by Alexey Pehov
“Can I ask a question?” I asked, to change the subject.
“Go ahead.”
“Which orc clan has black-and-white badges?”
“Black and white? You must have got something confused. What made you ask that?”
“I saw the bodies of orcs in the Palaces of Bone. They had black-and-white badges on their clothes.”
“That clan hasn’t existed for a long time. They were The Lost. We wiped them out during the Gray Age.”
“The Lost?” Kli-Kli sat down beside us, caught Eel’s eye, and said, “Hallas has gone to sleep. So, The Lost … that was what you said, wasn’t it? Argad’s clan?”
“Yes, goblin, Argad’s clan. We went to great lengths to wipe it off the face of the earth.”
“Why such determination?”
“Argad led his warriors almost as far as Greenwood and we couldn’t tolerate a slap in the face like that. It took us some time, but we managed to defeat them. The last few hundred of The Lost took refuge in the Palaces of Bone, in one of the seven fortresses that served as checkpoints through which everyone who wished could pass without hindrance. It was as if the black-and-whites had gone completely insane; they started attacking everybody, even their own kinsmen. The other clans turned their backs on them, and that played into our hands. We took that fortress, and our shamans fused Argad and his generals into the central tower. Alive. Or that’s what the legends say. Since then very few have been brave enough to pass through that fortress. My forebears rather overdid things, and the spirits of the dead still take their vengeance on travelers.”
“I walked through it,” I said casually.
“You’ve seen Argad?” Egrassa asked, gazing at me incredulously.
“If one of the dead orcs fused into the tower was Argad, then yes.”
“Then you’re lucky, if you managed to walk through that accursed place safe and sound.”
“Or your legends are mistaken,” Eel retorted in a quiet voice.
“It’s just that Harold’s a Dancer, that’s all there is to it,” said Kli-Kli, offering her weighty opinion. “No one else would have got through.”
“Thank you, Kli-Kli,” I answered her sarcastically. “You’ve really convinced me of just how special I am.”
“But you really are special!” she protested. “You’re a Dancer in the Shadows! The great book Bruk-Gruk never lies!”
“You’re getting monotonous,” I sighed.
“The dryads are coming,” said Kli-Kli, and Sunpatch and Fluffy Cloud stepped out of the darkness into the circle of light.
“The forest has spoken with us,” Sunpatch declared, but she didn’t sit down yet. “The orcs are on the march. The war has begun.”
I gasped and Kli-Kli squealed. Mumr, who hadn’t managed to get to sleep yet, swore. Eel and Egrassa remained impassive, as if they’d been told we wouldn’t be getting sweet buns for breakfast tomorrow, not that a war had started.
“When did it happen?”
“A few days ago.”
“Is that all we’re supposed to know?”
“No, but we understand nothing about war and we cannot tell you in the way you should be told. We will only bewilder and confuse you. Babbling Brook has sent a flinny to you; he will be here soon.”
“How soon?”
Fluffy Cloud closed her eyes as if she was listening to the wind wandering through the naked branches of the trees.
“He will be here in a few minutes. And in the meantime, I think you ought to know that tomorrow we shall have to change direction.”
“How?”
“To go west. We do not wish you to leave the forest and fall straight into the hands of the orcs.”
Right. They didn’t want the Rainbow Horn to fall into the orcs’ hands. They couldn’t care less about us.
“We shall lead you to the western bank of the Black River. You will be close to a human city. Moitsig, if I remember correctly. The orcs have passed it by. The flinny will be here soon. Tomorrow we shall get you out of the Golden Forest.”
The dryads disappeared into the trees again. They obviously weren’t very fond of our jolly company.
“Now, what does that tell us?” said Lamplighter, scratching his stubbly cheek thoughtfully. “If we leave the Golden Forest tomorrow … Then at that speed we’ll get out of Zagraba in three … no, in two days?”
“Let’s hope for exactly that,” said Eel, clenching and unclenching his fists. “Things are getting hot now in the south of the kingdom.”
“But if we come out on the western bank of the Iselina, then do we go straight from Zagraba into Valiostr?”
“You always were a genius, Harold,” said Kli-Kli. “Yes, you’re absolutely right. We’ll be in the most southern part of the south—the south of Valiostr. You can’t get any farther south. From Moitsig to Ranneng is only a nine-day journey. Then a little bit farther, and we’re home.”
“Don’t, Kli-Kli,” said Eel. “Don’t ever try to guess the future. We don’t know what’s going to happen to us.”
“I thought we’d leave Zagraba on the border with the Kingdom, near Cuckoo.”
“Near Cuckoo? No, Harold, you’re way off target there. Way, way off. We’re nowhere near Cuckoo,” Kli-Kli snorted, and reached her hands out to the fire.
“When you were in Hrad Spein, didn’t you realize how far you walked, thief?” Egrassa asked, and his eyes glinted. “It was a distance of many leagues. You left the Palaces of Bone at a place far away from the entrance, and then how far did you walk with the Firstborn? We barely managed to reach the Labyrinth in time.”
“You can say that again,” Lamplighter confirmed.
“So there’s no point in trying to go to Cuckoo. It would be a massive detour.”
“But where’s Honeycomb?”
“I don’t think he’s in the castle anymore. Milord Alistan—may he dwell in the light—left him a letter before we entered Zagraba. If Honeycomb recovered, then he should have galloped to Avendoom long ago with a message for the king.”
“But what about horses? I don’t expect the elk are going to rush us all the way to the capital.”
“We have enough money to buy new horses.”
Yes, there was gold enough, but I would miss Little Bee; I’d grown used to my own mount, and now I’d have to switch to a new one. And apart from that, Little Bee was a present from the king.
First we heard the buzzing, and then the dragoatfly came darting toward us like a tiny shadow. The flinny mounted on it was my old acquaintance, the one who had been given the elfin ring as his reward. The one who, basically, had hauled my backside out of the Labyrinth.
“Iirroo z’maa Olok of the Branch of the Lake Butterfly is glad to greet Tresh Egrassa and his traveling companions!” the flinny chanted, and the dragoatfly circled above our heads.
“I am glad to greet my brother of the little people at my campfire. What has brought you here, Iirroo z’maa Olok of the Branch of the Lake Butterfly?”
“News,” said the crystal-clear little voice, like the jingling of a bell. “Unpaid.”
It was clear from Iirroo’s tone that this last fact was not a good thing. Flinnies were used to being paid handsomely for their labors.
“Would you care to try of our food and sup of our wine?” Egrassa inquired, employing the ritual phrase.
“Hah!” the black-haired flinny responded. “The food of dryads, and not a drop of wine anywhere in sight. Thank you for asking, but no. On this occasion the business is too urgent and too important. Food can wait. But I certainly wouldn’t object to a space where I could land Lozirel. We’ve spent half a day on the wing.”
Without waiting for permission, the dragoatfly glided down to the ground, stuck out its tongue, and bleated in relief.
“I’m glad to see that you escaped from the filthy paws of the orcs, beanpole!” said the flinny, addressing me. “Would you object, Tresh Egrassa, if I were to speak from the ground? I am afraid that Lozirel needs to rest for the ne
xt ten minutes.”
No one had any objections.
The news that Iirroo recited to us didn’t make very good hearing. This time the Firstborn had prepared well—they had learned the lesson of their defeat in the Spring War. The Hand had gathered absolutely everyone he could, and, when everything was ready, struck rapidly and to good effect. There were so many orcs that the military leader of the Firstborn had even taken the risk of dividing up his army of many thousands into three strike forces, or “fists.”
The first fist had hammered at the Border Kingdom, the second had struck at Valiostr and was now advancing on Ranneng at a forced march, encountering almost no resistance along the way. The third fist had come crashing down on the southwestern provinces of Valiostr—but the main force of the blow had been taken by the Black Forest.
“Your compatriots, Tresh Egrassa, were not expecting anything of the kind. Before the houses were able to offer an adequate response…” The flinny hesitated, unwilling to convey bad news.
“Continue.” Egrassa’s face seemed to be carved out of stone.
“They flooded through the Black Forest. The House of Black Water gave battle while the others gathered their warriors. No members of the House of Black Water survived; the entire house was annihilated. The orcs advanced as far as Greenwood and the ancient city was totally destroyed. The Black Flame was almost extinguished. Almost all kin of the great Elodssa the Law Breaker fell in the battle. This house is now ruled by Melessana the Night Fox. The Black Moon arrived in time and closed the breach, bearing the brunt of the blow from the Firstborn. Then other houses joined them, I do not know who had the best of it.”
“I see,” said Egrassa, stroking the handle of his s’kash.
“That is not yet all the bad news, Tresh Egrassa.”
“What could possibly be worse?”
“The Black Moon protected the Black Flame. Now all members of the House of the Black Flame have become your k’lissangs. The Flame said it was a point of honor for them to be loyal to those who had saved them.”
“That is impossible,” Egrassa snapped. “The Black Flame is the predominant house. They cannot serve us. The Night Fox must have gone completely insane in her grief!”
“Melessana is too young, but the words have been spoken, and the Council of the Black Flame has approved them.”
“My uncle will never accept such a blatant transgression of the law!”
“Tresh Eddanrassa, the head of the House of the Black Moon, was killed while defending the Flame. His daughter—Tresh Melessana—died beside her father. I am deeply sorry.”
Egrassa ground his teeth. “And what of Epilorssa?”
“Tresh Epilorssa should now assume the leafy crown, but he left for Avendoom with a detachment of bowmen more than a month ago.”
“Who rules the house now?”
“Your younger brother, Tresh Egrassa. He is awaiting your return.”
“The crown will be mine only after Epilorssa!” Egrassa retorted furiously. “I have business entrusted to me by the United Council of the Houses! I cannot return now. Will you give my message to my brother?”
“Yes, I will convey it without payment.”
I raised one eyebrow sharply. Could this really be a flinny we saw before us? He spotted my dubious expression and announced to everyone: “These are dark times. If we do not help the elves, and the orcs are victorious, we shall have no one to tell our news to. We may be greedy, but we are not stupid. Your message, Tresh Egrassa?”
“Tell my younger brother to rely on the council and await the return of Epilorssa. I shall return as soon as I can. And something must be done about the Black Flame.”
“You know what must be done, elf, you know it and you fear it,” said Fluffy Cloud, emerging quietly from the gloom. “This has happened once before.”
“In any case, this decision will have to be taken by Epilorssa when he returns,” Egrassa snapped. “Only the head of the house—”
“But are you certain that your brother will return from the north? Are you certain that he will want the leafy crown? You know his attitude to power. Babbling Brook saw you as the king. Better hurry home, elf. We will take your friends to the lands of men. The marriage of the King of the Moon and the Queen of the Flame will resolve all difficulties and they will not be k’lissangs.”
“It is a point of honor for the Flame. If an entire house has decided to serve us for eight years, that is their right. If one house is stronger than all the others, sooner or later that will lead us to one king for all. And sooner or later unitary power in the Black Forest will end in secession. I have no right to return at the moment.
“These are questions of politics. In any case, you have spoken as you see fit. Make haste, flinny!”
“Wait!” Eel called to Iirroo, who was already mounting his dragoatfly.
“You have spoken of the elves. But what of men?”
“I regret that this is not known to me. I do know that the Border Kingdom is standing firm to the death, I know that the second fist, the largest, is advancing toward Ranneng, I know that a part of the third fist is bogged down at Maiding. The Firstborn have skirted round Moitsig. These lands have not yet been touched by war, and if you hurry, you will have time to slip through. This is yesterday’s news, perhaps there is more already, but I do not know. I am sorry. Farewell!”
The dragoatfly buzzed strenuously, performed a farewell circle in the air, and slipped into the darkness of the forest. And then Eel, Mumr, and Egrassa started arguing about what might happen in Valiostr and the way the orcs had stirred things up there. Their military leader had shown just what a cunning lad he was. He had tied the Border Kingdom and the elves hand and foot, while his main forces advanced on Valiostr. We couldn’t expect any help from anyone. The Border Kingdom might manage with its own forces, but the garrisons on the southern border were weak and there were few troops. Most of the forces had been pulled back to the north and the border with Miranueh. The soft underbelly of the south was exposed and there for the taking.
No had one expected that the Firstborn would decide to repeat the Spring War. Sagot grant that the army would at least reach Ranneng in time. The Borderland and the whole of the south would have to be won back in battle—assuming, that is, that we stood firm at Ranneng, and the Borderlanders and the elves could contain the orcs. If the Borderland and the Black Forest fell and fresh hordes of orcs came surging at us, then all was lost. If things went really badly, we could be pushed back to the Cold Sea. A truly encouraging prospect! No Nameless One would be required. And no Horn, either. Everything would be over long before the sorcerer arrived from the Needles of Ice.
The next morning Hallas was quite steady on his feet, but he didn’t react at all to the presence of the dryads and the elk. Lucky was gloomy and sullen and he hardly spoke. When he heard the news from Kli-Kli that the war had begun, the gnome just nodded. The only words Hallas spoke were when Lamplighter handed him his mattock. The gnome said, “Thank you” and slung the weapon over his shoulder. After a moment’s hesitation, Kli-Kli handed Deler’s hat to Lucky. The gnome twirled it in his hands, cleared his throat, and then put it on his head.
“When will they take these bandages off me?”
“When the time comes,” Sunpatch answered, stroking the neck of one of the elk.
“And when will that be?”
“Soon.”
Hallas snorted, but he didn’t try to argue with the dryad. And the gnome didn’t say anything when it turned out that he would have to ride behind the Daughter of the Forest.
We spent all that cold autumn day traveling. The elk speeded up even more, and the world around me fused into one long blur of brown and gold.
After lunchtime the Golden Forest came to an end and Lamplighter thanked Sagra. Now there was ordinary autumn forest ahead, with no leaves left on the trees, which was only natural in the final days of October. Soon the genuinely cold weather would begin, and the snow would not be far behind. Then we’d
really start to freeze. How could the dryads go around barefoot in weather like this?
The presence of the Daughters of the Forest guaranteed our safety, and at night we lit huge campfires without feeling afraid that orcs might find us. The flames roared and we felt a lot warmer. Kli-Kli had caught a cold and kept sneezing all the time, so the heat of the fire was certainly good for her. We didn’t talk about Glo-Glo and his apprentice’s mission any longer, having come to an unspoken agreement to pretend nothing of the sort had ever happened. If Kli-Kli was supposed to take care of me, then let her. I was used to it in any case, and she was much better than anyone else. Egrassa was absorbed in his own thoughts, torn between us and his duty to his own house. Lamplighter took care of Hallas. The gnome had completely recovered from his wound, but he was still as gloomy as the autumn sky above our heads.
On the second day after we left the Golden Forest, Fluffy Cloud said we weren’t going to stop for the night. Hallas said sarcastically that a full day and night of riding on a huge shaggy beast was more than even a gnome could bear, and he was against the idea. He also inquired in the most impolite fashion possible (the gnome couldn’t care less that he was talking to a dryad—gnomes had never seen dryads, and he had no idea why they should be spoken to politely) when they would be pleased to remove the bandage that was pressing on his face. Sunpatch sighed and said that she would remove the bandage straightaway, but if Hallas didn’t shut up after that, she would tell Runner in the Moonlight to trample the gnome with his hooves. Lucky agreed that it was fair deal.
He examined his face for a long time in Kli-Kli’s mirror, and then asked Mumr for a rag to cover the empty eye socket. Lamplighter gave him a broad strip of black cloth, and it made the gnome look like a pirate or Jolly Gallows-Bird.
We galloped all night long, and this time I even managed to fall asleep, and I was woken by the elk stopping. It was early morning, and the black silhouettes of the trees stood out against the sky that was beginning to grow light. There was a fresh smell of frost and water in the air. I got down off the beast, shuddering, and helped Kli-Kli to get down as well.