"If he had been reduced to a skeleton in the room where he had been imprisoned," the prince's henchman knight reminded, "he would have climbed out of the window." ”

"Then let's find a windowless room to keep him in. Berdwin said.

"I think he's more suitable for a tomb that has no windows and no doors. So said the richly dressed knight.

The Lich was indifferent to whether a human lived or died, though he did want the thief a little bit - he wanted to study the curse on the thief, and he hadn't seen a similar curse in a long time.

The new god of death, Cranmore, is a man of few words, he has never coveted the vanity of the main material world, his temple is tall but empty, his servants live like an ascetic, he does not ask for sacrifices and gold, if you want to pray anything to the god who symbolizes the end of life, you only need to bring some spices, grease and lycoris (Lycoris is the sacred flower of Cranmo).

This is not to say, however, that the priests of Cranmore are as weak and incompetent as the priests of Flo, who occupy a silent but indispensable position in human society - the priests are responsible for officiating funerals, dealing with all kinds of death-related matters, and overseeing the execution and outcome of the will at the request of the people (mostly nobles or consuls) - the lich thought that he accepted the "inheritance" of Beavis in the White Tower but no, perhaps because Beavis did not make a real will and no one disputed it, or because the sanctuary of Rosada in the White Tower, although it was the morning light, Rosada, the god of vitality and rejuvenation, was not very hostile to the god of death, Cranmo (who was indeed a neutral deity of justice), but because their priesthoods were in some ways conflicting, it was almost impossible for their priests to stay in the same small town as small as a white tower.

And they were indeed few in number, and the servants of the god of death had all experienced one or more deaths—their own, or their loved ones' doors, to the mourning wasteland, which had been opened only a stone's throw away, their noses filled with the ash dust blown by the cold wind of decay, and they had seen a gray, starless sky without sun and moon, breathing the dry air there.

While the Lich's Mentor was still roaming the continent, there was still that idle old fellow sitting on the throne of the God of Death, and the priests of the God of Death were not as few as they are now, and in any case, it was profitable to be a servant of the God of Death, and the gods were above, and they were really a bunch of greedy and ignorant and fearless spotted hyenas! Rather than praying and casting spells, they were better at intimidating and blackmailing the living through the power of death— They often work with an undead spellcaster who sends his undead to attack a town or city, while the priests of the god of death wait until the lord and his people have delivered enough gold, land, slaves, and sacrifices before reaching out their noble hand and casting the magic bestowed by the god of death—they will destroy some of the undead, but let more go, or keep them for themselves—and the undead caster will receive a portion of the gold and plenty of materials for experimentation.

The relationship between the priest of the god of death and the caster of the immortal spell was as sweet as honey mixed with sugar, and the curse of the god of death was often used by the priests on some stubborn humans, and they never minded selling one or two of them, and the lich had seen one of them from his mentor - but since the mortal Cranmore took over his power from the previous god of death, the undead had not had a good time— The new god of death hated these casters who had escaped the bonds of death with their wisdom and strength, believing them to be a desecration and danger to death, and his priests were committed to bringing every undead creature he saw back into the arms of death, killing the wicked who produced death in large numbers, or the casters who created the undead, sometimes at the expense of waging so-called "holy wars", using earthly forces and adventurers to achieve their goals.

To the lich, the priest of Cranmore, who would tie a gray string to the outside of his white robes, lived like a half-disguised necromancer-like bastard, even more annoying than the priests of Angeleth or Rosada, for they were originally a nation, and they used to sit together, sipping the sweet blood and bitter tears of mortals from the golden cup, savoring the fear and sorrow in it, and now half of them bowed their knees to their former prey and sacrifices, and enjoyed it.

The former undead thought so much on the way back to his chamber that it might be more than a foot thick if you would write it into a book, but the moment he returned to their tower, he interrupted all thinking and simulation—simulating how he could get his hands on the thief's body, preferably intact.

Kerry was awake, and even the lich couldn't tell anything from the elf's calm face - he didn't thank him too much, didn't ask Cremar how he had saved his life, and didn't show any sign of what could be called suspicion and alienation. But they didn't have long to talk, and Birdwin and his squire entered the ranger's room, and the face of the master of Thundercastle was as heavy as frost of worry and unease.

"Looks like my people have not good news for you," said Kerryben, the toxins and corrosiveness that had almost killed him had been removed from the vigorous blood, but he needed time to recuperate before he could truly heal, and Berdwin gestured for him to stay between his pillow and cushion: "Yes," the knight of Tyre admitted, "they confirmed my suspicion that we were going to face more than 10,000 orc soldiers. ”

Carey tightened his shoulders and his back, he didn't say there shouldn't be so much or something, it didn't make sense and didn't help the current predicament, "What do you need us to do?"

"The elves will not engage in a head-on confrontation," Baldwin said, "and you've sacrificed too many men, sorry, Kerryben, but I need your warriors and mages - and they will make the war go at our pace." ”

Kerry cast a skeptical glance, "You're making a dangerous decision - I thought you'd pass this secret over to the next master of Thundercastle." ”

"The point of weapons is to use. ”

"You know how much it can cost. ”

"No more damage than orcs. Baldwin said, his gaze falling on Cremar, "Plus, I need two more mages. ”

"Cremar and Raven. Carey said without hesitation.

"What does he want us to do?" asked the lich after Baldwin left.

"The humans of Castle Thunder need to get out of here as soon as possible - as this place is about to become a bloody and dangerous battlefield. Carey Ben said.

"Leave?" said the lich, "from where?"

A secluded and wide underground passage.

Beyond the Dragon's Belly Pass is a vast plain, where human wheat, rye, sweet potatoes, and vigorous wild grasses grow, and the wild grass can grow to the waist of a man, and it is good for a man with a family to walk in it, and it is good for a man with a family to walk in it, and an orc can run sixty to ninety miles in one block (an hour) with their strong limbs, even without relying on their mounts (giant wolves, horses, and horned deer).

The first Norman king of the Highlands never considered evacuation when he built Thundercastle, and in his eyes, Thundercastle was a lonely and cold military fortress in which soldiers and generals lived and fought, at most their wives and children, and if they resisted the attack of the orcs, they could go on with their lives in peace, and if they couldn't, then the dead did not need to escape—he did not leave a place for craftsmen and merchants other than blacksmiths and cooks— But fifty years after the establishment of Thundercastle, more and more merchants dared to get out of Thundercastle and trade with the orcs, and Wuthering Plains was not abundant, but it had the thickest furs, the purest gold, the most brilliant gems, and the heat-generating pyroxene, one of the merchants' favorite goods, and it is no exaggeration to say that two-thirds of the pyroxene burned in the small hand furnace of every noble woman came from Wuthering Plains.

Merchants needed warehouses, dwellings, workshops—the orcs had to be scraped off flesh and fat, the dried furs needed to be further tanned, gold and precious stones had to be crafted, and pyroxene had to be broken down from the associated ores, ground and boxed...... There are also horned deer, bison, giant wolves, critters, insects, plants, dung, and other bizarre things that priests and spellcasters will be interested in, and they trade cloth, salt, slaves, and bronze tools for them, and occasionally smuggle some of the weapons and armor that the orcs most desperately need.

The owner of Thundercastle tried to refuse to sign the charters more than once, but without these Woking faithful, he had no income (he owed the dwarves a lot of money to curse), his soldiers were left without wine, without horses, without armor, without weapons, without their wives without clothes, and their children without even a small grain of crude brown sugar, so in the end he had to back down, so there was the inner city and the single wall outside the inner city that we see now.

The people of the inner city were summoned, and the herald read out Birdwin's order - it was not the first time, and it was not without warning, all of them did their best to remain calm, without questioning or hesitation, and the strong, hungry young men and women were left behind, and the stored food was distributed, children, Old men and wounded soldiers were allowed to ride in wagons or ox-carts (but if you were the owner of the cart or cart, you could retain one-half of its ownership), and those who did not have an ox-cart or cart were allowed to carry a rucksack that did not interfere with the movement of others and themselves, and contained food and what they considered to be their most valuable possessions.

The lich stood high above them and looked out over the portals of the underground passages as a strangely shaped cavern, so said because of the narrow openings that could only hold a squirrel's house, but once you walked inside, you would find a grand hall for hundreds of giants and a passage that allowed four carriages to walk side by side.

The floor of the passage was not very flat, and the walls and top surfaces remained as they had been excavated, and the marks of the chisel and hammer were clear to the lich's eyes as if they had been left yesterday: "This is not the work of a dwarf." He said that while dwarves don't climb the dome to carve honeysuckle, clematis, or ivy like elves, they leave a trail that isn't so disorganized.

"It was dug by humans," said Raven, "and it was occasionally discovered by humans while surveying the groundwater, and the passage was originally very narrow and blocked in some places, and they had been digging for a full hundred and twenty years, and the number of people who died here was almost equal to that of those who died in a battle." ”

The lich turned to stare at her face, contrary to what the other soul thought, the former undead did not think she resembled Ilda, the elven mage's hair color tended to be rose gold, the kind of gold with fifteen percent brass, and her eyes were not the turquoise blue of the lake, but gray-blue, the color of the sky in the shimmer of light.

"How many times did they use it?" the lich asked, "I mean, this passage?"

"This is the second time. ”

Too many, said the lich in his heart, and then he turned back and looked intently at the humans, who were very noisy, of course, they had tried to be as patient as they could, but there was always something unreasonably stupid—stubborn old men, wayward children and filthy livestock, merchants muttering about their workshops and warehouses, a girl trying to run back to find her lover, her father beating her, wounded soldiers swearing impatiently— There were thousands of humans gathered here, and Baldwin divided his army to protect them, including several knights with special status—such as the knight with his armor carved with flowers, his armor now resting on a brown-spotted white Moorish horse, a harness of a slave inspecting a suitcase, and his master, wrapped in a gray-white wolfskin cloak, repeatedly checking his weapons, broadsword, dagger and dagger with a little irritation.

The soldiers took the rope from the wagon and ordered the men to hold it in a line, each with about fifty men, with a soldier with a torch in front and behind to light and maintain order.

Kerribben and the other three elves who were wounded and unable to fight were also among the evacuees— A sentimental and wealthy young widow felt her heart break at the sight of these beautiful glowing elves, and she did not hesitate to donate a touring four-wheeled vehicle that could be described as luxurious in every sense of the word, made by humans in imitation of the work of a pygmy, with iron-clad wheels, a carriage suspended from a frame by a belt, a brass double rod, and two docile Moorish horses, which stood one after the other, snorting from time to time, and striking "shoes" with iron nails on their hooves , sideburns are woven into cute little braids.

If it weren't for her dignity and status as a survivor, she might have served as a temporary maid, well, after all, they were so ...... Weak...... Of course not, but the civilian girls could, and they followed the carriage, but Kerry had only allowed one pregnant young woman to get on the carriage, not so much to take care of a maid as to take care of a future mother, and then they accepted two more babies.

An old man who had walked the path buried in the mountains told his grandson that they had entered the passage when the galaxy had appeared, and that they were greeted by a brilliant morning light when they walked out of the passage.

"And what about this time?"

"I think it will be night," said the old man, "a quiet and serene night." ”

The cave-dwelling bats, snakes, and bugs don't think so, their peaceful and silent lives have been disturbed by humans, and in retaliation, the bugs rush to the torches, and the bats rush at the bugs, and the soldiers can hit one or two bats with a random swing of the shuttlecock, of course, they can't suddenly have the agility and sharp eyes of the elves - there are so many bats that you can catch one with the palm of your hand open. More than one person stepped on snakes, lizards, large beetles, but fortunately, most of the people who lazy in bat droppings were non-venomous, round-headed snakes, which could pose a threat to humans only with less poisonous snakes and pythons, and when a python poked its head out of a crack in the cave, Kerribben's Ji Zhen screamed. Raven threw a spell, and the stone above the gap shattered, and Cremar only saw the bright yellow specks disappear in the darkness, and the others, especially the humans, didn't even understand what was going on, and they would be trampled on by the men behind them at the slightest pause, and they would be scolded by the soldiers, so they could only walk quietly - and it was a good thing, there were thousands of people crowded here, as well as horses, donkeys, mules, and cows.

The lich made a gesture to Raven that was common among mages, and landed silently beside a goldsmith or scribe, who walked on foot, neatly dressed, fair-skinned, and always stumbled a little, because his eyes were not as accustomed to the darkness as the others, his hands were tightly gripping the ropes, and his index, middle, and thumb were not distorted as are often found in scribes, but his fingers were calloused, and his palms were covered with burns and small punctures, so he must have been a goldsmith?

The man behind him was supposed to be a scribe, and he had been muttering to himself, begging the god of knowledge for his protection, and the lich didn't think it would be useful, and the creature crawling on the ground on its belly wouldn't mind if it was mud or ink in its mouth, as long as the prey was fat enough.

Walking in the middle of the crowd was a two-wheeled carriage for goods, and a boy was complaining to his companion that the journey was so boring, and that he tried to catch a beetle, or a flying insect, but was stung instead.

The lich didn't find the journey boring—look what he found? Cuter than a large beetle, anyway.

A cold, suffocating gust of wind extinguished a soldier's torch, and when the soldier re-lit it on his companion's torch and returned to his place, he did not notice that there was one man missing from his ranks—of course those who walked in front would not know that those behind were not following, and those who walked behind could not discern from a vague figure whether it was the one who was walking in front or not the one who had been— He thought he had unconsciously slowed down, so he took a quick run to fill the void that had suddenly appeared.

"You surprise me," said the lich, "how did you escape, Gülen?"

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