Shadow Blizzard

by Alexey Pehov

  We suffered losses, but we stood firm. On one absolutely beautiful December day we heard the roar of battle horns, and the Second Army of the South arrived, together with the First Army of the West and the Third Assault Army, reinforced by the lads from Miranueh and volunteers from Isilia. Together they struck the unsuspecting enemy a mighty blow in the rear.

  Stalkon gathered all his forces together and led them out from behind the walls, hitting the enemy smack between the eyes. Our opponents still had a numerical advantage but they faltered and ran. And the Nameless One didn’t hang about for a little chat with the Order, either, he took off with his heels twinkling. The army drove the retreating enemy to the north and out past the Lonely Giant.

  Everybody agreed about one thing: It would be a long time before the Nameless One recovered from a blow like this, and he wouldn’t try to attack the kingdom again for another five or six hundred years at least. We would have to hope that if the sorcerer did get it into his head to come back and snap at Valiostr’s heels again, the Order wouldn’t waste any time getting the Rainbow Horn out of its old cobweb-covered trunk.

  While the army was busy with the war in the north and polishing off everyone who still needed to be polished off, the capital gradually returned to normal. Every citizen walked around with a happy and contented look, as if he personally had stuffed the Rainbow Horn up that cursed sorcerer’s backside.

  Well, we had our victory, but life had to go on somehow. And the army had to be fed and maintained. Surprisingly enough, now when the people gave their hard-earned money to the king’s tax collectors, they hardly even complained. Somehow everybody seemed to have grasped that it was better to have a strong, well-fed army than have the Nameless One on their back. I remember that For once uttered the memorable phrase: “A kingdom sometimes needs a war to buck its ideas up and dust it off.” My old teacher, now living in distant Garrak, was probably right. War is a terrible thing, but afterward you see many things through different eyes.

  People gradually came back to the city; they listened to the town criers in the squares telling everyone about the army’s victories in the north, and the victories of the united forces of Valiostr, the Border Kingdom, and the dark elves over the orcs in the south; restored the houses that had been ruined in the war; and put their lives back together. Everything was gradually going back to the way it used to be.

  But for our little group, everything went topsy-turvy. As soon as the magicians had dealt with their business (i.e., the Nameless One), they turned their attention to me. They detailed my old friend Roderick to stay with me, and he followed good old Harold around like a tail. But, to be quite serious, they stuck every member of our group in the royal palace for a month. I don’t know what they did with the others, but I personally was questioned three times a day by one of the archmagicians. They were mostly interested in Hrad Spein. The archmagicians asked their questions, I gave them answers, and Roderick wrote it all down. And on and on like that forever. I was fortunate enough to see Artsivus twice.

  The old man’s health had deteriorated while I was on my journey. He had lost weight and his cough was even worse; he was always huddling under a warm rug and shivering. Roderick brought his teacher medicine all the time. I felt sorry for the Master of the Order, and a blind man could have seen what an effort those conversations cost him. The archmagician asked me questions, too, but they were far more ticklish than the others, and I had to prevaricate and lie a bit. I didn’t want to tell the Order about the Master, the World of Chaos, and other stuff like that.

  It seemed to me that I’d told the Order everything I could, but the magicians just kept on and on asking questions. I had to tell them everything a second time, then a third time, and even a fourth. They dragged everything out of me, every last little detail, and there was no end in sight.

  I hardly ever saw my friends. Only Kli-Kli, who had taken the young king under her wing (that was what she told me) sometimes dropped in to see me and share the news. Hallas, Eel, and Lamplighter were with the Wild Hearts who had survived the Lonely Giant and the Field of Fairies. Sagot be praised, Honeycomb and Invincible had survived the battle of Avendoom and now they were also with their friends. For the time being the king was keeping the Wild Hearts near him.

  As for Egrassa, he had unexpectedly become the head of the House of the Black Rose. Tresh Epilorssa had been killed in the battle of the Field of the Fairies, so the leafy crown had passed to Miralissa’s cousin. And now Egrassa was with the dark elves who had come to fight for Valiostr but, according to Kli-Kli, he was going to return to Zagraba in a couple of weeks.

  Eventually, after I’d told the magicians my story darkness only knows how many times, they gave up and said I could push off.

  * * *

  “Hot pies here! Get your hot pies here!”

  “The valiant army of Valiostr!”

  “Have you heard? Yesterday in the Port City they knocked off a carriage full of gold!”

  “What would a carriage full of gold be doing in the Port City?”

  “They say the ships from Isilia are going to come three times as often.”

  “Praise be to the king, if he hadn’t—”

  “Long live the king!”

  “Is it true the dark elves have killed all the orcs and now they’ve gone to war with the dwarves?”

  “You must be a real fool, brother, to go around spreading nonsense like that!”

  “Hot pies here!”

  Nothing changes in our world. It was only a month and a half since the end of the war, but the people were already enjoying their favorite pastime—gossiping.

  Mid-January was incredibly cold and snowy, but that didn’t bother the citizens at all, and the streets were full of people having a good time. They were celebrating the latest victory: The army had pushed the last of our enemies back beyond the Lonely Giant.

  I had a meeting with our entire group planned for late that evening in one of the taverns of the Inner City. At last we would have a chance to get together again. But that was in the evening, and right now I had absolutely nothing to do. My little trip to distant parts had left me completely out of touch with what was going on in the city, and now I needed to catch up with things. And I had to look for a new lair, too.

  When I checked to satisfy my curiosity, I found the Knife and Ax still standing in the same old place. Despite the battering it had taken during that famous fight the previous summer, the tavern looked as good as new. The holes made in the walls by the demon had been skillfully patched up, and the entire building looked as if Vukhdjaaz had never come within a hundred yards of it. Even the sign was still the same. I pushed the door of the establishment open and walked in.

  I didn’t know the thugs standing at the entrance, but they obviously knew me very well, and let me in without any questions, as good as saluted me, in fact. The large hall had been repaired and now it was as noisy and crowded as ever. All the tables and benches were occupied by the brotherhood of thieves and rogues of various shades and hues. Serving wenches scurried about between them, carrying food and beer.

  Of course everyone pretended they didn’t recognize me, although I saw surprise and even fright in some faces. I nodded to two or three of my acquaintances and headed straight for the bar.

  Old Gozmo was there at his usual battle station. When the old rogue saw me, he almost had a stroke. The expression on his long face became even more miserable and the former thief turned white and crimson by turns. Finally he managed to mumble, “Harold?”

  “Glad you haven’t forgotten me, Gozmo.”

  “How the … Where did you come from?”

  “Meaning?” It looked as if not everyone was very pleased to see me.

  “Well,” said Gozmo, confused, “they said you’d left Avendoom forever. Like For.”

  “Who said?”

  “Everybody said so. I’m glad to see it’s not true.…”

  I believed that, of course.

  “I see business is sti
ll the same as usual.”

  “No thanks to you,” the innkeeper muttered. He seemed to have recovered from his surprise. “I believe you saw what Markun’s lads and the Doralissians and that monster did to the place? Do you know how much money it cost me to fix everything? Aren’t you afraid I might send you the bill?”

  “No, I’m not,” I said with a smile.

  That smile made Gozmo hold his tongue.

  “Surely you agree, Gozmo, that a bit of damage to the tavern is better than having your reputation ruined, Markun chasing you, or maybe even losing your life?”

  “You’re a plague, Harold.”

  “I do my best. Is my table free?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Beer. Black.”

  I laughed as I set out for my table. To be quite honest, Gozmo had only got what he deserved that night. But I was still glad to know the sly old dog and his establishment were alive and well.

  The beer was brought to me, and for the next few minutes I did nothing but enjoy it. Then suddenly someone sat down in the empty chair beside me. I looked up from my beer mug and glanced at the face of my uninvited guest. Small, with dark hair, bushy eyebrows that ran together above his nose and a stony face.

  Oho! What an important personage had decided to honor me with his presence! Urgez, the head of the Guild of Hired Assassins in person!

  “Beer?” I asked him.

  “Thank you, some other time,” he said.

  I wondered what he wanted.

  “The word was out that you were back in town—I decided to check.”

  “Rumors certainly spread fast.” It was less than ten minutes since I appeared in the Knife and Ax, and the entire underworld of the city already knew about it.

  “Yes, rumors, that’s what I wanted to have a word with you about. If you have no objections, master thief?”

  “None at all, master assassin.” It’s always best to be polite with people like Urgez.

  “There was a rumor going round that a certain hired assassin was trying to get your head. They also say that the shrine of Sagot was attacked. A few brave young fellows tried to get to old man For. I want to tell you that those men have nothing at all to do with the guild. My lads have no reason to get on the wrong side of the thieves, and certainly not the servants of Sagra.”

  “I know they weren’t your lads.”

  “Well, that’s just grand. I also want to say, from myself, that the guild has a couple of questions to ask this vagrant. They say he made use of my name, and I don’t like that. So we’re looking for him.”

  “Don’t bother. He won’t cause you any more trouble.”

  “All the better.” The head of the guild was not surprised in the slightest. “Keep well, Harold.”

  “And you, Urgez.”

  The head of the assassins had done what he came for, and he left. To be honest, I was glad that Urgez’s lads had nothing to do with the attempts on my life that had almost dispatched me to the light last summer. Fighting with Urgez was bad for the health.

  “Mind if I take a seat?”

  It looked like this was my day for unexpected visitors. This time it was Sheloz standing beside the table. With six beefy young bodyguards hovering behind him.

  “Please, sit down.”

  Sheloz sat down, the bodyguards remained standing.

  “The word was out that you were back in town—I decided to check.”

  Were they in this together, or what? For those who don’t know, Sheloz was the lad who was fighting Markun for the right to run the Guild of Thieves.

  “I’m back.”

  “I’ve always respected you, Harold.…”

  “Likewise.”

  Sheloz was a pretty decent man and thief. I thought the guild would be a lot better off under his management than with Markun.

  “I know you’ve had difficulties with the guild in the past, but then, haven’t we all? That fat swine Markun just stole all the money for himself. But everything’s different now. So I want to tell you that if you should feel the desire to return to the bosom of the old hearth and home, we’ll be glad to see you. Naturally, we’ll take you without any membership fees or levies on your Commissions.”

  “An honorary member?” I laughed.

  “Why not? Respected masters of the trade shouldn’t have to pay to work. It’s enough for them to be members of the guild and make its reputation.”

  “Why so generous all of a sudden, Sheloz?”

  “Well…” He hesitated. “To lay my cards on the table, Harold, I’m personally obliged to you for getting rid of Markun. And so are lots of the lads, believe me. With that fat leech gone, everything’s taken a turn for the better. Consider it a little token of my gratitude. I don’t like being in anyone’s debt. So you think about coming back.”

  “All right. I’ll think about it.”

  “Excellent. See you around, master thief.”

  “See you around.”

  * * *

  It was dark and there weren’t so many people around now. It had started snowing. There was no wind and the snowflakes glided smoothly down onto the pavement in absolute silence. Ah, darkness! I must have sat in Gozmo’s establishment a bit longer than I meant to. I had to hurry.

  I set off through the side streets to take a shortcut. Although, in a rather large percentage of cases, strolling through the alleys of the Port City could lead to the loss of your purse, or even your life, if you were inexperienced. So as I threaded my way through the dark and empty spaces, I kept my wits about me and one hand on my crossbow. There’s always some greedy idiot desperate to get his hands on other people’s money.

  But Sagot was good and I didn’t meet anyone on the way. Although at one point I had the great pleasure of running into a unit of guards. The lads watched me go by with extremely uncharitable expressions on their faces, but they didn’t ask any questions this time. I turned into Stinking Bedbug Street, came out onto the Street of the Apples, cut across Little Sour Street, turned into a dark archway, and …

  And then someone very deft took a very strong grip on my shoulders from behind. I gave a jerk and reached for my weapon, and the stranger immediately blocked my movement with one hand and squeezed my neck so tight with the other that I could hardly even breathe, let alone struggle. The lad behind me was monstrously strong.

  “Your weapon probably wouldn’t be any use to you, Harold,” a mocking voice said, and I shuddered and stopped trying to resist.

  The Messenger! May the darkness devour him!

  “Mmmm? I see you’ve recognized me, thief. Well, that’s all to the good. I’ll let you go now, but don’t think of doing anything stupid. You’re an intelligent man, aren’t you?”

  I didn’t answer.

  “All right then,” the Master’s chief servant chuckled. “I see you got the Horn.”

  “Believe it or not,” I said, desperately trying to figure out what he could want from me. “You and your lord didn’t think I could manage it, did you?”

  Another quiet chuckle.

  “Don’t flatter yourself, Harold. Do you think the Master doesn’t know which way the Game is going to go? You only had the Horn because he wanted it that way.”

  The powerful brute released his grip and I took a step away from him and turned round. He was standing in the shade again, and all I could see was a dark shadow and two golden eyes.

  “Why did you come here?”

  “Aren’t you glad to see me?”

  I didn’t answer.

  “All right, Harold,” the Messenger sighed, and his eyes glinted. “Time to pay your dues.”

  “What dues?”

  “Surely you haven’t forgotten our agreement?”

  “I remember our agreement, Djok,” I said, calling the Messenger by his real name without thinking.

  “That’s good.” He didn’t seem to have noticed my slip of the tongue. “The Master wants you to carry out his Commission.”

  I sighed. I really didn’t want to do any
thing for any master, but a deal is a deal. And it wasn’t that easy to get away from the Messenger; he could turn up anywhere at any time. As bad luck would have it, there was no one else in the alley but us.

  “What are the conditions of the Commission?”

  “Oh, it’s all very simple, thief. Before midnight today you have to steal the Rainbow Horn from the Tower of the Order.”

  “What? Your lord has to be joking! I won’t do it!”

  “Why not?”

  “Why not? It’s impossible. Not only does he want me to break into the Tower of the Order, he wants me to steal the Rainbow Horn! There’s a magician every yard in there!”

  “Now you listen to me, Harold. You’re going to get that artifact. And get it today, before midnight. And not just because you accepted a deal. You’ll want to help us as soon as possible when I tell you what’s happened.”

  “And what has happened?” As far as I was concerned, the moon could fall from the sky, and I still wouldn’t go and get that Horn of my own free will.

  “The Player has betrayed the Master.”

  “I don’t get the connection.”

  “The Player has betrayed my Master and now he serves another. It’s a great night tonight, Harold. You can’t even imagine just how great. This round of the Game is being decided. If the Player follows the instructions of our opponent, the balance will collapse and a certain someone will escape from the Palaces of Bone. If that happens, Siala will go back to the start of the Dark Era. My Master really doesn’t want to have to create everything all over again. The Rainbow Horn is the thing that can disrupt the balance.”

  “All right, all right. Start from the beginning. What have the Horn and this Player got to do with everything?”

  “If the Player uses the Horn, then the Game will be lost.”

  “Then don’t let him get hold of the Horn.”

  “He already has.”

  “Oh!” I said, trying to think. “Then kill the Player.”