Sharaam, city of magiciansEndy swayed measuredly in the saddle. The clothes were still damp from the recent heavy rain, and there were smudges and dirt stains on the boots and trousers. His back was numb, his legs were buzzing, and his neck was unbearably itchy. On the road in autumn it is very unpleasant, he had already forgotten that. The man adjusted his collar, looked ahead, and sighed. The forest thinned out considerably, and the road became wider and better. But most importantly, the city walls appeared ahead.Made of dark gray flat stone, tall and gloomy. Narrow towers, over the peaks of which red lights burn, gloomy guards in black robes.The city of magicians, Sharaam, greeted the guests unfriendly. Endius felt uncomfortable in front of the massive gates of bog oak, soaked in some undeniably magical mixture that gave the dark wood an ashen bluish tint. And when the air around him suddenly thickened and shone with a white light, he shuddered in fright. Fortunately, the white

The wind grabbed handfuls of bright leaves, played with them, mixed them and threw them to the ground. Enregal was called the fortress city for a reason. He stood on the high bank of the river, surrounded by a powerful fortress wall. The laying was fresh, reliable. The heavy gates opened slowly, the gate creaked strainedly.The warrior next to Deamara touched the reins, forcing the horses under the archway. The two washerwomen followed the procession with indifferent glances and went on. Some thin boy sat on the roof and looked at the soldiers through a paper tube. Other passers-by who got in the way tried to quickly disappear from sight.The warriors stopped at a tall, rich house with turrets and carved doors. Deamare was helped off the horse. The girl was tired, her legs and back ached a little from a long trip. And I was very thirsty.- Here, - one of the men opened the door in front of her, skipping ahead.The house had high ceilings, stained-glass windows made of colored diamonds

BrivenBery was angry and could not find a place for himself. And he himself could not understand with whom he was more angry, with Deya, for having run away, or with himself. Or furious because he was horrified by a possible loss. The man imagined that Leverius was touching her, and he shuddered. A dry branch crunched underfoot.The werewolf more conveniently intercepted a simple, leather-covered bow, delving into the forest. He didn't like to hunt in human form, but now he needed to think and be alone.When he reached a suitable tree, the man strapped the weapon on his back and jumped lightly, pulling himself up and climbing onto one of the thick lower branches of an old pine tree. He pressed his back against the rough, resin-smelling bark. Bare feet confidently stood on a branch, feeling only a slight chill.Beria closed his eyes and sensitive ears immediately distinguished many sounds. The rustle of leaves receded, subsided, replaced by other sounds. The werewolf heard a distant s

In the morning Beria came to his senses. He took a deep breath, opening his eyes. Almost all the wounds healed and brightened, leaving thin pink scars as a memory. Soon they will become almost invisible. The man looked up at the ceiling, sniffed the air and looked at his brother.Aznar did not sleep. He sat in a not very comfortable position, legs bent, but did not move, because Deya fell asleep on his lap. Trustingly, she curled up, grabbing the man by the waist. Markat carefully held it with one hand, and with the other he went through the blond strands of hair, playing and passing through his fingers. He felt the gaze, Aznar looked back. Slightly smiled at the corner of his lips.- Where is she from? - despite the good health, Beria was in no hurry to get up. He knew how much internal resources such accelerated regeneration could use. Weakness is the least of the consequences that can be expected.- She arrived last night, - satisfied notes were heard in Aznar's voice.-One? Beria

A human head in a wolf mask lay on the table. Candle flames reflected in dead, faded eyes. The skin was grey, bloodless and like dry old parchment. Kertan frowned at the head.The people around the table were silent. Their faces were lost in the darkness. Only expensive clothes were visible: soft leather with silver studs, lush sable furs. Weapons in precious scabbards.- All died? asked Kertan quietly, holding back a cold fury.- Everything, sir.-And she?- The lady is alive and well.The adviser closed his eyes. Step by step, he approached the abyss from which there was no return. He knew what was in store for him. Him and his family. The rulers will be merciless. It is terrible to imagine what they will do with the man who twice attempted on the life of their Lanaren. Let his stupid daughter organize the first attempt, but at least she took care of the poison for the killer. And this move was good. Kertan gave the same poison to all his people. Quick and effective: little gray pea