by Alexey Pehov
“I have no objections,” I said with a shrug. “Why not? You don’t mind if I talk and eat at the same time, do you?”
“Of course not, kid, of course not. Carry on, and after your story, I’ll tell you a bit about the papers you retrieved.”
“Is there anything important in them? I just grabbed what was there at hand.”
“There is, but we’ll get to that later, there’s no hurry. Come on then, don’t keep me on tenterhooks.”
He didn’t have to persuade me, especially since I had plenty to talk about and a lot of impressions to share. And I needed to get it all out, otherwise my adventures that night could easily drive me mad.
I started my story from the moment I first arrived at Stark’s Stables. For listened without speaking—my teacher had always been a good listener. To judge from his face, what bothered him most were the thieves who had been hired by some unknown individual. He didn’t seem particularly impressed by the Jolly Weeper or the long-dead archmagician.
“Someone’s following the same road as you are, kid. True, he’s always too late, but how long can that go on for? How long can you go on making a fool of the Master by keeping one step ahead of him? I made inquiries, looked through our archives. Not a thing. Not a single mention. As if he didn’t even exist and all this was just a fantasy of yours.”
“Oh yeah?”
“You just eat that roll. I believe you. But what amazes me is that such secrecy is possible. Something always has to surface somewhere.”
“But not this time.”
“Right. It’s not the Nameless One, but I think you’ve already realized that. The wizard from the Desolate Lands doesn’t have the power to release all the demons. So who is this Master, if he possesses such great might, long life, and extensive knowledge?”
“A god?” I chuckled.
“Don’t talk nonsense. Although . . . he is worshiped and served by all different sorts of people. Let’s try pulling on that chain. The Duke Patin, no mean figure in Valiostr, served the Master. So does Markun and, consequently, at least half his henchmen in the guild as well. Who else? Magicians? Royal officials? Courtiers? And this . . . emissary of yours. What worries me is that it’s not at all clear what this Master wants. And he has as many worshipers as you could wish for. The servants of the Nameless One are caught pretty regularly, but so far they haven’t caught a single one of the Master’s minions.”
“They’ve never even heard of them.”
“Exactly. And that indicates highly organized contacts, a secret conspiracy, and other such arrangements that make it possible for sects to survive when they’re not welcome in this respectable kingdom of ours. Things look bad, kid.” For shook his head. “I’ll keep on thinking and searching, and maybe I’ll dig something up in the archives. And in the meantime I’ll give you a piece of good advice.”
“For free?” I asked, chuckling mischievously with my mouth full.
“Well, I’m not Sagot, am I, to go taking gold pieces from you! You are my pupil after all.”
“Well, thanks for that, at least.”
“You’re welcome. Especially since you’re not the only one who’s been left out of pocket for receiving our god’s advice,” For said with a sudden chuckle.
“I don’t believe it,” I said, leaning back in my chair and looking hard at him. “Are you really hinting that . . .”
“That I’ve talked to him, too? Yes, it happened. And I had to pay out a gold piece, too.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Well . . . ,” For began reluctantly, chuckling. “I had a talk with him just before I met you and Bass.”
“Oh!” I said, beginning to realize what he was about to say.
“Yes, ‘oh’ indeed! Sagot advised me to take you both on as pupils! It wasn’t even advice. Once he had his gold piece, he told me who he was and simply ordered me to do it. So that was how it happened. Although it seems like he was a bit off target with Bass.” He frowned. “Anyway, I shouldn’t have brought it up. What were we talking about?”
“Advice.”
“Well then, this is my piece of free advice for you: Don’t leave matters to the mercy of the gods, go and see this Bolt. If the old man recognized the ring that the thieves showed him we’ll find out who this influential figure serving the Master is.”
“It’s too late now,” I said, glancing out of the window at the darkening sky. “The library’s closed, I’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”
“Better not. I doubt if the old man ever leaves. He probably sleeps there. Better call round to Grok Square before you get on with your business. I think he’ll open the door for you. No point in putting it off. The Master is playing his own game, and all we know about it is that he wants to kill you, which makes him too dangerous by half. And it seems to me that the last thing he wants is for Harold to go after that Horn.”
“You’re thinking about him ordering the papers to be destroyed and telling the duke to influence the king?”
“Uh-huh. I think the order to influence Stalkon was to try to persuade him that it’s pointless going into Hrad Spein. Or simply to get rid of His Majesty.”
The clearer the situation became, the less I liked it. “All right, I’ll think about it,” I said as I watched For suddenly get up from the table and go into the next room.
Events had woven themselves into a tight tangle of snakes. Now they were winding themselves tight around me and turning my skin cold. I just hoped that none of these snakes would bite!
For came back a few minutes later, carrying two massive bronze candlesticks in his hands, each with five lighted candles in it. The timing was just right; the sun had almost set and twilight had already begun creeping into the room with lazy impudence. The bright light of ten candles forced the gloom to move back, and it huddled into the very darkest corner of the room.
“Well then, I’ve heard your story. Now let’s deal with what you brought back from the Forbidden Territory.” For showed me the papers I’d taken from the Tower of the Order. “While you were sleeping, I took a look through these documents. There’s a lot that’s interesting. . . . But you know, kid, none of it’s any good to you. Yes, there’s a map of Hrad Spein, and even a plan of how to get to the Horn, but it’s . . . it’s suicide. It’s practically impossible to make it along the route that you have to follow. You study the old maps yourself when you have the time, and you’ll realize how unrealistic it is. Hundreds of halls, passages, shafts. And that’s only down to the eighth level. These papers don’t even show what’s lower down. Here, take them.”
For pushed the maps toward me.
“Let them stay here for the time being, you hide them somewhere safe, I’ll pick them up before I leave,” I said to him.
“That’s up to you,” said For, raking the papers back across the table. “Ah, by the way. I found an amusing little page among these notes, look.”
I took the old, yellowed piece of paper.
“What is it?”
“It’s ancient orcish. I had to sweat over the dictionary a bit to translate it. There’s a lot I still don’t understand—the orcs’ language is a bit of a tangle—but I managed it, even though it’s probably not quite as fluent as it ought to be. It was in verse. Something like a series of clues. A total riddle. Read it.”
For handed me a piece of paper with the translation.
First born of an ogre on the wide snowy plains,
It dwelt for centuries with elves in the Greenwood,
And was given to Grok in token of the peace
Concluded between races during the Long Winter.
It was laid to rest by the might of the Order
At the time of Avendoom’s survival in battle.
Sharing the grave of one of the glorious dead,
It lies in the dark caverns upon ancient bones.
As the years pass it lies there in Hrad Spein
Calling the wind of the tombs to its resting place
The hour will come w
hen it bares its secrets, consuming
The magic of the cursed with the fire of truth.
If you are artful and brave, bold and quick,
If your step is light and your thought is keen.
You will avoid the tricks we have set there,
But be wary of earth and water and fire.
And then, carry on! The twin doors stand open
To the peace of the halls of the Slumbering Whisper,
Where the brains of man and elf and orc alike
Dissolve in unreason. . . . And so shall yours.
Through the halls of the Slumbering Echo and Darkness
Past the blind, unseeing Kaiyu guards,
’Neath the gaze of Giants who burn all to ash.
To the graves of the Great Ones who died in battle.
In serried ranks, embracing the shadows,
The long-deceased knights stand in silence,
And only one man will not die ’neath their swords,
He who is the shadows’ own twin brother.
The cold frozen body of pallid Selena
Will raise you up to the sacred bed.
No sun has warmed stone here for thousands of years,
For centuries here the cold wind has howled.
Remember, intruder, in the Horn dwells a soul
That will give you strength in the name of men.
But the greed of the thief it will punish severely
And you will rot in the terrible darkness forever.
“Mmm, yes. I can hardly understand a thing.”
“Which bits do you think you did understand, my pupil?” For asked in surprise.
It had turned dark outside, and even the candles could not dispel the persistent darkness. It would soon be time to go about my business.
I drummed my fingers on the table thoughtfully.
“I think I began to understand the point of Sagot’s advice. This poem mentions some Selena who bears you up, and Sagot warned me I’d better not just stand on her, but keep my feet moving fast.”
“Hmmm . . . ,” For muttered, and scratched his chin.
Then he grunted and poured himself some wine from a dusty old potbellied bottle. He offered me some, but I refused—today my head had to be crystal clear.
“Yes, well, I noticed the reference to Selena, too. This all requires a bit of serious thought. And by the way, don’t forget to show it to the elfess; she should know the ancient language of the orcs. She might be able to translate this page better than I have.”
“All right.”
“There’s absolutely no doubt that it’s about the Rainbow Horn. Look here: ‘First born of an ogre on the wide snowy plains’—that’s a reference to the shamans of the ogres creating the Horn, the final artifact of their race, before they all turned into animals. ‘It dwelt for centuries with elves in the Greenwood’—I’m sure you remember the old story about the head of the House of the Black Rose trying to invade the Desolate Lands. It was on that campaign that the elves took the Horn from the ogres. What comes next is clear enough, too: ‘And was given to Grok in token of the peace concluded between races during the Long Winter.’ The dark elves gave the Horn to Grok as an assurance of the peace between elves and men that came into force after the great invasion of the orcs that became known as the Spring War.”
“That’s clear enough.”
“Then there’s a bit of standard nonsense. This may be ancient orcish, but it was obviously written by a man. Still, these lines are worth thinking about: ‘You will avoid the tricks that we have set there, but be wary of earth and water and fire.’ What could that be, Harold, if not a warning that the magicians of the Order laid all sorts of traps? ‘And then, carry on! The twin doors stand open to the peace of the halls of the Slumbering Whisper, where the brains of man and elf and orc alike dissolve in unreason. . . . And so shall yours.’ The open doors are most likely the entrance to the third level, or the double-doored level as it’s called in the maps. They show huge doors that lead into the lower halls of Hrad Spein. It’s quite possible that they could be sealed with a spell.”
“Is there any way to get round them, For? Is there another entrance?”
“I didn’t study the plan for all that long. There are four main entrances to Hrad Spein. One in the north, beside the Border Kingdom. Another in the heart of Zagraba, and two more beside spurs of the Mountains of the Dwarves. But the last two were blocked and walled off by the short folk long ago. Which means there are only two ways in. And they both lead to the doors. So I’m afraid you won’t be able to get round them.”
“Wonderful,” I replied. “And what if I can’t get them open?”
“Don’t think about that, I’m more worried about the halls of the Slumbering Whisper and the insanity that’s promised. That part wasn’t invented just for the sake of the style! And that’s only half the problem. Further on, there’s a mention of some kind of ‘Kaiyus’—that’s an orcish word, but from an elfin dialect, it couldn’t possibly be anything else. But what does ‘Kaiyu’ mean? Is it some kind of magic, or creatures, or something even worse?”
“I’ll ask Miralissa,” I said. All this riddle-me-ree verse was beginning to give me a splitting headache.
“And then the Giants who burn all to ash . . . yet another riddle. Although at least the burial chambers of the Great Ones who died in battle are very well known. There are entire halls of warriors buried on the sixth level over a period of a little more than five centuries. A huge cemetery, where everyone in every grave was a legend when he was alive. And then we have these long-deceased knights with swords, and Selena, who will show you the way to the Horn, and finally a warning that the Horn won’t allow itself to be taken all that easily.”
“Let’s think about all this later!” I implored him. “Otherwise my head will burst! Why couldn’t they have just written all this in a normal, straightforward fashion? Here’s a beast with big fangs, here’s a beast with big claws, and here they’ll roast you alive or turn you into a toad! But oh no, they had to practice their poetry-writing skills!”
“What else can you expect?” For asked with a sigh and a shrug. “The Order loves puzzles; magicians’ brains are arranged a bit differently from ours. I think I’ll do a bit more thinking about this text. And you do what you were going to do. It’s already night.”
While I was talking with For, the bird of night had indeed furtively spread its black wings over Avendoom. It was time to go to work.
“You’re right. It’s time I was off.”
“Don’t forget to question Bolt,” For shouted after me.
“I remember, I remember,” I replied, already walking out into the corridor.
That night I had to put a final end to the affair of the Horse of Shadows.
14
KNIVES IN THE SHADOWS
Darkness was well advanced in the city, but this time around no one was hiding away at home. There were quite a lot of people on the square and I even spotted five guards parading up and down in front of Grok’s statue with an important air, evidently concerned that the good citizens, intoxicated by their new-found freedom, might steal the immensely heavy sculpture.
I glanced in passing at the deceased duke’s house. There was no light in the windows, as was only to be expected. I walked round the building of the library into the dark side street and then . . .
I was just about to hammer on the iron door loud enough to wake Bolt and the entire neighborhood with him when I suddenly noticed a thin strip of light seeping out from underneath it. Strange. Very Strange. Bolt must have got drunk and forgotten to close up the library for the night.
And what if it hadn’t been an honest and highly respectable person like me who spotted the light and decided to pay him a call, but some light-fingered petty thief? In that case half of the rare books would simply have disappeared off all those shelves as if by magic. I chuckled and pushed the door. It swung back smartly, revealing the dark tunnel of the service corridor.
; There was light only beside the door; beyond that was complete darkness. I swore good-naturedly about people who can’t be bothered to make proper lighting arrangements, took the torch down off the wall, and set off along the familiar corridor, ignoring the branches to the right and the left.
I’d been here once before already, and that was quite enough to know the way. The journey to the halls with the books only took a couple of minutes. My magical vision had not returned after the Forbidden Territory, and so I had to rely on the source of light in my hand and curses directed at Honchel’s head. The light from the lanterns, securely covered with gnome glass to make sure that the flames would not, Sagot forbid, escape from captivity, was quite adequate. It was only way up high, close to the very ceiling that the bookcases and shelves were wreathed in a cloak of darkness.
I went back along the corridor a bit and left the torch on an empty bracket. No point in annoying Bolt; it would give him a stroke if he saw I’d brought a naked flame near his precious books.
“Hey, Bolt! This is Harold!” I shouted, and my voice echoed off the vaulted ceiling, bounced round the walls, and dissolved in the maze of books and bookcases.
Silence. Not a sound. The old man was dozing under a table somewhere. Or it could be that he was simply hard of hearing and couldn’t hear my howls of greeting.
“Bolt! Are you here?”
I walked slowly forward, searching for the familiar stooped figure. But as I said before, in this huge building you could wander for thousands of years and not meet a single living soul. I turned sharply to the right and moved in the direction of the tables where I had studied the books the last time. There was a spot there where you could easily drink a bottle of wine without having to worry that anyone might disturb you. If the old man wasn’t there, I’d have to turn the whole place upside down. I saw a gleam of light ahead.