Castle on the Raven Mountain. Book 1

Chapter 1.

I expected anything but that this well-dressed and outwardly good-natured guy would be killed. That they would be robbed, yes, I was sure of it, but that they would be killed? However, here he is wheezing, kicking his legs and sticking out his tongue, which is not surprising — how else should someone behave who has a stranglehold on his throat?

"Now, now, don't twitch," Fat Guo advised the poor guy, watching the massacre with professional interest. "Relax, and everything will be over faster."

"And that's almost it," the Big Man, who was actually wielding the garrote, growled knowingly. "He's going to shit himself already, look how his belly is straining."

Dear Miralina, when they strangle him, they will most likely send me to all the gods. Why would they want an extra witness, even if he was one of those who lived in the Sixteen Gallows quarter, which meant he would keep quiet about what he had seen?

"Pshaw!" This guy is tenacious, his eyes are already so bulging out of their sockets that he looks like a deep-sea fish, his tongue is hanging down to his knees, and he's still trying to put his fingers under the rope.

"Seven demons Зарху!" Fat Guo grimaced. "Big guy, finish it already. I want a drink."

Sh-sh-shh! And the Big Guy flies off against the wall of the barn where we are. Almost the entire territory of the old port warehouses is built up with such sheds, similar to each other, like siblings, they once held goods that sailors brought from the Yellow Islands, and life here was in full swing.

But that was when it was. Now it's quiet, creepy, and always deserted. They say that on the seventh anniversary of the Great Plague, the royal mortuses dragged corpses here and dumped them in heaps, but I think that's all lies. Figure it out for yourself, what's the point of dragging them to sheds and then transporting them somewhere else to be burned? It's easier to burn it down immediately along with the construction.

That's exactly where this noble was dragged, because, as already mentioned, it's quiet and deserted here.

"What's it?" The Caterpillar, Tolstoy's Go girlfriend, screamed.

"Not what, but who!" a quiet old man's voice was heard, and a painted girl with a half-shaved head in the latest fashion of the Port Quarter, screaming terribly, clutched her face. Two small fountains of sparks shot out of her eyes. It was a scary and beautiful sight at the same time.

Magician!" the Ancient One, Guo's right-hand man, gasped hollowly and drew his huge "pig-punch". — Oh, and there will be a massacre!

"Damn you all!" Fat Guo looked at the half-hearted young man, who was still conscious, moreover, pulling the noose from his neck with badly bent fingers, while trying to get to his feet. "What kind of day is this, huh?"

Fat Guo, justifying his nickname, was indeed not very thin, but at the same time, there was no denying his agility. In three steps, as if dancing, he approached the nobleman, who was already standing on his own two feet, and clung to him, as if in search of same-sex love forbidden by the gods and royal decrees.

When and how he managed to take out the dagger, I did not even understand. A second later, Go took a step to the side, and now anyone curious could easily explore the inner world of the almost escaped poor man. His Fat belly was sliced expertly, that's for sure. Now no doctor can help, that's a fact. The noble wheezed, thick black-red blood gushed out of his mouth, and with his hands he tried to stuff back into his open stomach a nasty-looking slimy lump of intestines that literally fell out of him.

"Agrippa!" the magician literally groaned, addressing who knows who. "Agrippa, we're too late!"

The Ancient One was right — the old man had a magician's staff in his hands, and when I saw this, I realized that now we were all definitely finished. Apparently, the guy was his son. And now the magician will avenge him, which is understandable, which means he will kill all those responsible for his death. It would be a good thing if I died quickly and immediately-it would be considered a lot of luck.

"The staff!" Fat Go roared. "Take the staff away from him, you fellows!"

Three of his henchmen jumped towards the magician, but these movements were in vain — one was thrown against the wall by lightning, making a hole in his chest the size of my fist, the second's belt turned into a hideous-looking cave viper, which immediately clung with giant curved fangs to the bandit's stomach, and the third magician, without any sentimentality, simply smashed his head with the top of his staff.

Go, apparently, did not rely too much on his henchmen, and therefore decided to escape under cover and, spitting on his dying comrades, slipped to the door. But he was unlucky too — stepping towards the opening, he literally impaled himself on the long blade of a heavy sword, which was held in the hand of an elderly man with a scarred face, as it is obvious — the same Agrippa.

"Ar-r-r!" Guo hissed, grabbing the blade with his hands.

"Agrippa, why? He could have told us who hired them!" The magician pointed the pommel of his staff at the Caterpillar, which was still alive and rolling on the floor with a squeal, covering its eyes with its palms. "Oh, how she screams!"

A blue-white spark shot out of the staff and hit the Caterpillar in the left chest. The girl twitched a couple more times and fell silent.

"Who?" the magician ran up to Go, whom the one he called Agrippa literally shook off the blade and onto the floor. "Who hired you?"

"baa" The bandit was conscious and, of course, realized that he was dying. He didn't want to answer the questions and instead showed the magician a tongue as wide as a shovel, croaking in addition: "Fuck you, you old goat, do you know where?"

"Who?" The magician grabbed his head and shook it. " Who? Tell me, and I'll send your soul to its Resting Place."

"Who needs me there?" Go started to laugh, but coughed and splattered the magician's face with blood.

"There are so many corpses on me that I don't even know myself...."

The speech changed to a hoarse sound, and the Fat Guo twitched and fell silent. At the same time, the young man who started all this fuss gave his soul to the gods.

"What a nuisance!" The magician threw up his hands. "Agrippa, I would never have thought that I could lose everything at once. The Baron is dead, and I can't even imagine who wanted to take his life. It's clear why, but who?"

"Anyone," Agrippa replied calmly, thrusting the blade of his sword into the throat of the bandit who had been bitten by the snake. Even though he would have passed away in five minutes anyway, what was the point? "Do you have many bosom enemies?"

"Any magician has a lot of them." The old man stamped his foot. "But no one could even imagine that I would be here. Nobody! I only made the decision yesterday to turn into this city, you know that very well."

"Guessing and calculating are two different things." Agrippa looked around him. "Master, you are wise, your equals on the lands of the entire continent can be counted on the fingers of one hand, but this does not mean that you cannot be counted. I personally managed to do this once, you should remember that case. Why can't someone else do something like that?"

"Apparently, you're right," the magician admitted, bending over the young man's corpse lying in a pool of blood. "And if so, then whoever is behind it acted on a large scale. Imagine the number of possible scenarios. It turns out that he had a similar gang in each of the cities, and this is very expensive."

"It's just a technical issue. If you have several smart assistants and enough funds, it can be solved quickly and efficiently. Agrippa went to the pile of trash in the corner of the barn, where I was hiding. And more. Master, it might not be "him". It could have been "her." Don't discount Magisteress Evangeline and Magisteress Vitaly."

"They would have acted differently." The magician grimaced. "These are ladies, they don't tolerate violence. Poison in a glass of wine or a snake in bed, yes. But bandits, scum from the streets?"

"Prejudice!" Agrippa stood frozen next to the trash; I could see the soles of his boots, solid buff leather, and the heels with horseshoes. Expensive shoes, such boots cost under fifty gold pieces. "Times are changing, master, traditions and habits are also changing, this must be recognized and accepted. I'll note that Master's student Evangeline realized this a couple of years ago and could easily have worked on the paradox. Magisteress Evangeline is a strong opponent. And she hates you like no one else."

"Should we raise him from the dead?" The magician looked at the body of the Fat Go. "Yes, ask around?"

"It's a forbidden ritual." Agrippa replied. "However, the law is not written for you, I've been used to it for a long time. But please note that we are in a city, and a densely populated one at that. There's probably a representative office of the Order of Truth here, or even a full-fledged mission. Do you want to explain yourself to the black brothers later?"

This Agrippa is right — the mission of the Order of Truth in our city of Raymille is full-fledged, with an elder father, three mentor fathers, two dozen bloodhound brothers and a dozen execution brothers.

The capital of the kingdom is, after all, obliging. I've been in their building more than once, they arrange a free lunch for the poor every week, reminding me: "The Order is for the people, not the people for the order." Formalism is in their blood, which is not too surprising, especially if you know their history. I knew this very story; during free lunches, one of the mentor fathers would certainly tell it so that people would realize who they were visiting. And I've also heard a lot about magicians from them.

The Order of Truth appeared about three hundred years ago, in those times that were later called the Age of Troubles or the Age of Change, and which changed the face of our entire world, called Ragellon, from the Icy Islands in the north to the Southern Ocean. Ragellon was also sometimes called the tricky word "continent", I do not even know why. But it's a beautiful word.

So, three hundred years ago, for some reason, almost simultaneously, in just a year or two, representatives of almost all the noble families of Ragellon, including the royal ones, died, and the pestilence mowed them down to the fifth generation. It was hardly an accident, but no one ever got to the bottom of the real reason. And they didn't investigate too much, because everyone wasn't up to it. There were many empty thrones, and even more applicants for them. And each of the applicants, even the most wretched, had followers who tried in every possible way to put their principal higher. Plus, under the guise of particularly dashing adventurers, without further ado, they began to redraw the long-separated borders of the kingdoms.

As a result, the world was engulfed by war. Everyone was slaughtering everyone, any methods and means were used, people were just maddened by violence and blood.

Unsurprisingly, steel soon ceased to be the only way to strengthen its position, and magic came to its aid. And black, of course, because white sorcery is not for war.

It is not known which of the powerful was the first to allow the ancient rituals of night and death magic to be performed again, but after him, ignoring the Circle of Magicians, all kingdoms allowed the practice of forbidden witchcraft openly, without fear of punishment. Or maybe no one allowed it, maybe the warlocks themselves decided to regain their rights.

The earth moved in the cemeteries, and the dead climbed out to torment the living. Wooden idols were re-erected on the old temples, and their mouths were thickly smeared with fresh blood. A purple mist swirled in the gorges of the Cold Mountains, inhaling which, a person forgot everything he knew. As in the old days, wreaths of blackthorn appeared on the doors of village houses, which, according to legend, deflects evil eyes and black souls. Anarchy gave rise to violence, violence called for evil, and evil always doesn't care about anything and everyone, it has its own goals.

Black magicians, warlocks, witches — all those that people have long forgotten about, it turns out, have not disappeared at all. They've just been holed up somewhere all this time and waiting in the wings. And they waited.

Very soon, those who gave them freedom regretted it. The Disciples of Darkness were not going to win back the thrones to anyone, they were only interested in their own fate and all the power over people that they could reach. No, they could put a man on the throne who was convenient for them, but on condition that he would play by their rules and benefit them. The new ruler had to keep his personal interests to himself, being, in fact, nothing more than a puppet in someone else's hands.

Then everything was simple. The servants of Evil once again made a mistake that cost many of their lives. It's just that they've never been able to unite, unlike their colleagues who practice the magic of light and life.

It is worth noting that magicians of different faiths and schools have never unnecessarily fought with each other. They got along very well, because they had nothing to share, and their methods were different. However, if it came to personal interests, like power or money, anything could happen. However, everyone is guilty of this, both magicians and ordinary people. And another controversial question is who is bigger.

However, the light magicians also made a mistake that time. More precisely, they were too late. They then understood perfectly well what was going on, and patiently waited for people who were not gifted to come to them with a bow and a request for help. The Conclave of Light Magicians even prepared a list of demands — payment for their help.

But that's just the help ordinary people didn't need. For the first time in Ragellon's history, they solved a problem related to magic on their own.

It all started in the largest city on the continent, in the capital of the kingdom of Iront — Miklight. And, as usual, a small pebble turned out to be the cause of a huge avalanche.

The captain of the royal Guard, Diord, returned home to find his wife in tears and very quickly found out what caused it. It turns out that their six-year-old daughter was taken away an hour ago, without any explanation, by a black magician from the order of the Goblet of Night, the same one whose adherents enthroned the king two years ago and then did whatever they wanted in Ironte.

Diord rushed to the order's building, but it was too late — his baby had already been sacrificed during some kind of creepy ritual. All that was left of her was a little dress and a pigtail of light brown hair cut off at the root. As if in mockery, they were given to the blackened captain by two young and very arrogant novices of the order.