by Alexey Pehov
“I don’t think we’ll be able to do that,” said Ell, pointing to a horseman who had appeared in the distance. The man noticed us, swung his horse away, and galloped off in the opposite direction. They had their scouts, too.
“Then we’ll see who comes off best,” said Deler, picking up his poleax.
“You’ll have time enough for fighting,” Honeycomb rebuked the irascible dwarf. “Keep calm. And Hallas, that means you especially.”
“Right,” said the gnome, beating out his pipe and putting it away in his saddlebag. “I’m as silent as the grave.”
Then Eel joined our group, and he had seen a little more than Marmot.
“It’s definitely not Pargaid, unless he’s trying to confuse us. They have two banners—a green field with a black cloud and lightning, and a yellow field with a clenched mailed fist in a flame.”
“I can’t say anything about the first, it’s some petty landholder, but I do know the second banner. It belongs to Count Algert Dalli, Keeper of the Western Border,” Alistan Markauz replied.
“What is he doing on someone else’s lands, milord?” the jester asked.
“It’s not necessarily him, it could just be a detachment of men who serve him.”
“I can tell you who the first banner belongs to, milord,” I interrupted. “Unless I’m mistaken that is the crest of Baron Oro Gabsbarg. We saw him at Balistan Pargaid’s reception, Kli-Kli.”
“Ah, yes, the big shaggy one! Of course, of course, now I remember.”
The atmosphere became a little less tense. I didn’t really think that the warriors of the Borderland and the baron’s men would hack us all to pieces. They were not like the bloodthirsty Count Pargaid, whose men had been waiting for us at Upper Otters—Ell had caught a glimpse of the nightingales embroidered on their clothes. The count’s henchmen had turned the inhabitants of the village against us after someone had forwarded a message. I didn’t know how the message had overtaken us—perhaps with a pigeon, or a raven, or by magic, but they had certainly arranged a warm welcome for us.
The column of horsemen appeared up ahead. They were galloping straight toward us, and I can’t say I felt very happy about that. When that kind of force is moving straight at you, you can’t help wanting to be as far away as possible. The banners fluttered in the wind, the armor and lance points glittered in the rays of sunlight, the horses’ hooves hammered on the ground … The column was approaching rapidly.
“Steady, lads,” Honeycomb said through his teeth and, without even realizing it, he reached for his ogre hammer.
Two knights wearing heavy armor were riding at the front. One was wearing a closed helmet in the form of a cock’s head with green plumes. The other was not wearing any helmet and had a thick black bushy beard, which made him easily recognizable as my acquaintance Baron Oro Gabsbarg. These two were followed by their arms-bearers, then came the standard-bearers, and after them the warriors in chain mail and half-helmets with broad strips of metal protecting their noses. Many of them had lances and shields.
When the horsemen were only twenty yards away from our group, the man in the helmet raised his right hand with the open palm upward, and the column halted. The baron, the knight, arms-bearers, and standard-bearers rode toward us.
“Name yourselves,” the “cock” said as he approached. The helmet made his voice sound dull and lifeless.
“Bah!” cried the baron when he saw me. His expression was very astonished indeed. “May I be damned if I do not behold before me the Dralan Par in person!”
Oro screwed up his eyes, glanced at Eel, and asked uncertainly:
“Milord duke?”
Eel didn’t look like a duke at that moment, and the magic mask that Miralissa had applied to his face had faded long ago, so that Duke Ganet Shagor was now swarthy skinned and dark haired, and no longer concealed from the baron’s gaze.
“Not entirely,” said Alistan Markauz, riding forward. “Gentlemen…”
“I can’t believe my eyes. Count Alistan Markauz in person, may lightning strike me! You’re here, too! I am genuinely flattered! Have you decided to take up my invitation and visit Farahall after all? Lieutenant, allow me to introduce my guests. This is Count Alistan Markauz, our glorious King Stalkon’s right hand and captain of the royal guard, this—”
“Please allow me to introduce the others to your noble companion, baron,” Alistan said, politely interrupting Gabsbarg.
“I shall be honored,” the “cock” rumbled, and removed his helmet.
Marmot gasped, because the knight was a woman—a young girl with her head completely shaved in the fashion of warriors from the Border Kingdom.
“This is the Marchioness Alia Dalli, lieutenant of the guard, daughter of Count Algert Dalli,” the baron bellowed.
“Gentlemen,” the girl said, bowing her head in polite greeting.
“Milady, allow me to introduce my companions to you. Tresh Miralissa and Tresh Egrassa are from the House of the Black Moon. Ell is from the House of the Black Rose.”
“Ah…,” the baron rumbled in amazement, gaping at Eel and me, and wondering why Alistan had not given our names.
“Eel is a soldier, Harold is a thief,” Milord Rat explained with harsh simplicity.
“A thief?” Oro looked as if someone had smashed him over the head with a log. “A thief?”
“Now that’s a pleasant surprise, isn’t it?” Kli-Kli put in. “By the way, as usual, everyone’s forgotten about me. Allow me to introduce myself, the king’s jester Kli-Kli. I’m on leave at the moment.”
“A thief!” Oro repeated in an even more astonished voice, and then out of the blue he suddenly burst into thunderous laughter. “And does the dear Count Balistan Pargaid know about this? I wonder what all those high-society leeches would say if they knew they spent the evening in the company of an ordinary soldier and a criminal.”
“That’s just the beginning of it,” Kli-Kli declared modestly.
Baron Oro Gabsbarg was not at all upset at being told the truth. These Borderland nobles are certainly a strange breed.
“Gentlemen,” said Alia Dalli, “may I inquire what has brought you to the Borderland?”
“We’ll tell you gladly. We are on our way to Zagraba.”
“Zagraba? But the elves’ territory lies far to the west; you can only reach the orcs’ lands from here.”
“That is where we are headed,” Miralissa answered the girl.
“But in the name of the gods, what do you want there?” the baron exclaimed. “There are much easier ways to commit suicide.”
“Yes, Zagraba certainly has little to recommend it,” Alia Dalli agreed with him.
“Forgive me, my lady, but we are on a mission of state importance, and the fate of all the Northern Lands depends on it. That is all I can tell you, only your noble father may learn the rest. I trust that you will take us to him.”
“Of course,” Alia said with a nod. “The gates of our castle are always open to you and your companions, Milord Alistan. We are on our way there at the moment and will be glad to lead you to Mole Castle.”
“Then let us not delay, milady, we have a long journey ahead.”
“In a few hours we shall be in the Border Kingdom, and we shall reach the castle by tomorrow evening,” said Lady Alia, and put her helmet back on, once again becoming an anonymous knight. “Follow us, gentlemen.”
Our group set off again, together with the column of soldiers. Alistan and Miralissa joined Alia Dalli, and all the others tried to stick together. But Kli-Kli decided to have a bit of fun, since there was so much new company. Within an hour the ranks of soldiers were ringing with raucous laughter—the jester had finally found a place to display his talents.
Baron Oro Gabsbarg rode up at the front, just behind Alistan Markauz, who was talking to Lady Alia, and sometimes he cast curious glances in my direction. To be honest I must say that they got on my nerves a little. Sagot only knew what kind of man he really was: He seemed friendly and warm-h
earted, but he might just turn round and chop your head off for no reason.
Eventually he couldn’t hold back anymore and he waited for me to draw level with him and asked:
“A thief, then?”
“Yes, milord.”
“Hmm … well, you certainly fooled me. This mission of Milord Rat’s … er, er … I meant to say Milord Alistan Markauz’s—”
“It’s the king’s project,” I lied, in order to make myself completely safe.
“Oh,” he said, and chewed on his mustache thoughtfully. “I’ve never had any thieves as friends before.”
Oro Gabsbarg pointed a finger at me. It was the size of a thick stick of sausage.
“I beg your pardon, if your honor has been offended, milord,” I replied, choosing my words carefully.
He flashed his small black eyes at me, suddenly broke into a smile, and slapped me heartily on the back. I almost went flying off Little Bee.
“All right!” the baron boomed amiably. “The most important thing is, you’re a good fellow. And it will give me something to boast about to my lady wife when I get back to Farahall.”
Did I already mention that the barons of the Borderland are rather strange people?
“But I do feel truly sorry for you … er … what’s your name again?”
“Harold, milord.”
“I feel truly sorry for you—wandering around in Zagraba is no fun.”
“I understand that.”
“Not very well, I think, otherwise you’d be traveling in the opposite direction. Perhaps Algert Dalli can persuade Milord Alistan to drop this plan of his.”
“What kind of man is he?”
“Hmmm?” the baron said, glancing at me. And then he told me anyway. He wasn’t embarrassed by talking to the lower classes, and he liked to chat, all he needed was a willing listener.
“Made of stone, not a man at all. Algert Dalli is a bulwark of the throne, the keeper of the Western Border of the Kingdom. The soldiers have dubbed him Kind Heart as a joke. In battle he flies into such a furious rage that he lays out everyone, right and left, and in the kindness of his heart he doesn’t even notice that he’s not leaving enemies for his soldiers. He finishes them all off himself—a born warrior. But he does have one little oddity—he’s crazy about knives…”
I looked at the baron in surprise.
“Well, they say that he always carries some sharp piece of metal around with him. He’s always holding the knife in his hand, he eats with it, sleeps with it, takes it with him into his bath and when he goes to a woman. But these are all trifles, eh, thief? Everyone has his little quirks.”
“Indeed so, milord. And what about his daughter?”
“Lady Alia? She commands the garrison at Mole Castle. Her daddy’s right hand. A fine girl, plenty of spirit, but shaving her head … I reckon that’s just sacrilege … Milord Algert sent her to Farahall with some soldiers. Remember, we were talking about it at the count’s reception? Milord Algert has promised what Balistan Pargaid wouldn’t give me, and that’s why I’m riding with them now, taking twenty of my own men to Mole Castle, it’s not far.… All right, I’m talking too much. We’ll meet again, thief!”
“Most definitely, Your Grace, most definitely.”
That evening we were in the Border Kingdom. We knew that from the pillar of black basalt standing by the side of the road.
The undulating plain was behind us now and the coniferous forests began, alternating with wide open expanses. The road wound between the fir trees, and the detachment spread out along it in a long column. Along the way we passed two wooden fortresses with tall stockades and watch towers. We stopped for the night out in the open, when it was almost completely dark.
We laid out the camp in an hour. A large number of campfires sprang to life and food started bubbling in the cooking pots. A dozen soldiers made a successful raid on the forest and captured firewood and long young tree trunks, from which they made an enclosure for the horses.
There was a small river flowing nearby, so we had plenty of water. Lady Alia’s men put up a large tent and the elves, the baron, and Alistan were invited into it. High social standing does have some things to recommend it, after all—you can spend the night with all the comforts. Tired out after his long day, Kli-Kli slumped onto my blanket and fell sound asleep on the spot. I had to pass the night on my cloak, but that didn’t really cause me any great discomfort.
It was very warm, and if not for the ubiquitous mosquitoes, I could say with a clear conscience that it was one of the best nights I’d spent out in the open during the whole of our trip from Avendoom. As I fell asleep, I realized what I had been missing all that time—a feeling of security. When you have more than a hundred armed soldiers around you, you feel as safe as if you were surrounded by a stone wall.
* * *
The next morning Lady Alia Dalli drove the detachment hard, intending to reach her father’s castle before the evening. We moved at a good pace, and I was at the front of the column, right behind the nobles, arms-bearers, standard-bearers, and personal guards, so I didn’t get too much of the dust raised by the horses’ hooves up my nose, unlike the soldiers riding farther back. The heavy rainfall that had fallen in the Borderland seemed not to have touched this region at all. The road that we followed was dry and dusty.
After a few hours of riding, immediately after yet another argument between Hallas and Deler, this time over a small sour apple, a sergeant came riding up to Lady Alia from the rear of the column. I was close by and so I heard the entire conversation.
“Milady, the scouts have spotted horsemen.”
“How many?”
“Twenty or so. They’re right behind us, they’ll be here in a few minutes. They have no banners, but they’re not our men.”
“We’ll wait for them,” said the girl. “We have to find out who the darkness has set on our trail.”
“They’re following us, milady,” said Miralissa. “These men have been following our group ever since Ranneng.”
“Enemies?”
“To us, yes.”
“Then they are to me, too,” the girl said with a nod. “Dron, tell the men to be ready for action.”
“I don’t think they will attack us, milady. The numbers are too uneven,” Egrassa said slowly.
“We shall see.”
Twenty men? On the other side of the Iselina there were twenty-eight of them—if Miralissa is right and they really are Balistan Pargaid’s men. Where have the others got to?
When they came flying round a bend in the road and saw a horde of men dressed in metal, they were surprised and pulled back on their reins, forcing their horses to slow to a walk. The man at the head of the group spotted us and moved forward, the others followed him.
Count Balistan Pargaid in person. The Nightingale’s face looked tired and angry; all trace of that mocking smile had disappeared. I also recognized two of the count’s companions.
The first was the warrior who had met us at the gate—Meilo Trug, I thought he was called. A black silk shirt, a leather jacket, and not a trace of armor. And also his sword—a bidenhander exactly like Mumr’s, with a golden oak leaf on the black handle. Kli-Kli had said that Meilo was a master of the long sword. Lamplighter gave Meilo’s sword an appreciative glance, but he didn’t say anything.
The second was my old friend Paleface. He hadn’t changed, except that his face still hadn’t healed up after the magical burn. Rolio spotted me and glared as if I owed him a hundred gold pieces. I smiled amiably. There was no response.
I was delighted and indescribably relieved not to see Lafresa in their group.
“Well, I swear on my sword, this is getting really interesting now. Count, are you and your men just out for a ride, too?” Oro Gabsbarg asked in amazement.
“Baron, I am glad to meet you. Arrest those people!”
“On what charge?” asked Alistan Markauz.
“Ah, so you are in this gang, too, milord? I wonder what the king will s
ay when he finds out that one of his men has committed common theft?”
“Go gently, count, or we shall cross blades,” Alistan said sternly, lowering his hand onto the handle of his sword. “I expect to hear your apologies.”
“Apologies? These are my apologies! I accuse all these people of stealing my property and killing my men. Arrest them, baron!” Balistan Pargaid’s voice rang out triumphantly.
“Alas, milord,” Oro Gabsbarg laughed. “I am not in command here and can do nothing to help you.”
“What difference does that make, darkness take me? Are you in command of this detachment, lieutenant? Good! Tie these scoundrels up and hand them over to me. Or at least do not interfere and my men will do it themselves!”
“I regret,” Alia Dalli said from under her helmet, “that they are my guests and under my protection. I have no intention of handing them over to your bullyboys, count.”
“How dare you? I am a count, and will not be spoken to in that manner by some ignorant young puppy.”
“And I am the Marchioness Alia Dalli, milord!” She took off her helmet and looked at the startled Balistan Pargaid with a furious glint in her eyes. “You are not at home now. You are in my country! And you have just insulted me. Be so good as to apologize.”
Balistan Pargaid broke out in red blotches, but he apologized. I don’t think he was actually frightened—Milord Alistan had said that this weasel handled a sword like a true nobleman—but he knew there was no point in making the situation any more difficult.
“Excellent,” the girl said with a nod. “Then I shall not detain you any further. Good day to you.”
“But these people have mortally offended me. They must pay for it.”
“Not today. Good-bye.” Alia turned her horse away to indicate that the conversation was over.
“These people have insulted my lord,” Meilo Trug suddenly hissed. “In his name I demand the Judgment of Sagra! In the name of steel, fire, blood, and by the will of the gods!”
The effect of these words on the warriors of the Borderland was like an exploding powder barrel. I even heard Milord Alistan’s teeth grind together. Had this Meilo said something important?