NOVEL WEB The hardships of the agents of the Elf Queen.
* * *
After saying goodbye to the humiliated and tearful witch, Luaval headed out of the Middle City and back to the Upper City. More specifically, to Mount Mont Ros. Though Morgrave had several safe havens, hiding places, and caves where he could rest or wait out a raid, he preferred not to use them. Only in extreme cases. They were all under the jurisdiction of the Secret Guard. And he didn't trust the Secret Guard, which was mutual. That was why Luaval preferred to use only his own hideout, which he sincerely hoped no one else knew about. And to keep it that way, he had to move very carefully, under disguise, looping and wandering through the city. That the locals could have spotted him and tracked him down, Luaval doubted very much. There were no such pros in this city. But some agents of the Secret Guard might have tried to follow him. Of course, it would be for good purposes only so nothing could happen to such a valuable specialist. There had only been a couple of such precedents, though, and it had been long ago. He had explained to the Head of the Secret Guard in a private conversation what would happen next time to anyone he caught spying on him.
That conversation had not added any warmth to their relationship, but there was no more such obvious friction between them, and no one tried to follow Luaval. At least not while he was working in the fields. But that was no reason to relax, quite the opposite. So the dark elf reached the foothills of Mont Ros, adjacent to the town, only at dawn, when the sun had already appeared from behind the horizon. The small mining village was surrounded by a high fence with a moat. The area around it was covered with mountains of waste rock. Getting inside was child's play for him. The local laborers were mostly still asleep, and the few sentries were desperately trying not to join them. Then again, they were more concerned with ensuring no one left the camp without being inspected. Walking invisibly through the camp, Luaval stopped in front of the mine entrance. Once upon a time, there had been a natural cave here, inhabited at different times by a variety of creatures, from wild predators to a half-wild tribe of goblins. But it had all been a long time ago.
When people came to these places, the cave served for some time as a shelter for various fugitives, but then silver veins were discovered in it, and active mining began. In addition to the noble metal, precious stones were also found in it. Mont Ros was very rich. Over time, the cave was greatly expanded and deepened, extracting underground riches, and turning it into a full-fledged mine. Once inside, Luaval confidently made his way to the mine, navigating the darkness of the underground. He encountered no one on the way, save for a couple of cave rats and a few broods of bats. They did not notice the dark elf. At the next fork in the road, Luaval grinned. Although the mountain itself had long since been settled by humans and the entire dwarven clan that recognized the vassalage of the Dukes of Morgrave, it still had its secrets, such as the three entrances to the real Underworld. And that's just the ones known to Luaval and unknown to the locals.
Moving steadily in the near total darkness, Luaval reached the mine he needed, which had been abandoned long, long ago after the silver vein had dried up. Standing still in the darkness and listening, the dark elf waited for a few minutes. The quiet clatter of droplets from the ceiling. The squeak of a pair of cave rats huddled together in a crevice beneath the flooring. The whoosh of air in the air shafts. Nothing and no one. Good. Approaching a section of the stone wall that was a mass of indestructible granite, Luaval touched it with the palm of his hand, sending out a magical signal password. A moment later, the blank wall of stone rippled, the elaborate illusion vanished, and a door made of solid stone wood, covered with protective carvings and infused with protective and masking charms, appeared before the dark elf. Taking a small, cleverly made key of dark metal from his breast pocket, Luaval carefully inserted it into an inconspicuous keyhole and carefully turned it first one way, then half a turn the other. The complex lock mechanism clicked, and the protective charms switched to passive mode. Luaval opened the door and listened cautiously, keeping his weapon ready. He waited thirty heartbeats, listening and peering into the darkness. Nothing. Intercepting his blades, he slipped inside a narrow, short corridor and into a small room lit by a pair of dim magical lamps. As soon as the dark elf was in it, he felt different. Home.
It would seem that only a few meters of monolithic stone separated him from the cave-mine. It wasn't much. But there was still the Upper World. And here was the beginning of the Underworld. Luaval breathed in the air of his homeworld, and with one lip he said:
"Home sweet home."
The room he found himself in was small. It was a simple square room with a not-very-high ceiling lit by a pair of dim enchanted crystal lamps recessed into the bare walls. In addition to the door through which Luaval had arrived, there were two other doors, made of solid stone wood. One led to the living quarters where the guard on duty would be. The other led to a steeply descending spiral staircase, lit by dim crystal lamps. Touching the wall near the beginning of the corridor, where the control crystal was located, the dark elf ensured the illusion-supporting charms were working properly and activated it again. The front door immediately closed silently and the lock clicked quietly. Then Luaval stepped into the guardhouse and glanced around the room. A pair of bunk beds without linens, a pantry for supplies, a dining room, a restroom, and a desk. Nothing had changed since his last visit. All the signal tags, beacons, and threads were intact. Who would doubt it? For a moment, the dark elf's gaze lingered on an unfolded scroll hanging on the wall. On it was neatly drawn and filled in a table with the names of sentries and duty schedules. The last entry in it had been made decades after Morgrave had been founded.
Once he was sure everything was right up here, Luaval started silently downstairs, listening intensely and peering into the almost total darkness. Silence. No one and nothing. Carefully stepping over some unremarkable steps, the dark elf reached the end of the spiral staircase. Here was the same room as upstairs. A guardhouse and a corridor leading to one of the branches of the vast system of caverns of the Underworld lay beneath Mont Ros Mountain and partly beneath Morgrave. All of them belonged to the Wildlands and partly to the Neutral Territories. Even the dwarven vassals of the Duke preferred to live on the surface and did not attempt to colonize this part of the Underground. The nearest Inhabited Territories, where there was a fortified colony of one of the dark dwarven clans, was a week's journey through the Underdark. In Luaval's case, three days. The nearest city of his kin was nearly a month's journey, even for him. At least, according to the Forest's scouting reports. It had been a long time since Luaval had worked in his homeland. He had enough to worry about in the Upper World. Maybe one of the Houses had established an outpost here, but there was no way of knowing.
Walking to the beginning of the corridor, the dark elf touched the control crystal with the palm of his hand and listened for a response. Nothing. No one had passed through here. No one had opened the door, and the spells that fueled the illusion were stable. Good. Luaval looked around the lower guardroom, which was no different from the upper one, made sure nothing had changed since last time, and closed the door carefully. Then he opened the front door with his weapon at the ready. Standing at the exit, still hidden by the illusion, Luaval closed his eyes and listened. Hearing was often more effective than sight in the Underworld. Well, what have we got? The quiet clatter of drops. The murmur of water. The faint whistle of the wind. The quiet rustle and squeak of a brood of cave rats. Everything seems fine. But it would have to be checked. Opening his eyes, the dark elf took a step forward and found himself in a large cave with high ceilings, from which numerous stalactites hung. Its walls were covered in many places with dense thickets of underground lichen, which glowed faintly in the darkness and was one of the foundations of the underground ecosystem. In the very center of the cave was a pond, where thin streams of water flowed down from the ceilings and walls. Its stony banks were densely covered with the same moss and various underground mushrooms, some of which were as tall as an adult elf's waist. A couple of them glowed with a cold blue light, dispelling the eternal darkness of the Underground. Alchemists and mages in Morgrave would pay good money for such a mushroom. A small brook flowed out of the pond, leading to the exit of the cave farther into the Underworld.
It was a good place, very beautiful and deceptively safe. Several powerful energy flows, rising from the very depths of the earth, converged and intertwined here. They fed the local flora, without which the Underground would be practically uninhabited. If this place had been on the surface, a magical tower or temple would have been built here, or, at worst, an altar/temple would have been organized to gather and concentrate almost free power. Moving silently and with his cloak activated, Luaval walked along the walls of the cave to the exit, looking around carefully. Even without magical enhancement, the experienced hunter's eyes could see the numerous footprints of the various inhabitants of the caves. And that was a good thing. If there was still a lot of life here, it meant no truly dangerous creatures from the depths of the Underground had settled nearby, where even his kin preferred not to go. When he reached the place where the next cave began, Luaval stood still for a few moments, listening and looking around. No one. Or rather, no one is intelligent. There was plenty of wildlife. A cave rat that had come to drink water in a shallow stream squeaked in panic and disappeared into its dark waters, caught in the jaws of someone. A cave flyer swooped almost silently under the ceiling, his webbed wings working fast.
When he was satisfied, Luaval moved back, also silently and cloaked. Back in the lower guardhouse, the dark elf made sure the illusion concealing the entrance was working properly, closed the door, activated the protection, and placed a few more of the signal amulets he had brought with him. After that, he started to climb back upstairs. Once in the upper guardhouse, he began to prepare for a well-deserved rest. The storeroom contained supplies in magic-sealed pots and jars, various consumables like one-time amulets and alchemy, equipment, weapons, and bedding. Before going to bed, Luaval took a few detoxicants and drank a pitcher of clean water from a small spring in the restroom. He settled on the bed and wrote a report for Sivila in a special journal for half an hour while his body was cleansed of the effects of the potions. What was written in one, immediately appeared in the other, a very convenient means of communication. When the cleansing procedure was over, Luaval visited the restroom, and only then with a clear conscience, went to bed. Taking a custom-made sleeping bag, the dark elf spread it on one of the beds and climbed into it, leaving his weapon at hand. As he made himself comfortable, he closed his eyes and whispered with just his lips:
"Home sweet home."
Or rather, what little remained of the fallen House of Travil. It was unlikely that anyone alive today, besides Luaval, knew of this particular exit to the Upper World. The tops of the house had built this passage in the utmost secrecy to conduct clandestine forays into the territory of the Island Empire, which then controlled all of the shores of the Middle Sea. All the slaves involved in the construction were killed as soon as the work was completed. When the House fell, most of those who knew of this withdrawal perished. Of those who survived, only Luaval knew exactly where it was, how to get there, and, just as importantly, how to get in. So this place had become a great refuge for him. Especially during the most difficult first time, when there were no allies, companions, or possessions left, only old and new enemies, a beastly thirst for survival, and a desire for revenge. Which, however, very quickly, in just a couple of decades and a dozen killed kin, came to naught. What's the point? The House could not be revived. All who survived were captured and enslaved by the victors or managed to escape and were assimilated by the Allies. And who, come to think of it, is there to avenge? The common soldiers who stormed the walls of the house? Ridiculous. The matriarchs of their Houses? Even funnier, even he can't get to them alone. Unless he went on a suicide attack, hoping to trade his life for someone else's. No, that's not for him.
Besides, were they responsible for the fall of the House? Or the one who by her self-confidence and miscalculations in leadership allowed three ill-women to unite, even temporarily, and act as a united front? As always, when thinking about her, Luaval saw a tall dark elf with a long and lush snow-white tail of hair down to her tailbone, thrown over her right shoulder. She was dressed in dark purple silk robes with deep necklines that emphasized her enlarged breasts and wide hips. The haughty and strong-willed face of a woman accustomed to command, ruthless dark purple eyes. The last matriarch of House Travil, and also his mother. He wondered what happened to her. He had not been able to find out for sure since the fall. There was no way to find out. He had to survive somehow. But the rumors were different. Some said she was killed in the last battle. Some said she killed herself to avoid the shame of captivity. Some whispered she had managed to escape and was hiding somewhere in the Underworld or with the Allies. And some said one of the victors had managed to capture her and now she was being held as a living toy. The only thing that was known for sure was that neither alive nor dead, none of the victors of the last matriarch of House Travil had shown her as a trophy.
Luaval didn't believe his mother had run away. It was one thing for him to have been raised and educated by an Underworld Hunter. It was another thing for the matriarch of the House to be used to command and rule, albeit with considerable magical power. But completely unused to surviving outside a fortified city of dark elves. He didn't believe she'd killed herself, either. Not her. Mom would have fought to the last, and more likely would have died in battle, trying to take as many foes with her as possible. Choosing between the remaining options, death, and captivity, Luaval believed in the former but hoped for the latter. There was still a chance to meet her again, albeit a ghostly one. To thank her for everything. From a fun childhood to a broken home. Grinning, the dark elf pictured his mother in the robes of white leather strips and metal rings that Titty wore. She standing before him on all fours, with a muzzle gag in her mouth and eyes full of impotent anger. It was a very seductive picture. If only.
In the next instant, the fantasy changed again. On the wide bed lay, with a very disgruntled face, a naked Sivila, tied by the wrists to the headboard. And at her sides, holding her ankles and spreading her legs wide in a V, lay Titty and her mother, also naked. With a satisfied look, with her free hand, Mom was spreading Sivila's pussy with two fingers, inviting him to use it. The fantasy was so seductive that Luaval regretted for a moment he hadn't set up a small sex slave cell in this hideout. At least one of the prettier people. But that would be such a hassle, she'd have to be maintained, and he wasn't at this hideout very often. Sighing sadly, the dark elf kept that image in his mind and sank into sleep. There was still a lot of work ahead.
* * *
In a not-too-large room without windows and with a very tight door was an atmosphere of complete peace and relaxation. An enchanted music box was playing quietly in the corner. Its melody was devoid of harsh sounds, resembling the quiet murmuring of a brook. The air was faintly scented with expensive incense from the southern shores of the Middle Sea. A pair of enchanted lamps were recessed in the recesses of the walls, creating an almost intimate twilight. The walls of the room were enchanted with special artifacts embedded in key places. Finding out what was going on here from the outside was very difficult. In the center of the room on a comfortable wooden bed lay a naked elf with short snow-white hair and dark green eyes. In front of her on a small stool sat a slender, lisping young man with swarthy skin, short black curly hair, and a broad nose. He wore only a loincloth and sandals, and on the swarthy skin of his forehead was clearly visible the complex mark of a slave. With a blank expression on his face, he massaged the elf's right foot, rubbing some kind of cream on it at the same time.
Behind the elf sat a similarly dark-haired girl, quite pretty, with long black hair braided into many small pigtails. She was wearing the same loincloth and sandals. Her large breasts with black nipples were exposed. She had the same branding seal on her forehead. To her side was a small table with various vials and a basin of warm water. With the same blank expression as the young man, she carefully soaped the elf's hair while massaging her head.
To the side of the elf, facing her, sat a young human woman in an expensive, closed yellow-red dress, made according to the latest southern fashions. Her milky white skin contrasted with her black wavy hair, gathered into a thick braid. She wore several gold-encrusted gemstone necklaces on her chest, a ring on both index fingers, and a silver tiara on her forehead with a large ruby that glowed faintly. An expert would have no trouble identifying them as very high-quality magical amulets and artifacts honed for Mind Magic. Leaning back in her chair, the woman spoke softly to the firstborn in a polite voice while her right hand stroked her belly, sometimes going a little lower, sometimes a little higher. Her dark eyes scrutinized the elf's face, sometimes flashing red in unison with the ruby of her tiara. The elf answered her with a calm expression. It was like a conversation between two good friends.
"Amazing, honorable Zitrael. It would never have occurred to me. How did you manage it?"
"Experience, honorable Ashuir. In my centuries of service to the Forest Guard, I have encountered such things. So I knew how to evade pursuit..."
The elf's voice was casual and relaxed. She answered clearly and without hesitation. Except the look in her dark green eyes was blank and devoid of thought. Almost the same as those of the dark-skinned slaves who tended her. As Ashuir continued to listen to the elfess and stroked her belly, she cast a glance to the corner of the room. There at a small desk sat a young boy with short dark hair, dressed in the simple clothes of a townsman, but with the same branding on his forehead as the swarthy youth. With a blank expression, he quickly and neatly recorded the entire conversation between the elf and Ashuir. A couple of sheets of paper written out in painstaking handwriting were already lying aside. With a satisfied smile, the woman turned back to the elf:
"I would be very interested to know, beautiful Zitrael, still how exactly did you realize you were being stalked?"
"It wasn't hard to spot them if you knew what to look at..."
The leisurely conversation continued for several more hours. During this time, the elf was given a full range of beauty treatments and a light lunch of fruit and slices of thinly sliced meat. After a couple of sips of red wine, her dark green eyes blurred and almost immediately she felt overwhelmingly sleepy. Barely had she fallen asleep when the woman sitting next to her leaned forward, her forehead touching the elf's, and squeezed her temples with her fingertips. She sat like that for almost a minute before pulling away with a satisfied expression on her face. With a flick of her graceful fingers, she rose to her feet and headed for the door. Her servant-slaves immediately followed their mistress. Ashuir slowly stepped outside, followed by her entourage. A swarthy young man carried the peacefully sleeping elf in his arms. In the next room, a gray-haired man of age was waiting for them, in the company of his large friend. At the sight of those who came out, both simultaneously rose to their feet from the bench they were sitting on. The gray-haired man bowed his head politely and asked respectfully:
"How'd it go, Ashuir-Wali?"
"Good. It wasn't a problem. I had no trouble putting her in a trance and getting her comfortable with me. The right physical stimulation of the right parts of the body, combined with light alchemy and the right music, can produce amazing results. Afterward, I questioned her about everything you asked. I didn't register anything unusual or strange, no attempts to lie, withhold or distort information. Except she couldn't answer some of the questions because of magical oaths that prevent her from telling secret information to strangers, which is to be expected from a combat sorceress of the Forest Guard. I can overcome them, but to do so without risking irreparable damage to her mind. I will need quite a bit of time and additional resources. Both monetary and material. Here are the transcripts of our conversation."
Receiving the stack of sheets from the boy scribe, Gray nodded once more and said with deep respect:
"As always, I am amazed by your skill, honorable Ashuir-Wali."
"If it were otherwise, we wouldn't be talking to you. Tell me, how long will we be in this town?"
"We have some things to finalize in just a couple of weeks. You'll be required to conduct a full interrogation of the prisoner and her processing on the third template. Can you do that in a month?"
Thinking for a moment, Ashuir slowly nodded:
"This is feasible but will require even more additional funds. This primarily concerns alchemical and magical consumables."
"Of course. We have all the basic things you need ready, the rest of the consumables will be purchased soon."
"That's fine. In that case, I'll start the first phase of work tomorrow."
After saying goodbye to Grey and his companion and handing over the peacefully sleeping elf, the sorceress, with a retinue of servant-slaves, went to her assigned quarters. Gray having placed the prisoner in her cell and having made sure that everything was in order, returned to his room and began to scrutinize the records of the conversation, making notes and highlighting some points. A full-fledged combat magician of the Forest Guard with many hundreds of years of experience, this is not some Guardian of the Flower Garden or Caretaker of the Fruit Grove. Such a person would know a lot of valuable things that would help him and his colleagues in their future work. Also, her knowledge can be sold very profitably, and there will be those willing to buy it. The purchase of this long-eared one promises to bring a very handsome profit. And that's not to mention its direct cost. Of course, it's not easy to train an elfess to become a loyal and obedient slave and retain most of her skills. But Ashuir has a lot of experience in these matters, including working with elves. There is no doubt of success.
* * *
The sun had already disappeared below the horizon when an invisible shadow slipped out of the cave and headed toward the city. Sleeping and rested, Luaval quickly reached Morgrave. Once inside the city, the dark elf made his way to the Middle City, keeping caution and choosing roundabouts to reach his goal. When he reached the right neighborhood, he approached a tall and solid building standing on the banks of the Dantra, near one of the bridges leading to the Upper City. It housed the Vicious Rose, the best brothel in the Middle City and one of the best in the entire city. The defense here was excellent, as was the security. A fenced-in area, alarm webs, and a whole complex of artifacts embedded in the walls prevented the outside from seeing what was going on inside. Luaval was interested in one particular room on the top floor, where the protection was excellent, even if it was not easy to notice this difference even with magical vision. He hung on the edge of the roof next to a window covered with thick shutters and knocked gently several times, waited for ten heartbeats, and then said quietly:
"We live in a twilight world."
After a few moments, a muffled reply came from within:
"And there are no friends at sunset."
Without the slightest creak, the shutters opened, and a skillful illusion covered the wall and roof. Slipping through the open window, Luaval found himself in a spacious room filled with people. Or rather, elves. The dark elf deactivated his cloaking amulet, removed his hood, and nodded a greeting to his colleagues:
"Greetings."
The answer was a few tired and one interested looks. In the center of the room, three of his light kin, dressed in the gray robes of the Secret Guard, and a Quadroon woman of human blood sat at a large table littered with scrolls and papers. She was dressed in figure-hugging garments of dark cloth, much favored by the Night Guild's quietists. Except with a large neckline on her not-insignificant chest. Dark, shoulder-length hair, sly gray eyes, slightly pointed ears, and a predatory expression on her pretty face. The true, but unspoken owner of the "Vicious Rose" looked at the arriving dark elf with undisguised interest. In the corners of the room stood four stationary artifacts in the form of skillfully made statues, creating a closed masking and protective field, reinforced by a dozen amulets hanging on the walls. Along the windows on a separate table, stood a dozen pots covered with intricate ornaments with various plants, flowers, and even a couple of small trees. There was a dressing table by one of the walls, on which five small mirrors were placed, reflecting not this room and the elf sitting in front of them, dressed as a wizard of the Secret Guard.
In the next room, where a wide doorless passage led, a comfortable wooden bed with a soft mattress stood in the center of a complex ritual circle. On it lay an elven woman in a nightgown with her eyes closed and a magical tiara on her head. Against the wall in a chair sat another elfess, also in a nightgown and robe. She was holding her head with one hand, and in the other, she held a large vial of some kind of potion, which she drank in small gulps straight from the vial. She didn't look very well, the look in her blue eyes was detached and lost. Another elf stood beside her, dressed as a healer wizard, with a magical tiara on his head. His eyes were glowing blue, and in his hands, he held a long twisted rod made of dark wood, which he was waving around the head of the elf sitting in the chair. Every now and then a wave of green light traveled along the rod. The elf sitting at the head of the table nodded to Luaval with a grim and tired face and said, pointing to a vacant chair.
"You're just in time. We're in trouble."
The dark elf grinned wryly:
"And why am I not surprised?"
Sitting down at the table, Luaval took a serious look and asked dryly:
"What happened?"
"They've begun to break Zitrael. So far, very gently, but in the next few days, they'll start breaking her down in earnest."
"We expected this, didn't we?"
The lurker grimaced and said grudgingly:
"Expected, but not to this level. Zitrael was taken in by a very good sorceress, a master of Mind magic. Ashuira dan Laafat. It's not what we expected."
Squinting his eyes, Luaval said slowly:
"That name sounds familiar. Very interesting. I didn't think I'd see one of the Mind Magic masters of the Southern Lands on this side of the Middle Sea."
"Neither did we."
"Is she here incognito?"
"No, she arrived a week ago with a combined squadron of merchant ships from Sakhib-Nere. All flying the flags of various Confederate trading houses. After her arrival, she and her entourage stayed at an inn in the quarter of the Vaar Gras trading house. Officially, she had arrived at the invitation of the Head of the Morgraiv branch for "private consultations."
"Well, well, well. And that's where our dear "buyers" have settled."
"Right."
"Did you find out anything about them?"
"Taking one of the scrolls from the table, the lurker held it out to Luaval."
"A small team of mercenaries, or as the humans now call them, adventurers. Official guild member. They were assigned to a branch of a city on the other side of the Middle Sea. They have a confirmed gold rank, for closing a contract to kill the leader of a large band of brigands operating on the northern border of the Confederacy and the lands of the Sun Worshippers. They are generalists, mostly melee fighters. There's not much detail about them, save for one thing. Mikhel is from Dartman and studied in the Mage Guild of the Unquenchable Flame, whose main branch is in his hometown. He has completed the full primary and secondary general courses, as well as an additional course in basic Alchemy, for which he has a guild-approved certificate and a certified general mage patent."
"A commoner?"
"He's a poor townsman, gifted by birth. Spotted by guild recruiters as a boy."
"How did he end up among the adventurers?" Luaval raised his eyebrows in surprise. "He should have spent twenty years working on his training."
"Our "buyers" bought out his contract, a normal practice for an adventurer's guild. Although, as a rule, they initially send their recruits to mages, rather than re-buying graduates. But there are all sorts of things that happen. Aside from this Mikhel, they haven't taken any newcomers in the last ten years. They work only within cities, specializing in guarding wealthy clients. For the last ten years, they've had a permanent and fairly extensive contract with the Vaar Gras trading house. More specifically, with one of the younger relatives of the Head of the House, whom they accompany everywhere. He arrived in Morgraiv about a month ago, and they are with him as his retinue and guard. Since then, they have been living with him, practically never leaving his mansion or the grounds of House Vaar Gras."
"I see. What else did you find out?"
"My birds have had a look at their nest," the Quadroon woman said.
"These guys have a hell of a defense, you can't just walk in on them. My birds were very cautious when they probed it, and they were almost picked off, so they had to get out of there fast. The peddler's mansion where they live is wrapped in signal threads, so a mouse can't get through. There are also tracking crystals, both overt and covert. The walls are all enchanted to the utmost so nothing can be overheard or seen. A lot of guards from the guards of the house, all packed properly, at least a couple of guardsmen always have amulets of the Clear Eye and a couple of chain dogs, trained to smell magic. They check everyone at the entrance, even their own, very thoroughly. There's probably some kind of artifact checker. And there's definitely a way through the basement to the neighboring houses. Probably more than one. There's a map of the first two floors of the mansion, but the third and fourth floors are difficult, because the merchant doesn't let anyone else into his living quarters, and the windows are always under illusion, so you can't tell what's behind them. He has few servants, all of whom are branded slaves, so you can't ask them. There are bound to be some magical surprises inside, as they regularly buy various magic items from the Morgrave Mages' Guild. I've also learned that a few years ago they bought a quadruple golem, type "C" semi-combat model, from the Dwarfs."
After listening to the rest of her, Luaval drummed his fingers thoughtfully on the edge of the table. Then he looked at the chief lurker:
"What are we gonna do?"
The one with a grim face uttered:
"We can't cover Zitrael for long without risking detection. Not against such a master. Ten days, tops. And without our cover, Ashuir will know instantly, and the whole operation will go down the drain."
With a crooked grin, Luaval uttered:
"So we'll have to act sooner than we planned."
Turning to the Quadroon woman, the dark elf uttered:
"I need all the information you can get on this mansion and its inhabitants. Anything and everything you can find out. But it has to be done without attracting too much attention. At the very least, try to disguise it as the interest of one of your colleagues. The deadline is two days."
She put her foot on her leg, folded her arms across her voluminous chest, and said with a smile:
"I can arrange that. Especially with your help. But it will cost a lot, and I expect a return of favors."
With those words, she handed the main lurker a large scroll. He ran his eyes over it quickly, considered it for a few seconds, then nodded.
"Good. You'll get all the goods you requested for your female employees by the end of the week, as per standard procedure. I'll disburse the money after the meeting. We'll cooperate as best we can in gathering information. Luaval, I'll ask you to handle the rest."
Taking the scroll from the hands of the lurker, the dark elf ran his eyes over it. At the very beginning, there was a rather detailed and voluminous list of cosmetic and healing alchemy, then no less solid list of delicacies and elven wines, and at the end, there were a dozen various women's outfits made of expensive fabrics. It was already worth a lot of money. At the very end of the scroll were three names, each with a short description of who they were and where to find them. Two were colleagues of the Quadroon in the dangerous business of the Night Guild. The third, on the other hand, was the son of one of Morgrave's wealthy men in the river trade. It wasn't hard to guess what was required of him. Rolling up the scroll, the dark elf held it back.
"I'll be back soon."
She took it with a smile and said:
"I'll look forward to it."
* * *