, the coat of arms on which depicted a rearing unicorn, hung over the throne. Here an imperturbable gray-haired bearded man in a crown decorated with large rubies was waiting for the guests.

Leonard de Saint-Care, Grand Master and Master of Masters.

The massive figure of the Lord Chudi was shrouded in a purple robe, lined with ermine, in his right hand he held a golden staff, and in his left he leaned on a heavy two-handed sword. Around the throne, two on each side, were the masters of the lodges, and along the walls were the leaders of the lodge of Masters, the leading magicians of the Order. Just like the Grand Master, the Wonders wore classical garb: cloaks, camisoles, wide belts with huge buckles and ceremonial daggers. Against the backdrop of this splendor, Santiaga’s secular attire looked out of place, but this hardly bothered the commissioner.

– Advisor to the Dark Court! - Franz de Geer proclaimed and closed the heavy oak doors himself.

The Navs slowly approached the throne and bowed:

“My lord, the prince of the Dark Court, wishes good health to you, Grand Master, and to all the noble Chud.

“Thank you,” de Saint-Care nodded, “but I’m sure you didn’t ask for an audience to wish me health.” What business brought you to the Order?

The knights were famous for their ability to immediately get down to business. The Envoy of the Dark Court was silent for a moment.

– Two days ago the prince visited the Degunin Oracle. The signs that appeared in the Navi Mirror required explanation.

Among the miracles, a surprised whisper ran through: the ruler of the Dark Court rarely needed outside advice.

– And what did the Oracle discover? – asked the intrigued de Saint-Caret.

– The reason that forced the prince to go to Degunino is that the balance in the Secret City is disrupted. The level of magical energy in the Sources is unstable. My lord believes that you felt it too.

The Grand Master slowly shook his head:

– There will always be ripples on the surface of the water. The energy level was never constant, and a small wave is not a storm.

“The storm comes next, and woe to those who are not prepared.”

– The prince wants to check the readiness of the Order? – De Sainte-Care’s bushy eyebrows came together to the bridge of his nose.

The knights began to murmur, however, not too confidently. For the last time, in order to calm down the raging Navs, Chud and the Green House were forced to unite troops and invade the Dark Court sector from two sides. The surrounded Navas sat down at the negotiating table, but many were convinced that they did not do this out of fear of defeat.

“Others will test your readiness,” the adviser continued, not paying attention to the cocky miracles. – A very powerful sorcerer has appeared in the Secret City, who threatens all the Great Houses.

- Came out of nowhere? – inquired the Grand Master.

– His appearance was expected.

- And who is he? – De Saint-Care looked around the hall with a grin. - So dangerous?

The knights smiled.

– We only know his name – Lubomir.

“Lyubomir,” repeated the Grand Master, “people?” Or maybe people?

Man is a sorcerer! The knights willingly supported their master's joke, and a light laugh rolled through the hall.

- People. – If the envoy of the Dark Court was irritated by the behavior of the miracles, it did not show itself.

“In the Green House, only women are capable of magic,” the Grand Master snapped. – Even children know this.

“The fact remains: the sorcerer is a human being,” the adviser calmly answered, “though he was expelled from the Green House and acts independently.”

– What can a sorcerer expelled from his family do? – Antoine de Coulier, master of the Dragon Lodge, could not stand it. – No support, no library, no energy. He can only guess by hand or grow an avocado.

“He received support in childhood, when the best priestesses of the Green House were involved in his education,” the Nav explained dryly, “firstly, and secondly, with his capabilities, it will not be difficult to penetrate any library.” By the way, we have temporarily blocked our storage and recommend that you do the same. As for energy, according to our estimates, Lubomir completely controls the Source of the Green House - the Well of Rains - and draws from it as much energy as he needs.

- This is unreal! – shouted Nelson Bard, Master of the Lodge of Swords. – Only priestesses have access to the Source!

“A person who has magical abilities and has access to the Well of Rains...”, de Saint-Caret said thoughtfully, not paying attention to the youngest master of the Order. - Is it really the Messenger?

– We think so. The Navi Mirror, the Degunin Oracle and our analysts agreed on one thing: Queen Isara’s prediction came true, and the Messenger came.

Such a strengthening of the people threatened a big war between the Great Houses. There was silence in the hall.

“Then why isn’t he at the head of the Green House?”

“We believe that Queen Vseslava, trying to maintain her power, decided to kill the Messenger and he had to flee.

“But he could have simply declared himself and overthrown the queen.”

“We don’t know what happened in the Green House, and we don’t know what’s going on in this degenerate’s head.” – The advisor sighed. - The only thing known for certain is

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that the Messenger is born, but the people are still ruled by a queen.

“Moreover,” the Bard continued, “if he is expelled, then he ceases to be dangerous.”

– The Messenger came to destroy the existing order and establish his power throughout the world. Whether he is expelled or not, he will pursue this goal, for this is his purpose. He is a real threat to all the Great Houses, and primarily to Chudi.

– Why for us?

The messenger shrugged:

– In order to conquer the Great House, it is necessary first of all to deprive it of its Source. You know this as well as I do. The Herald controls the Well of Rain, which means his next target is the Carthaginian Amulet, the Source of the Order.

Nav was certainly right. A smart enemy will not waste time on local skirmishes, but will strike at the very heart of the Great House - the Source, turning battle magicians into helpless extras and depriving the Great House of its main advantage in the war. But no one knew where the Dark Court gets its energy from.

“You seem confident in your safety,” the Grand Master muttered.

- No. “Otherwise we wouldn’t be here,” the adviser answered coldly. – If the Herald manages to capture the Carthaginian Amulet, further developments will become unpredictable. We intend to prevent this from happening.

- No doubt.

The Lord of the Order put his staff aside and, leaning both hands on his sword, thought. Everyone understood that you must move on to the main purpose of your visit, but de Saint-Care deliberately delayed this moment:

“Okay, but even if everything you said is true and the Herald really came, took control of the Well of Rains and plans to seize the Carthaginian Amulet, and besides, he is the greatest one to appear in the Secret City in the last eight thousand years, even if everything that's true, he still can't do it alone. We all know this.

“He has assistants,” Nav understood the question.

- Red Caps.

The knights smiled again. Red Caps? A rabble from the outskirts, accepting half-breeds and outcasts into their family? In the table of ranks of the Secret City, they occupied one of the most despised places: right before the rat-catcher wasps and hermaphrodite flies. It was difficult to imagine a “best” company to conquer the world.

- Or maybe he hired people? – inquired the Bard.

“The Red Caps are rushing to the top,” the adviser answered in a mentoring tone, “they have long considered themselves deprived, and they should not be underestimated.”

- Weaklings!

- But there are a lot of them. And if they are led by an experienced sorcerer who has no problems with energy...

“We will tear these savages to shreds!”

“The Red Caps,” the Grand Master’s voice echoed through the hall, “are trash under our boots, unworthy of mention in the Castle.” If the Messenger contacted them, then he greatly miscalculated: even the most powerful magician will not make an army out of this rabble.

The miracles made an approving noise, appreciating their leader's joke. After waiting for them to calm down, the old man continued:

“Now we will listen to the prince’s proposal.”

The eyes of those present turned to the adviser.

“My lord, the prince of the Dark Court, asks you to take the information we have provided you seriously. A very serious threat looms over the Secret City, which we can only cope with by joining forces. – Nav was silent. – The Prince offers to transport the Carthaginian Amulet to the Citadel.

An explosion of laughter drowned out the envoy's last words. Everyone laughed: the masters, the knights, and even the old man sitting on the throne.

“This is so funny,” de Saint-Care grumbled, wiping away his tears, “that we will not pay attention to the offensive meaning of your proposal, Nav.” Do you have anything else to say?

“Yes,” the Dark Court advisor was still calm, “The amulet will simply be kept in the Citadel and directly guarded by your knights.” They will be allowed into the Dark Court headquarters in any number you name. We take over external security and hope that Lyubomir will not risk attacking the Citadel. The Herald needs the amulet, and he will take it from you. The Oracle said so, and it is not for you to change the prediction.

The miracles looked at each other in bewilderment: take the Amulet? Is it too cool for some magician?

– The amulet is kept in the Castle and will be kept there forever. We are able to protect our treasures! – The thunderous voice of the Grand Master left no doubt that the decision was final. But unexpectedly for everyone, de Saint-Care turned to the second envoy, who stood modestly behind the adviser and did not utter a single word during the audience: “Do you have anything to say, Santiaga?”

Everyone except the advisor turned to the Dark Court Commissioner. He smiled lightly:

- I'm disappointed, but not surprised. Frankly, I predicted this development, but at least we warned you. In my memory, no one refused the help offered by Navy. And no one ignored the prince’s advice. You are the first, de Saint-Care, and everything that happens next will remain on your conscience.

Having bowed, the Navas left the hall with dignity.

Herald Residence

Moscow, New Arbat street,

The city was sleeping. Exhausted from the heat, Moscow happily plunged into the cool of the night, its frozen streets gaining strength before a new day, a new battle with the merciless summer sun.

The midnight silence on Vernadsky Avenue was broken by a soft rumbling. The massive gates of the Castle slowly swung open, and a motorcade drove out onto the sleepy street. A snow-white traffic police interceptor and two black limousines quickly picked up speed and rushed towards the center. The envoys of the Dark Court were returning to the Citadel.

The image of the moving cars rippled and began to lose clarity. The sorcerer sharply waved his hand over a thin porcelain saucer, on the surface of which a layer of water could barely be discerned, and tiredly brushed back his unruly white hair from his forehead. The picture shook and disappeared completely.

Those present nodded, but remained silent, waiting for the sorcerer to develop his idea.

Lyubomir was in no hurry. Crossing his small, almost childish arms over his chest, he climbed out of the chair and slowly walked along the huge table, littered with numerous volumes, long-unwashed flasks, retorts, and suspicious-looking copper structures. The table occupied a good third of the vaulted room, dimly lit by two smoldering torches. The sorcerer walked past shelves lined with pots and pots of various sizes and shapes, the contents of which, despite the fact that they were all tightly and neatly closed, created an unforgettable aroma of a village cesspool in the room. After wandering around his property for a couple of minutes, Lyubomir returned to a massive chair with a high carved back and, after a short pause, repeated:

– The Grand Master did not give the Amulet to the navas... Saber, having heard these words, you had to cancel the attack on the motorcade.

“Yes, Lyubomir, I’m sorry,” the Fuhrer of the Gnilich clan realized and, pulling out a mobile phone from his pocket, dialed the number with frantic speed. - Don’t touch the motorcade... I said, don’t touch... Don’t shoot... In short, get out of there, otherwise I’ll rip your heads off

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to hell with you, idiots!

Saber quickly lost his temper. The only one of all the leaders of the Red Caps, he received the clan's Fuhrer's scimitar as an inheritance from his formidable father, and did not scratch it with his teeth from fate and tried with all his might to prove that he was worthy of this high title.

The other two present were sullenly silent.

To the left of Saber, on a low three-legged stool, sat Axe, the youngest and, by all accounts, the dumbest among the Fuhrers. He earned his place as leader of the second largest Red Cap clan - the Durichs - thanks to a highly developed instinct of self-preservation and bestial cruelty shown during the last elections. Dressed, like the other Fuhrers, in a black leather vest and trousers, Duric stood out for his abundance of tattoos on his bare, muscular arms and his tall stature for the Red Caps. Axe was half-Shas, which automatically made him an outcast in any family except the Red Caps.

The third was Hammer - the one-eyed leader of the smallest clan - the Shibzichs. As was his custom, he sat furthest away from the table and quietly watched what was happening, stroking the image of a green thistle tattooed on his left cheekbone—the mark of the Fuhrer.

The sorcerer could not sit still. Having waited for Saber to talk on the phone, he left the chair again and, going up to a small brazier, extended his fragile pale hands to the coals. Despite the fact that Lyubomir’s small figure was tightly wrapped in a heavy woolen robe, he was cold.

“The Grand Master made a mistake,” the sorcerer finally said quietly, almost in a half-whisper. “He should have listened to the words of the Navs and hidden the Amulet in the Citadel.

“Proudness,” grumbled Hammer.

The lisp of the Red Caps manifested itself most sharply among the Shibzichs.

“Yes, my one-eyed friend,” agreed Lyubomir. – Pride and mutual distrust. The Great Houses are wary of each other, so our event has a very good chance of success. Two quick strikes, and we will wipe out the very concept of the “Great House” from the face of the Secret City.

The sorcerer warmed up, his pale face turned slightly pink, a fire lit up in his eyes, and his voice became stronger. The Fuhrers listened eagerly. The Red Caps had little understanding of magic, never had their own Source, and Lyubomir’s thoughts seemed to them a revelation of a celestial being.

- Psor! – the sorcerer called loudly.

A small door, lost among numerous shelves, opened, and a short slave, dressed in a simple beige shirt and pants, silently entered the room.

The slave silently bowed his shaved head and disappeared. The sorcerer never treated anyone, but this was not required - Axe, taking advantage of the moment, took a long sip from a small flat flask and burped with satisfaction. The sorcerer was not embarrassed by the Red Caps' addiction to cheap whiskey - without it, their brains simply did not function.

“Miracles are carefree, like children,” continued Lyubomir. “They are proud and, as it seems to them, strong. Leaving the Carthaginian Amulet with them would be unheard of generosity.

The sorcerer paused, and the Red Caps laughed smartly.

“And since the Source has not left the Castle, our task is simplified.”

“But now they are forewarned,” noted the sensible Sledgehammer. He unbuttoned his leather vest and scratched his tattooed stomach. - They're on the lookout.

“You’re right again,” admitted Lyubomir, “but do you really think that the miracles took this warning seriously?” The Order is one of the three Great Houses! They rule the life of the Secret City! Who are you to them? Nobody! Garbage! The stench coming from the garbage dump!

- Well, why the stink? – Saber was indignant.

The Gnilichi have always prided themselves on the fact that they smell differently than all the other Red Caps. And now the Fuhrer’s aroma was able to overcome even the miasma from Lyubomir’s magical decoctions.

- The sorcerer is right, the piston is in my ear! - Axe got into the conversation. - They don't notice us! Who are we to them? The dogs are homeless!

– Don’t speak for everyone! – Saber immediately noticed. – I trace my family back to the Western Forests, by name.

The half-breed's eyes flashed with furious fire:

- From monkeys, or what?!

Gnilich jumped to his feet.

- Sit!! – The sorcerer grinned displeasedly and raised his hand. – You behave like boys, and then you are surprised that the whole Secret City is laughing at your family.

“Sorry, Lyubomir,” Saber muttered.

The ax silently sat down on his stool and defiantly frowned. He was the son of a woman from the Shas family and four soldiers from the Durich clan, who had amused themselves with the unfortunate woman thirty years ago. All his fathers, at the request of the vengeful Shas, were killed by the Navs, his mother died in childbirth, and little Ax was given to the Red Caps. Half-breeds were not tolerated in the Dark Court, and the Fuhrer Durichev did not even know which clan of the Shas family he was related to. Having inherited a bad character from the Dark Court and strengthened it with orphan cruelty, Axe managed to make his way to the very top - to become the Fuhrer of the clan - and now almost openly laid claim to the post of emperor. He hated Gnilich.

– So, my dear comrades, since everything is going according to plan, we will storm the Castle. Saber, are you ready?

Gnilich's eyes glowed.

- We will tear them to shreds, Lubomir, I swear by my scimitar!

- I have no doubt, I have no doubt. – The sorcerer narrowed his eyes. “The event must be held before the full moon, when the alignment of the stars will allow me to gain maximum strength to attack the Dark Court.” By this time, Chud and the Green House should no longer pose a threat to us.

- I will do it! – Saber waved his fist with the phone clutched in it. “And then everyone will see that there are worthy leaders among the Red Caps!”

The young Fuhrer’s colleagues grumbled with displeasure: they were clearly not happy about the possible increase in the influence of the Gnilichi.

- Why him? - Ax muttered. - My fighters will tear the miracles to pieces, a piston in my ear.

– This is not for you to bomb beer stalls! – Saber grinned evilly. – Lyubomir chooses the best.

“We have already decided that the Gnilichi will do miracles,” the sorcerer said wearily, the eternal quarrels between the Fuhrers drove him into a quiet rage. – Let me just remind you that we are at the very beginning of the journey and each clan will still have the opportunity to distinguish itself.

Saber burped in agreement:

The sorcerer winced; the smell of the Gnilichi overwhelmed even him, who was accustomed to the most exotic aromas.

The door opened and Psor wheeled a small table set for tea into the room. Having waited for the slave to leave the room, Lyubomir returned to the chair and, taking the cup in his hands, spoke again:

– The full moon will come on Wednesday the twenty-eighth.

“We’ll napafem on Tuesday,” suggested Sledgehammer, “or better yet, in srefu fnem.”

- Fto? Fto? – Sekira mimicked Shibzich.

Hammerhead glared angrily at him with his only eye and turned away.

“The day is gone,” the sorcerer said irritably, “the chelas may interfere with us.”

“So it’s Wednesday night,” Sablya summed up impatiently.

- That won't work either. – Lyubomir put down the already half-empty cup and picked up a short wooden rod, along which green lights ran every now and then. – The Prince of the Dark Court senses trouble coming. I am sure that Santiaga suggested to his master to steal the Amulet, but they will decide on this only at the last moment.

– I would like to run into navas in the Castle

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I didn’t want to,” Gnilich admitted.

“This smells like a war between the Great Houses,” Axe perked up.

The Durici made a lot of money during the last skirmish, taking the side of the Order in time. The one-eyed Sledgehammer began to sniffle: he hired himself into the Green House, and the Shibzichs barely escaped during the Izmailovo Meat Grinder.

“There will be no war,” the sorcerer reassured the Fuhrers. “Santiaga is too clever in such matters.”

“Uh, Lyubomir,” Saber rubbed his forehead in embarrassment, “what if you defend the Castle?” Well, won't they let us capture the Amulet?

“I will feel the Nav’s approach long ago,” the little magician answered confidently. – Don’t worry, I won’t send you to a hopeless cause.

- This is good.

– Thus, the assault should take place on the night from Monday to Tuesday.

“And we’ll have to look for angry chuffs,” said Sledgehammer gloomily.

Lubomir smiled. He always singled out the one-eyed Fuhrer for his rare prudence among the Red Caps.

- Of course they will. We'll have to scatter the fighters throughout the Secret City, take cover, and let them search! Time will work on our side.

- Okay, we know how to hide. – Saber looked at Hammer with contempt and moved closer to the table. - I’ve already thought through the plan for the assault, well, in general, what and why...

He pulled a greasy piece of paper from his belt and carefully spread it across his lap.

- We burst in unexpectedly. Yes! Surprise is key. And we kill everyone!

- Everyone? – the sorcerer asked incredulously.

- Everyone! – confirmed the maximalist Saber. - Guards, servants, everyone! At this time you are dealing with their magicians. Then we calmly take the loot and leave. Of course, for the assault to be successful, I must subjugate all the other clans, but these are already details.

Ax noisily blew his nose into his palm and wiped it on his leather pants.

“I see you did a great job on this topic,” Lyubomir glanced with disgust at the drawing lying in front of him. – Anyone want to speak?

Duric was burdened by the ban on civil strife that Lubomir imposed on them.

- You will answer for your mother’s son, you tavern creature! - Saber roared, reaching out of habit for his combat belt, but immediately pulled his hand away: the sorcerer forbade bringing weapons into his chambers.

“It looks like everything is clear on this point,” sighed Lyubomir. - Sledgehammer, did you want to say something?

“It seems to me,” the one-eyed man cleared his throat carefully, “that even if we unite, we will not be able to capture the Castle.”

- Bravo. – The sorcerer stretched. – A direct attack on the Great House is doomed, no matter how many fighters we deploy. The Order's magicians and the warriors they trained will crush us into powder. Therefore, the target of the attack is the Source. Got it, Saber? Not robbery and murder, but the seizure of the Carthaginian Amulet. We’ll think about trophies later; without the Source, miracles will stop resisting in a day or two, and then we’ll come and take everything we like.

“And we’ll kill them all.”

- It's whatever you want.

– And Dark Fvor? – Sledgehammer was well prepared for the conversation.

– Having removed the miracles from the game, we attack the Citadel on the same full moon!

- And we will win?

- What do you think?

Duric felt that he was disappearing. The look of the sorcerer's huge bright green eyes literally pinned him to the stool.

– I don’t d-doubt...

- Thank you. – The sorcerer turned his gaze to Gnilich. – What else is in your plan?

“Well, if we don’t kill everyone, then so,” Gnilich wrinkled his brow and began to trace his finger over the piece of paper, “we break into the Castle, the main forces hold back the miracles, and a small group breaks into the treasury.” There are three safe doors, we put six minutes on each, for a total of eighteen. My guys will hold out that long.

- Much better, my friend, much! – The sorcerer leaned over the table. - But the Amulet is not in the treasury...

Having sent the Red Caps out, Lyubomir made several aimless circles around the office, and then, stopping in the center of the vaulted room, began to slowly rock from his toes to his heels, whistling some tune under his breath. The sorcerer's eyes were half-closed.

Psor looked timidly into the room:

- Master, can I clean up?

- Yes. – Busy with his thoughts, Lyubomir looked through the slave. “It seems I haven’t forgotten anything.”

Psor, accustomed to the master’s oddities, nodded quietly and pressed himself against the wall, letting the sorcerer through the door.

The second half of the residence was strikingly different from the office in which Lyubomir received the Red Caps. A large room, brightly illuminated by electric light, was turned into a winter garden. A flock of goldfish swam briskly in the clear water of a shallow pool. All free space was filled with plants. A bush with lush pink flowers, palm trees entwined with vines, ivy hiding the stone walls, and, finally, the cheerful whistling of birds in high cages created the feeling of being in a real open garden.

Lyubomir scooped up the water with his palm and swallowed it greedily. Today was an important day. Everything has been decided, planned, and all that remains is to wait.

He wiped his lips with the back of his hand and shuddered: large bright yellow beads lay on the marble side of the pool.

- Again? – The sorcerer bit his lip until it bled. - I don’t want, I don’t want.

My vision swam. My hands began to tremble quietly, almost imperceptibly. He took a small step to the side, but the bright yellow spot on the side attracted him more and more. The Messenger's heart, thirsty for blood, began to beat wildly. Lyubomir knew what would come next, and tried with all his might to delay the approaching moment.

A spasm convulsed his body, forcing him to arch and emit a short cry full of incredible pain.

The door opened silently, and Psor managed to see how Lyubomir unsteadily walked towards a narrow spiral staircase leading somewhere down.

In his right hand he clutched large bright yellow beads.

Moscow, 69th kilometer of the Moscow Ring Road,

When the black Volga, which belonged to the special investigations department, stopped at the side of the road, Kornilov, who was as usual in the back seat, slowly struck a lighter and, lighting a cigarette, stretched. Like any night owl, he hated getting up early in the morning and dozed all the way to the scene, dropping his head on his chest every now and then.

Palych, the major’s regular driver, turned off the engine, leaned back in his seat and turned around yesterday’s Sport Express. But sitting next to the driver, a young lieutenant in a carefully ironed uniform fidgeted impatiently, waiting for orders, but when he saw Kornilov’s half-asleep eyes, he calmed down and was embarrassed to speak.

Lieutenant Kornilov was given out last night, and the major has not yet decided how to treat the gift. On the one hand, there were not enough people, on the other, his department was dealing with the hottest cases, and he expected a completely different replenishment from the management.

Kornilov winced. At the last meeting with General Shvedov, the district leadership made a collective complaint against the selection of the best detectives to the Kornilov department. Stopping the scandal, the head of the Moscow police department personally selected the first green lieutenant he came across and sent him to Kornilov. Now this miracle was spinning in the front seat.

The cigarette slowly smoldered, filling the interior

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clouds of smoke. Kornilov took a deep drag and looked at the lieutenant’s neatly shaved head.

- Vaskin.

The young man turned around sharply:

- Yes, Mister Major.

Well, that's to be expected.

- Firstly, so that I no longer see you in uniform.

“That’s right, Mr. Major,” Vaskin nodded obediently.

– Secondly, no “gentlemen majors”, this is not an army for you.

- But as? – the lieutenant was confused.

“Come up with something,” the major drawled indifferently, “it’s not for nothing that you studied at the academy.”

- Can I use “Cartridge”?

“It’s possible,” Kornilov generously allowed. - Palych!

“I’m listening, Andrei Kirillovich,” the driver responded without looking up from the newspaper.

– When we finish here, you will take the student home to change clothes.

“I’ll get there with Shustov,” Kornilov nodded his head at his deputy’s black “nine” standing slightly ahead and opened the door. - Let's go, student, let's see what's going on here.

“Yes, patron,” the lieutenant muttered offendedly, getting out of the car.

He did not like the address “student” adopted by the major, and he promised himself that he would definitely protest it.

In general, Vaskin considered himself very lucky: getting “from behind his desk” to Kornilov himself, to the special investigations department of the city police department, was considered impossible. At the academy, Andrei Kornilov was considered a living legend, and not only at the academy. There was not a single policeman in the country who had not heard of the major. Not a single unsolved case in the four years of the department’s existence and the number one gold badge, awarded personally by the president, spoke for themselves.

Vaskin’s imagination painted a courageous image of a charismatic hero of the Moscow police department: a firm gaze of attentive eyes, tightly compressed lips, a commanding voice, broad athletic shoulders, the obligatory holster under the arm, and in it the obligatory... no, not “PM”, of course, but something... something like Browning High Power.

Harsh reality has dispelled this image into smoke.

The first thing Vaskin saw when he appeared at the department was the holster. Empty, covered with a thick layer of dust, it hung forlornly on a hanger by the door. Kornilov himself turned out to be a thin, dried-out man of modest height, even more modest build, in a wrinkled gray suit. Sparse hair of an indeterminate color was in slight disarray, and his eternally half-closed eyes looked at the world, or at least at Vaskin, with frank indifference. After muttering an ambiguous and inarticulate greeting to the lieutenant, Kornilov rushed off to do some business, bidding him farewell to “grow into the team.” Vladik grew up until the end of the working day, then went home, and at six in the morning he was woken up by a phone call: the major was taking him with him on an outing.

The scene of the incident was surrounded by a bright police fence, and the cars of those who arrived: a patrol jeep, Kornilov’s Volga, Shustov’s Nine, the experts’ van and the gray municipal corpse carrier that arrived last, remained outside it. Below, under the slope, people were milling around, but Kornilov was too lazy to go down. He slowly trampled on the cigarette butt and, accompanied by the faithful Vaskin, approached the patrolmen, phlegmatically squinting at the blue and white jeep in the morning sun.

- Did you find the body? – Kornilov asked absentmindedly, rummaging through his pockets in search of sunglasses.

- Yes sir! – the sergeant, standing at attention, reported according to the regulations.

Andrei shook his head in understanding. Since he took Sanya Pushkin, and not only took him, but sent him to lifelong hard labor for premeditated murder, his authority in the police has reached sky-high heights.

- Relax, Sergeant. – The glasses were found and placed on the nose. - When did it happen?

“At five thirty-four in the morning we received a message that there was a strange object in the ditch. “The suggestion to relax had no effect on the sergeant. “We arrived ten minutes later and immediately called you.”

-Did you unwrap the package?

– Why did you decide that this was the work of the Vivisector?

“Well...” The police looked at each other. - White fabric, Mr. Major. We received instructions that if a body was found wrapped in a white cloth, we should immediately call the Special Investigations Department.

- It's clear. – The major turned his gaze to the houses standing on the hill. - Is this Mitino?

- Yes sir.

Countless windows of high-rise buildings sparkled merrily in the bright rays of the morning sun.

“The ring road is well lit,” Kornilov said after thinking, “they could see a stopped car through the window.”

- At night? – Vaskin dared to remind.

“Miracles sometimes happen,” the major shrugged. – Have you already guessed what the first task will be?

“I guessed it,” the lieutenant sighed pitifully.

“You’ll go around all the apartments and ask if anyone saw a car pull up in this place tonight.” You'll report back tomorrow.

Having assigned Vaskin to the case, Kornilov immediately lost interest in him and turned to meet a tall, fat man in a cowboy shirt wet with sweat and wide jeans climbing up the slope:

- Good morning, Sergey.

- Good morning, Kirillich. - The fat man shook the hand extended to him and nodded at the depressed lieutenant: - Who is this with you?

- Our new colleague.

- Captain Shustov, maybe just Sergei.

– Vaskin Vladislav, Vladik.

The fat man’s wide paw squeezed the lieutenant’s palm painfully.

- Very nice. - Shustov turned to the major: - It’s him again, Kirillich. We opened the package - everything was the same: cuts with a thin, most likely surgical instrument. Very neat. Internal organs inside out.

- Woman?

- Yes. As usual. No documents. We took fingerprints and will search on the computer.

- Witness?

- Dummy. The man stopped to take a leak, saw the package and immediately called the police. I let him go.

“The third victim, Sergei,” Kornilov said quietly, “but he still doesn’t cling.”

- Smart, dog.

The police moved a little to the side.

“The first and second were newcomers,” Shustov scratched the back of his head, “if she too, we can talk about handwriting.”

– Does it work through train stations? – Andrey shook his head. - So we will never find him. There must be something that connects them.

“It should,” the captain agreed. “As if they wouldn’t break us in this matter, Kirillich.”

Andrey smiled:

-Are you panicking?

No one was surprised when the Special Investigations Department, which brought quiet terror to Moscow criminals, was assigned to the serial killer Vivisector. Kornilov's track record was too clean.

“There are rumors that some people are already placing their bets on the Vivisector.”

The cheerful fat man was his own man in the management office and supplied the chief with exclusively fresh and verified gossip.

– Remind me of their names when the Vivisector and I sort it out.

- Agreed. – Sergei nodded towards the road. - We have guests.

From the Volokolamsk Highway, several colorful vans were quickly approaching the scene of the incident.

“Road Patrol,” “Petrovka, 38,” NTV,” the captain estimated by eye. “They quickly got their bearings.”

- Damn it. – Kornilov took off his glasses. - I look like?

- Like a hero.

- Then order.

Andrey

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he put his glasses in his pocket and began to wait patiently for the reporters. At the beginning of his career, he usually refused interviews, considering flashing on a television screen to be unnecessary and pointless, but, having headed the department, he was forced to reconsider his views. The police must report to taxpayers, and the taciturn Kornilov, who regularly churns out eight to ten high-profile cases a year, has become a favorite subject of television reports. True, after a long and serious conversation with General Shvedov.

“Sergey,” the major called out to the departing Shustov, “wait for me, we’ll go to the council together.”

- OK.

Andrey turned to the cameras.

- Mister Kornilov, is this the Vivisector’s new victim?

– It’s possible, I’ll be able to say more precisely after the examination.

“But the body is wrapped in white cloth.”

- This means nothing.

– What do you intend to do?

- Catch whoever did this.

- Mister Major, we know that you are an expert in large gangster groups. Why were you assigned this case?

“I’m an expert on all sorts of crap, no matter what that crap specializes in.” – Kornilov smiled. “The Special Investigations Unit handles the most important cases.

- They say your next target is Chamberlain?

All of Moscow dreamed of the major taking this criminal.

- I'm working on it.

– The investigation into the Vivisector case will not prevent you from sending Chamberlain to jail?

“It’s unlikely that anything will stop me from sending him to jail.” Unless he dies.

“There are rumors that Chamberlain is not averse to getting rid of you.”

“The flag is in his hands,” the major grimaced. “Killing a policeman has never benefited anyone.”

– Is this a retaliatory threat?

- Threat? I'm investigating the Vivisector case, and if you have no more questions, then I have to go.

Ignoring the protests of the reporters, Kornilov deftly slipped to the waiting “nine” and left the scene.

Lecture hall of the Polytechnic Museum

Moscow, Old Square,

-Can you at least stop snoring? – Lyusya hissed and poked Artyom in the side with her elbow.

The blow was very sensitive, so Artyom not only woke up, but desperately balanced on a chair for several seconds, barely avoiding the humiliating waving of his arms. Having found his balance, he looked reproachfully at Lucy (the girl did not notice this), then straightened his tie and looked around.

He was bored. Artem was at the lecture solely thanks to Lyusa, his new girlfriend, a great lover of everything unknown and mysterious that exists around us. She digested horoscopes - Chinese, Japanese, oriental, floral and others - as a child. Later, Lucy experienced a fascination with traditional healers, psychics, seers, fortune tellers and Philippine medicine. Next came the turn of the UFO. Lucy's house was filled with suspicious-looking photographs of insects smeared against the sky, she avidly read memoirs about encounters with flying saucers, studied the anatomy of aliens and made charts of their landings. As a result, the girl demanded that her parents finance her trip to some American province, where, according to rumors, brothers in mind have been tormented in laboratory conditions for more than fifty years. The ancestors refused, and after crying for show, Lucy found herself a new hobby - ancient civilizations. “Leninka”, the Internet, magazines - in all available sources of information, Lyusya eagerly searched for references to the mysterious and necessarily powerful tribes of the past, periodically pouring out the next portion of discoveries on her friends.

Artyom yawned, delicately covering his mouth with his palm, and looked around. There were not many people in the audience, about thirty people. The peak of popularity of the speaking professor had clearly passed, and now his gatherings attracted only the most odious listeners, most of whom, like a disheveled old maid in the front row, carefully took notes of the speaker.

Artem pulled out a crumpled program from his jacket pocket: “Right to life. Series of seminars. Head – Lev Moiseevich Serebryantz, professor.” What exactly the professor did was delicately kept silent. The bald man behind the pulpit was entirely consistent with the cheap and poorly printed program. A modest, slightly shabby suit, glasses in an old frame, a not-so-new shirt... But the passion that shone through Serebryanets’ voice forced Artyom to listen.

– Asuras... For thousands of years they reigned supreme in our world. They built the most beautiful cities, soaring under the arches of heaven. Art flourished in their empire, and magic was elevated to the level of science. There was no mystery in the Universe that the asuras could not solve. Search - that was their motto. Asuras left the most noticeable mark in history; references to them are found everywhere. Unfortunately, I cannot tell you more during the introductory seminar, but during the following meetings we will study in great detail this very first and most mysterious civilization on Earth.

The professor paused and raised a glass of water to his lips.

- With the asuras.

“What was supposed to happen,” Serebryantz, who had quenched his thirst, answered philosophically. – New, young races have appeared, ready to enter into a decisive battle for leadership. Life does not tolerate static. Life is movement, it is a seething element, it is novelty, change, passion, if you like. Life favors those who rush forward, who meet each day as if it were their last...

There was a melodramatic pause. Lev Moiseevich was a master at chatting.

– The development of asuras has stopped. They stopped striving somewhere and increasingly began to look back, began to live in the past: past victories, past achievements, past power, and when you stop, it is very difficult to force yourself to move again. This happens with all races, with all empires. The Navas, a new race thirsty for victory, came into the world, and a series of brutal wars began. The Asuras resisted desperately, but their time had passed. Under the pressure of the Navas, fortresses and cities collapsed, armies and scientists perished, temples and libraries burned. The Navs thought that they had destroyed all their enemies, but they miscalculated. The Asuras managed to erect the Secret City, and they went there, taking away their main treasure - knowledge.

The listeners listened reverently to the professor, reflections of the cruel fires that destroyed a great civilization flashed in their clouded eyes, and fighting mammoths roared in their ears. Artyom dreamed of something more prosaic, similar to “The Last Day of Pompeii.”

The professor suffered:

– Having seized power, the Navs founded their own empire – the Dark Court and ruled on Earth for many centuries, but times continued to change. New races appeared one after another, and soon the Dark Court repeated the fate of the asuras, and in the literal sense. The Navs discovered the hideout of their predecessors - the Secret City and hid in it. In their place came the next race, then another and another. They all had their ups and downs, but they all ended up in the Secret City sooner or later. And then we humans appeared. Our ancestors waged a fierce struggle for the right to reign on Earth and plunged the last empires of non-humans into dust.

“Oh-oh,” the old maid exhaled noisily.

Professor

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– We got carried away, my dears. “He took another sip of water and flashed his glasses complacently. – We will look at all this in more detail in the next lessons. Ancient Greece, Ancient Rome, Atlantis. It was then that a key victory was won, allowing humanity to seize a dominant position in the world. These were the years of our true greatness, the years of exploits that today seem like myths to us.

– Was the victory final? – asked the thin, bespectacled man sitting next to the door. He was late for the start of the show and was now feverishly taking shorthand notes of Serebryanets' revelations.

- Of course not! We got a break and were able to take advantage of it by founding our civilization, but our enemies did not give up. Inhumans made their next attempt to restore their influence in the world in the early Middle Ages. There was widespread illiteracy, continuous wars, humanity was in crisis, and our enemies decided to take advantage of this. Magic began to replace science, and anti-human cults began to replace religion. Witches and sorcerers appeared everywhere, and entire regions came under their rule. The devilish activity gave rise to a response - the holy Inquisition, which managed, albeit with very controversial methods, to solve the problem of cleansing the world. The Inhuman suffered another defeat, but again not forever! In future seminars we will look at documented evidence of enemy activity today. Navas, asuras and other evil spirits are here! They are waiting for the right moment, and we must be ready to meet them!!!

The Holy Inquisition. Artem looked at the audience with pity: they were clearly late with the birth.

- Interesting, right? - Lucy whispered.

“Of course, dear,” not wanting to offend the girl, Artyom honestly rolled his eyes.

“The Inquisition believed that non-humans were creatures of the devil and appeared after people,” the bespectacled man spoke again. - This does not agree with your theory.

The professor shook the remaining water from the decanter into a glass, took a sip and shook his head negatively:

– Firstly, the Inquisition solved a specific problem - cleansing the world of evil spirits. The Holy Fathers had to work surrounded by uneducated people, some of whom were under the influence of enemy forces. Naturally, any hypotheses were used to attract the masses to their side. Secondly, the inquisitors began to act with very little information about the enemy. Through the efforts of non-humans, the Library of Alexandria, containing a wealth of information about the early stages of our struggle for existence, was destroyed, the library of Ivan the Terrible and many other invaluable works disappeared. These were the most difficult times, and the church formed a new image of the enemy from the material that most clearly corresponded to the historical moment. But the main thing,” the professor took a sip of water again, “another victory was achieved, and humanity made another leap forward.

“Another one, but not final,” the bespectacled man clarified again.

- Unfortunately yes.

– Do you think that ancient civilizations managed to save their knowledge during all these cataclysms?

Artyom instantly turned around in search of the source of this pleasant female voice. A charming brunette with huge, dazzling blue eyes and a slightly upturned little nose politely raised her thin hand with a Parker in her fist. The flirty black top left her graceful shoulders open and fit tightly...

Artyom glanced sideways at Lyusya.

- What? – Serebryantz asked.

– There is a version that the library of Ivan the Terrible is nothing more than the remains of the imperial repository of the asuras.

“To answer your question, we must first find this library,” the professor noted. – Of course, I do this too, but the main goal of my research lies on a slightly different plane.

“It’s a pity,” the brunette sighed in disappointment.

– But where is this evil spirit hiding? – hissed the old maid, she was clearly impatient to make the first fire. – If the victory was not final, then the nonhumans are still among us!

The remains of the library, the remains of the inquisitors, Artyom felt sad. Lonely elderly women with the habits of ensigns of the NKVD did not inspire him.

“Of course, among us,” Serebryantz nodded. “Based on the facts that have become known to me, I have every right to declare that the Secret City exists!” And within it are hidden the remnants of all the races that have ever ruled the Earth.

– But why don’t non-humans scatter throughout the planet?

“Alone, they are very vulnerable.” Unity is what could help them escape.

- Where is this city? – the old maid could not stand it.

– Or at least its ruins? – Lucy shouted.

– Why ruins? – Lev Moiseevich smiled benevolently. – We know where he is.

– On the territory of modern Moscow!

The audience was silent in shock. All eyes turned to the brave Serebryanets, who had just populated the Russian capital with hosts of powerful creatures. Artyom, taking advantage of the pause, did two things: he yawned imperceptibly and looked around for the charming brunette. To his great regret, she was already making her way to the exit. The professor's statement, sensational for other listeners, apparently did not make any impression on the girl.

This Serebryantz knows nothing.

Yana folded the notebook and, feeling the gaze of the handsome young man accompanying the red pole, began to carefully make her way to the exit. She had long been accustomed to attention from men, but still believed that it must be rewarded. Therefore, before leaving the room, Yana turned around and smiled lightly at the stranger, who grinned joyfully in response. The girl, on the contrary, frowned when she went out into the corridor.

Everything was bad: I lost time and didn’t learn anything new.

Yana had every reason to be dissatisfied with herself. Instead of engaging in normal contracts that could bring real money, she again chased the crane. True, very fat.

Finding the library of the asuras, or, as it was also called, the library of Ivan the Terrible, was a pipe dream of the entire Secret City. The Great Houses guaranteed the lucky one any reward, and in their interpretation the word “any” had only one meaning. Such a prize aroused enthusiasm even in the laziest person, and the library was searched for very carefully. For many centuries, the city was combed up and down, all the more or less suspicious documents were studied and checked, the dungeons were ransacked, witnesses were interrogated, but no one attacked the trail of the elusive treasure, as well as the asuras themselves. With each century, the hope of finding the library became more and more elusive, and the sources of information more and more primitive. Serebryanets's lecture was one of them. Another dud.

Throwing a couple of coins to the parking attendant who ran up, the girl climbed into her V8, lowered the window all the way, letting fresh evening air into the heated interior of the car, and looked at her watch. She was hopelessly late. The meeting should start in fifteen minutes, and the drive to Sokol is at least twenty, plus traffic jams, plus... Yana turned the key in the ignition. The engine reluctantly cleared its throat, wheezed something unintelligible and fell silent. A repeated attempt to wake up the Zhiguli also failed.

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was successful, the engine was silent. The girl began to get angry. The world around her turned black and turned against her: meaningless searches, stupid lectures, an old car. In the Secret City, a novice mercenary could not count on much.

Yana took out a cosmetic bag from her purse, turned the rearview mirror towards herself and began to slowly touch up her makeup.

There were eleven minutes left before the start of the meeting.

Having tidied up her lips, the girl casually ran the puff over her cheekbones, hid the cosmetics back in her purse, straightened the mirror and turned the key again. The engine started working, and the G8, with a dashing squeal, rushed towards Lubyanka.

There were nine minutes left before the start of the meeting.

Restaurant "Maxima Pizza"

“Cortes, I think she’s mocking us,” Lebed muttered gloomily, looking at his watch. – The meeting was supposed to start ten minutes ago.

“She’s a woman, my friend, and she simply has to be late,” the interlocutor answered phlegmatically and took a small sip of wine. - Relax.

“Mad Bertha is also a woman,” Swan disagreed, “but she arrived six minutes earlier than scheduled.”

– This shows that Yana is not mad. – Mischievous lights began to sparkle in Cortez’s brown eyes. - Let's wait.

The swan grunted with displeasure and poured a new portion of orange juice into the glass; he did not drink alcohol.

“You seem to like her already.”

- But Beshenaya has forty-two completed contracts.

– And Yana is young and daring. I'm sure we can compensate for her lack of experience.

“Okay,” Swan gave in, “let’s look at this miracle.”

The place for the meeting was not chosen by chance and clearly, very clearly indicated the customer.

Maxima Pizza, a small Italian restaurant, was located about a hundred steps from the Sokol metro station, in the very center of the Dark Court sector. Yana knew that the Nava always used mercenaries for their operations, but she had not yet worked with them. Now she has been noticed.

Getting out of the car, the girl cast a fleeting glance towards the growing huge Citadel nearby - the headquarters of the Great House of Nav, sighed quietly and confidently entered the restaurant.

- Good evening. Will you be dining alone? – the young man in the signature green blouse and black trousers smiled professionally. - I can offer you a table by the window...

- My friends should be waiting for me. Two friends.

“They are already here,” the young man nodded. - Please, come here.

Cortez and Swan occupied the farthest table, hidden in the twilight of the hall.

– Will you order?

- Not now. – The girl sank down onto a chair that had been carefully pulled back. - First we must talk.

The young man disappeared, and Yana slowly looked around at her interlocutors.

- Good evening.

“If we can come to an agreement,” Cortez said quietly, “you will have to become more punctual.”

The girl bowed her head slightly:

– We still need to agree.

The man smiled, and Yana congratulated herself on having chosen the right tactics.

To the right of Cortez on the table perched a small black pyramid, on one of the faces of which a squirrel was engraved. An outside observer could take the pyramid for anything: a keychain, a trinket, a lighter, after all; in fact, it is a protective artifact, a talisman of the Dark Court, number one in the catalog of “Negotiation Security Tools.” The entire surrounding space was reliably protected from any eavesdropping: technical, magical, and even the phrases reaching the neighboring tables seemed meaningless rubbish. Seeing the amulet, Yana stated with regret that the most important rumor about Cortez turned out to be a lie - he was not a magician. Otherwise, I would have covered the table with a “tent of silence” or even an “intimate canopy”, and would not have spent money on an expensive artifact.

– Do you think you can’t handle it? – Swan asked sarcastically.

– Everything will depend on the conditions. – The girl shrugged her shoulders casually, noticing with satisfaction that this gesture did not go unnoticed. The conversation was clearly started by her. – As far as I know, you do not deal with simple contracts.

“It’s too boring,” Cortez confirmed and, leaning back in his chair, took a small sip of wine, “and not very profitable.”

Broad-shouldered, short-haired Cortes was considered the best mercenary in the Secret City. Few could afford to use his services, and Cortez agreed to a very small number of potential employers. It was a great success to work with such a specialist. Yana waited until Cortez filled her glass and asked:

– Everyone knows that you have a balanced team. You and Swan. No one in the Secret City has heard of you hiring outside help.

- Does it bother you?

- It's alarming. Either the matter is too difficult even for you, or you are planning losses.

– If I had planned losses, I would have found someone else. There are many second-rate mercenaries in the city,” Cortes smiled slightly without taking his eyes off Yana.

A frivolous top, a graceful figure, shiny black hair and eyes. Lively blue eyes. There was no weariness in them, like in the eyes of Mad Bertha. Cortez liked Yana.

– The contract is really difficult, but very profitable, you have never encountered anything like this before.

Swan grinned. The girl blushed, but did not let herself be confused:

– What is my role?

“We need fire cover.” A comfortable nest will be equipped at a dominant point, and you will have to shoot a little. Everything is more than safe.

-Then why me? The city is full of highly skilled snipers. I heard that Lester Wald left the guard and works on the side, and he is the best of the Ermine.

“Unfortunately, Lester is not suitable,” Cortez interrupted her gently. – Firstly, he is a miracle, and secondly, we cannot predict the development of events and would like to assemble a diverse team. Just in case.

– Then the choice is really small. – Yana felt much more confident. - My share?

- Twice your normal fee.

“So you’re saying that the operation is only twice as dangerous as my usual contracts,” the girl drawled slowly. “I had a much better opinion of you.”

- And what do you want?

- Equal share.

– Maybe we’ll take Mad Bertha after all? – Swan could not stand it.

“Maybe we’ll take it,” Cortez agreed, not taking his eyes off Yana. – If a girl cannot explain why she makes such high demands.

Despite the fact that the interlocutors behaved the same, Yana perfectly understood who was making the decisions here. Everything in Cortez's behavior - in his manner of speaking and soft, confident movements - revealed him as a leader, a leader.

“You don’t need losers,” Yana answered coldly. – If you need assistants who are willing to work for pennies, then hire Beshenaya. But can you completely trust such a partner?

– Can I trust you?

– The question must be posed differently. Today she hasn’t figured out how much money she can get from you, tomorrow she’ll think about it, and the day after tomorrow your opponents will buy it. Who will you trust more: a professional who has thoroughly understood everything and consciously

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makes a choice, or a craftsman greedily rushing for any bone? You are not paid for beautiful eyes, and if you need a partner who is ready to go with you to any task without any doubt, I want an equal share.

The mercenaries were silent for several seconds, not taking their eyes off the girl, then Cortes looked questioningly at Swan.

“I don’t mind,” he grumbled.

Cortez smiled:

- Well, you convinced us. Now we will try to convince you.

– Are the terms of the contract standard?

- I guess, yes. Fifty percent advance, the rest based on results. The costs of the operation are borne by the customer.

- Is the loan big?

– Unlimited.

– Unlimited? – Yana had to deal with such a concept for the first time.

- Absolutely.

-Who trusts you so much?

“I am.” A tall, black-haired man in an elegant white suit sat down at the table. - Hello, friends.

Yana just nodded in response. Until that moment, she had seen the Commissioner of the Dark Court only three times from afar and did not even hope to meet one of the best battle magicians of the Secret City.

– As far as I understand, you have finished forming the team? – Nav looked at Cortez.

- Absolutely right. We are all in front of you.

- Well, fine. – The gaze of the black eyes moved to the girl. – We don’t know each other. Santiaga.

– Very nice, Yana. – The commissioner’s eyes flashed. – As far as I know, this is your first time concluding a complex contract?

– Everything ever happens for the first time.

- Agree.

“It’s good to shoot him,” Yana suddenly thought. – Tall, calm, and even in such a suit. Excellent target."

I thought and grinned to myself: cold iron cannot penetrate Nava. Wherever the bullet hits, the result is the same: it will lie there for a while, heartfelt, bleeding thick and black as bitumen blood, heal the wounds, and then find the loser sniper and turn him inside out. And let the bullet remain inside, you digest cold iron with great pleasure, only becoming stronger. Another thing is obsidian...

The Commissioner turned to Cortez:

– I trust your choice. Shall we sign the contract immediately?

- Great. The contract has been concluded, and your lives will be the guarantee of its fulfillment.

It was an ancient formula: the mercenary entrusted his life to the customer and in case of failure he might not get it back.

“The treaty has been concluded,” repeated Cortes, “and our lives will be the guarantee of its fulfillment.”

- Goodbye.

Santiaga stood up and quickly walked towards the back door. The only evidence that he had appeared was three black plastic cards left on the table.

The mercenaries were silent for several seconds.

“Hmm, yes...” Yana took one of the cards and absentmindedly twirled it in her hand.

Credit card of the Dark Court. Is it really unlimited?

-Can I take it?

- Certainly. “Cortez pulled out his wallet and put his card in it. - Maybe we can have dinner? The Mediterranean pizza here is amazing.

“With pleasure,” the girl’s mood improved every second, “just tell me first, what should we do?”

“Nothing supernatural,” Cortez answered, drawing out his words slightly. – On the next full moon, the Red Caps will storm the Castle. They are going to steal the Carthaginian Amulet from the miracles. Our task is to intercept the loot and deliver it to the prince of the Dark Court. “Looking at the stunned Yana, the mercenary smiled broadly: “As you can see, it’s nothing complicated.”

Moscow, Garden Ring,

- What a pest you are! – Lyuska said with feeling.

She was still looking out the window.

– Have you confused me with anyone? – Artyom inquired, slowing down a little.

He didn’t understand why the girl was offended and why she had been silent since the lecture ended.

“Do you think I didn’t see you staring at that dark-haired doll?” I almost twisted my neck!

How did she even notice?

- Lyusenka, this is just gymnastics! I was warming up after sleep and turning my head.

- Womanizer!

Artem realized that he was in trouble. The evening, already half wasted due to a stupid lecture, threatened to end for him in full-scale hostilities, or even a lonely night in his own bachelor’s apartment.

- Lyusenka, this is not even funny. I have nothing else to do but stare at some women!

“I shouldn’t have taken you with me.”

– And you know, by the end of the lecture I became interested! – Artyom abruptly changed the topic, giving a pretty decent imitation of enthusiasm.

“Did you even understand what we were talking about?”

- Certainly! But I don’t understand how this Mysterious City can be located on the territory of Moscow?

“The Secret City,” Lucy corrected.

- Okay, maybe Secret, but residents, buildings? And Moscow is only eight hundred and fifty years old, but, as I understand it, we are talking about millennia!

– There are too many blank spots in the history of Moscow. Who created it? Why here? It is quite possible that the inhabitants of the Secret City deliberately erected an ordinary human settlement around themselves. For purposes of secrecy.

– And managed to remain unnoticed?

- Why should we notice them?

- But they are different! Surely they are different from us!

- Of course they are different.

- Here you see!

- How can you find out that your neighbor has two hearts? And all his children have two hearts? And in general, all relatives?

- The doctors would have found out. Pathologists.

– What if the doctor also has two hearts? Or do they have their own doctors?

– What about accidental death?

– One or two witnesses in a hundred years? They can be paid or declared crazy. Or kill.

- OK then. – Artem was silent. – Are the races ancient?

“The ancients,” agreed Lucy.

- Powerful?

- Powerful.

- Surely not poor.

- Yes, probably.

“Then why don’t they rule the world?”

The logic is one hundred percent, Artem was proud of himself.

- Why do you think so? – Lyuska grinned.

- Didn't understand.

“You don’t know how many hearts your director has.” Or the president?

Artem really didn’t know this.

– Someday we will find out everything and bring them to clean water.

– How did Serebryanets know about the Secret City?

“Maybe he’s one of the random witnesses who couldn’t be bought?” And then, for so many years, nonhumans could not help but leave traces. Rumors, gossip, careless actions. If you carefully study the chronicles, you can find a lot of interesting things. Lev Moiseevich did the most serious work. And so exciting! Imagine - they are all around us! Not somewhere out there, in a past life, but here, now! This is so exciting!

– But he has no real evidence. Only vague facts.

“Bye,” the girl sighed. - Why are you stopping?

- I'll buy water. – Artem pushed the Golf to the side of the road in front of a small shop. - Do you want anything?

– Frozen juice.

– Maybe pizza for dinner?

“I have something to feed you,” Lucy sighed and turned on the radio. - Come back soon.

Despite the late hour, life at the outlet was in full swing. Students were noisy at the counter buying beer. When Artyom entered, they were just filling the second backpack with bottles. A young pretty mother stood nearby, unsuccessfully trying to dissuade her daughter from eating extra sweets. However, the glorious blond creature, who already had a chocolate bar, stubbornly pulled her little hands towards the caramel on a stick. Last in line stood a gloomy, short-legged biker in

Page 14 of 20

boots, black leather pants, a vest open at the chest, and a bright red bandana.

“Which one of them has two hearts, I wonder?” – Artem chuckled to himself.

Through the glass of the display case, he saw Lyusya buried in Professor Serebryanets’s brochure. It's great to have a hobby. Artyom yawned and shifted his gaze to the short man standing in front of him. This was also a hobby. The biker's neck, shoulders and arms were covered with so many bizarre tattoos that the multi-colored mixture of dragons, patterns and strange inscriptions dazzled the eyes.

The short man felt that he was being looked at. He fidgeted nervously for a while, and then turned around sharply and, measuring Artyom with his small, close-set eyes, asked displeasedly:

- Did you like it, man?

He had a funny lisp, pronouncing “liked” instead of “liked.”

“Curious,” Artem shrugged. - Did you do it yourself?

- Not in the museum, man, don't stare! “The short man’s lower jaw sharply leaned forward, and the biker looked like a short, purebred bulldog.

Artem didn't like dogs.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that the students left, and after them, picking up the disappointed child in her arms, the young mother retreated.

-Are you embarrassed? I would wear a burqa.

The short man stood up and looked frankly appraisingly at Artyom, who was a head taller and one and a half times wider at the shoulders. The saleswoman hesitated at the cash register, anxiously awaiting developments. The biker's fingers slowly began to clench into fists.

-You have a long tongue, man.

Vitya turned out to be a hefty loader in dirty shorts and torn sandals on his bare feet. He slowly came out of the back room, scratching his heavy belly with a hairy paw, and gave short advice:

- Fight - go outside.

The biker thought, spat on the floor and decided not to object:

- Okay, man, rest. “He turned to the saleswoman and pointed his finger at a bottle of cheap whiskey: “There, two, keep the change.”

“You shouldn’t be doing this to him,” the saleswoman muttered when the little guy fell out into the street, “it’s dangerous.”

“Those in red scarves are completely frostbitten,” Vitya supported her, “except they don’t bite.”

- Okay, we're not children either. – Artem handed over the money. – A bottle of cola and frozen juice.

South Fort, headquarters of the Red Caps family

– These fwa fnya are very heavy flya of our clan.

Sledgehammer looked gloomily at the Uybu foreman sitting at his table and mechanically rubbed the tattoo on his cheekbone.

“We’ll be looking for chufas and, most likely, navas.” Search and kill. Your goal is to save as many fighters as possible. We are not Gnilichi and cannot afford unnecessary losses.

“We understand everything, Fuhrer,” one of the foreman expressed the general opinion. - We will hide very well.

– Hiding is not enough. It is necessary to completely stop all movements around the city. Take care of the supply of food and food. Do not get involved in any tailcoats and follow my instructions. No one, even me, should know whether this or that fesyatka will be good. And you won’t know where I am at the buffet. If necessary, I will kill you myself. It's clear?

- Togfa that's it. Get out of here!

The Uibuis were rushed into the corridor in a crowd.

Having waited for the last of them to close the heavy creaky door behind him, Hammer rose from the wooden chair covered with bear skin and went to the window. His soul was uneasy.

He did not like the adventure into which the sorcerer dragged the Red Caps from the very beginning. The cautious Shibzic was afraid of an open confrontation with the leading families of the Secret City and tried to persuade his fellow tribesmen to come to their senses. However, the prospect of turning the Red Caps into a Great House blinded both the Gnilichi and the Durich. Urged on by Lyubomir, they set their sights on Sledgehammer, and if he had refused to participate in the operation, he would have signed his own death warrant. There are always enough Uybuys vying for the place of the Fuhrer. One-Eye sighed and rubbed the tattoo on his cheekbone again. There was complete uncertainty ahead.

In the small courtyard of the Southern Fort, the Gnilichi were bustling around. Hammerhead was not privy to the details of the attack on the Castle, but the preparatory work was impressive. The saber prepared all the clan fighters for the assault. Three jeeps, six vans and several motorcycles were about to leave the headquarters. Urged on by the Uibuis, the fighters loaded them with the last boxes of ammunition. The commander's "Gazelle" Saber, gleaming with parabolic antennas, stood near the gate. This electronics-packed van, designed to provide communications during combat, appeared in the South Fort a week ago, it was stolen from one of the army training grounds. Saber was very proud of this car and now led the fighters, standing on its roof. The young Fuhrer beamed.

“Stinky,” Sledgehammer muttered.

The door creaked. Shibzich turned around sharply, automatically placing his hand on the handle of the scimitar.

- Shall we talk? “Axe carefully stepped into the room.

“Prohofi,” nodded the one-eyed man.

Durich carefully closed the creaky door and, going to the table, sat down on a rough stool. Sledgehammer, without removing his hand from the scimitar, positioned himself opposite. For several seconds the Fuhrers glared at each other.

- Maybe we can have a drink? – Ax broke the silence. “We’ll still talk.”

One-Eye himself felt the need to wet his throat. Trying not to let Duric out of his sight, he placed an open bottle of Walker and two dirty glasses on the table. On one of them there was a dried fingerprint of one of the Uibuis.

Ax licked his lips approvingly and, greedily grabbing the filled glass, drank.

“Okay,” he drawled and caught himself: “Your health.”

Sledgehammer did not answer and also drank. The cheerful Durich drummed his fingers on the table.

- Gnilich spins around like a mating snake. The last time I saw him so happy was when his dad threw away his skates.

“We’ll see if Saber’s buffet will be ready tomorrow.”

-What do you mean, a piston in my ear?

“There are not enough hunters to storm the Castle,” Sledgehammer grinned. “You weren’t really eager to intercept this zest from Saber.” A?

“I wasn’t eager,” nodded Axe.

– Because you understand that even if Gnilich captures the Amulet, his clan will no longer be the most numerous. The knights will defend themselves desperately.

Duric blew his nose into his palm and, not finding anything more suitable, wiped his hand on his leather pants.

“I always said that of the three of us you are the smartest, a piston in my ear,” he said. – It’s good that you got the smallest clan.

“That’s why I’m so smart,” muttered the one-eyed man.

“Gee...” Durich laughed, but immediately became serious. “I decided to wait at first, you noticed that correctly.” Let Saber fight, I think, and let the fighters grow up, and then we’ll see who wins. Who brought the Amulet to the sorcerer or who has a larger clan.

- The saber is not a furak.

- Whoa, then why is he bothering? – Ax leaned forward. – And today it dawned on me. He probably agreed with Lyubomir that in exchange for the Amulet he would receive our heads and unite the family under his rule.

“Lyubomir will not start a feud over a big war,” said Sledgehammer hesitantly.

– Are you ready to bet on it? – Ax asked mockingly. “Lyubomir doesn’t care about our problems, a piston in my ear.” After the assault, the saber will be so smeared that he will have nowhere to go. Any Great House will hang him on the gallows, they

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They don't like upstarts. And it’s good for the sorcerer: instead of three Fuhrers, there is one, and a loyal one.

Šibzic thought about it. Ax stated reasonable things.

- And what should I say?

– Saber should not bring the Amulet to Lyubomir. We'll soak it on the way.

“Lyubomir will turn our heads.”

- What, chickened out? – Axe grimaced contemptuously. “All of you lisps are masters of chatter, a piston in my ear.”

- Am I chickening out? – Sledgehammer was indignant and put his right hand forward, on the ring finger of which a luxurious ring with an emerald flashed. - Do you see this ring? Are you talking? The cogfa fruzhina of Baron Stanislav, reinforced by my Shibzichs, repulsed the sixth attack of the Grand Master's guard, then right on the battlefield, with corpses and gunpowder smoke, the baron hugged me and, taking the ring off his finger, said: “Take it, Kuvalfa, you are worthy to command the best fruzhina Great Thomas Luf! – Sledgehammer wiped the sweat from his forehead. “I lost an eye in that battle.”

Only the last statement was true. When the Grand Master's guards drove the demoralized warriors towards Sokolniki, the Shibzichs managed to escape to Yauza. It was there that Hammer found the dying Stanislav, stripped him of all the most valuable things and ran away, leaving the baron to his fate. The one-eyed man sold most of the loot, but kept the ring as a keepsake.

– Don’t fool me! - snapped the impatient Axe, who was listening to this story for the fourth time. – Are you subscribing or not?

Sledgehammer realized that Ax was afraid to act alone - Lyubomir would not tolerate such an act from him. But if both clans come out against the Gnilichi, the sorcerer will have to come to terms. Šibzic did not hesitate for long.

- How do we do this?

“Saber has only a few escape routes,” Ax was now almost whispering. - Let's block them. We'll cast lots for who is which, and then we'll rely on luck. The lucky one will bring the sorcerer an Amulet.

- Agree. – Sledgehammer rubbed his cheekbone. - But here’s the thing, Furich: if I see your fighters standing in front of their sasafa, they’ll shoot without prejudgment.

- Okay, okay, shoot.

Having achieved his goal, Axe, without asking, poured out the remaining whiskey and raised his glass:

- For our amazing friendship!

“...Yesterday a new exhibition of the famous artist and sculptor Alir Kumar opened at the Manege. Famous..."

("Profile")

“...According to information from unofficial sources, a Gazelle van with the latest control system, developed by order of the Ministry of Defense specifically for street fighting, was recently stolen from a military training ground in Kubinka. Representatives of the FSB neither confirm nor deny this information, emphasizing that all the largest intelligence services in the world showed interest in the system...”

("Moscow's comsomolets")

“...After some absence, the famous mercenary Cortes reappeared in the city. Yesterday he was seen at the “Lizard” club in the company of a whole group of influential Shas from the Turchi family ... "

("Tigradkom")

Office of the company "Water jet equipment and modern baguettes"

Moscow, Vernadsky Avenue,

The building of the former Research Institute of Urban Planning, which is directly opposite the Castle, has been converted into a modern business center. At one time, the miracles were unable to resist the construction of this tall house next to their headquarters and were now forced to closely monitor its inhabitants. Seventy percent of the shares of the business center belonged to Chud Incorporated, and all companies located in it were subjected to the most thorough inspection.

This week the commandant of the building was Rick Bambarda, an old, experienced warrior, a battle mage of the Avenger Knight level, and a lieutenant in the Grand Master's Guard. His evening round took more than two hours.

Exactly at twenty-one zero-zero, Rick left his office, located on the first floor, and, accompanied by the silent Corporal Graham de Mar, systematically climbed to the top floor, sticking his long nose into all the nooks and crannies of the business center. He did not miss a single office, not a single utility room and asked for documents from everyone he met along the way. The old lieutenant’s corrosiveness was well known, and only the phlegmatic de Mar, like all those who came from the Dragon Lodge, could hold out with him for the entire round.

“Why hasn’t this been cleaned up yet, Graham?” Did you warn them? “The lieutenant looked indignantly at the door of the office on the top floor, covered with dry oil paint. – We have a solid center, and there is no need to create a mess here!

De Mar checked his notes:

– Company “Water jet equipment and modern baguettes”. We rented a room that week.

– And it’s still being repaired?! – Bambarda was indignant.

The lieutenant carefully walked around the dirty bucket with the remains of paint standing impudently on the landing and pressed the intercom call button:

- This is the building commandant, open up!

After a short pause, a tall security guard in sneakers on bare feet, sports shorts and a dirty T-shirt untucked slowly walked onto the site. From somewhere in the depths of the office the TV was screaming hysterically. Rick frowned:

– When will you finish the renovation?

“I don’t know,” the guy yawned lazily. - Do you want some beer?

- Don't want. – Bombarda wiped it off with his shoulder and entered the office. – They turned the business center into what the hell.

The guard hiccupped in agreement.

The huge hall, which was clearly destined to become a luxurious reception area, was lined with numerous stepladders and cans of paint. There was a smell of solvents, putty, dirty mittens, brushes, scraps of wallpaper, carpet and other attributes of an actively ongoing renovation were lying around. It was obvious that the office owners took the design of their new haven seriously.

“The baguettes still haven’t arrived yet,” the security guard shared the latest news. – They say that the Brazilian suppliers got something wrong there, so the owners are in no hurry.

- Brazilian?

- The company is reputable.

Bambarda headed towards the depths of the office, Graham, who was slightly behind him, sharply stepped up and... To the credit of Corporal de Mar, it must be said that he was not to blame for what happened. The ingenious system of the thinnest fishing lines strung in the hall would definitely have worked, and if not from Graham’s foot, then from Rick himself or the guard.

- Be careful!

But it was too late. Graham tripped and the bucket of bright red oil paint tipped onto Rick's brand new shoes, decorated with shiny buckles. De Mar trembled:

- Sorry, my lieutenant, I didn’t mean to...

- Bungler! - Bambarda exploded.

The thick liquid slowly flowed into his socks.

- Guilty! - De Mar barked and, grabbing a piece of carpet, rushed to the boss’s shoes. - I'll fix everything!

- Go away!!

Completely upset, Graham, knocking over another can of paint on the way, flew like a bullet onto the landing. Rick turned to the guard:

“Take the solvent,” he advised. - There's a lot of it here.

Bambarda silently took the offered bottle of solvent and, leaving bright red traces behind him, headed towards the exit:

- I'll come by tomorrow. Look, they came up with the idea of doing repairs in two weeks! The whole center was dirty with paint!

The lieutenant's angry muttering could be heard until the elevator doors closed behind him.

“Our friend Bambarda is extremely dissatisfied with the protracted repairs,” Lebed said loudly, entering the room.

- He almost got in

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“here,” Cortez grumbled.

“It won’t go in,” Swan chuckled. - Tomorrow I will accidentally spill on him... Well, for example, a bucket of liquid wallpaper. From a stepladder.

The mercenary licked his lips at the thought of this. He was responsible for ensuring that the security of the business center did not penetrate further than the lobby, and had fun as best he could.

- I'll go sketch out a plan. If anything, I'm in my room.

The interior of the future office was strikingly different from the hallway littered with construction debris. Several comfortable armchairs, a table with a TV and a wardrobe created, if not comfort, then at least the feeling of a lived-in space. One of the utility rooms had been converted into a kitchen, and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the office. Three more rooms, equipped with soft sofas, represented bedrooms. The only drawback was the lack of a shower room, which caused Yana's fair indignation, so in the course of a fleeting but extremely emotional scandal, she got herself permission to leave the office for three hours a day.

Having received an unlimited loan for expenses, Cortez did not waste time on trifles and rented the entire top floor in the business center for the company Water Jet Equipment and Modern Baguettes. The company was a real one, registered somewhere in the Cayman Islands and specially conceived for such purposes. The premises in the business center were vacated in time by another reputable company controlled by the Shas. Santiaga arranged this. The height of the building made it possible to view almost the entire territory of the Castle, making the position of the mercenaries as advantageous as possible.

Over several days of continuous observations, Cortez perfectly studied the object, its security system and all the “unexpected” moves that the guards took against unexpected visitors. They did it strictly according to schedule, like now, for example. Cortez looked at his watch: 23.23. The guard at the gate had changed twenty-three minutes ago, and it was time for an additional patrol. The mercenary looked out the window and chuckled with satisfaction: the gate swung open, and two red-haired guards slowly walked along the high wall of the Castle. In twenty-seven and a half minutes they will overcome the perimeter and again go out to the main gate, where the gate will swing open just in time for their appearance. The punctuality of miracles has long been a proverb, and it is unlikely that any surprises await the Red Caps. Cortez escorted the guards to the corner and smiled: although the guards' everyday burgundy uniform was sharply different from the pompous ceremonial outfit, the miracles still decorated it with an abundant amount of shiny buckles and rivets, for which they had an irresistible passion.

The mercenary again looked around the Castle, the wide avenue, the shiny box of the Zvezdny cinema and turned away from the window. He adjusted the pistol in its shoulder holster and walked slowly around the room. Despite his solid build, the mercenary's movements were smooth and soft.

23.30, now Yana should appear. Remembering the girl, the mercenary smiled again. Reasonable, calm Yana easily found a common language with her companions, and even Lebed, who was wary of her at first, changed his anger to mercy and himself trained the girl in shooting.

The front door creaked, Cortez stopped smiling and, going to the window, picked up the binoculars.

- I'm back! – Yana stopped at the door. – Who spilled paint in the hall?

- Swan. Saved us from another detour. For tomorrow he is planning a bucket of liquid wallpaper.

“This will be interesting,” Yana smiled and, climbing into one of the chairs, pulled out a bright magazine from her bag. – If there is nothing urgent, I will finish reading the article.

-What are they writing about?

– Mainly about the Vivisector.

-Has he not been caught yet?

- No. They found the twelfth victim. – The girl sighed. - The city is in panic. My friends, for example, are simply afraid to go outside.

– As far as I remember, he only kills visiting women.

- Girls, Cortes, girls. The youngest was sixteen.

“So be it,” the mercenary yawned in response. “Your friends have nothing to fear anyway.”

“When you see something like this,” the girl showed a color photograph of the victim, which occupied almost the entire page, “you will be scared willy-nilly.”

– Anatomical theatre. – Cortez picked up the magazine and looked at the picture for a few seconds.

The reporter did his best. He seized the moment when the police unwrapped the white cloth in which the body was wrapped, and managed to take truly shocking shots. The victim was opened with frightening precision. There was not a single internal organ left that the maniac could not reach and work on with delicate instruments.

“It’s unlikely that such a photograph should have been published,” Cortez pronounced his verdict, returning the magazine to the girl.

“It’s a business,” she shrugged. - They need to make a circulation.

– In this situation, this photo will cause another wave of unnecessary panic. How do the police react?

– There is an interview with Kornilov here. – Yana flipped through several pages. – Frankly, it’s bleak.

– Kornilov, Kornilov... A familiar surname.

“Major Kornilov,” the girl reminded, “he’s the head of the special investigations department.” Well, remember, he took those guys who sold weapons to the Shas.

“Ahh...” Cortez rubbed his forehead. - Tenacious.

“He is considered the best police officer in the country.”

– I hope not in vain. – The mercenary looked at his watch. – Please call Lebed, it’s his turn to be on duty.

The girl obediently got out of the chair.

Cortez took his mobile phone from the table and slowly dialed the number.

- It's me. – He stretched. – Nothing is happening yet... Leave it alone! – The mercenary rushed to the window. - The assault has begun! Yes, everything is according to plan! I'll call you back. – He turned off the phone. - Yana, Swan! Anxiety!

The wait is over.

- Yana, you know what we need! – Cortez quickly pulled on a short leather jacket. - Swan, follow me!

The men rushed out of the office, slamming the door loudly. Yana winced, put a headband with an earpiece and a small microphone snaking around her mouth on her head, attached a transmitter to her belt and turned it on.

- Cortez, can you hear me? Check connection.

- Everything is fine! What's going on in the Castle?

“They broke through,” Yana brought the binoculars to her eyes, “the battle is going on in the building.”

The girl opened a bottle of mineral water and took several small sips.

Castle, headquarters of the Great House of Chud

Moscow, Vernadsky Avenue,

Four KamAZ firefighters, who emerged onto Vernadka from the Lomonosovsky side, demolished the massive gates of the Castle. As Saber had calculated, the guards did not have time to react and prevent the attack. The trucks broke through the gates at breakneck speed, and the vanguard of the Red Caps rushed into the Castle.

The Gnilichi understood perfectly well that surprise was their only trump card. The stunned guards died instantly, and the network, the security network placed around the Castle by the battle mages of the Order, did not work. It was the Messenger who cleared the way for his soldiers. The Red Caps rushed through the courtyard with lightning speed, preventing the guards from using machine-gun nests, and burst into the first floor of the Castle. The initial stage of the operation was completed, then Gnilichi was divided into two streams. The smaller one, about a dozen fighters, headed to the basement, to the famous treasury of the Order. According to rumors, it was there, under the reliable protection of safe doors and selected knights, that the main thing rested

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The property of the Great House of Chud is the Carthaginian Amulet.

Most of the fighters, urged on by the Uibuis, rushed to the upper floors of the Castle; their task was to restrain the guards who had come to their senses.

A fierce battle unfolded in the spacious premises. The Red Caps, whose advance had stalled at the third floor level, now sagged under the pressure of much better trained miracles, but nevertheless desperately clung to every meter. Loud grenade explosions, short, angry bursts of fire and hoarse swearing filled the wide corridors of the Order's headquarters.

- Stupid, stupid! “The Grand Master furiously clutched the golden rod. - What a fool I am!

He rode up the elevator all alone. Everyone who could hold a weapon in their hands repelled the assault, and Leonard de Saint-Care felt with his skin the echoes of the battle: explosions, fierce shooting, screams and groans of the wounded.

“You will still recognize the heavy hand of the Order,” the old man whispered and, having uttered a short spell, he saw the destroyed Castle courtyard on one of the walls of the elevator. An exploded fountain, trees blackened by soot, burning cars and Red Caps scurrying along the walls made him again experience an attack of rage, but now shame was added to the rage that gripped the head of the Great House of Chud. De Saint-Care cursed his pride. He, an experienced warrior, fell victim to his own indiscretion. He allowed himself to ignore the warning of the Navs, and the blood shed in the Castle was on his conscience.

Nothing can be fixed, but he must wash away this shame. The elevator doors opened and the Grand Master stepped onto the roof of the Castle. Franz de Geer, the master of war, immediately appeared near him, and a little further away, at a small arch under which the Carthaginian Amulet was located, the battle magicians of the Order were crowded: war commanders, usurpers and avengers. Red cloaks, knight's chains, and in the eyes there is complete confusion, bewilderment, and for some, fear. This was the first time De Saint-Care saw his best warriors in such a pitiful state.

“I don’t understand what’s happening, my lord,” de Geer said quickly. “I lost two war commanders and a usurping knight. The network hit us. I ordered...

– Tell me more.

“A few minutes before the assault, the defense went crazy, it was almost completely discharged. The magicians on duty tried to activate the backup network, but it hit them themselves! Any of our spells works against us!

“It’s him,” the Grand Master said quietly, “the Messenger!”

– You are amazingly quick-witted, old man!

De Sainte-Care stopped short. The battle mages instantly formed a tight ring around him, but it was quiet all around, and even the breeze did not disturb the calm of the viscous summer air, only a lone bird hovered high above the Castle.

-Are you ready?

The air not far from the miracles trembled, thickened and turned into a small white-haired sorcerer with piercing bright green eyes.

“You seem to be in trouble, old man.”

De Saint-Care did not answer, looking at the enemy with hatred. Lyubomir shivered chillily and looked with curiosity at the unicorn carved from a single ruby - the Carthaginian Amulet.

- I'm behind the Source.

- How? – the Grand Master hissed. - How did you manage to get here?

- Oh, you're talking about this! – the sorcerer laughed. “The defense in the Castle is really good, old man, so I only arrived partially.”

De Saint-Care made up his mind and, approaching the enemy, poked him with his staff. The metal easily passed through Lyubomir's shoulder.

The sorcerer sharply threw his arms forward, and they, turning into long green branches, entwined the Grand Master's arms and legs.

De Saint-Care easily freed himself from the ghostly grip and raised his staff. The huge ruby crowning it flashed like a dazzling bright red star.

– Now you will feel the power of the Amulet!

The star turned into a huge warlike unicorn. Striking sparks on the stone slabs of the roof, the monster rushed to the aid of its master.

- Not bad, old man, not bad! – shouted Lyubomir.

A stream of green lightning shot out from his eyes and slammed into the warlike animal, causing a long, piercing scream. A powerful whirlwind swirled the beast across the roof. The Grand Master waved his wand again, and a ring of angry monsters closed around the sorcerer. Griffins and Camelopards, dragons and manticores, salamanders and basilisks furiously attacked the fiercely fighting Lubomir. For a moment the sorcerer disappeared in a whirlpool of writhing bodies, but soon rose again with a wild roar. His figure suddenly increased in size, was shrouded in a dense green fog... and where the white-haired teenager had just stood, a powerful young barbarian appeared in leather pants and a short vest, with the fur turned outward. In his long, muscular arms he clutched a massive battle ax with a razor-sharp blade.

- Great zoo, old man! But not enough for the Messenger!

Unable to restrain himself, de Geer pointed his staff at the sorcerer, but the fireball that flew out of it exploded right in front of the captain. Franz was thrown to the ground.

The heavy ax did not leave de Saint-Care's army a single chance. Each swing of the Herald cut huge gaps in his ranks. Gryphons fell, basilisks and salamanders writhed under their feet, and only a few dragons managed to fly up and circled above the roof, emitting long, sad cries.

In a few moments it was all over. The old man, trembling with tension, leaned against the arch, opposite the slightly faded image of Lyubomir. Both were breathing heavily, and the silently standing magicians clearly heard the heavy, dull beats of the Herald’s heart.

“Well, you know,” the sorcerer finally grumbled, “you’re healthier than I thought.”

“Damn you,” the Grand Master coughed.

“It’s been a long time,” Lubomir smiled. -You're not original, old man.

De Saint-Care looked at the bleeding Franz and gritted his teeth.

Saber did not take a direct part in the fight. He sat comfortably on the roof of the commanding Gazelle, parked about a hundred meters from the Castle, and directed the assault through three operators sitting inside a van stuffed with electronics. The Uibuis were in constant contact with headquarters, and every three minutes Saber received a report on the state of affairs. Gnilich was almost happy.

Everything worked out. Everything went according to the plan developed by him, and only by him. The sorcerer, of course, helped a lot, but the military part of the operation was entirely his, Saber’s, merit. Now it will finally become clear to Lyubomir which of the Fuhrers is truly loyal to him and which clan should become the main one. Gnilich affectionately stroked the green thistle artfully tattooed on his left cheekbone. Now he is just one of several Fuhrers, and even the one-eyed Shibzic is equal in status to him, but soon this will come to an end. The sorcerer promised that Saber would become emperor, his thistles would turn bloody purple, and for the first time in their history the Red Caps would unite under a single authority. By the power of the Gnilichi!

The young Fuhrer stretched out lustfully and smacked his lips. The picture that appeared before his eyes was amazingly good. Saber pulled his mobile phone out of his pocket and scratched it under his right shoulder blade. The habit of constantly scratching has remained with the Red Caps since the time when they lived in the Western

Page 18 of 20

The forests were completely covered with wool. Having coped with the itch, the Fuhrer pulled out the antenna with his teeth and dialed a well-known number.

- Lubomir? This is Saber, we broke into the Castle and are trying to open the treasury. In an hour I will bring you the Amulet.

“You are amazingly on time,” the sorcerer answered quietly.

– The main thing is to keep your promise, I swear by my scimitar! You will give me their heads in exchange for the Amulet.

“I’ll give it to you,” Lyubomir muttered, “call a helicopter.”

Hearing short beeps, Saber turned to the operator leaning out of the van:

- What's happened?

“We are about to leave the third floor, Fuhrer.” The guards are pressing.

Gnilich wrinkled his brow:

-What's going on in the basement?

The operator did not have time to answer - a loud explosion shook the surroundings of the Castle. The huge building shook, and Saber barely stayed on the roof of his headquarters.

- What's happened?!

“We blew up the first safe door,” the operator said, pressing his hand to the earpiece.

Saber raised his hand victoriously and immediately asked:

– How many soldiers are left in the reserve?

- Twenty.

- Everyone to the Castle, to the upper floors.

The operator dived into the car, and Saber again dialed a number:

- Start!

-What are we waiting for, Fuhrer? The assault is in full swing! - fuck Plug fidgeted impatiently and looked questioningly at Axe. – Let’s strike now, and the Amulet is ours!

- Fuck, Plug, if you don’t wither, I’ll take the guts out of you. “Axe lazily scratched under his arm with a short, curved dagger and spat out the open window. – Saber has nowhere to go, he will bring us the Amulet himself.

By agreement with Kuvalda, the Durichs blocked the southern direction from the Castle, so Axe, Zatychka and four other fighters had already been waiting for the Fuhrer Gnilichi on Leninsky Prospekt for an hour and a half. The huge Yukon was parked at the intersection with Udaltsov Street, and Ax himself constantly received information about what was happening near the Castle from intelligence officers.

- What if it’s not us, but Sledgehammer? “The killer’s small black eyes stared into the Fuhrer’s face. - What if Saber goes the other way?

Axe really didn't like the way Plug was staring at the green thistle that adorned his left cheekbone. Recently, rumors have spread throughout the clan that the uybuy has stopped speaking respectfully about the Fuhrer’s personality and even called him a half-breed...

– What will we do then? - Zatychka did not lag behind.

“And then,” answered Ax slowly, “he will be intercepted by the guys killing the Bully, who are watching the Hammer.”

– I didn’t know anything about this! – Zatychka said completely inappropriately.

The ax calmly sheathed the dagger and looked at the presumptuous uybuy with a slight grin:

- And you shouldn’t have.

The impatient and stupid Zagka signed his own death sentence. The Fuhrer already knew who he would kill first in the upcoming shootout.

“But if Tuffnut is watching Sledgehammer,” the killer continued to think, “then we can be herded by the Shibzichs.”

“They can,” Ax shrugged and sighed regretfully. “I never trusted the one-eyed man.”

Uibui Plate lowered his binoculars and slowly twisted his stiff neck.

Having received an order from Sledgehammer to keep an eye on Fuhrer Durich and be ready to let his guts out, Plate was incredibly happy: in the last civil strife, Axe personally shot his brother, and the killer swore revenge. But for an hour and a half now, the Durichs had not left their black Yukon, and Plate began to slowly become wild with boredom. He got off the Harley and did a few squats. His fighters, sitting on their motorcycles, looked at the leader with understanding. Everyone is tired of the ambush.

“If nothing starts in ten minutes,” Plate decided, “I’ll kill Ax just like that, and somehow I’ll get out of it in front of Sledgehammer.”

The Order's battle mages watched in helpless rage as the short man who had jumped out of the helicopter ran to the arch and pulled out a small silver container from his black backpack. The messenger waved his hand, and the proud unicorn was enveloped in a green cloud.

– Cry, for this is the last day of the Great House of Chud! – Lyubomir shouted mockingly.

The unicorn was shrinking before our eyes. Having waited for it, shrouded in a green glow, to reach the desired size, the short man put the Source into the container, threw the backpack with the loot over his back and grabbed the rope ladder. The helicopter quickly took off into the air. The messenger raised his eyes and squinted at the lonely soaring bird:

- Nava, you have seen everything - tremble!

A thin green bolt of lightning flew out of his eye, and the flaming scout flew down like a stone.

- Farewell, knights!

Lubomir melted into thin air.

“A helicopter is landing on the roof,” Yana said, sipping mineral water.

“Everything is correct,” Cortez replied. - The amulet will be in it.

The mercenaries drove their Hummer onto the avenue, but did not approach the Castle, awaiting instructions from the girl.

“I hope he doesn’t have any luck,” Lebed muttered, referring to Lyubomir.

“Then we will be left without work,” Cortez shrugged.

Lebed considered this statement for a second, and then abruptly changed his point of view:

“I hope the Messenger succeeds.” “He spat out the open window.

“I think so too,” Cortez nodded. - Yana, how are things going there?

- They are fighting.

The girl threw the binoculars into the chair, opened the window and went to the closet.

– Meet at the Lizard? – just in case, she clarified with Cortez.

“We agreed,” he muttered. - Do not worry.

- Everything is fine.

Yana took a loaded sniper rifle from the closet, carefully wrapped in soft suede, unfolded it and gently ran her finger over the stock. "Light Fifity." Long-range, large-caliber, chambered for the 5.0 Browning machine-gun cartridge, this rifle ideally met the tasks set by Cortez. Yana smiled, remembering how carefully the mercenary explained her role, took three magazines from the shelf and headed to the window. Three clips plus one already loaded - forty-four armor-piercing fragmentation incendiary APEI. The Red Caps will love it.

The girl quickly attached the rifle to a standard tripod and began to observe the events taking place through a powerful twelve-fold scope. A few moments later, the helicopter, hanging motionless over the Castle, made a turn and landed on the roof of the tower.

– The helicopter picks up the loot.

- You know what to do.

The steel bird soared sharply into the air, and the girl clearly saw a stocky fighter clinging to the rope ladder, with a black backpack on his back.

“I see the target,” Yana muttered and smoothly pulled the trigger.

A large-caliber bullet tore apart the warrior’s head, and he, absurdly waving his arms, flew down like a stone.

– Three hundred meters south of the Castle, Amulet in a black backpack.

The Hummer took off.

A loss was also noticed in the helicopter. He quickly turned around and began to descend.

Yana caught the pilot's head in the crosshairs, but did not have time to shoot. A guardsman with an air defense system on his shoulders appeared in one of the windows on the penultimate floor of the Castle. The miracles, having lost their treasure, are no longer shy about their means. A shot rang out, and Yana automatically took cover behind the windowsill. The rocket crashed into the side of the helicopter with a deafening screech, and a new explosion shook the surrounding area. The flaming car crashed to the ground.

Yana raised her head and looked for the fighter she had shot. A black Gazelle was hurrying towards his body.

- I did it! Did! – Saber shouted, watching the helicopter leave the roof of the Castle. - My amulet!

Victory!

Page 19 of 20

Gnilich closed his eyes in sweet languor.

- He's falling! – the hysterical screech of the operator burst into his brain.

- Who? – Saber woke up.

- Amulet! A fighter with an Amulet fell from a helicopter!!

A small black dot was quickly approaching the ground.

- Why did he fall?

- Don't know!

The body had not yet reached the ground when an anti-aircraft missile flew out of the Castle with a howl, and the helicopter, which was about to land, turned into a fireball. Saber quickly assessed the situation and jumped into the Gazelle’s cockpit.

- There! – he barked, pointing to the place where the fighter fell.

The van instantly picked up speed.

“He was shot,” the Fuhrer muttered feverishly. “He was obviously shot, I swear on my scimitar.” – Saber looked around. – There’s a sniper in the business center! – he shouted to the driver. - Turn the car around, idiot!!

The Gazelle stopped, completely blocking Yana’s view. Under the cover of the iron sides of the van, the Red Caps hastily dragged the warrior's body inside.

- Backpack here. – Saber grabbed the prey and sighed with relief. - The assault is over, clear out.

To the accompaniment of bullets pounding on the hull, the operators gave the order to the uybuys to leave.

The van rushed towards Leninsky Prospekt.

Yana managed to fit three magazines into the Gazelle. She literally filled her with lead, but couldn’t stop her. But two motorcyclists accompanying the van were unable to escape from the girl’s well-aimed shots. When the Gazelle finally left the affected area, Yana stepped back from the window and shouted into the radio:

- An amulet in a black Gazelle, it goes towards Leninsky!

- Understood. – Cortez took off the headband with earphone and microphone and turned to his partner:

- We need a black van.

Lebed nodded and stepped on the gas.

The Hummer ended up on Leninsky almost immediately behind the Gazelle. Ignoring the traffic lights, the cars rushed towards the Moscow Ring Road. The distance between them was inexorably shrinking: on the flat straight of the avenue, the van could not compete in speed with the fast jeep. Cortez took out a short Kalashnikov from under the seat, pulled the bolt back and placed it next to Lebed.

- Good luck, bro.

- Good luck, commander.

Cortez took out a second machine gun.

- Stop them.

The jeep began to slowly pass the Gazelle racing along the avenue. All the mercenaries' attention was focused on this race, and they saw the new players too late.

– Be careful!!! – Swan shouted and desperately pressed the brakes.

A huge Yukon that had come from nowhere crashed into the side of a Gazelle flying in front of the Hummer. The force of the impact was so high that the van overturned on its side, drove along the asphalt for another twenty meters with a deafening creak, and stopped at the side of the road. The Yukon spun, and the Hummer's squealing brakes threw it onto the median.

The silence at the scene of the accident was broken by the creak of the opening door. Half-stunned, Cortez fell out of the broken jeep and raised his machine gun.

Saber, still not understanding what had happened, groped for the backpack with the Amulet with his bloody hands.

The axe, with visible pleasure, plunged a curved dagger into the back, killing the Plug.

Citadel, headquarters of the Great House of Nav

Moscow, Leningradsky Prospekt,

It was impossible to understand how large the room was: a dense veil of darkness hid its true size from the observer. The darkness seemed like a living, pulsating fog, greedily absorbing both light and sounds. It reliably protected the room from the outside world. The only place free from darkness was a small area illuminated by a huge information screen. The transmitting camera was carried by a bird hovering over the Castle, and the leaders of the Great House of Nav carefully watched the assault.

The Prince of the Dark Court sat in a wooden chair with a high, straight back. His figure was hidden by a black, shapeless robe, merging with the surrounding darkness, and only two bright yellow eyes flickered dispassionately from under the low-pulled hood.

To the right of the chair, leaning on tall staves, stood three silent figures of advisers of the Dark Court. And to the left, perched casually on the edge of an almost invisible table, sat Santiaga. The Commissioner was dressed in a beautifully tailored beige suit, a thin white shirt and a collectible tie. His appearance contrasted sharply with the gloomy cloaks of the other Navi leaders.

No one commented on what was happening on the screen. And only when Lyubomir shouted his impudent phrase, and the dead bird collapsed to the ground, Santiaga quietly remarked:

– Now we know for sure that Lyubomir is the Messenger.

“And the Amulet is in his hands,” one of the advisers remarked displeasedly.

He clearly did not like the outfit of the main military leader of the Great House.

“My mercenaries are there,” Santiaga politely interrupted him. “They will be able to intercept the Amulet from the Red Caps.”

“Chels,” the adviser grimaced contemptuously. – Why didn’t you use our warriors?

“The use of mercenaries gave the advantage of surprise,” the commissar explained. “It’s much more difficult to track a chela than a nava.” Lyubomir would definitely sense our warriors and could block them in the same way as he blocked the mages of the Order.

“It’s unlikely that he’s able to hold both us and the miracles at the same time,” the adviser noted.

“But he could push us against them.” The appearance of our warriors, and even with the active support of the prince, the knights could regard as the beginning of the war.

- Why such caution? – the adviser was amazed. – Now that both Chud and People are deprived of Sources, we can exclude their presence in the Secret City. I hope the Commissioner is ready to propose a plan for a military campaign?

Santiaga straightened the gold pin on his tie and calmly stared into the gloom of the office. In the hierarchy of the Great House of Nav, he stood one step below the advisers, was an executor and did not have the right to make political decisions. However, only the Prince of the Dark Court could give him orders.

“Turn it off,” Lord Navi ordered dully.

Without getting up from the table, the commissioner obediently clicked the remote control, the screen went out, and now the office was illuminated only by two tiny light bulbs. The advisers lined up in front of the prince.

“I think this is a very good moment,” said the voice standing in the center. “Our enemies are weakened and we must attack.”

– Does everyone agree with this opinion?

The other two advisers were silent, and then the one standing to the right of the prince shook his head:

– The temptation to take advantage of the situation and reduce the number of Great Houses is enormous. But isn’t this what the Messenger expects from us? By weakening ourselves, we can become easy prey for him.

“Caution never hurt,” agreed the first adviser, “but if we want to achieve what we want, we must take risks.”

The opinion of the last adviser was not long in coming:

– If we are ready for war, we must fight. Even if we fail, we will change the Great Houses to the Herald. Two enemies for one. This result can be considered positive.

“If we fail, the Messenger will send all three Great Houses into history,” Santiaga said quietly.

- What?! – the adviser exhaled indignantly.

“Let him speak,” the prince interrupted. “We need to know the commissioner’s opinion.”

- Thank you.

Santiaga left the corner of the table and, putting his hand in his pocket, slowly walked out to the darkened screen.

– The military situation in the city is as follows: at present the people

Page 20 of 20

They pose a threat only due to their numbers. The priestesses have been cut off from the Well of Rains for too long and are unable to provide real support to the barons. We will easily occupy their sector.

“We’ll leave people for a snack,” summed up the most aggressive adviser. - Let's start with the Order.

Santiaga thoughtfully straightened his tie:

– It’s more difficult with miracles. The amulet is lost today, and for a few more days, approximately until the full moon, the mages of the Order will be able to conduct military operations. Accordingly, we must either wait or get involved in a serious war.

“On the full moon, the Herald’s power will reach its peak,” the prince said thoughtfully, “and he will strike us.”

– And we just saw his abilities.

The advisers were silent.

– The Messenger will wage the war to the last, victory or death. He came to rule the world, and he will not settle for anything less. Realizing that he is losing, he can do anything. This makes war unpredictable. Our strike must be fast, accurate and powerful, and for this we must unite with all the magicians of the Secret City.

“But even this would not be enough if not for one circumstance,” added Santiaga.

- Which one?

“The Herald did not receive a classical education, and this makes his power less dangerous. In other words, having a violin at home is not the same as being able to play it. The Messenger has colossal capabilities, incredible strength, amazing abilities, but will he be able to use all this? He spent too much time alone.

“We also spend a lot of time alone,” the adviser objected.

“That’s why I carry out your decisions,” the commissioner smiled again, “and you don’t clog your brain with intrigues and compromises that are usually required to implement them.” The Messenger will have to not only fight with the prince, but also direct his soldiers, give orders and control their implementation. I don't think he's mature enough for this kind of activity, and that's our only hope. We must unite with the other Great Houses.

“We will not start civil strife,” the prince decided. – The Messenger is a more real threat.

“But we still don’t know where he’s hiding,” one of the advisers said.

- This is the commissioner's problem.

“I’ll find him,” Santiaga nodded confidently.

- How? – the adviser asked. “So far, our efforts have not brought results.

“The Amulet will help me,” the commissioner smiled. “The Messenger will hunt for the Amulet, and I will hunt for the Messenger.”

– Isn’t the rate too high? – the adviser asked displeasedly. – Maybe we can hide the Amulet in the Citadel?

“I think the commissar can handle it,” the prince interrupted the adviser. – And one more thing: we must make it clear to the miracles that we are on their side. Santiaga will visit them tomorrow.

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For what reason do they start a war? The reason may be the conquest of lands, gaining power or money. In this way, war participants compare their strengths, and the winner is the one who has more strength. It is unlikely that a person who is self-sufficient, satisfied with his position in society and rich would start a war. From the above, the title of Vadim Panov’s book follows.

Read for free Wars are started by losers

Panov's work can be classified as one of the books of urban fiction intertwined with the detective genre. At the beginning of the book, the author describes an ordinary calm day in Moscow, when suddenly shooting starts, which is aimed at short men in red bandanas. People on the streets begin to panic and run in different directions, but they don’t even realize that the shooting will lead to a real war. Later it becomes known that the target of the shooting is not connected with Moscow itself...

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The book describes a parallel world called the Secret City, where magical phenomena occur and magical entities, sorceresses, magicians, vampires, werewolves, mermaids, witches and others live. Not all Moscow residents know about the existence of a secret city, but some even work there, like the main character of the book, Artyom. He certainly knows what will follow the events of today.

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Moscow is shaken by a series of terrifying events: the maniac Vivisector attacks young girls, machine gun fire flashes across the squares, and the seizure of buildings in the very center of the city terrifies residents.

During the investigation of mysterious incidents, Lieutenant Kornilov discovers incredible details. It turns out that magicians, priestesses, witches and mythical creatures live next to ordinary townspeople, and the reason for the unrest was the long-standing feud between the Commissioner of the Dark Court and the Queen of the Green House. Now that war is about to begin in the Secret City, it is important to remember that the losers will go on the offensive first, and the heroes will win the final battle.

Of course, people don’t want outsiders to know about the existence of a magical city, that’s why it’s a “Secret City”, however, as in any book, there are negative characters who strive to reveal secrets about the existence of the town. The positive heroes of the book fight against such people. It should be noted that the author does not indicate specific dates for the origin of the events, hinting that magic can happen at any time.

In the book “Wars Start by Losers” by V. Panov there are very bright and mysterious characters, for example, a gang in red bandanas are residents of the Secret City hiding behind bandanas, who are not very smart, but at the same time they skillfully hide the secret of the magical city.

The work compares two worlds: the real and the magical. The inhabitants of the two worlds (cities) do not differ at all from each other in appearance; they cannot be distinguished from each other. The plot is very interesting, unusual, exciting. Once you start reading this book, it is no longer possible to put it down, and you want to quickly finish reading it to the very end; you get the impression that you yourself become the hero of the book and participate in the events. The ending of the book will be very surprising; its ending will become known only on the last page, which captivates the reader even more and encourages you to read to the end.

Vadim Panov is a very famous writer and beloved by many book lovers. Panov's peculiarity lies in his ability to embellish, make mysterious and very unusual seemingly very ordinary and simple things, obtaining completely unpredictable plots. Many authors have written books about magic and sorcery throughout time, but not all of them managed to make the plot so realistic and exciting.

The book is written in a very simple and understandable language, it will give the reader a lot of positive emotions and give the opportunity to think about magic. What if something supernatural really exists...

And he does the right thing.

Doesn't know yet...

Vadim Panov

Wars are started by losers

But history has not yet known final victories...

Prologue

- Why are you worried? – the boy turned around sharply.

He didn't take her by surprise.

- I? “The woman arched her thin black eyebrow in surprise.

The boy was embarrassed:

- I feel. You know, I clearly feel the aura. You are very worried.

The woman smiled faintly. Just a little bit, from the corners of his lips, literally making him look for a smile on his beautiful, thin face.

“You have enormous power, Lyubomir, you can’t hide anything from you.” This will be useful to the future ruler of the Great House. Where's my box?

An elegant golden box, containing only the most beloved jewelry, stood on a small table to the right of the chair in which the woman sat. All you had to do was extend your hand.

- Please hold the box.

“We need to choose something not too flashy,” the woman said thoughtfully, looking at her rich collection.

– Isn’t it lovely? – The woman gently stroked the ring she had just put on. - Don't you think so?

The boy nodded frantically:

- Very beautiful.

The ring was truly made with taste. A thin gold strip, covered with a bizarre ornament, was closed with a large, unusually cut emerald, capable of sparkling, it seemed, even at night, in the light of the stars. It was presented by Mecheslav, the broad-shouldered Baron Mecheslav - the ruler of the Sokolniki domain. Lyubomir saw how a woman blossomed at the appearance of this dull brawler, and every time impotent rage tightened his cheekbones and forced his small, fragile palms to clench into equally small, fragile fists.

“I like the way he plays,” the woman said quietly, looking thoughtfully at the emerald. – Whose soul lives in it?

“A hero or a beauty,” Lyubomir smiled, “or maybe a jeweler.”

He hated this ring.

The box returned to the table. Lyubomir took a couple of hesitant steps and stopped in the middle of the room.

– You didn’t explain the reasons for your excitement.

She had already studied the boy enough to understand that he would not forget his question.

This book is part of a series of books: