The story of the Elf Queen

* * *

The Vicious Rose was in full swing. The night had fallen, and the place was full of customers. But what was going on two floors below was of no concern to those in the spacious room on the top floor. Several light one and one dark elf sat at a wide table. Many scrolls and sheets of paper scribbled with various notes spread all over the table. In the center lay a very detailed map of Morgrave, with many different markings, notations, and route lines. Next to it was a separate map of the Upper City, even more detailed and more densely filled with additional information. Separately, there was a map of one particular block and a floor-by-floor map of one of the mansions. The latter was the least complete, with lots of question marks. The elves had been collecting, studying, and analyzing all this information for the past two days, working out a plan of action. In a separate pile were several sheets of paper, written in small handwriting, and a memorizing crystal, which contained the reflections of a short, slender man of age, with short, slender gray hair, a neatly groomed beard, and the hard face of a man accustomed to command. Vinatir de Vaar Gras.

Leaning over the map of the Upper City, Darendil leaned back in his chair and shook his head grimly:

"It's dangerous. If the operation fails, there will be big problems not only for us but the whole Forest."

Sitting across from him, Luaval spread his hands:

"We've discussed this several times. A direct assault on their neighborhood has been ruled out for obvious reasons. That would be tantamount to a declaration of war on the Confederacy. It's also very unlikely we'll be able to sneak in. Not in the time we have left. Too tough a nut to crack. If we just had to kill the bastard, I'd take my chances, especially with your support. But we need him alive. You can't pull something like this off in secret without a lot more preparation, and a systematic opening of the defenses. Something's bound to go wrong. And we don't have time for that, for obvious reasons."

With a nod, Luaval pointed to the next room. There. In the center of the ritual circle, one of the Secret Guard agents lay on a comfortable bed in her nightgown. Her eyes were closed, a magical tiara on her forehead. She was breathing heavily. Her hardened nipples were clearly visible through the thin fabric. Her companion, whom she had recently replaced, in the same nightgown sat with a detached look on the edge of a chair against the wall, staring at nothing in front of her. In one hand, she held a half-empty vial of revitalizing potion, with her other hand she openly rubbed herself lazily between her legs, paying no attention to anyone. On her head, she wore a thin silver hoop adorned with elaborate filigree carvings and many small gems. Next to her stood a magician of the Secret Guard, who with a concentrated face made smooth passes with his hands, in which he held a pair of short magical wands, one of wood, the other of metal. On his forehead was a magical tiara, centered on a classic trio of red, yellow, and blue gems. The stones began to glow, stronger and weaker in turn. The stones on the elf's headband lit up in unison with them. Gradually, her expression began to change and her eyes began to make sense. But she still continued to unconsciously caress herself. Turning back to Darendil, Luaval summarized:

"So that leaves us with only one option. Take him in the city, outside his home neighborhood, and do it as quietly as possible so no one realizes it's us. Which means we have to do it tonight. We may not get another chance."

"We can call for backup. With the support of two more stars, we can try to infiltrate his mansion without noise and dust."

"No way. You know the orders. We are the only ones authorized for this operation. Direct orders from Her Majesty and the Head of the Secret Guard."

Grinning, Darendil said slowly:

"Any idea how we're gonna get the prisoner out?"

"We'll have her out in a couple of days. If we do this right, they won't realize we're the ones who kidnapped Vinatir. They'll think of competitors, his enemies, or the Night Guild. And without him, they won't do anything decisive with her."

"They may try to take her out."

"All the better. A ship or a land caravan would be much easier to capture than a fortified manor in a closed trading quarter. They wouldn't risk using the city's portal, and it was too dangerous to use a private one to bypass the shield hanging over the city. Even if they succeeded, it would draw too much attention to themselves."

After pondering his dark kin's words for a few moments, Twilight asked:

"You sure you can handle it?"

"With your help? The odds of success are more than good. Especially if we use Emergency Stash.".

Grudgingly grimacing again, Darendil uttered:

"The Superintendent's Office will be fascinated. All right, then it's settled. We take Vinatir. We do a quick interrogation and find out everything we can about his estate's defenses first. After that, we bring out the prisoner. We begin preparations."

* * *

The same windowless room was filled with the thick scent of incense, and an enchanted box on a small table in the corner humming its tune. Several magical lamps shone brightly under the ceiling. On a massive wooden chair with armrests sat an elven woman with snow-white hair, strapped to it with wide leather straps around her arms, legs, waist, and head. She wore no clothes except for a magic-suppressing collar and a silver hoop on her head. Her slender, trained body was covered in sweat and a fine shiver ran through it. Kneeling in front of her, in a single loincloth, with a soft cushion under her feet, was a dark-haired, pretty girl. In her right hand, she held the long stiff feather of some huge bird. With a blank expression, she guided the very tip of it between the captive's labia. Up. Down. Up. Down. Closing her eyes and biting her lips, the elf tried her best to pull away, to shut out what was happening around her. From the annoying beeping of the box. From the sickeningly annoying incense. And from the damned, damned feather, unbearably tickling and tormenting her tortured pussy! It didn't work.

"Darling, why are you torturing yourself?"

The voice of the sorceress standing behind the helpless captive was full of tender sympathy and literal motherly kindness. It went straight to her head, inside her skull, breaking through the barrier of will and the desperate unwillingness to hear. Drowning out all other thoughts. Leaving no room for them.

"Look what you've done to yourself. How could you do this? Why did you join the Warriors in the first place? That's not what women are made for. Our destiny is to love and be loved. Don't you realize that?"

"The captive said nothing, concentrating hard on keeping herself to herself. She had already realized that answering her unwilling interlocutor would make her job easier. That was something the elf was not going to do."

"Look where it got you. Was it worth it? Is it better than being surrounded by the care, affection, and luxury befitting such a beauty? You know that yourself. But you don't want to admit the obvious because of your stubbornness and arrogance. And you continue to torture yourself in vain. It would be so much easier to accept the simple truth. That. Is. So. Nice."

With the last word, Ashuira's dark-haired assistant deftly intercepted the quill and jabbed the sharp end of it between her legs. It hit the right spot without a hitch. Exhausted, she couldn't stand it any longer and with a loud moan reached the limit of pleasure, clutching her hands into the armrests and straining the straps that held her. A small puddle spilled on the chair between her legs.

"See, honey? I was right. And your body agrees with me completely. Listen to it, it won't lie to you. But right now, it needs to rest. And so do you."

With these words, the sorceress gently ran her palm over the cheek of the heavily breathing and trembling elf. She didn't react to it, falling into oblivion. After a few minutes, her breathing calmed down and her mind finally fell asleep. Smiling contentedly, Ashuira nodded to her assistant. She immediately put aside her quill and began to unbuckle the prisoner. The sorceress signaled to her second assistant, who stood silently against the wall. He immediately began to move a comfortable wooden bed to the center of the room and placed soft cushions on it. Next, he placed an exquisite chair with a high back and armrests beside the bed. When he finished with the furniture, he quickly extinguished all the scented candles and activated the stationary artifact to purify the air. A breeze immediately blew into the room, and the smell of incense began to fade rapidly.

While the room was being ventilated, Ashuira's assistant arranged new candles, with a different scent. Then he went to the box and, with a few movements, changed the melody to a new, much smoother, and calming tune. After making sure it was set correctly, he turned off the ceiling lights and turned on the ones hidden in special niches in the walls. The room was instantly plunged into an intimate semi-darkness. After that, the sorceress' assistant turned off the artifact that had already purified the air and lit the scented candles again. By this point, Ashuira's assistant had fully released the elfess sleeping in the chair. Her mistress leaned over to her and whispered affectionately into her long elfin ear:

"Zitra, darling, can you hear me? It's time to wake up. Wake up, my darling."

The elfess flinched, opened her eyes, and blinked absent-mindedly.

"Good morning, darling. It's time for you to get up. Tonga's waiting for you."

The freed prisoner yawned widely, stretched, and gingerly rose to her feet, leaning on the arm of her dark-skinned assistant. She helped the elf to her feet, then took a couple of fluffy towels from a table in the corner and began gently wipe the captive of her sweat. And from her love juices.

"How did you sleep, darling?"

"Excellent, honorable Ashuir. I have had wonderful dreams."

The elven woman's voice was devoid of emotion, her eyes half-closed, her face sleepy and indifferent. She didn't pay any attention to the dark-skinned assistant who was carefully toweling her off.

"Really? Will you share them with me?"

"I dreamt of a man."

"How interesting. Who was it?"

"I don't know. I don't remember his face. But I remember that I care about him a lot. I know I care about him a lot."

When she finished toweling Zitrael off, Tonga took a vial of special moisturizing skin oil from the table by the wall and poured it generously over the still-standing elf's shoulders and chest. She paid no attention to it. Ashuir's assistant put the vial aside and began to smear it over the elf's slender body.

"That's it. And what did you do?"

"He and I loved each other. Then came the enemies. I didn't see their faces. I don't remember who they were. But they were enemies. They wanted to hurt him."

"And what did you do?"

"I protected him from them. No one hurt him. Then he and I loved each other again. But now there were other women with us. I don't remember their faces. But I remember there were several. They were beautiful."

"How amazing. So what did you do?"

Ashuira watched with a faint smile as Tonga finished rubbing the oil all over Zithra's breasts and was now openly caressing her breasts with one hand, pressing her naked tits against her from behind. With her other hand, she slid between the elf's legs and used two fingers to massage the most sensitive point of her pussy.

"I loved them. They loved me. Together we loved him."

"And you didn't mind?"

"It doesn't matter. All that matters is that he liked it."

"And you?"

"I...had...a...very...good...time!"

At the last word, Zitrael, who had been standing motionless, opened her eyes wide for a moment and moaned loudly, throwing her head back. A moment later, she couldn't take it anymore and pissed on the floor. Her eyes closed and she froze, trembling in Tonga's arms. Smiling contentedly, Ashuira ran her palm over the elf's cheek and spoke:

"That's a very interesting dream, Zitra. We'll have to discuss it further."

Then with a snap of her fingers, she signaled to her assistants. Tonga began to tidy up the elf and gently placed her on the bed, while the silent, dark-skinned young man began to mop the floor. Ashuira on the other hand, sat in her chair. and put her foot on her leg and waited for them to finish. So far, things have been going pretty well. Of course, the eared one is fighting back, and quite well. But that's what you'd expect from a Forest Guardian battle mage. But the breach in her defenses has already been breached, and the foundations of her new personality are beginning to emerge. It's so enjoyable to work with such interesting subjects worthy of her skill. The last year had been mostly boring routine, not counting a couple of small private commissions.

* * *

By lunchtime, the weather in Morgrave began to deteriorate. A slight wind blew in from the sea, and small waves appeared. In the afternoon, clouds covered the sky and began to rain. Toward evening it turned into a full-fledged downpour. Streams of water trickled down from the rooftops, poured onto the sidewalk, and flowed into the waters of Dantra or the city's bay. Luaval and Darendil, covered in camouflage amulets and sitting in the rain on one of the roofs of a house in the Upper City, were more than content with that. Both elves didn't care about the rain itself. But the fact that there would be fewer witnesses couldn't help but make them happy.

This evening Vinatir, along with his entourage and guards, was to visit his trading partners on some of his merchant business. The nephew of the head of the Vaar Gras trading house was traveling in a luxurious carriage accompanied by horse guards. To kidnap him was not a trivial task, especially considering that the carriage of such a man was practically a small fortress on wheels. There were enough enchantments, defenses, and battle amulets in it. But still, a carriage is not a castle, you can't put more than a certain limit of magical protection in it. Otherwise, at some point, it would have to be taken off its wheels, put on the ground, and dug up. In addition, the fact that Vinatir used the carriage of the Morgravian branch of his trading house played into the elves' hands. The carriage was made by local craftsmen and enchanted by them. Amulets were mostly bought from the local mages' guild.

Therefore, after spending a considerable amount of gold and using Anrieta's connections and contacts, it was possible to understand quite precisely what kind of defense we would have to deal with. And thus, it became clear how it could be countered. The main bet was on surprise and a crushing first strike, with battle amulets and alchemy, under the cover of a full-time combat mage from Twilight's squad. In order to divert the attention of the city guards and private guards of trade houses and guilds, it was decided to use the subordinates of Anrieta, whose influence in the Night Guild had increased significantly after the tragic events. A couple of squads were to set fires in two places on opposite sides of the Upper City at the agreed time. A couple more squads were to trigger signal threads at a few warehouses and a couple of private homes to cause a commotion. The targets for the diversionary strikes were kindly provided by the Duke's wife via a special communication channel. Figuring out escape routes for these pawns had become a separate headache. Since their deaths would not be good for Anrieta, and thus for the Secret Forest Guard.

Vinatir's carriage was to be intercepted halfway between his mansion and the mansion of his trading partner, with whom he had a meeting today. A section of one of the few central streets in the Upper City where carriages could travel was chosen as the site of the attack. On either side of the street rose residential four-story houses. The most skillful and experienced workers and craftsmen of the several guilds, and their families, lived here. Those who were too valuable to let go to live in Middle City, but not rich and influential enough to claim a mansion of their own. Since every scrap of land in the Upper City cost insane amounts of money and had long ago been divided up, the houses stood closely together and had no yards, only doors went straight out into the street. Only in one place were a couple of side streets between the houses, so narrow that a grown man with his arms spread out could touch the walls of the houses on either side with his palms. One led toward the Dantra waterfront, the other led toward the Mont Ros mountain. There, by the appointed time, a couple of Anrieta's handmaidens had brought up a couple of carts with some cargo. At the decisive moment, they were to block the street, cutting off one of the avenues of retreat and the arrival of help.

"They coming."

"I see."

It was raining, and the street was already dark and deserted. It was almost impossible to see anything. Unless you took special alchemy and used the right amulets. Luaval and Darendil had plenty of both and excellent quality. And so did the other Secret Guard agents on the neighboring rooftops. So the two of them could easily see a procession of several riders at the beginning of the street, flanked by a large carriage drawn by four thoroughbreds. Their eyesight, enhanced by alchemy and magical amulets, could easily distinguish the weaves of enchantments and the separate small enclosed field surrounding the carriage. And also the sparks of magic amulets on the riders.

"Six mounted men. Each with a protective amulet. Two of each. And one on each horse."

"I see. What's the field on the carriage, I can't tell from here...."

"Rain protection. Expensive stuff. There are two other people in the carriage besides the old man."

"Indeed. And there are two more on the carriage, not counting the coachman. The one in the back should be hit first. He's got the carriage's battle charms tied to him."

"The ones inside, we take with the old man. His close entourage will also be useful."

"All right. Where's their sorcerer? I don't find him among the guards."

"Stayed at the mansion."

"All right, that's one less problem. Everybody get ready!"

The group of riders had reached the proper spot. Six men, dressed in light-ringed armor and dark cloaks, rode on either side of a good-sized carriage painted red and gold. Three on one side, three on the other. Two in front, two on the sides, two in the back. As they passed another pair of houses, carts pulled by stunted horses began to pull out of the side streets. The front riders had just enough time to throw up their hands and yell at the drivers to stop when several things happened, throwing the street into chaos.

Several powerful battle amulets fell from the rooftops on both sides of the streets. Some struck the guards with lightning, some exploded with a deafening rumble and very bright flashes of light. Along with them fell several disposable magic suppressors, discharging some of the defenses and disabling several battle amulets on the riders and a couple on the carriage. A curved bolt of lightning struck from the sky, but the moment, before it touched the roof, a translucent barrier appeared in front of it, swallowing it whole. The cost was an overload and the failure of two protective amulets mounted on the sides of the carriage. Three arrows struck the guard standing on the rear platform of the carriage, controlling the battle amulets. The first was deflected by his defense. The second was taken by the defense of his comrade, who was supposed to cover him in battle. The third arrow, full of magic, exploded with a deafening roar, missing the guards by a couple of cubits, throwing them both off the carriage and stunning them. Behind the procession, four large pots of thick, oily liquid fell onto the stones of the sidewalk. It instantly burst into a bright green alchemical flame that began hissing and devouring the stones of the sidewalk, cutting off the escape route.

The street was filled with shouts and the wild neighing of horses, some of which tried to buck. The guards grabbed their blades and handheld battle amulets with shouts and curses. The defenses of the five mostly held up to the blows, and one of the guards was knocked out of the saddle. But only two had amulets that protected their wielders from stun and blindness. The others, unable to see or hear anything, were desperately grasping at their protective and alarming amulets and trying to hold on to their saddles. The charioteer tried to steer the carriage away, but two enchanted armor-piercing arrows, designed to pierce heavy armor, struck the front two horses, piercing them through their hearts. The animals died instantly, collapsing to the ground and preventing the carriage from moving. Another enchanted arrow struck the driver, but he was protected by his amulet and a pair of amulets embedded in the walls of the carriage. As a result, he survived but was knocked from the carriage to the ground.

It all happened in just a few seconds. Luaval was already on the ground, having jumped off the roof and levitated at the last moment. The dark elf's blood was buzzing with alchemy, his violet eyes glowing with fire, recognizing the weaves of magical defenses, and the blade in his clenched hand was full of magic. The horse reared up and lost its hind leg, severed like a reed. With a wild roar, it collapsed on its side, burying the blinded and desperate guard trying to hold it back. Stepping aside. The protective amulets held and mostly canceled out the mind-scorching magical blast from the carriage. The blow doesn't hurt its own, but it hits the outsiders mercilessly. Luaval and the other elves were not harmed, thanks to the defense. But the inhabitants of the houses, especially those who rushed to the windows and doors to see what was going on, were badly hurt. Suddenly. A wave of the hand. A one-time suppressor amulet flies under the carriage, triggering a moment later and disabling another part of the defense. A sidestep. A dense and narrow beam of fire passes by, vaporizing rainwater with a hiss and leaving a molten trail on the building wall and sidewalk. This was dangerous. A wave of the hand. A throwing knife infused with magic and smeared with poison flew at one of the guards who hadn't been blinded and stunned by the first attack. He had already managed to jump off his horse and take up a defense near the carriage, rightly counting on its magical protection.

A stroke of the short sword. A broken throwing knife flies aside with a clang. Not good. Reaction accelerated to the limit, vision protected by a special artifact hoop. He's a dangerous opponent. Move to the side. A flick of the hand. A round vial of battle alchemy flies forward. The guard takes it on his left hand, where the amulet-shield is attached to his wrist. Moments before impact, a convex translucent barrier appears in the air in front of the vial. It shatters spilling its contents all over the barrier. It immediately bursts into a bright blue flame, rapidly discharging the amulet's defenses. The guard jumps back, disabling the shield. The burning liquid falls to the stones of the sidewalk, extinguishing almost instantly. Two arrows fly into the guard's chest. One is deflected by the defense. The second one is powerful enough for the overloaded amulets, and it pierces into the guard's chest, beginning to sprout roots inside his body.

Stepping aside. A volley of classic magical arrows passes by, only a couple hitting the dark elf tangentially, disabling one of his protective amulets. The others shatter the stone of the sidewalk and blow several small holes in the wall of the house behind Luaval. Dangerous. Convergence. A wave of the hand. Two more suppressor amulets, shaped like throwing knives, stab into the walls of the carriage. Both instantly glow white, then fall to the ground as shapeless pieces of metal. But they do their job, weakening the defenses even more. Faster. Hurry up. The alarm's already been raised. We're running out of time. Move to the side. A flick of the hand. A flask of dark, oily liquid flies toward one of the remaining guards. Moments before impact, it shatters into small fragments and the liquid vaporizes rapidly in the open air, turning into a rapidly expanding cloud of thick and poisonous smoke.

Another bolt of lightning strikes the carriage from the sky. The translucent barrier reappears, but this time it disappears with a loud crack, and a pair of protective amulets installed on the carriage explodes, unable to withstand the catastrophic overload. At the same instant, four arrows are plunged simultaneously into the roof of the carriage, penetrating it but getting stuck halfway through. Two of them are turned into magic suppressors and instantly turn to dust, simultaneously weakening any magic inside the carriage. The other two are infused with special alchemy, and after a moment they turn to ashes, releasing clouds of paralyzing and soporific gas inside the carriage.

Convergence. Arm swing. A sidestep. Another battle amulet like a throwing knife slams into the carriage door. Carved from wood. A moment. It crumbles to the stones of the sidewalk in a pile of rotting corpses. A moment more. The door and the wall of the carriage repeat its fate, crumbling into the same heap of rotten corpses. Inside the carriage, there are three men. A gray-haired man in an expensive suit of black cloth with silver embroidery is huddled in the right opposite corner. Fear is on his face. In his hands are two protective amulets that are still working, having successfully neutralized the soporific and paralyzing poisons. That was to be expected. In the opposite corner sits a tall, half-undressed, slender woman. She is wearing tights made of dark thin fabric, black underwear, dark blue gloves, and a corset that leaves her breasts exposed. Around her neck is a gold chain adorned with gemstones and is a high-class protective amulet. On each index finger is a ring with a large stone. Two more protective amulets. All three are almost completely discharged. Her long dark hair is gathered in a tight bundle at the back of her head. The beautiful face is perfectly calm. The reason is visible and clear at once. A complex and neat branding seal directly on her forehead. A pair of expensive black leather shoes and a dark blue hooded cloak are lying on the floor of the carriage at her feet.

Next to her sits a young man in good but less expensive dark robes embroidered with silver. He holds a short battle staff, infused with magic and capable of delivering two or three dangerous blows. On his chest was a massive protective amulet on a thick gold chain. And on her face a focused expression and no fear. The reason was again the same as the woman, the branding seal on her forehead. Luaval saw and assessed it all in an instant. A sidestep. A tight jet of liquid flame went past, hitting the wall of the house and beginning to devour the stonework. A wave of the hand. A paired amulet-discharger flies inside the carriage. It fires with a loud crackle, disabling the woman's defenses and weakening the old man's. The boy's amulet still holds. A swift dash in the other direction. Another jet of flame passes by. Thanks to the camouflage, makes Luaval's silhouette look very blurry. With another wave of his hand, a round metal ball covered in runes flies inside the carriage. A moment later, they flash with blue light, and thin bolts of lightning strike all three of them. The woman twitches and falls unconscious. The old man's defenses hold but are completely discharged. The boy's amulet still works, but it doesn't make any difference.

Dash. Convergence. Suddenly the opposite wall of the carriage also turns to dust. With a startled shriek, the old man clinging to it falls backward. But he falls into the hands of a Secret Guard agent. The unconscious woman suffers the same fate. Luaval swiftly approached the carriage, grabbed the hand of the boy who had discharged his battle staff, and threw him out of the carriage. A short blow with the edge of his palm on his neck, and he lost consciousness. Nearby, as if from nowhere, another agent of the Secret Guard appears, with a thin rope of black silk in his hands. After a few seconds, honed hand movements and the boy is bound hand and foot. A quick search. Bag over his head. Amulet of magic suppressor around his neck. Done. The old man and his companion are packed in the same manner.

"It's done. Let's go, quick!"

Dead horses, dead people, and a wrecked carriage lie on the sidewalk. In the houses, you can hear the frightened screams of people. Somewhere, alchemical fires are burning out. Somewhere in the distance, more screams and the clatter of hooves can be heard. And they're getting closer. The rain continues to fall with terrible force, washing away the blood and hiding the tracks.

* * *

One of the rooms on the top floor of the Vicious Rose was once again crowded. But the place was less crowded than usual. The heavy rain had driven people home. That didn't please the brothel owner, but it was to the advantage of her uninvited guests. Luaval removed the wet hood mask from his head, wiped his drenched face, and exhaled tiredly. Next to him, Darendil and the other Secret Guard agents, similarly soaked, were also recovering from their run across the rooftops. The remaining sorcerer in the brothel, who had been keeping an eye on the agents supporting the captive, had prepared detoxicants and several large jugs of water in advance. After draining a whole glass, the dark elf said tiredly:

"Such a night."

Darendil, also drinking the bitter detoxicant, nodded tiredly:

"I've been through worse."

"I agree."

After drinking another cup of water, both elves turned their gazes to the captives lying on the floor, still bound and with bags over their heads. Then Twilight ordered:

"All to undergo detoxification and a set of type three recovery treatments. Then prepare to proceed with patterns four and five. Sunset, take care of the boy first, I'm sure he's got plenty of defenses, but a personal secretary should know interesting things. Get to work. We'll handle the girl tomorrow. It's unlikely that his personal toy knows much, and her memory is probably wiped, but it happens. If she's useless, we'll give Anrieta a new employee. You and I will take care of the old man. Better not waste any time."

The last one was for Luaval. He rose to his feet and grinned predatorily:

"Come on."

The elves took the unresisting prisoner under their arms and led him to the next room, at the back of the building, which had no windows. But it had a good protection against listening. There was only a table and a chair with armrests, where they sat prisoner. Gently releasing him from his restraints, Luaval and Darendil immediately tied him to the chair. A precaution but as we know, it was never unnecessary. The Secret Guard agent then removed the sack from the prisoner's head. For a few seconds, Vinatir de Vaar Gras squinted and blinked trying to realize where he was. The old man was tense as a string, it was obvious to the naked eye. Then he saw the dark elf and was even more frightened, turning visibly pale. But then he noticed Darendil. He stared at the Secret Guard agent for a few seconds, then exhaled and relaxed. Strange. Wary, Luaval glanced at Twilight. He didn't seem to react to the old man's behavior, but the experienced Dungeon Hunter could see, that he was also wary.

"Greetings, Vinatir de Vaar Gras. We have much to discuss with you. Will you speak to us amicably? Or will we have to use alchemy and magic?"

When the old man heard this, he immediately nodded vigorously, showing he was ready to talk. At the same time, he became visibly calmer, straightened up, and took on the most dignified appearance possible in his condition. It was as if he had not been kidnapped in the middle of the city, dragged away to some unknown place, but invited to a dinner party by his trading partners.

"A reasonable choice."

Taking a step forward, Darendil released the old man from the gag in one motion. He coughed for a few seconds, then spoke in a polite voice:

"Thank you, honorable. I have something to say to a valiant warrior of cloak and dagger in the service of the Forest."

Having said that, he looked questioningly at Twilight. The latter looked at Luaval and then said:

"I'm listening to you very carefully."

"Every year, fall comes with the sunset and paints the forests with fire."

The eternal Darkness and its spawn! There was a tense silence in the room for a few seconds. Vinatir looked at Darendil, outwardly calm, but it was clear that inwardly he was tense. Twilight glanced again at Luaval. Then he spoke slowly:

"But every year spring comes with the sunrise and colors the forests with first flowers."

It was after this sentence that Vinatir truly relaxed and said:

"That blossom for centuries to the joy of the living, under the shade of centuries-old trees."

"Whose falling leaves nourish their roots, giving them life each year."

Bad. Very bad. Outwardly, Luaval was calm, but inwardly he was tense to the max. Vinatir, having finished exchanging passwords and feedback, said with a polite expression:

"I think, honored ones, we should continue this conversation in more pleasant surroundings. May I ask you to, uh..."

He didn't have time to finish, because both elves' communication amulets sounded alarms at the same time. A moment later, a fist banged on the door of the interrogation room. Drawing their weapons, Darendil and Luaval took positions on the edges of the door, and then Twilight opened the door, ready to attack. But there was no direct threat. One of the agents stood in the doorway, a tense look on his face. Barely had the door opened when he blurted out:

"We have a problem! The city is under attack!"

In confirmation of his words, a tolling bell rang from outside the building, whose sound, amplified by magic, was audible throughout Morgrave. It had not been heard in the interrogation room before. A sea bell, a tolling bell.

* * *