Chapter 8.2

That night I hardly slept. I didn't think I would be so nervous. So I got up at four in the morning and went down to the kitchen and cooked myself breakfast. Then I put on my already fitted armor with difficulty and sat down to meditate in front of the chronometer. The servants gradually woke up, the Border of Darkness slowly came to life. I went over my skills and spells in my mind, warmed up the gift a little, pouring a little mana into my teras. My priestesses, having woken up, quickly got ready. The servants gave us dry rations - strips of salted meat carefully packed in steel cases, narrow flasks of water and some fruit. The fruit was represented by bhatell. Bhatell is a purple fruit, very reminiscent of a pomegranate. Only the granules were two or three times larger and were black. Its peculiarity was that each granule had a different taste: from terribly sour or bitter to very sweet. Rich in vitamins and other necessary and important crap. I called it "life" to myself. It must be said that it was very popular and was even exported due to its long shelf life and exoticism. For the same reason, it was even taken as dry rations on campaigns. The juice that was squeezed out of it tasted pretty disgusting, but was very useful, and only the wounded, pregnant women or during high loads drank it. Bhatella juice was often added to the water that soldiers drank daily. The water practically did not spoil from such an additive and quenched thirst well. The plant that produced bhatella grew on waste, did not tolerate light and loved warm places with stagnant air. Because of this feature, the gardens were located much lower than the approximate horizon of the dark eldar. In general, each Great House was almost completely autonomous, which meant that it had its own gardens, fields, where bhatellas, mushrooms, and various animals with mollusks were grown for internal consumption. Even money was minted by each Great House itself, although it adhered to special requirements adopted by the High Council of Houses - weight and precise composition of coins. Here it should be said that a gold coin weighed a little more than fifteen grams, and the composition of the coin should not be less than ninety-nine parts gold out of a hundred.

All this was running through my head as we waited for the rest of the group, having arrived almost half an hour early. The dry rations, along with a small first aid kit and a small set of tools for maintaining weapons, were placed in a small, flat, ribbed backpack that sat comfortably on my back and was secured to my body by a system of straps similar to those used by mountaineers. Now my backpack was slung over my back and fastened to my waist. With nothing better to do, I sat down to meditate again.

But here was Atere at the head of his squad. Looking at his Arir, I suddenly realized that my teacher had managed to gather representatives of all five temples in it - there was even a pair of practically naked, if you don't count boots and a couple of fabric ribbons hinting at the presence of clothing, female Arir of Akrio. In general, I saw the Arir of some gods for the first time - here was a separate five Arir of Kriata, their commander, silently looking at me from under a deep hood, blew cold, and here was a cheerfully chattering heterogeneous crowd of Arir of Ichitos and Rea. Something familiar blew from the lonely figure with a smiling face - obviously, the Arir of Ehayalin. A creepy and dangerous guy. I wanted to get acquainted with him, but, catching his gaze, changed my mind. Hmm. And why the hell did Atere gather these spiders and scorpions into one flock? They are probably uncontrollable on the battlefield... Meanwhile, the teacher, having lined up this motley crowd, began to call the roll, in the midst of which Isites appeared with two senior priestesses.

Atere came up to me and quietly said:

- Introduce yourself and your priestesses.

I sighed and came closer:

"My name is Asheras. I am the son of Taenori, our matriarch. Behind me stand the great priestesses of the Athar, changed by the goddess. As you can see, they look alike and are in fact my daughters. Although they do not yet have official names, they already have them. Their names are associated with the color of their hair. Red is Kerat. Blue is Hetahi. Purple is Ashri. Black is Tashi. Our main task will be hunting goblins and the like. The campaign will last three to four days." I allowed myself a smile. "For the duration of the campaign, I am only a formal commander. My elder sister, naturally, has a higher priority of commands…" I waved my left hand, pointing at her, without taking my eyes off the Arirov: "Isites. For all questions, contact her or your immediate commander, Atera." I waved my hand in his direction.

Was it just me or did I see a mixture of surprise and respect in the Arir's eyes?

Isites chuckled approvingly and immediately began to bark commands loudly.

- Check your gear again! Have you forgotten anything? - The Arirs allowed themselves to smile. - Then we'll head for the portal!

And we followed Isites to the exit to the courtyard. From the courtyard we descended a narrow staircase five levels and, passing the frozen full arek of the Atretas guards, found ourselves on a narrow bridge in a huge spherical room. In the center of it hung a round disk with many signs in ancient. Some of the signs glowed blue. Above the disk hung an incredibly bright white-blue sphere, filling the entire room with an unbearable light. Unable to bear it, I covered myself with my hand and turned away. My gaze fell on the arira standing next to me - he stood in a mask and calmly looked into the center. Obeying the inspiration, I also pulled on the mask and was surprised to note that the light was no longer so harsh. Blinking, I tried to remove the blind spots flying in my eyes. Not achieving success, I irritably wove a small cure and directed it at my face. My vision was restored immediately. I thought I heard Isites laugh briefly.

"Let's go," she said. When we crossed the narrow stone bridge, the sister said, "This is the portal of the Ancients. It's easy to control, like all their other creations. Look," Isites pointed her hand at the signs of the Ancients, "From these signs we compose the name of the final destination. In our case, Iestret, the Last Fort of the Deep Guard. But first, we'll extinguish the previous ones. We'll influence the signs with our teras, pumping a little Dark mana into them. Like this. You see, instead of black, they've started glowing blue, like the previous ones. That means such a point exists. Let's check again. Everything is as it should be…"

- Why can't our enemies use this portal?

- It only lets through those who have undergone the initiation ritual in our house. Accordingly, you can only move around inside our house. There are twelve such portals in our house. - Isites turned to the Arirs: - Let's hurry, the portal is active! Forward!

Obeying her command, the Ariras began to step into the glowing sphere one by one. After Atere stepped into the portal, the sister turned to me.

- Now it's your turn. When you get out, don't stop, just take a few more steps. Otherwise, you'll be knocked down.

My priestesses began to step into the bright sphere, disappearing into it. I inhaled the air, held my breath, and stepped after them. A moment of darkness, and I was already on the other side. I took a step, then another, toward the arirs and priestesses waiting for me. A quiet clap was heard from behind, and my sister's voice was heard:

- Well, that's all.

Isites walks around me and, leading our squad, heads for the exit. We pass the frozen guards and climb a narrow staircase, finding ourselves in a large cave, the vault of which was only a little more than fifty meters away. The ceiling itself was covered with thickets of moss, brightly glowing with a bluish light. Ignoring me, frozen in admiration, the sister leads our squad to the far wall. A ringing barking command - and the atretases are formed again. The sister gives abrupt commands in the language of death:

- Atere, give orders about food for the hisn. The rest of you, take the hisn and put the harness on them. - Isites turns to me and speaks in children's speech: - You were not taught the language of death... m-m-m... What should we do?

- Sister, learning this simple dialect was not such a problem for me. I have studied it for a year now. - In response to my sister's silent question, I spoke in the language of death: - My teachers are standing behind me.

Isites, squinting his beautiful eyes, looks at me searchingly:

- And the signs?

- Same here, sister. That was even easier.

- Well, that will clear up most of the questions. Go to the Hisni. Have you been taught to ride them?

- No, sister. Only a theory, unfortunately.

- It will be hard the first time, but you will quickly get used to it and even enjoy it. Are you an Athar or what? - The sister laughed and made a sign to approach the white-haired Atretas standing in the distance.

Accompanied by the changed, I headed in the direction our squad had retreated. Turning the corner, we found ourselves in the realm of the big black cats.

Hisna... How much is hidden in this word for the Dark Eldar. There are many sayings about them. Fancies it like a Hisna with its kitten. Strong as a Hisna. Flexible as a Hisna. Deadly as a Hisna. Loyal as a Hisna... Intelligent panthers. Graceful, silent. The male weighs about nine hundred kilograms, the female - about seven hundred. Claws are about eighty centimeters long. Only a senior priestess or a fully equipped weapon master can cope with an enraged Hisna one on one. An open paw covers the entire chest of a Dark Eldar. In order not to damage the fangs and claws in battle, special attachments are put on them. Despite the fact that the Hisna are not very durable, with the support of magic and potions on the battlefield, a Hisna rider can work wonders.

Hisna is the only creature to which a Dark Eldar can feel almost friendly feelings. Often, in the event of the death of his hisna, a representative of our people falls into a deep abyss of despair and melancholy. Indeed, looking at how the eternally gloomy Arirys of Kriata coo with black, like the Darkness itself, and still blind, recently born kittens, one might think that this, as paradoxical as it may sound, is one of the few rays of light in the dark souls of this people. There is a legend that the hisna came to this world together with the Orin. It is believed that the hisna could easily create their own civilization, but they are very lazy. For the same reason, they do not speak. With the support of magic, a hisna can live up to a hundred years, but does not want to. At the onset of extreme old age, a hisna leaves society and goes on its last hunt into the Deep. This day becomes truly black for the Hisn community, as stupid as it sounds for creatures whose entire life passes in almost total darkness...

All this flashed through my mind as I watched what was normal for those around me, but unusual for me, the Eldar preparing the Hisn for a sortie.

The body of the hisn works like a spring when running. Because of this, saddles in the usual sense are not used for fixation and comfort of hisn riders - they rub the backs of the big cats. In order to secure the rider to the hisn, a system of belts is used, very remotely similar to an earthly cat harness. Thanks to various straps and magical fasteners, as well as convenient grips, the rider is well fastened to the panther. This system is effective enough to prevent the rider from falling off the hisn even when moving on vertical surfaces. However, due to the fact that magic was used to create the fastener, as a result of which it became a weak artifact, the rider could easily and quickly jump off and jump back on.

Since my priestesses and I did not have our own hisn, we simply stood there, watching this interesting spectacle. But it did not last long - Atere appeared nearby, as if from nowhere, and without saying a word, beckoned us into the depths of the cave. Following him, we found a real rookery of hisn lazily looking at us. Carefully stepping over tails and paws lying in disarray, Atere led us to a patch of land free of everything in the center of the rookery. Looking at a large male, lazily lying in the most visible place, he said in ancient:

- Greetings, Miss! These are our young rulers, of whom so much is said. We, as you know, are going to drive the goblins. They need hisns.

Miss twitched his ear and raised his head without opening his eyes. It seemed that even in this position he was dozing. The leader slowly opened his eyes and looked at us with obvious interest. A wave of animation went through the other hisnas. The hisnas yawned widely and stretched. Some even stood up to get a better look at us. As if having decided something for themselves, Miss and four other large males stood up and, literally shimmering with powerful muscles, walked towards us. The leader came up to me and, sniffing the air, sat down in front of me. How creepy! He was almost two and a half times taller than me! The irises of his eyes were a piercing scarlet color. Growled dully at me, he went to the exit. It seemed that I was not the one choosing here. The other hisnas had also made their choice. Sighing, I followed Miss.

Atere laughed:

- Well, that's good.

They helped us put on the belt system and the fastening on the hisn. Then we fastened four cases with dried meat and a container with water for the hisn. After that we climbed onto the panthers and fastened ourselves. Isites critically examined everyone's preparation and, with a satisfied chuckle, gave the order to move out.

Atere rode alongside us, explaining everything that my eyes saw.

What is a fortress in the thickness of rocks? It is an artificial cavity or cave located at the nodal intersection of tunnels. All the tunnels through which one can bypass the fortress are blocked, collapsed, and the approaches to them are mined with traps and alarms to such an extent that it is often easier to destroy the fortress itself than to break through it. There are always a couple or one tunnel that goes through the fortress. Well, that is logical. Although there are exceptions - special pockets, secrets. You can get into them only through a portal. The task of the atretases sitting there: to crawl out behind enemy lines and strike at enemy mages, priestesses, military leaders, usually located behind the backs of heavy infantry. They realize that in case of premature detection they will envy the dead, but if their task is completed, they have a good chance of sitting out in defense until the complete destruction of the enemy army. How do they breathe there, in these pockets? Special types of moss, plants or weaving enrich the air with oxygen.

While explaining, I didn't notice how we left the large cave-fortress and went deeper into the tunnels.