Shadow Chaser: Book Two of The Chronicles of Siala

by Alexey Pehov

  And then the undead host will quake,

  Their battle line will shift and break

  And they will stagger back.

  The spurt and splash of undead blood

  Will soak the gnomes’ beards, doing good

  To doughty heroes’ fettle.

  The argument of ax and hammer

  Will ring amid the clamor,

  Bracing the whole clan’s mettle.

  Though in the end the hand of death

  Will still the soldier’s heaving breath,

  Whatever future time might bring,

  Through winter and through summer

  We shall wait here for the hammer

  To set the axhead ringing!

  Three times Hallas had to break off before he finished a couplet to lean over the side of the ferry and disgorge his breakfast into the water.

  “Oh, he’s really going through it, poor soul!” said Uncle, with a sigh of sympathy.

  In a while the ferry nudged against the bank and little figures that I could barely recognize as my traveling companions started leading off the horses. One of the figures dropped to the ground and just lay there. I think it was Hallas.

  The ferry started moving back toward us.

  “Get ready. Arnkh, lead up the horses.”

  “Harold, hey, Harold! Will you hold my hand?”

  “Kli-Kli, are you being silly again?”

  “No, I’m serious! I can’t swim! What if I fall in?”

  “Sit in the middle of the ferry, and nothing bad will happen,” I reassured him, still not sure whether the goblin had thought up yet another trick or he really didn’t know how to swim.

  “I’m afraid,” Kli-Kli said quite sincerely, sniffing.

  The ferry picked up speed moving toward us, and ten minutes later we were leading the remaining horses onto it. The animals were quite calm at the prospect of crossing the river and didn’t balk. They took their places in special stalls, and Uncle let the ferryman know that we were ready to go.

  “Put your backs into it!”

  The great hulking ferry hands heaved, the drum creaked, and we set off.

  The water splashed gently against the sides of the ferry, the planks smelled of duckweed and fish. The willows on the bank gradually drifted away.

  “Kli-Kli, what are you doing?” I asked the goblin, who had hung his legs over the edge and was dabbling his feet in the water.

  “What am I doing? Trying to overcome my fear of water.”

  “And what if you happen to plop in?”

  “You’ll catch me,” he said with a carefree grin.

  I sat down beside him and started watching the opposite bank approaching slowly but surely. In the middle of the river there was a wind, and the ferry started swaying gently on waves that sprang up out of nowhere.

  One of the horses snorted and started whinnying and trying to kick out a wooden partition with its hind hooves.

  “Hold her! I’ve got problems enough already!” shouted the ferryman.

  Uncle dashed across to reassure the frightened animal. The horse was snorting, rolling its eyes, and trembling. The sergeant’s gentle whispers gradually calmed it down, but it still squinted warily at the water.

  The chain clanged, the water splashed, and the riverbank slowly drifted closer.

  “Why are they running about like that?” Kli-Kli’s shout of surprise interrupted my contemplation of the black water.

  Our comrades were dashing about on the bank, waving their arms and shouting something. They were definitely shouting to us, but at that distance the wind carried their words away, and I couldn’t make anything out.

  “I don’t know,” I said, concerned. “Has something happened?”

  “It doesn’t look like it…,” Kli-Kli said slowly.

  Just then one of the elves drew his bow and shot an arrow in a steep arc in our direction.

  “Has he lost his mind?” the jester hissed, watching the flight of the arrow.

  “Keep your head down!” I snapped at him, but the arrow sliced through the air above the ferry and fell into the water behind us.

  “Hey, what are they up to over there? Have they gone crazy?” Arnkh roared.

  “Look! On the other bank!” the jester shouted as he raised his eyes from the water where the arrow had landed to the riverbank that we had recently left.

  There was certainly something to look at, and the elf had been right to use such an unusual method of pointing it out. Bustling about on the bank beside the second ferry were almost forty mounted men.

  But that wasn’t the worst thing. Moving straight toward us, slowly, implacably, and absolutely silently, was a semitransparent sphere the color of scarlet flame. It hung just slightly above the water and was about the size of a decent barn. Standing on the bank from which our death was approaching I could just make out a female figure, standing motionless with her arms raised in the air.

  Lafresa!

  “What is that?” the ferryman gasped in amazement.

  I knew what it was. Kronk-a-Mor. Exactly the same kind of sphere, only ten times smaller, had killed Valder. Neither Kli-Kli’s medallion nor Miralissa’s skills would save us from this magic.

  “Off the ferry! Look lively!” I roared, then grabbed the goblin by the scruff of his neck and plunged into the water.

  Kli-Kli squealed in surprise and kicked at the air with his legs. I fell awkwardly, with no time to gather myself together—I was in too much of a hurry to get as far away as possible from the doomed ferry.

  The water was warm and black. I opened my eyes, but down in the depths I could hardly see a thing. The floundering goblin and I were surrounded by specks of drifting sediment and hundreds of little bubbles.

  I struck out as hard as I could with my free arm and my legs, trying to get as deep under the water as possible. Kli-Kli struggled and panicked, like a rabbit in a noose. I saw his eyes, gaping wide in terror, and the bubbles escaping from his mouth, but I kept moving deeper and deeper, without worrying about the goblin. I just hoped he had enough air to last until we surfaced.

  Boo-oo-oom!

  The shock of the explosion struck my ears, for a moment everything went dark and I was completely disoriented, not knowing which way was up and which way was down … The glimmering ceiling of light above my head showed me that I was moving in the right direction.

  A stroke with my free hand, a hard thrust with my legs, another stroke, another thrust. I seemed to be stuck in one spot, making no progress at all toward the blessed air. When the surface of the water finally parted above my head, Kli-Kli had almost stopped moving, but as soon as he took a breath in, he started coughing and thrashing about even more violently.

  “I don’t know how to drown! I don’t know how to drown!” the goblin squeaked, getting his words confused.

  “Stop struggling!” I shouted. “You’ll drown both of us! Stop it! Do you hear!”

  That had no effect on the jester at all, and I ducked him under the water for a few moments. When I lifted his head back above the water, Kli-Kli coughed, spat, and spouted foul abuse.

  “Stop struggling! Or I’ll let go of you! Do you hear me, you idiot?”

  “Ghghabool! Yes! I hear you!”

  “Relax! I’m holding you, you won’t drown! Just relax, lie on the water, and breathe!”

  He gurgled to let me know he had understood.

  I looked around. All that was left of the ferry was a memory and scraps of wood scattered across the river. A few especially large beams were still burning and the air was filled with the smell of smoke and soot. I could see the head of someone who was swimming about forty yards away from us, but I couldn’t tell who it was. One other person had survived, then.… But what about the others?

  This isn’t the moment to mourn our losses, Harold! You have to get out of the water. It was a fair distance to the bank, but I had to make it if I didn’t want to feed the fishes on the bottom. I could see people swimming to help us, but it would take them
a long time to cover the distance.

  I set off. Stroking smoothly through the water, counting every stroke and trying to breathe as regularly as possible.

  “One! Two! Three!”

  I don’t know how many times I repeated that “One! Two! Three!” It was certainly a lot of times. All I could see was the splashing water, the pitiless sky, and the thin, distant line of the bank.

  I’ll make it! No you won’t! Yes I will!

  One! Two! Three!

  Just a little farther! Just a little bit more!

  One! Two! Three!

  Kli-Kli was an impossible burden, weighing down my arm; and my boots, clothes, crossbow, knife, and bag were dragging me to the bottom, too. I ought to have dumped my weapon, but I’d rather have abandoned the jester than my equipment.

  Of course, what I just said wasn’t true—I’m not the kind of swine who would drown a helpless goblin, but you can’t just abandon your only weapon.

  My boots had filled with water and were pulling me down. There was no way I could get rid of them—they were laced on, and I’m no acrobat or conjurer, I couldn’t unfasten them with just one hand—it wasn’t even worth trying. It was a real stroke of luck that I’d taken off my cloak. It was lost forever now, but at least it wasn’t winding round my legs and dragging me down to the bottom.

  After about fifty strokes, I realized that I wouldn’t get very far with a load like this. If help didn’t reach us, Kli-Kli and I would be glugging our final farewells as we sank under the water forever.

  My arms and legs felt like they were made of lead, my strokes were getting weaker and weaker. It was hard to breathe. Often all I could see ahead was black water, with only an occasional glimpse of the edge of the blue sky above it.

  I was hanging on, just to avoid sinking straightaway. I’d swallowed a lot of water and my mind was clouded.

  But the riverbank—that vague, blurred line—was still a very long way off.…

  “Kli-Kli,” I gasped hoarsely. “Try to get your boots off!”

  “I’ve done that!”

  Well done, goblin!

  “Then … why … are you … so heavy?”

  “The chain mail…”

  Darkness! That’s what was pulling him down! The little shit had covered himself with chain mail!

  “Kli … Kli … I’ll … kill … you.”

  “Only … when we get … ashore! Please!”

  Ashore! I’ll never reach that cursed shore!

  One! Two! Three! And again! And just a few more!

  My clothes were pulling me down more and more heavily, I was putting my last ounces of strength into my strokes, everything was dark in front of my eyes, there was a ringing sound in my ears, and the arm holding Kli-Kli felt like it would fall off at any moment. I sank under the water three times, and three times, with an absolutely immense effort, I struggled back to the surface for at least one more gulp of air.…

  When I felt someone’s hands take hold of me, I was on the point of fainting.

  “Harold, let go of Kli-Kli. Harold!” Marmot’s voice said somewhere close by.

  I reluctantly released my grip on the goblin’s clothes.

  “The bank’s not far, don’t struggle!” Ell was breathing heavily; the fast swim had tired him.

  If I could have managed it, I would have giggled. Don’t struggle! Wasn’t that what I’d said to Kli-Kli?

  When my feet touched the bottom and Ell and Honeycomb dragged me onto the bank, it was too miraculous to believe. I’d made it after all, Sagot be praised!

  I sank down on all fours, exhausted, and puked up river water. I felt better for that. I spat out some sour saliva, and someone slapped me on the back:

  “Are you alive, thief?”

  “I thi-ink so, Milord Al-listan.” I was shuddering violently.

  Somewhere nearby Kli-Kli was coughing hoarsely.

  “Take a sip,” said Deler, sticking his flask under my nose.

  I nodded gratefully and took a big swallow. A second later a gnomish powder barrel exploded in my stomach, searing my insides with raging flame.

  A crazy thought passed through my mind: “Poison!”

  Tears poured out of my eyes and I tried to take a breath, but I couldn’t, I just started coughing.

  “That’s not beer, you know, it’s Fury of the Depths! Did you feel it? Come on, Harold, get up!” said Deler, taking back his flask.

  I sat up with an effort and started pulling off my wet clothes.

  “Those idiots have killed all the ferrymen,” Hallas hissed fiercely through his teeth, looking at the far bank through a small spyglass. “They’re pushing off, I swear by the mountains!”

  The horsemen were dashing about on the far bank, and fifteen or twenty of them were just setting off on the ferry with the clear intention of getting to us. I couldn’t see Lafresa from where I was.

  “Who are these lads? What do they want?” Hallas said, with his beard bristling fiercely.

  “Balistan Pargaid’s men, no doubt,” Alistan Markauz replied, drawing his sword. “Ready yourselves for action. Lady Miralissa, can you do anything to help?”

  “Only with my dagger and bow. That woman is blocking me.”

  “Ell? Egrassa?”

  “It’s too far, the arrows can’t reach that bank. Or the ferry, yet. We’ll be able to fire at four hundred paces.”

  “And what if the witch tries blasting us with another one of those things!” Mumr asked warily, leaning both hands on the cross guard of his bidenhander, which was stuck into the ground.

  “No, a spell like that takes five or six hours to prepare,” the elfess replied as she observed the approaching ferry. It had already covered a quarter of the distance between us.

  “Honeycomb! Honeycomb, wake up! We’ll mourn for them later! Into battle, warrior!” Alistan ordered.

  The young soldier roused himself and gave a gloomy nod as he picked up his ogre-hammer.

  Mourn them? Who? I thought stupidly. My head wasn’t working at all, and I still had the taste of river water and slime in my mouth. “Darkness! Were we the only ones who escaped from the ferry?”

  Uncle, Arnkh, Eel, the ferrymen … had they all been killed? It was impossible.… It simply couldn’t be true!

  I looked round desperately, trying to count the men that we still had. The first one I saw was Eel in soaking wet clothes. He must have been swimming behind me. The Garrakian warrior’s chest was heaving rapidly; the swim had obviously taken its toll on him, too. He hadn’t abandoned his swords, and I could only imagine the effort it must have cost him to reach the bank alone.

  The elves, holding their bows at the ready, waited in silence for the ferry to come within range. It was already in the middle of the river.

  “Harold, let’s clear out,” said Bass, running up to me. “There’s going to be a bloodbath any minute!”

  “He’s talking good sense, Harold,” said Hallas. “You’re not warriors. You’d better wait it out behind us. Ah, if I only had a cannon, I’d make short work of that boat.”

  “A cannon!” Kli-Kli laughed crazily, and stopped wringing out his poor cloak. “Well done, Lucky! Why, of course, a cannon! Harold, wake up! Where’s your bag? Get the cannon out!”

  “Has fear completely addled your brains?” I asked, afraid that the goblin really had gone insane after our dip in the river. “What cannon?”

  “You know the one.” And without explaining anything, Kli-Kli bounded across to where I had dropped my bag, tipped everything out of it onto the ground, and started rummaging through the magic vials.

  “There it is!”

  Kli-Kli raised the vial, full of dark cherry-red liquid with golden sparks floating in it, above his head and then dashed it against the ground. And almost immediately an absolutely genuine gnomish cannon appeared out of thin air.

  “Piffling pokers!” Deler exclaimed, gaping wide-eyed.

  Hallas was struck speechless. He stood there like a statue, with his mouth wide open and
his eyes staring out of his head. Someone standing behind me drew in a noisy breath through clenched teeth. And I must admit that I was pretty stunned as well.

  After the hard journey and all the misfortunes we had suffered, I had completely forgotten about the minor spot of trouble I’d had at Stalkon’s palace, when Kli-Kli stole a vial just like this one from me and smashed it against a cannon belonging to some gnomes, which immediately disappeared, just as it was supposed to do. The furious gnomes had almost torn the jester into a thousand tiny little green pieces for using the carrying spell on their beloved treasure. Break a vial like that on any object, and it disappears; break another one, and it reappears.

  I’d been planning to use that spell at Hrad Spein, in case we discovered incalculable riches, but fate had decreed otherwise, and instead of emeralds we had a weapon.

  “Hallas, come on!” The goblin’s voice roused Lucky from his stupefied contemplation of one of the gnomes’ greatest secrets, and he dashed across to the gun: “Is it loaded?”

  “It looks as if it is.”

  “I’ll just check.… Yes, everything’s in order! Deler, Honeycomb! Give me a hand!”

  The three of them started turning the cannon in the direction of the approaching ferry.

  “Do you have many more surprises like that up your sleeve, my old friend?” Bass asked rather nervously.

  I didn’t answer; my attention was focused entirely on Hallas. He was hastily lighting up his pipe and at the same time giving instructions to Deler and Honeycomb.

  “We need a small aiming point offset! An offset! Do you know what an offset is, you dunderhead?”

  “I’ll show you later who’s the dunderhead!” panted the dwarf, red-faced from the effort of trying to shift the cannon a few more inches.

  “Stop! Everybody get back, let the master get to work.”

  “Do you actually know how to work this thing?” Marmot asked anxiously.

  “I’m a gnome, and gunpowder flows through our veins!” said Hallas, screwing up one eye as he peered at the ferry.