by Alexey Pehov
Alistan’s order was never carried out. Something white but, unfortunately, not fluffy took off from the top story of the building where we had been held in the basement for almost an entire day and night.
“Look out!” shouted Miralissa.
I dropped to the ground again, and everyone else followed my example, including the elves. A blinding white disk rustled through the air with a with a whistling sound and crashed into an unfortunate apple tree, shattering it into a thousand tiny chips of wood.
A shaman, darkness take me! There’s another of the Nameless One’s shamans in the house, but Loudmouth told us … Well, never mind what he told us! A fact is a fact: A sorcerer had just flung something rather unpleasant at us, and it was only by good fortune and the will of the gods that he had missed by a good ten yards.
Miralissa was already on her feet; she started whispering and spinning like a top in a spellbinding dance. Ah, if only the elfess had power over the ordinary magic of men and the light elves, instead of shamanism that takes far too long to prepare, then we might have a chance, but this way it’s a game of cat and mouse. Or more like blind man’s bluff in total darkness. Whoever was quickest would win.
Ell and Egrassa concentrated their fire on the window that the disk had flown out of.
“Milord Alistan!” Miralissa’s cousin shouted before he fired yet another arrow at the window. “Get the men away!”
The dark elves’ attention was completely focused on the window. They had totally forgotten about the door, and the Nameless One’s followers immediately took advantage of the fact. Two crossbow men darted outside with the clear intention of making holes in our hides.
“There’s nothing we can do!” said Egrassa, taking another arrow out of his seriously depleted quiver. “They’re yours!”
The shaman could not be allowed to concentrate on a new spell. If the hail of arrows relented even for a moment, a white disk would reduce us all to a bloody pulp.
“Marmot, the crossbow!” I barked, and surprised even myself by jumping up off the ground.
With no hesitation, the Wild Heart tossed me my little darling. Thank Sagot, it was already loaded.
One of the enemy managed to get a shot off first, squatting down and firing at me from a kneeling position. Without aiming. Don’t anybody ever try to tell me that the Nameless One doesn’t have any professional soldiers! The only place you find crossbowmen with that kind of skill is in the army.
I would have caught a bolt in my lung if Alistan had not covered me with his shield—the bolt thudded into this barrier that had suddenly appeared out of nowhere. I chose the crossbowman who hadn’t fired yet as my target and pressed my trigger.
The crash was every bit as impressive as the shaman’s spell, I can tell you! The poor guy was reduced to a charred firebrand, and the other one, who was hastily reloading his crossbow, had his right arm blown off and his face almost completely burned away. I think the only ones who took no notice of the devastation caused by my shot were Miralissa, who was still whispering a spell, and the elves, who were busy preventing the Nameless One’s shaman from concentrating.
I hadn’t even looked at what my crossbow was loaded with. A bolt with a fiery elemental!
“Marmot, the darkness take you! What did you load it with?”
“That was Kli-Kli!”
“Harold!” the goblin whined. “They all look almost exactly the same!”
“Almost! Surely you can see that there are three red stripes on these?”
“Don’t be so stingy! The bolt may have cost five gold pieces, but this is no time to be cheap.”
When the doorway was suddenly covered with ice and we heard howls of pain, Miralissa finally stopped singing her song and spinning round like a child’s top at a fair.
The elves stopped firing and a white disk immediately came flying out of the window, as if that was all it had been waiting for. It was flying straight at us, and I swear I thought that this was the end!
But then the elfess’s spell took effect, and a green wall flashed up in front of us for an instant. It flashed up and then disappeared, but the disk, either flung back or reflected, went flying back in the opposite direction. Unfortunately, it hit the corner of the house, and not the window where the shaman was hiding.
Fine fragments of stone shot off in all directions, striking down the Nameless One’s supporters who had come darting out of the house. The magic shield protected us against being wounded or maimed.
Yet another disk, and another deflection back toward the house in which our enemy was lodged, but this time a green shield just like ours sprang up in front of the white projectile and it flew off to one side, demolishing a shed standing thirty yards from the building. Our horses whinnied in fright.
Another disk. And another. The Nameless One’s shaman possessed far greater skill than the elfin princess. Our shield sagged and shuddered noticeably with every impact.
“Get away, you idiots! I can’t maintain the defense for very long!” exclaimed Miralissa, pale from the effort.
“I’ll help!” said Kli-Kli, and he started rummaging desperately in his pockets.
“Let’s move back, Kli-Kli,” said milord, reaching out his hand to grab the goblin by the scruff of the neck, but Kli-Kli took a tangled bundle of string out of his pocket and pulled on some inconspicuous little loose end.
The whole structure, woven for so long with such care by the jester, who had promised that he would show us some “terrible shamanism,” instantly came unwoven and then dissolved into thin air in the most magical manner imaginable.
“Oi!” said Kli-Kli, gazing wildly at his empty hands: He evidently hadn’t been expecting this effect. “Why did it do that?”
Miralissa surprised me by pulling me down onto the ground then covering her head with her hands, and shouting, “Get down! Quick!”
The sight of the elfess with her face buried in the dirt was highly persuasive: If she was willing to do what no dark elf would normally do (bathing in mud is not one of the main elfin pastimes), then there was no point in wasting any time on thinking.
I dropped to the ground for the third time in the last two minutes, noticing as I fell that the roof of the building had flown a good five yards up into the air and was falling back into the fountains of roaring flame that were pouring out of all the windows and doors.
Boo-oooom!
An incredibly powerful blast of heat roared past above us. The air was sizzling hot and impossible to breathe. It scorched my throat and lungs. My clothes didn’t protect me, either. The heat licked at my skin, even through my jacket, shirt, and trousers.
I didn’t dare to raise my head until about twenty seconds later. The massive two-story stone house with a tiled roof no longer existed. All that was left was one wall that had survived by some kind of miracle. There were flames still roaring and licking at the stones. A broad spiral of black smoke was rising up into the sky.
Who would believe that could happen? He just pulled on a stupid piece of string, and suddenly there was nothing left! No house, and none of the people inside it, either.
Everybody, including me, was staring at the fire. I got up, dusted myself off, and glanced warily at the goblin.
“I … I … I didn’t mean it!” Kli-Kli jabbered, retreating in the face of our none-too-gentle glances. “I never thought! Honestly! There ought to have been a little fog, that’s all.”
“Fog!” Deler roared. He spat the sand out of his mouth, jabbed his finger toward the ruined building, and asked acidly, “Is that your idea of a little shower?”
“But honestly, I didn’t think that would happen!” the jester said with a guilty sniff. “My grandfather the shaman showed me that when I was little … I suppose I didn’t tie forty-five knots in it after all.”
The little jester’s face was covered in soot and mud and it wore an extremely guilty expression.
“Kli-Kli,” Miralissa sighed, wiping her dirty face with the back of her hand, “if yo
u ever do anything like that again without warning me…”
The goblin started nodding so fervently that I thought his head would fall off his shoulders any moment.
In the distance we heard the sound of people hurrying toward the site of the explosion. It was time for us to get out while the going was good.
“To the horses! Quickly!” said Alistan, throwing his shield over his shoulder and running on ahead toward the spot where the horses had been whinnying only a few moments earlier.
I handed the ling to Marmot and tried to keep up with the captain of the royal guard.
“That was great!” panted Kli-Kli, running along beside me. “You can tell my grandfather was a shaman all right! I certainly showed them!”
There was not a trace of remorse in the goblin’s expression.
“You almost roasted us along with them, you genius!”
“You’re just annoyed because you’re envious of my abilities,” the jester replied.
I snorted derisively. Kli-Kli only pretends to be a fool and a windbag. In all honesty, the goblin is smarter than Master of the Order Artsivus, he just works on his image. But at moments like this I am almost ready to believe that the royal fool really does act the buffoon because he is so witless.
We ran past the smoking ruins of the shed and saw our horses beyond the apple trees. The poor animals were snorting and wriggling their ears in fright, and their eyes were wide with terror.
I greeted Little Bee with a gentle slap on her flank and jumped up into the saddle.
Alistan immediately set the horses to a gallop, and I had to focus all my attention on my riding, to make sure I wouldn’t go crashing into some tree that just happened to turn up in front of me. It was only after we saw Ranneng come into view ahead and we approached the city walls that the weariness came crashing down on me with all the weight of the sky.
7
BRIGHT IDEAS FROM A GOBLIN
When our squad came flying into the yard of the inn on lathered horses, Uncle was waiting for us, striding nervously from one corner to another. His lips moved rapidly as he counted the riders and he smiled happily once he was sure everyone was safe and well. Honeycomb jumped down off his horse and started telling his friend in a low voice what had happened during our rescue. Uncle clicked his tongue in disappointment, regretting that his wound had prevented him from taking part in the battle.
I handed Little Bee’s reins to a servant who came darting up and then sat down on the ground right there on the spot. I was reduced to a state of total exhaustion; the final ounce of strength had been drained out of me.
“Hey, old friend? Are you still alive?” I heard a sympathetic voice ask.
Glancing up, I saw Bass towering over me.
“And what are you doing here?”
“He’s here on probation,” the jester said, plonking his backside down on the grass beside me. “Or something of the sort.”
“Something of the sort?” I asked like an echo.
Bass didn’t say anything, just looked at me expectantly. What did he want? Meanwhile Kli-Kli pulled one of his beloved carrots out from under his new cloak, crunched on it, and then spoke with his mouth full.
“You ought to know that if it wasn’t for your friend here, you and Eel would have been dead men,” the goblin explained as he chewed. “He showed us where they were hiding you.”
I gave my old comrade a quizzical look. He sat down warily beside me and started telling me what had happened. Kli-Kli occasionally forgot about his carrot and added his own weighty comments to Bass’s story.
Apparently Bass had been on the street when we rode down on the cart, and had seen me and the unconscious Eel being loaded into the carriage. He hadn’t tried to interfere (which was absolutely right—one man against a dozen is no kind of odds) but he had managed to follow the carriage outside the city all the way to the private country estate that was owned by the Nameless One’s followers. Remembering his childhood nickname of Snoop I was not surprised.
After finding out where we were being held, Bass had set off back to Ranneng, but the gates were already closed, and he had been forced to while the night away outside the city walls. But in the morning Snoop had hurried straight to the Learned Owl Inn.
“And how did you know about the inn?” I asked, although I already knew the answer.
That day when we met him for the first time at the Large Market, he had simply followed our group. First to the Sundrop, and then to the Learned Owl. So he had known where to go for help. Although, of course, he didn’t know that he would run into a practical, and deadly, elf.
Ell’s first inclination was to let Bass’s blood, in line with the old folk wisdom that says if you trust everyone who comes along, sooner or later you’ll end up in the graveyard. But first Hallas and Deler, and then Kli-Kli—when he came back from his fruitless search for my own humble person—confirmed that they had seen this slob talking with Harold, who was now missing. So Ell had put away his knife, and Miralissa and Alistan subjected the informant to intensive interrogation.
I have to give the elfess her due—she suspected Snoop right up to the final moment, quite reasonably assuming that the person in front of her was either a top-notch swindler, or a follower of the Nameless One, or a servant of the Master, or darkness only knows who else. And so Bass was promised that, if he was lying, his eyes would be gouged out and every protruding part of his body would be sliced off in the most painful way possible.
Ell, Egrassa, and Honeycomb set off to reconnoiter the address given by Bass, and discovered that the house was absolutely teeming with characters of distinctly dubious appearance. And then the cavalry had arrived, in the person of almost all the rest of the group—Uncle had stayed behind to keep an eye on Bass and nurse his wound, which still hadn’t knitted together, even after Miralissa’s best efforts.
“Thank you.” It cost me a certain effort to say that to him. “If not for your help…” There was no need to say any more.
“Peace?” he said, holding out his narrow hand and smiling uncertainly.
“Okay.” I shook his hand. “But I need to have a serious talk with you.”
I was still angry with him for all those years when he hadn’t let me and For know that he was alive and well.
“All right, but a little later on. You look like you need a couple of days’ sleep. We’ll see each other again.”
Snoop set off toward the gates of the inn, but Ell sprang up in his way like an apparition of doom: “Where are you going, man?”
“You will have to stay, Master Bass,” said Miralissa, who had appeared beside Ell.
“But why, in the name of a thousand dead goblins?”
Kli-Kli choked on his carrot in surprise and looked at my old friend reproachfully.
“Our business in Ranneng requires absolute confidentiality and I’m sorry, but we can’t trust you, even though you have helped us.”
“Are you going to keep me under lock and key?” asked Bass, his eyebrows rising in surprise.
“No, no need for that,” Alistan Markauz put in. “We’ll provide you with every possible comfort until our group leaves the city. There’s food here in plenty, and we can find you a bed, so do stay.”
“And what if I don’t agree?” Snoop always was a stubborn one.
A crooked grin appeared on Ell’s face.
“I advise you to agree,” he said.
“But I can hope that when all your ‘business’ is over, you will let me go?”
“Of course,” said Ell, without batting an eyelid.
Somehow, I wasn’t entirely convinced. Elves are a practical race, and it would be simpler for them to slit Bass’s throat out of genuine concern for the fate of our mission than to set a witness free to go wandering wherever his fancy might take him. I’d have to have a word with Miralissa when the time came, or her k’lissang could quite easily dispatch the rogue to the light. Ell was rather hot-tempered, and he had a short fuse when it came to things like that
.
“Harold, my old friend, I’m so glad that you’re alive!” said Hallas, putting his arm round my shoulder (the short little gnome could only do that because I was sitting on the ground). “Come on, I’ll pour you a beer.”
“All right, old friend,” I said with a smile, getting up off the ground.
As I walked toward the door of the inn, I found myself thinking in surprise that I was changing despite myself. Shadow Harold, the master thief, the most skillful rifler of treasure chests in the whole of Avendoom, that solitary, morose character who never had any real friends and never showed his feelings to anyone, was changing. But for better or for worse?
Would I have called anyone my friend two months ago?
No.
I didn’t have any friends, except for my mentor, teacher, and second father, For. And as for taking a friendly drink with anyone … That was something I’d never done.
A thief, if he is a good thief, has to be alone. No family, no attachments, nothing that would affect his work or his safety. And that was how it had been until just recently. I was astonished to realize that now I could call those constant squabblers Deler and Hallas, that tiresome pest Kli-Kli, Miralissa, Lamplighter, and all the others my friends, and without the slightest hesitation.
* * *
As Eel and I quenched our thirst, we took turns in telling everyone (with the exception of Bass, who had been sent upstairs) what had happened to us. Naturally, without mentioning Loudmouth.
“At least there’s one thing we can be happy about in all this, Harold,” Arnkh said with a sigh. “The Nameless One’s followers will leave us in peace now.”
“We won’t have any peace. There’s still that Master of yours,” Honeycomb boomed in his deep voice.
“But you must agree it’s a completely different matter fighting on one front instead of two.”
“Oh, for sure.”
While they were talking I plucked up my courage and, when there was a pause, I said: “I had a dream…”
Alistan snorted suspiciously. He didn’t take my “visions” very seriously. Kli-Kli groaned dolefully and grabbed hold of his head. But Miralissa nodded approvingly. I told them about the Master’s prison and the Messenger’s conversation with the mysterious woman.