Shadow Blizzard

by Alexey Pehov

  “If they don’t cut your hands off first,” Mis said encouragingly.

  “They won’t do that,” the goblin said, waving one hand blithely in the air. “I don’t have anything to worry about until the mid-autumn festival.”

  “And then what happens?” I asked.

  “You’ll see,” snapped Glo-Glo.

  Meanwhile it had started to rain, and that’s never the most pleasant start to a morning. The camp was gradually waking up. Despite the rain, the orcs relit the fire. The Firstborn went about their business, and we sat in the rain and got soaked. An idyllic scene. Two hours went by like that, and despite the continuous drizzle, I somehow managed to doze off. I was woken by Glo-Glo poking me violently in the ribs.

  “It’s started,” said Mis, and added a foul oath.

  “What’s started?” I asked, confused, but none of my comrades in misfortune saw fit to answer me.

  They were all staring at the center of the clearing. Since I hadn’t been given any explanations, I started watching the orcs bustling about, too. Some were dousing the campfire, some were hastily packing up their things. Two of them dragged a huge tree stump out of the forest—what on earth was that for?

  “How many of them are there?”

  “How many of who?” Mis was kind enough to reply.

  “The orcs.”

  “Nineteen. They’re an advance detachment, they were pursuing dark ones.”

  “Dark ones?” I asked.

  “Dark elves. A detachment of elves was running riot in the orcs’ territory and Bagard’s unit set off in pursuit. In the end they caught the elves and all of us as well,” Glo-Glo said, and spat.

  “They caught elves?” I was definitely very slow on the uptake today. But then that quite often happens when someone applies something heavy to my head.

  “Well, not all of them…” Glo-Glo drawled, watching Fagred set the stump in the center of the clearing. “Only those who were unfortunate enough not to be killed in the fight. And there they are.”

  Eight orcs pushed four elves out from behind the tree that one of the prisoners was hanging on. They were too far away for me to make out the prisoners’ faces and the crests of their houses, but one of them was definitely a woman. The elves weren’t a very pretty sight; they looked as if they’d spent the night in a room crammed full of deranged cats. The Secondborn were bruised and battered, they’d been worked over really well. One of the elves could hardly walk, and two of his comrades had to support him. The dark ones were led out into the middle of the clearing, where all the orcs were gathered together, and Bagard gave a brisk nod.

  “What are they going to do with them?” I asked, although I already knew the answer.

  The executions were bloody and swift. The orcs didn’t bother with subtle tortures. The Firstborn simply set each of the elves on the improvised block by turn and the huge Fagred chopped their dark heads off with his ax. The orcs watched the executions impassively, and when it was all over, they dragged the bodies across to the dead man hanging on the tree.

  “Well, that’s over,” said the goblin, clearing his throat.

  “Not quite, I think,” Mis hissed.

  I followed his glance and my stomach turned to ice. Bagard was directing some of the Firstborn to our hushed little group. Three warriors separated off from the detachment.

  “I won’t let them take me that easily,” the Border Kingdom warrior muttered. “They can find themselves another sheep to slaughter.”

  Mis was clutching a short pointed stick in his hand. I had no idea where he’d got it from, but it could easily be used to strike at an eye or a neck. The question was, would the orcs give him a chance to do it?

  Two of the warriors came over to us, and I pulled in my feet in case Mis decided to try something and I had to kick the nearest orc. But the Firstborn took no notice of me or Mis, they just grabbed Kior and dragged him off toward the block. The trapper kept yelling and trying to break free until the third orc smashed the shaft of his spear into his stomach.

  “Why him?” I asked in a hoarse voice.

  “He’s a poacher,” Glo-Glo said reluctantly. “When they caught him, they found several gold cat skins. And to the orcs a poacher is as bad as a woodcutter.”

  They dragged Kior, howling, to the block, but they didn’t put him on it, just stretched him out on the grass as if they were going to quarter him, and Fagred raised his terrible ax. Two quick blows—and the poacher’s howls were reduced to a wheeze.

  “Sagot save us,” I muttered, and turned away.

  The orc had cut off both of the man’s arms at the shoulder.

  “Sagot won’t be much help here,” said Mis. “What’s needed is twenty of our lads from the Forest Cats brigade, with their bows.…”

  Kior had gone quiet. None of the orcs even thought about binding up the appalling wounds, and the poacher bled to death very quickly—and if the gods were merciful, he lost consciousness immediately. Meanwhile the orcs had hung the elves’ headless bodies up beside Kior’s friend, and now they were setting the dark ones’ heads on spears stuck into the ground.

  Olag walked across, looked intently at all three of us, and said: “Take a look at the hanging meat and remember: The same thing will happen to you if even one of you tries to get away. Do you understand me, little monkeys?”

  “Don’t think we’re more stupid than you are, orc,” Glo-Glo said, coughing. “We’re not stupid, we understand.”

  The shaman didn’t seem to be at all worried that the Firstborn would hurt him. Olag chuckled and looked at the goblin as if he was seeing him for the first time.

  “Well, since you understand everything, greeny, get the monkeys ready to leave, we’re moving on.”

  And he walked away.

  “Where are we moving on to?” I asked, shuddering in the cursed drizzle pouring down from the sky.

  “Somewhere else,” the goblin muttered vaguely, and wrapped himself up in his cloak.

  * * *

  Any thought of escape was absolutely out of the question. The three of us were put in the center of the line, which made running off without being seen a pretty difficult proposition. And then, how could I forget that Olag was striding along behind us, crooning a little song to himself, and Fagred was there, too, with his ax. He made me feel distinctly nervous, because every time our eyes met, the orc smiled wistfully and stroked his terrible weapon.

  It was clear enough what the lad had on his mind. He wouldn’t be happy until he could chop my head off. I had to try to put off the time when he could have that pleasure for as long as possible.

  Fortunately, the rain stopped, but I still wasn’t warm and dry enough to feel comfortable. My teeth chattered and I shuddered and prayed to the gods to drive away the clouds and let us have some sunshine. I knew I had to keep going, keep myself alive—I wouldn’t have Miralissa’s sacrifice be in vain … I wouldn’t let that happen. Little Glo-Glo ambled along in front of me, coughing, grunting, and swearing quietly to himself. The orcs seemed to find this amusing.

  “Hey, lad!” Mis called to me.

  “What?” I asked without turning round—no point in attracting unnecessary attention from the Firstborn.

  “You mentioned Sagot. Are you a thief, then?”

  “Bull’s-eye,” I said, stepping over a thick branch lying on the animal track.

  “How did you end up here?”

  “No talking, monkeys!” Fagred roared. “You can talk as much as you like at the halt!”

  I shut up—I already knew that Fagred had no sense of humor and Olag wasn’t the most patient orc in the world.

  Bagard led the detachment to the south, into the heart of Zagraba. I couldn’t exactly say we strolled through the forest, but we certainly weren’t in any great hurry. Even Glo-Glo, with his short legs, was able to keep up with the pace set by the orcs.

  But to give Bagard his due, he wasn’t careless at all, and there were always several orcs walking ahead of us, scouting out the territo
ry for any possible problems like elfin bowmen or a h’san’kor taking a doze. Shokren tramped past, hurrying up to the head of our little column. The shaman had a huge raven perched on his shoulder. I gazed longingly at my bag dangling at the orc’s side. Shokren noticed my interest and frowned. I saw the shaman overtake Bagard and say something to him, pointing to me. Bagard nodded thoughtfully and stopped, waiting for me to hobble up to him.

  When I drew level with him, he said, “My brother told me we ought to give you a jacket.”

  I must admit, I didn’t know what to make of that.

  “I’d be very grateful,” I said cautiously.

  “I don’t need any monkey’s gratitude,” the orc snapped. “You’re inferior beings, and the most amusing thing is that you don’t even realize it. Fagred, skell drago s’i llost!” [Fagred, give him your jacket!]

  Darkness only knew what Bagard had barked, but Fagred moaned discontentedly behind me: “Prza? Shedo t’na gkhonu!” [What for? He’s going to croak anyway.]

  “Not yet. The Hand might have some use for him, or do you want the monkey to freeze to death on the way?”

  The huge orc immediately stopped arguing and a minute later he handed me a leather jacket with a hood that he had fished out of his shoulder bag. It turned out to have a fur lining as well. This was a day full of surprises! Of course, the jacket was a bit bigger than necessary, but, naturally enough, I didn’t complain. I started feeling warmer straightaway. But the expression in Fagred’s eyes somehow didn’t suggest that he was overjoyed about sacrificing his jacket.

  We made three halts to rest. Once they actually fed us, and then drove us back onto the track. By the time evening came we’d covered quite a distance, and when Bagrad halted the detachment for the night, I collapsed on the ground.

  “It’s not sleeping time yet, little monkey!” said Fagred, planting a painful kick in my side. “First you have to make up your bed.”

  I had to get up, grinding my teeth in anger at the orc, and scrape the fallen leaves together into a heap. Then Mis and I were told to break branches off the fir trees, and after that the orcs left me alone. Shokren showed up, made a few passes with his hands, and cleared off again.

  “What was that?”

  “A kind of alarm,” Glo-Glo explained reluctantly. “If you step outside the circle, there’ll be a loud noise, and all the orcs will come running.”

  Darkness fell. The orcs lit a campfire and seemed to forget about us. And why shouldn’t they? Shokren’s magic did all their work for them. Then the Firstborn started cooking supper, and I started drooling. But surprisingly enough, when the food was ready, Olag and another orc came over, and they left us a decent serving of meat and a flask of water. So, the Firstborn certainly weren’t planning to starve us to death.

  We got talking as we ate. Glo-Glo started pestering me about the Rainbow Horn, and I had to give the pushy little goblin the short, edited version of the adventure. The old shaman seemed satisfied with my story and he left me in peace.

  “And how did you get here, Mis?” I asked the Border Kingdom warrior when we finished our food.

  “Well, these…,” the elderly warrior began reluctantly, nodding toward the Firstborn. “Do you know what a long-distance raid is?”

  “I have a good idea,” I answered. “Isn’t it something like that game the Wild Hearts play when they march all the way to the Needles of Ice?”

  “That’s it,” Mis agreed morosely. “The very thing. But for us a long-distance raid is an outing to the Golden Forest to see if the orcs are behaving themselves or if they’re thinking of getting up to some of their tricks. Well, anyway, me and the lads got into a fine mess. This lot dropped down on us out of the trees like overripe pears and finished everyone off like sitting ducks before we even had time to say boo. But that sorcerer of theirs tied me in a knot. Just for the fun of it.”

  “I see,” I said sympathetically. “Glo-Glo, you still haven’t told me why they want us alive and where they’re taking us.”

  “Why they need you alive is obvious enough. They’re going to have a serious talk with you. But they want us alive to amuse themselves with, though I think you’ll probably suffer the same fate,” the goblin replied, lounging back on the fir-tree branches.

  “What do you mean?”

  “As if you couldn’t guess!” Glo-Glo cackled merrily.

  “Believe it or not, but I don’t understand a thing.”

  “They’re taking us to the Labyrinth. The Labyrinth, lad! Have you heard of it?”

  “Yes, I have,” I said, frightened out of my wits.

  “He has,” the goblin teased me. “These yellow-eyed rats have their mid-autumn festival soon. And what kind of festival would it be without a goblin in the Labyrinth? Do you think they’re kind-hearted, just because they haven’t killed us all yet? They’re saving me for their shitty Labyrinth, that’s why they’ll put up with any crap I throw at them.”

  “Hey you! Monkeys! Have you eaten? Then sleep, we’re marching again tomorrow!” one of the sentries growled.

  * * *

  It was the middle of the night, and I still couldn’t get to sleep—that was obviously the effect of the news that they were going to stick us in the Labyrinth.

  The Rainbow Horn was in the hands of the orcs, I was a prisoner, the somber prospect of the Labyrinth was looming on the horizon, and my friends and brothers-in-arms couldn’t come to my rescue because the shaman had melted my bracelet. Trying to escape was impossible, at least as long as Shokren and Fagred were around. And where would I run to anyway? There was thick forest on every side, and the orcs were at home here, they’d find me in no time, and then it would be good-bye, Harold. And the shaman would still have the Horn.… What did that leave? All I could do was wait for my chance and hope that fortune would smile on me. I fell asleep, still trying to console myself with this pale illusion of hope.

  * * *

  The next day was no different from the one before. The lousy drizzle was still falling, but I was feeling quite comfortable, because Fagred’s jacket protected me against the whimsies of the autumn weather. We tramped on through the yellow and red forest that still hadn’t fully woken from its slumber.

  “I hope there’s going to be a halt soon,” said Mis, who was walking behind me. He spat, earning himself a dig from Fagred.

  “Tired, little monkeys?” the orc inquired. “Just let me know and I’ll put an end to your suffering. Forever.”

  Naturally, no one thought of answering him. No one wanted another clout from that massive brute.

  “It’ll be dark in half an hour,” Mis muttered.

  “We’re almost there,” said the goblin, rubbing his aching back. “You’ll see for yourselves in a moment.”

  Less than ten minutes later, the bushes gave way to red maples, then they gave way to mighty oaks. The rocks stopped looking like rocks and started looking like ruins. And a few minutes after that I was walking through a city, although that city was in a far worse state than Chu.

  All that was left on the ground were the skeletal outlines of the old foundations of buildings and massive blocks and slabs of stone scattered around among the trees. I didn’t see a single complete building. I only saw a fallen column once, more than half buried in the ground. We reached a point with oaks growing so close it was like a solid wall, and I had to squeeze through between the trunks to get into the center of the ring formed by the trees.

  Another of nature’s jokes, or had these trees been planted by someone’s caring hands? This place reminded me very much of the ring of golden-leafs at the entrance to Hrad Spein. If I’d been wandering around here on my own, without the orcs keeping a keen eye on me, I’d never have guessed anything could be hiding behind the trees.

  Right in the center the wide clearing that was overgrown with young oak saplings, there was a round raised stone platform, with a tall, brilliant-white, needle-like obelisk growing up out of it. It seemed to absorb the light from all around, and even agains
t the background of majestic oaks it looked absolutely perfect.

  “The only thing that has survived in this city,” said Glo-Glo, nodding indifferently toward the building, with no sign of the admiration that Mis and I felt at the sheer beauty of the place. “Time has reduced everything else to rubble.”

  “Is this the city of Bu?” I asked the old goblin, remembering what Kli-Kli had once told me.

  “No, this is the Nameless City,” Glo-Glo replied. “But how do you know about the city of Bu?”

  “A goblin I know enlightened me.”

  “Ah, yes, some people have goblin friends. What did you say his name was? Kli-Kli?”

  “Yes.”

  “And where is he now?”

  “Somewhere near the entrance to the Palaces of Bone.”

  Glo-Glo frowned discontentedly, but he didn’t say anything.

  We prisoners had been seated right at the edge of the circle of oaks, and Shokren had traced out his magical circle again so that we wouldn’t—may the gods forbid—slink off. Nobody intended to let the monkeys go near the obelisk. A pity. I really wanted to touch that strange stone. I could physically feel the warmth radiating from it.

  “Glo-Glo, do you know who built this wonder?” I asked the goblin, who was already settling down for the night.

  “Those who were here before the orcs and the ogres,” the shaman answered. “Let’s sleep, I don’t think they’re going to feed us today.”

  Glo-Glo was wrong. Exactly an hour later they brought us food and—may the gods of Siala save me—wine! Genuine orcish wine, which not many men have ever tried.

  So when it got dark, we had a real little feast. Olag was even kind enough to bring a torch on a long pole and set it up beside our prison with no walls or bars.

  “The Firstborn have even decided to give us light for our meal,” said Glo-Glo as he chomped on the food (he’d woken up in an instant when it arrived).

  “Wait!” snorted Mis, sniffing at the wine in the flask. “This is to make it easier to keep an eye on us!”