Бесплатный фрагмент - Through the Thorns into the Abyss

THROUGH THORNS INTO THE ABYSS
Prologue

“Execute her!” — ordered the Empress. Seized by hatred — and fear — she rose sharply from her throne and pointed her silver scepter at the Witch.

The Karga did not flinch. Shallow and wrinkled, she looked up at the ruler with a cold gaze, and her darting eyes squinted even more. The old woman was completely calm, and in her whole image — a quiet confident hatred. A smirk of gloating… And the ruler could barely contain herself. Her face was flushed and fierce, terror in her eyes. “Execute right here on the spot,” she added, struggling to pull herself together. “At once.”

The guards dared not disobey Lyra’s order. If it had been anyone else, they might have hesitated… But Lyra is the darling of the people, the chosen one of Heaven! The High Dervishes had recently spoken in praise of her. “She knows what to do. Her swords flashed in the setting sun, and the Witch lay dead at the foot of her throne. She fell, grinning sickly.

Never before had human blood been spilled at an Imperial palace. And if it had, it was only a few drops, because of stupid accidents. But KILLING people — even the worst ones — was strictly forbidden. It was not conscience or awe that kept people from doing such things — but fear of the light gods. The palace was a special place. Even the sacred Towers were inferior to it in their ritual purity. That is why if a courtier wanted to destroy another — he did it outside the White Marble Walls.

Now that custom had been broken. And it was not just anyone who broke it, but the great Lyra… A woman who was able to do in eight years what men could not do in eight decades-to unite the Cusuni Kingdom.

Her story is told here.

Chapter 1: Even the greatest journey begins with a single step

Laira was born in an ordinary village on the far northern outskirts. And from a young age she was distinguished neither by her particular beauty nor by her special talents. Neither was she of noble birth, though she was, as her fellow villagers later claimed, a pure-blooded cousin. Her father was literate and adored books about ancient warriors. Having inherited a watermill from his ancestors, he had some money. He could afford to buy a few shabby volumes at the fair. Having read from them tales and tall tales, he dreamed of military glory… Of exploits and campaigns, of soldiers’ friendship and comradeship. But with a fair weight, a prosthesis instead of a leg, and living in the wilderness, he had to content himself with dreams.

However, the man’s heart brightened when his son was born. “I will raise him to be a true warrior, a great hero. That’s right!” Alas, the son died at the age of six, poisoned by a local shaman for two apples stolen from her garden. The grief-stricken father was left with only his daughters. And he turned his dreams to one of them… Lyra. “My heir is dead, but my daughter will be great.” The man devoted all his energies, and his mind — not so weak, by the way — to raising her.

***

Young Laira grew up unusually tough, cheerful, and brave. Fighting was part of her life — she could beat up not only girls, but boys as well, including those older than her. Sometimes, though, she got her own ass kicked.

And she made a lot of enemies! Evil tongues, venomous jokers, high-minded denouncers and denouncers. In another, quieter era, Lyra would probably have been smeared with soot for misconduct. But it was the time of the Great Troubles, when the Talaisha dynasty had finally died out and many powerful clans, sects, adventurers, and other forces were vying for the Imperial throne. The Kuzuni kingdom was ablaze with civil war, mercenaries and brigands roamed the roads, and foreigners swarmed everywhere. In such conditions, of course, traditional values had fallen apart, and morals had decayed… The Empire’s northern fringes had suffered little from the war so far, but the general “decay” had touched them as well. That is why in most cases she got away with her antics.

It should be noted that thanks to her combative nature, she made not only opponents, but several real friends. Especially she made friends with six boys: insolent desperate Mithai, cold tough and honest Viran, sly smiling fatty Shinak, dreamy poet Sauri, cheerful big-hearted Gan, and smart calm good-natured Matah. They were thick as thieves. Together they found “adventures” on their heads, together they helped their fellow villagers to do dangerous work, together they committed petty crimes, and together they participated in village fights. Lyra was their leader, and all seven of them took care of, protected, and supported each other. As they grew older, the boys became Lyra’s lovers… “A vile band” the local dervish Karamas called them, promising a miserable life of vagrancy, and a shameful death. But fate had decided otherwise.

Lyra was also accompanied everywhere by a black cat and a faithful, shaggy dog. She loved them dearly.

***

The civil war was escalating and devouring many lives… But for now, the horrors were far away. The village of Laira was a long way from the major cities and trade routes, in the northern lands beyond the Yellow River, ruled by Prince Pai, a quiet man with little imperial ambition. Hunger had not yet threatened, either. Here the moist breath of the Sea was felt: the rains fell, the hills were green, herds of sheep and goats grazed. And gardens, protected from tundra winds by the Gray Mountains, were blooming. Nevertheless, the villagers listened anxiously and discussed the latest news — brought by vagrants and traders. And in order to protect themselves and their simple “riches”, they built a fence around the village, bought several crossbows, selected their own commanders.

All this did not help… what’s more — played a bad service! As the cousins say, “fate has a rather dark sense of humor.

Laira well remembered the last day of her relatively carefree childhood. The spring sun was shining, warming her tenderly. Dandelions bloomed, tender grass grew. One could become intoxicated by the wonderful smells… The little girl, together with her six friends, was resting on the outskirts of the village, on a high but gentle hill, blown about by the breeze. Spreading a patterned rug on an emerald meadow, she played with Shinak and Viran in Tammashil, an ancient Cusunian game. She contemplated the checkered board intently. Shinak took the dice, shook them in his fist — and threw them. The bully raised her eyebrows in surprise — her “ally” was lucky again. He leisurely rearranged half a dozen pieces, overthrew the “enemy” combat mammoth — and waited for the “blow back,” from the slingers and six-armed giants.

The rest of his friends were loitering nearby.

— Come on, Viran, let’s go,” Shinak said softly and snidely, scratching his fat cheek. His button eyes scrutinized the battlefield as if there were little devils dancing in them. The boy took a honey pie from his bag — and took a bite of half of it. Slowly he chewed it, still thinking.

Laira was working her head hard, too, rubbing her chin and biting her lip. She and Shinak were up against Viran’s army. Who had been winning for the second hour-but still couldn’t finish the game. The final victory slipped through his fingers again and again.

— Don’t distract me,” he said coldly and colorlessly to Shinaku. — I’m working out the combinations.

— Of course you are…

— Yes. My father used to say: “Numbers are everything. The foundation of the universe.” He was good with numbers… Even went to engineering school in Saraban, but he failed. Didn’t have enough money for a bribe. I’ll beat him, though.

The guy’s cold eyes expressed nothing but concentration and seriousness. His face felt as if it were stone. Finally Viran nodded faintly — agreeing with himself — and rearranged a few pieces. His fingertips were smooth and exact-“a machine, not a man.

— Check,” he said. — I suggest you end the game. Your chances are negligible.

Then he grinned faintly, grimly but unkindly.

— No way,” Shin said, his black eyes narrowing. — We’ll play to the end.

— Till we win,” Laira corrected him.

— Exactly. I say we take the archers down the left flank and head for the center. That’s a chance.

— Well… We could try. But we risk losing elite units… And we don’t have enough of them left.

— If we don’t risk it, we lose them anyway. Sooner or later.

That’s when Mithai came up. The sun was golden on his sword and he was as slender as a sword. Though he was not tall enough.

— “You play well, fatty,” he praised Shinak — Well done. Clever and lucky. But… Let’s get down to business. I want to practice fencing, and I want you to keep me company. There’s a spare sword, I’ll give in. Better an adversary like you than no adversary at all,” he put the blade to his companion’s throat.

— Put the iron away, Mit,” the fat man smiled slyly. Can’t you see I’m thinking? — And he continued to study the “battlefield” with concentration.

— Pity. Well, you go on with your salts… I’ll be going.

— Don’t hurt Sheena,” Laira threatened playfully. — Or I’ll show you where the Baat’s wintering.

— Of course you will. Good luck with the war. As far as I’m concerned, it’s easier to become emperor than to beat Viran.

And the boy walked away. The breeze fluttered his auburn curls, and the clouds of the sky reflected on the blade of his sword, perfectly smooth and polished to a high gloss.

Not far away, in the shade of a sprawling tree, Gan was dozing. Stretching to his full height, with his fist under his head, he breathed deeply and evenly. His right hand held the hilt of his battleaxe. His eyes were closed, his face a serene smile. The boy was chewing on a straw, the glare of the sun playing on his bald head. The guy didn’t seem quite human, more like a giant caveman, a descendant of fairy tales. Except his skin wasn’t green, it was the usual color. However, the gentle smile and dreamy expression on his face were trustworthy — the “ogre” seemed kind. Or was he like that only when he was full?

— Hey there, big fella,” Mithai approached. — Shall we practice? Your axe is mighty, of course. But speed and agility win out, don’t they? We shall try.

— Fuck off, my friend,” Gan said, still smiling as he kept his eyes closed. — You’d better do Sahu, he’s all melancholy now…

Sauri was indeed melancholy, sitting on a sack of straw, dreamily contemplating the landscape. The view from the hill was wonderful — there was plenty to contemplate. The sun’s rays pierced through the soft spring mist and seemed to enliven the verdant pastures where flocks of sheep grazed on carpets of lush grass. Far above the horizon towered the snow-covered peaks of the Grey Mountains… Beautiful! From time to time Sahu made notes on a sheet of old paper — evidently he was creating poetry. He wore a wreath of dandelions on his head, and his face was both dreamy and focused. Not a good distraction, and not much of an adversary either. A poet.

That left Matah. A big, quiet fellow, he was clearly wary now. He was sipping tea, perched on a mossy fallen log, but his green eyes were twinkling and gleaming strangely. Occasionally, Matah glanced at the strange smoke rising on the horizon — and scratched the back of his head.

— Shall we fight? — Mithai suggested.

— Wait. I have a bad feeling…

The trumpet roared from the top of the local Sacred Tower. There was still plenty of time before sunset, and everyone realized that the roar was not a call to prayer. And it did not sound as usual, but shrill and piercing. The Alarm!

Soon the Outsiders arrived at the south gate. There weren’t too many of them, and they were all visibly exhausted. Nevertheless, their savage warlike appearance inspired a superstitious terror in the Cusunian peasants. Clad only in bone beads and loincloths, tall, muscular, and tattooed orange skin, they appeared as if from another world. Their long white hair was braided into multiple braids, their ears lengthened with heavy earrings. Their faces have no beards or moustaches — but they are tougher than any bearded man’s face… Their bushy eyebrows are painted black, and there is a sullenness in their eyes — but also courage. Baaths! Mercenaries from a distant, jungle-filled tropical land, which here in the north of the Empire was almost a fairy tale, a horrible fairy tale, the kind of fiction that teens scare each other at night. And now this TALE became reality, came to the home and knocked on the door.

At first, though, the Ba’aths were courteous. Their commander (or should I say Chief?) said that the detachment needed rest, the mules were shaky, the warriors were hungry and weary from the alien climate. Recently, the “true chosen one of Heaven,” the “future emperor,” Shanar, had come to the North. With a powerful army, of course. Prince Pai accepted the challenge — and the North has turned into an arena of fierce battles. Shanar is a descendant of the Baath chieftain Alligator, and he has many Baath mercenaries in his army. They all need food — and, preferably, drink and lodging. Shanar allowed the mercenaries to get it all for themselves.

The chief promised the villagers that his men would not ravage the village if they were well fed and drunk. “We don’t want to fight. We are very tired. We are not well in your country, the weather is not right. Give us what we ask and we won’t hurt you. If you agree, I’ll give you my brother as a hostage. He’s a shaman. I’m very fond of him. I’ll give him to you while we eat and drink. When we go on our way, I’ll ask you to bring him back. We don’t want to fight. Though we’re not afraid.”

The peasants were in council — arguing until they were hoarse. Clan elders and self-defense commanders declared that they had to surrender. But dervish Karamas urged a fight to the last. “Are we pious kuzuns going to feed the vile wicked!” And so confident and assertive was he — that he won the argument.

All that happened after that Lyra tried for a long time to forget. But unsuccessfully. Blood, fire, corpses, guttural screams, orange faces twisted in anger, screams of horror… At the very beginning of the battle, the apt peasant had fired an arrow from his crossbow and struck down the Chief’s brother. That same “beloved shaman”, who was not helped by the most powerful talismans and bodyguards… The Chief roared like a storm, and the rage of the savages knew no bounds. Children were kicked, old men and women were cut down. Less than a hundred villagers out of a thousand were left alive, and even they were almost all beaten and dishonored. The savages created a real pogrom, ruined and looted everything, and burned what they could not carry away. Even the gardens were cut down.

***

In the massacre, all of Lirina’s kin died. Her father, clutching a kitchen knife, tried to protect his younger daughters. “Get out, scum, or I’ll fight to the last man!” — he shouted. But the baats only laughed angrily. One of them threw a tomahawk — and cracked Lyra’s father’s skull open. Blood splattered the patterned carpet, the carved table, and the old “war” books from which the poor peasant had drawn inspiration…

Lyra herself had managed to survive, though she had suffered several wounds — and there were deep marks in her soul. In keeping with Nordic tradition, everyone who could hold a gun participated in the defense of the village: the elderly, women, the sick, and teenagers. Lyra fought alongside her friends-but the forces were unequal. The village and its inhabitants were destroyed. The next day, the few survivors began to band together… And Lyra found her friends again — wounded but alive.

Chapter 2: The Ghost Mistress

Sitting on the ashes, a weeping Laira pondered over lofty matters… For the first time in her life! She had done this before, but usually in jest, to keep her entertained. Now her thoughts were burning her from within. “Why do people fight? Why do they kill each other? My father used to tell me as if it were very beautiful and heroic and interesting. And where is he now? But… Isn’t it Destiny? Father! Eh, Father… You wanted me to grow up to be a warrior. I will. But I will fight for one purpose, to end the wars once and for all. I will seize power in the Capital, unify the Empire, and personally kill all the troublemakers who call for civil strife. And I will build a great wall along the borders so that foreigners cannot attack. No, I would rather conquer the whole world and annihilate the borders! There will only be one Cusuni Empire. The peoples cannot live in peace, for they are ruled by men. It’s time to put an end to that! After me, my direct descendants in the female line — daughters, granddaughters, great-granddaughters — will rule, and people will forget what war is. There will be eternal peace. I will be recognized by all as Great! In this way, I will fulfill my father’s will. And I will avenge you, my village and my clan. I will be the warrior who puts an end to war… But… Oh, Gods! How will all this come to pass!?” Her eyes were red with tears, but she could already see the determination in them.

Later, Lyra realized the naivety of her dream. After all, people had been at war at all times, and no amount of power, even the fairest, could end it. The propensity to kill is inherent in human nature itself. All living creatures that dwell and suffer in the celestial world live by similar laws… But it was then, sitting on the ashes, that Lyra chose her path.

She got it into her head that she had nothing to lose. “Of course! — said to herself — All her kin are dead, including even her third cousins. The village burned down, with only four more or less intact structures left, and a hundred ragamuffins… The almshouses have been looted and most of the dervishes are taking bribes. I have no one to support me, and there are only holes in my pockets. It is unlikely I will find a rich fiance, my appearance is normal — but also not the most beautiful. Six friends are as poor as I am. — The girl wiped away her tears and snot, ‘Two ways,’ she continued. — To become a despised tramp, or to fight for my dream. I choose the second!” Maybe if a wise counselor had been around, the girl would have realized that there were actually more ways. But there was no wise counselor, and the decision was made. Laira said goodbye to Childhood, and set out on a path that brought her much unbearable suffering. But which led to power over the Empire.

***

To begin, Lyra proposed to her six amorous friends that they swear an oath to each other. They agreed. All seven swore to cherish, support, and protect each other-no matter what. The friends called themselves the “crazy seven” and even wanted to come up with a motto. But they quickly gave up this childishness… Childhood years were over, it was time to act.

So, there was no way back — and the “crazy seven” set off over the horizon… They wandered through the northern suburbs for three long years. They worked as guards, did dangerous jobs for food, and didn’t shy away from stealing. They tried to find supporters, made speeches… Nobody listened. They couldn’t save any money, either. “The Crazy Seven had become a regular gang of vagrants, and looked the part…

Lyra was almost desperate, and began selling her soul and body to the Green Serpent. Tough as an oak trunk, the character gave way to cracks. It turned out that the tree had weak roots, and a gut riddled with fears. Friends-lovers shared with Lyra all the hardships and hardships, protected her and cared for her-but could not restore her faith in herself. For there was little faith left in themselves. One day the girl awoke in the middle of the night, pale with nightmares, and looked at the moon. It was red as blood-a lunar eclipse, and a total one at that. Lyra cried. Her friends tried to comfort her, but she hugged them one by one, thanked them warmly for their friendship — and declared that she wished to die. “I will love you even after death. Go and find your happiness. Promise me you will find it. I dragged you into this story, I ruined my native village, I did not do my father’s will… I’m sick of it. But you must live — it is my last will. Well, farewell! Don’t say goodbye…” Matach, the smartest and calmest of the seven, said: “You can’t be late to the cemetery. So why rush? Think hard. As long as a man is alive, all is not lost for him. Give yourself another chance.” Lyra looked up at Matah with an infinitely sad look, and said: “if I live another year — I might make new mistakes. Why? Tired… Mat! Don’t blame yourself for my death. I’m making you senior in the squad. Take my ten coppers, all I could save, and use them wisely. Take care of your friends, and let them take care of you. Well, farewell! May all be well with you…” But the boy did convince the girl to live another month. “What if fate smiles? Let’s give ourselves one last chance.”

This conversation took place

***

Ragged, dirty, hungry, and desperate, the “seven” showed up at the Witch’s lair. She was a witch, not a shaman. Shamans and shamans, though they can make a curse, consider themselves servants of Light. They heal, call rain, tell the future… And witches made no secret of the fact that they served the Dark Ages. And very proud of it…

It was the idea of big boy Gan, the funniest, most hard-working guy in the group, to get a “helper” like this. He made the idea in jest, he liked rough grim jokes, and loud merry cackling… But Laira liked the “joke. The future empress squinted and pondered, rubbing her chin for a long time. At last she made her Final Solution. Try to talk her out of it!

The witch lived in a plain old barn in the middle of nowhere. And she hid her name. Claimed to have lived for centuries, having buried her own children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and great-great-grandchildren. Lyra did not believe in such marvelous longevity-but the dark servant’s appearance spoke for itself… No one among the Seven had ever seen a mummy, except in fairy tales. But discussing the next day the appearance of the Witch — unanimously decided that the mummies look like this.

The face, riddled with wrinkles, was still able to smirk. The darting eyes shone with sincere wicked joy… and intelligence. His head was covered in bald, parchment skin, a skull. He was crowned, as befittingly so, by a huge hooked nose.

— So you’ve agreed to see us,” Laira said to the Witch. — Your maidservant apprentice, your great-great-granddaughter, said you weren’t interested in money. Well, I’m smart enough to know that Witches don’t do anything for free. And neither do most people. So what do you want from us? Our souls? Ridiculous. Tell me

a price and tell us if we can pay it. Just don’t stall, okay?

The shriveled woman held out her pinched hand to Lyra. A skeleton covered in leather. A long finger, adorned with a silver ring, pointed directly at Lilac’s nose.

— You’ve got it,” the mummy said. The voice sounded like the breath of a blacksmith’s bellows.

— Hmm? I don’t understand.” Clary jammed her hands at her sides. — You can explain. Don’t play riddles with us; that’s not why we’re here.

— You came because I called,’ the Witch continued, ‘and I called for a long time. Not you personally… My call is like the mooing of a cow in heat. A call to everyone — and no one. — The mummy made a painful sound, resembling a quick dry cough.

“It’s a laugh. She’s laughing,” Lyra whispered, “why? What’s so funny? I don’t like any of this.” Matah scratched the back of his head. “Me neither. Let’s get the hell out of here. Before it’s too late.” Laira regretted not taking his advice more than once…

And the Witch continued:

— “I have been calling. And many came to the call. Young girls, older women, old women… But I sent them all away, wishing them all the worst. They’re not it… But you are it! That’s it. Only you can make my dream come true Because you’re strong enough.

Lyra was beginning to get angry:

— Strong in body? Or soul? Well, don’t play riddles with us. Otherwise, you’ll know the strength of my fists in action.

— Oh, how funny! — The witch quipped, bursting into another fit of laughter. She took a breath and muttered:

— “I’ll be brief. You have a dream. To be Empress of Cusuni. I will help you achieve it. But-when you are crowned, when you receive the scepter, and sit on the throne-then I will come to you and remind you of my gratitude. By becoming a legitimate empress, you will be able to fulfill MY dream.

— I want more details,” Laira said sternly.

— Here are the details,” the Witch replied, twisting Lyra’s fist in her hand. — I know all about it, and don’t ask me how. You’re about to die. Ready to howl with despair. All this bravado is just an attempt to hide your helplessness and fear. I am your last hope, so respect me, adore me, and pray for me. Not so long ago, you were ready to throw yourself into a noose. Now they’re offering you the Crown of Cusuni and you’re showing off. Aren’t you ashamed?

— All right,” said Laira, trying her best to keep her voice cool and ice-cold. — I accept. Well, shall we go through with the rite? What is it? Draw blood? Draw signs? Eat a spider? What? Hurry up.

— So you’re in? — The Witch’s voice came out with an extraordinary liveliness and clarity. And Laira realized she had finally lost her cool. She’s nervous, too! Very, very anxious to make a pact!

— No,” she quipped, wanting to teach the wicked mummy a lesson. But the mummy’s gaze lit up with a piercing black anger, so black it cannot be conveyed in words. And the girl gave up:

— To hell with you. I agree.

The witch inhaled deeply-the air hissed into her lungs. “Aren’t they holey? — Lyra muttered.” Then the Witch exhaled sharply — “pfffffff” — splashing the future Empress with saliva… Later, the Seven discussed this episode many times, condemned the old hag, and marveled: “where did she get the saliva?” But that was later, and now the friends blushed angrily, squinted and clenched their fists… But the hag and did not think to worry. She spoke again:

— “The worst pacts are sealed through spitting,” she said. — You said, “The hell with you. And you were right-it has been with me for a long time, and not one, and not a hundred! But you are bound now to forces that would frighten armies of devils. Through me, those powers have entered your soul. Do you know of the Lords of Darkness? Humans know only the weakest of them. There are others: the unknowable, the incomprehensible, whose power, wisdom, and horror are beyond anything you can imagine. And you are bound to them now, as a child is bound to its mother by an umbilical cord. See you later, twenty-year-old fool! Get out, and become an empress. Our conversation is now over. I don’t want to see you again-it’s time for supper.

The witch took a rusty bell and rang it.

— Apprentice! Bring me some gruel.

The great-great-granddaughter appeared at once, trying to drive Laira and her friends out… And she saw that they were pretty angry. Fearing a pogrom, the apprentice handed them a sack of silver coins-as if to apologize for her strange mistress. She wished them good luck. “Seven” accepted the coins, said a cold goodbye, and finally left the musty barn. It was getting dark outside.

“The Seven went on their way. The soul was empty, but the clear evening twilight offered solace, and the gentle breeze refreshed their thoughts… The friends counted their money, went into the tavern, ate soup, and fell into a bottomless sleep.

***

The next day, a strange young man appeared to them. Handsome, well-dressed, he was, however, strangely disgusting. Laira couldn’t figure out what he looked like. He was like a wax figure, too flawless. A perfect face, immaculate attire, perfectly coiffed hair, crystal eyes, and a lifeless voice- polite, soft, and hollow. The young man greeted the Seven courteously, bowed separately to Lyra, and declared that he was the Witch’s great-great-great-grandson, her messenger and lover. Came to give the future Empress a document with the Treaty!

— You were very rude last night,” the creature said. — But the Wise One, aware of your foolish youth, your lack of education, and your ignorant origins, forgave you. However, you forgot to take the text of the Treaty, an unusually important document. It contains all the necessary information. Mutual obligations of the parties — as well as wise advice.

— Well, give it here,” Lyra said.

The contract was written on rough old paper-but in gilt lettering. The script was very ornate, but the future empress was able to make out the words… It said a lot of utter nonsense. For example: “it is not advisable for a woman who has concluded a treaty to comb her hair with a gold comb — otherwise she will go bald”. And “after signing a treaty, you must not howl at the moon — otherwise you will lose all your money”. Discussing such admonitions the seven friends decided that this — as well as the polite tone — is just the old hag’s perverted humor… “Well, we, youngsters, do not understand the wisdom of experience!”

However, there were some important things written in the Document. First, Lilac was forbidden to give birth until she had paid for the service. A kind of “bail”. Once the payment had been made, the witch’s “dream” had been realized, the ban would be lifted. There was a lengthy apology for this harshness in the text. “We are very sorry if this condition inconveniences you. But we must still impose it-it is the tradition of our ancestors…” Second, Lyra was not to drink or bathe in sanctified water or come into contact with the holy fire. “For henceforth you too are a witch, joined to the innermost wisdom and power. And there are powers that do not like us servants of Darkness very much.”

But it was promised unprecedented strength, dexterity, luck, the ability to “light up the hearts of people with a speech”, courage, the ability to “lead untold armies”, and self-confidence. The “hidden wisdom and power” was said to have descended not only on Lyra, but also on her friends — and on her beloved cat and dog.

— So be it,” Laira shrugged. — Let’s go make history. Maybe we can make it work.

Chapter 3

And — it went. “Seven” spoke to the intimidated peasants — and ignited their hearts. After all, the voice flowed deeply and penetratingly, loudly and reassuringly. The eyes were shining. “Our war is sacred,” Laira said, shaking her red hair. — And she’s the last one in history. Let’s end wars once and for all!” Many were perplexed and indignant: “This is impossible. Stupid story! “Really? Lyra answered. All great things once seemed impossible. Remember history! The merchant Shuni brought potatoes from across the Sea, and declared that the Great Famine would be defeated. Who believed him? Yes, almost no one! Fairy tale — people said. And the fairy tale came true! Potatoes became salvation — the Great Famine receded. Of course, crop failures happened later — but not so severe. Miracles are possible! A triumphant roar escaped from thousands of throats: “Long live the wise Laira!!!” “Teaching people to plant potatoes is one thing. And to change their bloodthirsty nature is another. Stop hanging noodles on our ears, “said the local clever people. “For those who believe in their dream, nothing is impossible,” answered Laira. And thousands of hands, clutching scythes and pitchforks, triumphantly shot up. “The era of eternal prosperity will come! The reason for the wars is simple — almost all monarchs were men. From now on, the throne will be occupied only by women. Do not be afraid! I am not contesting anyone’s rights. Men will be able to continue to serve as ministers, judges, dervishes, mayors — and many more. But the throne will now be inherited only by my direct descendants through the female line. Daughters, granddaughters, great-granddaughters, great-great-granddaughters — to infinity. Wars will end forever! Don’t you want to live in a calm, good world, under wise and caring guidance? You will say: this is a fairy tale. Well, well, let’s make the fairy tale come true!

***

It must be said that the witch powers were not the only reason for Laira’s success. The people were really tired of civil strife, they were on the verge of despair, and as the baats say: “a drowning man grabs even a snake.”

All pretenders to the throne were similar. They made similar — beautiful and pathos — speeches. They poured similar promises… And Laira is NOT LIKE EVERYONE. For a woman! “Something new,” people said. “Perhaps this is a sign of Fate?”

And to the camp of the former village hooligan, whole crowds were drawn… Many out of curiosity, many out of hopelessness. People were attracted by a half-mad hope — like a desert oasis-mirage. Everyone wanted to hear the speeches of the “Northern Speaker”. And the mirage turned out to be not so ghostly! And when the people rise — like a mighty wave — those who want to ride this wave, lead it, quickly appear. Soon Knowledgeable People began to come to Layrin tent. They began to offer services… Perhaps thanks to the help of dark forces, perhaps at the will of Fate, or perhaps for quite natural reasons, most of the Knowledgeable People turned out to be not scoundrels.

A wiry black-moustached merchant, nicknamed “Zloty”, offered to help with food. The shaggy head of the northern craftsmen — “Bear” — promised to solve problems with equipment.The barefoot dervish Root of Heaven gave Laira a relic — the saber of Shaniva, an ancient holy warrior. And he began to be responsible for relations with the Light Gods… And the former secretary of Prince Vai — “Sparrow” — brought fifty of his colleagues, and took up the clerical side of the issue. Of course, all the assistants did not serve for beautiful eyes — everyone has their own interest. Especially since they were well paid. But the main thing is that many experienced officers reached out to Laira. They understood: hordes of many thousands are ready to follow the woman. Into fire and into water! And these desperate, furious — but inept “warriors” need worthy commanders… Who will train, train, organize — and receive a fair share of trophies and glory.

In a word, everything is wonderful. But here’s the bad luck — some Knowledgeable People began to gradually seize the reins of government. To impose her opinion on every issue, to make decisions behind Laira’s back, to conclude agreements without her knowledge… And the future empress took action. She declared publicly that help is wonderful, and she is ready to accept it — but she is not going to give up her power. According to a special order, the most persistent “assistants” were punished. Mitai gathered a detachment of dexterous peasants, explained the essence of the task — they caught the troublemakers, tied them up — and dragged them to Laira. Which publicly cut off their heads.

Chapter 4. Bloody everyday life

Campaign life began. “The Seven were busy with chores and meetings, punishing trespassers, planning operations, inspecting the troops, making fiery speeches… And Lyra and her friends slept in the tent, on hard pillows, covered with rough blankets. They drank sour wine and koumiss, and dressed in marching clothes, though expensive… After three years of wandering, the conditions seemed truly imperial!

The ruler officially proclaimed her friends-lovers to be Honorable Counselors. Each was given a certain “profile” — and corresponding regalia — but all were allowed to argue with each other.

Mithai became a Military Counselor. Though his appearance was more dueling than martial. Short, lean, and ruddy, he prided himself on his thick brown hair, his thin straight sword, and his noble face. And he hinted in every way that he was the offspring of an old officer’s family — a bastard. Remembering the horrors of vagrancy, he tried to keep himself clean — which was not always possible. His movements were swift and nimble, his voice tinkling, sometimes snide, but more often angrily condescending. The guy became friends with many professional officers — and learned a lot from them. He advocated quick unexpected movements of squads, cunning deceptive maneuvers, and swift attacks. He was often angry, but as a rule, quickly calmed down. However, if he was severely wounded, he could hate for life… He also never smiled, except with just his eyes, and never laughed. He never wore armor, because he thought it restricted his movements.