by Alexey Pehov
Blidkhard was gone. The young Borderman protecting the enchantress was gone. And the girl herself had been killed. After Siena destroyed one of the enemy’s shamans, the orcs had set out specifically to hunt her down, and during the last sally they had eventually succeeded, managing to surround her and her bodyguards.
But meanwhile, at the cost of catastrophic losses, the men had forced the orcs to show them respect. They had forced a race that despised everyone else living in Siala to act with caution and not simply come dashing headlong across that cursed ravine.
The soldiers would not survive the ninth attack. Everyone who was still alive knew that.
“We’ll show the Firstborn how soldiers ought to die!” said Fox, picking up his beloved flails and listening to the rumble of the approaching drums.
“Yes, we’ll show them,” said Hargan, getting up off the ground. “Look, Fox, it’s stopped raining!”
“That’s a good sign.”
“Raise the banner! Bugler, sound the alert. Bowmen to the battle line! Kill the enemy, show no mercy!”
And the orcs advancing on those cursed fortifications that would not surrender heard the cry that others before them had heard and feared each time they retreated from the walls of the ravine.
“NO MERCY!”
25
THE DANCER IN THE SHADOWS
Harold!” said someone, cautiously touching my shoulder. “Harold, get up.”
I opened my eyes and looked at the jester, who was leaning down over me.
“Kli-Kli!” I groaned in desperation. “Now why aren’t you asleep?”
He looked at me reproachfully and made himself comfortable on a saddlebag.
“You were shouting last night,” said Kli-Kli. “What was it, nightmares?”
“It was all your fault,” I muttered.
“Eh?”
“You tell us all those stories, and then they give me no peace all night long.”
“What stories? You mean Hargan’s Brigade?”
“Yes, I was dreaming all night about them fighting the orcs.”
“Oho!” Kli-Kli exclaimed admiringly.
“By the way, Alistan and the lads arrived during the night,” the goblin threw out casually.
“Why didn’t you say so straightaway?” I asked, jumping to my feet.
“Shhh!” the joker hissed, opening his eyes wide. “Don’t yell like that. Can’t you see everyone’s asleep?”
It was true. Even though it was already light, everyone was still lying wrapped up in their traveling blankets. Only Deler and Hallas were walking round the border of the camp, keeping watch over our rest.
The jester had not lied about our comrades’ return. I spotted Markauz’s huge steed and the horses of the Wild Hearts who had arrived with him.
“Then why did you wake me up?”
“I told you, you were shouting. And I wanted to tell you before the others what it was that our Tomcat sniffed out.”
“Then tell me.”
“He was right all along. There was something going on behind our backs. He and Egrassa got there just in time. The tracker’s instincts led him to a small forest glade quite a long way off the highway. And there were three fellows there, every one of them exactly like the sorcerers who sneaked into Stalkon’s palace. Tomcat says they all had rings like the attackers that night.”
“What rings do you mean?”
“Ooooooh . . . ,” the goblin gasped disappointedly. “I can see you just slept through the whole thing. All the men who attacked the palace had rings made like ivy. That’s one of the Nameless One’s emblems. So that they could recognize each other. Anyway, these lads in the glade had got a fire going and put a pot over it. I don’t know what they were planning to cook up, but it certainly wasn’t a fancy cake. As soon as the purple smoke started rising out of the pot—”
“Purple?” I asked.
I hated that color ever since Miralissa had sent me off to that incredible vision when I was being introduced to the key. Besides, it’s a color for the rich and privileged.
“I was surprised, too, but that’s exactly the way Tomcat tells it. And don’t you interrupt! Well, then . . . You’ve put me off now, Harold!” Kli-Kli whispered furiously.
“Purple smoke,” I prompted him.
“Ah, right! Well then, as soon as the purple smoke started rising out of the pot, Egrassa took his bow and killed the two shamans so fast, they never even knew what was happening. Tomcat overturned the pot and stamped out the fire, and then the creature that had been following all the way appeared out of thin air. Tomcat sensed it a long time ago, only it was invisible. It was some kind of tracker dog. Anyway, they killed it and set off to catch up with us—”
“And it took them all this time to do it,” I said acidly, completing the goblin’s story.
“Just wait, will you!” Kli-Kli said exasperatedly, jumping to his feet. “Now look, you’ve put me off again. I’m not going to tell you anything.”
“They set off back to catch us up,” I said hastily.
“Only they didn’t get very far,” said the goblin, sitting back down beside me again. “Either Tomcat and Egrassa missed one of those skunks, or the elf didn’t shoot fast enough, but one of the shamans must have managed to raise the alarm. Anyway, the road was blocked off in front of them and behind them by several squads of men who appeared out of nowhere. And Tomcat sensed that they’d started working their sorcery again somewhere close to the place where he’d just been. There must have been another group of sorcerers in the forest, but so far they’d been keeping quiet, and that was why Tomcat hadn’t sensed them. The Nameless One’s followers had our lads caught in a trap, so Tomcat and Egrassa had to turn off into the forest to get away from them, and that’s why it took them so long to get here. Their pursuers dropped back, there was no point in hunting the two of them through the undergrowth and fallen trees—the elf’s too good at confusing his tracks. And a day later, when Tomcat and Egrassa came out onto the road, they ran into Alistan and Eel. And that basically is the whole story.”
“Brrrr! I don’t understand a thing.”
“You’re not the only one.” The jester sighed. “The count and the elves were talking all night. It seems there are more shamans in Valiostr than Doralissians in the Steppes of Ungava. And the Nameless One’s supporters are absolutely countless. And then there’s your Master and his henchmen, and the strange magicians in the plague village. All hunting us, and all using magic to do it. It’s quite likely that if Tomcat and Egrassa hadn’t interfered in time with the spell those shamans were working, our group wouldn’t exist any longer.”
“But someone has worked the magic. You told me that someone else could have replaced the dead sorcerers.”
“So what?” The jester shrugged. “You have to understand that shamanism isn’t the wizardry of the Order, its laws are quite different. It only has to be knocked slightly off course and it turns out quite different from how the person working it intended. Remember the hand monster! Well, it’s the same thing here. There’s no knowing what it eventually turned into. We’re still alive, anyway.”
“Where did you get all your brains from, Kli-Kli?”
“From my grandfather, he was a shaman.”
“Yes, so you’ve told me a hundred times. So you think that whoever was plotting against us will simmer down now?”
“Why?”
“Well, you just said that the shamanism didn’t work.”
“If it didn’t work the first time, it will the second,” the goblin said with a shrug. “Working magic’s no problem for these lads, they’ll send some terrible monster with big teeth after us and then just disappear, as if they’d never even existed. The job’s done, their Master’s instructions have been carried out, they can hide away until the Nameless One comes out from behind the Needles of Ice.”
“They don’t have long to wait.”
“That’s what I’m saying. We need to get to Hrad Spein as quickly as possible and
spoil the Nameless One’s mood for another five hundred years or so.”
Hallas came up to us.
“Listen, lads,” said the gnome, taking his pipe out of his mouth and blowing smoke rings. “It’s time to wake everyone up, or they’ll sleep until the coming of the Nameless One.”
“Well, let’s wake them up then,” said the jester, jumping to his feet and completely forgetting all his worries. “Don’t happen to have a bucket of cold water handy, do you?”
The complete absence of wind promised a very hot day. Almost as hot as the day before, and the day before that, and the day before that, and . . . I could carry on for a long time.
No one was particularly surprised when at noon we found ourselves roasting in a charming oven.
I personally always anticipated that time of day with a shudder. Neither a wet rag nor the goblin’s jokes and jingles were any help. But even so, everyone listened to the jokes and even laughed. Kli-Kli really pulled out all the stops in his efforts to demonstrate the skills of a royal court jester.
The group was complete once again and, despite the heat, we were in an exceptionally good mood . . . even me. Only every now and then a shadow of anxiety ran across Miralissa’s face. Once, as I drew level with the elfess’s horse, I heard a snatch of her conversation with Egrassa. She was still concerned about the shamans cooking up something horrible in their pots far behind us. From what she said it seemed that they wouldn’t rest until they had completed their sorcery.
I trusted the elfess’s intuition completely. The Nameless One’s minions could send some kind of filthy garbage crashing down on our heads at any moment. As they say, the laws of universal beastliness always take effect just when you’re not expecting anything.
That was why, to keep my nerves nice and calm, I kept glancing sideways at Tomcat in case he sensed anything in advance. But the overweight Wild Heart and failed magician of the Order remained serenely calm, even cheerful. And so the uneasy feeling that had overcome me gradually eased.
Hargan’s Wasteland was a welter of tall grass and low tangles of heather. Sometimes the narrow line of the path was completely hidden under the grassy covering. Our ears were set buzzing by the chirring of thousands of crickets. When we rode into particularly thick grass the gray-green trilling insects cascaded out from under the hooves of the horses, complaining at our invasion of their kingdom.
After a while, we made our way between massive boulders of black granite, each the size of a small house, and came upon a rickety old hut. Honeycomb said that the scythe men who made the winter hay for the surrounding villages spent the nights in it. The long rows of mown hay lying across the grassy meadows confirmed what he had said.
“It’s a long way to the next village; how long will they have to cart it?” Uncle asked in surprise.
“This is the best grass in the whole district. They come here from twenty leagues away,” said Honeycomb. “And the scythe men come for the whole summer. There’s plenty of hay for everyone and to spare.”
“But no cart will get through here. Look how far they have to drive from the road. Half a day at the least,” Uncle protested.
“Ah, it’s plain to see that you’re no country boy.”
“You’re the country boy here, graybeard. I spent all my young days in Maiding,” said Uncle.
An hour after that, when the track completely disappeared and our group had to advance through the meadows of grass and mazes of bushes without being able to see the way, Loudmouth spotted a large herd of cows, about two hundred head. The animals were solemnly browsing on the juicy grass, flicking their tails lazily to drive away the buzzing clouds of midges hovering around them. We were seen, and a dozen shaggy, black-and-white herdsmen’s dogs came dashing over, barking at the uninvited travelers.
Arnkh hissed through his teeth and reached for his crossbow, but a sharp whistle rang out across the meadow and the dogs ran back, growling in annoyance. Only the largest of them, no doubt the leader, stopped not far away from us and began observing our group with cautious interest.
“Just look at the way that beast is watching us,” Deler muttered.
“Didn’t you know they feed on dwarves?” Hallas chuckled, earning himself a dark look from his partner.
“You’ll open your mouth once too often someday, longbeard. I’ll take my favorite chair and belt you.”
The gnome didn’t even feel it necessary to respond.
The herdsman who had called off the dogs was also observing us, shading his eyes against the sun with one hand. He stared as if he was watching some kind of marvel, as if we were no ordinary horsemen riding by, but the twelve gods of Siala with the Nameless One in tow. The boy herdsman standing beside his older comrade had his mouth open so wide I felt afraid one or two hundred flies would go flying in.
The sight really was an amazing one for them. It’s not every century that you come across an entire platoon of strangers from different races, all armed to the teeth, in the heart of a wasteland so far away from the nearest inhabited village that not even every shepherd would risk going into it.
Kli-Kli couldn’t resist the temptation, and he stuck his tongue out at the young herdsman, frightening the boy half to death. It was obviously the first time the village lad had ever seen a goblin.
“Well now, Kli-Kli,” said Eel, opening his mouth for the first time that day, “now there’ll be talk all winter long. The boy will tell everyone he saw a live ogre.”
“Who’s an ogre?” the goblin said resentfully. “Me? Ogres roar like this!”
The goblin set up a miserable howling, frightening not only the little herdsman and the dogs, who began barking again, but also half the horses of our group.
“Quiet down, Kli-Kli!” Marmot said irritably. “You’ll spoil Invincible’s appetite for a whole month.”
“I was only showing how ogres roar,” the goblin explained.
“Ah, come on. You’re useless,” Deler grumbled. “That’s the way your dear departed granny roars, not a full-grown ogre. Show him, Mumr.”
Lamplighter, who was riding behind me, was only too delighted to do as the dwarf asked, and he produced a sound that almost made me fall off my horse. The herdsmen’s dogs started howling in fright behind our backs.
“Hey you lot!” Uncle shouted to our little group. “You dratted comedians! Stop frightening the crickets!”
“Oh, come on, Uncle,” Deler shouted. “There’s nothing else to do.”
The sergeant just flapped his hand at us and gave up.
For the rest of the day nothing important happened to our party.
Another two days of riding across the wasteland flew by. We were crossing a huge area at the heart of Valiostr that people had never got around to developing. The famous impenetrable forests were on our right.
“The day after tomorrow we ought to reach the highway,” Honeycomb said on the third day of the journey.
“Eh, the sooner the better. I want some beer.” Deler sighed. “I start to get vicious without my beer.”
The song of a lark trilled out in the sky.
“There’s going to be rain,” Tomcat said after a long silence.
Everyone looked round at the same time. There was a line of storm clouds expanding along the horizon: dark violet, with occasional patches of blue-black.
“Hoo-ray!” said Marmot. “The coolness we’ve all been waiting for is on its way.”
The ling on his shoulder livened up and twitched its pink nose excitedly. Obviously it could sense the approaching storm, too.
“I just hope we don’t get caught out,” Tomcat muttered, casting a concerned glance at the black line of cloud.
It had already swollen up, like a goatskin filled to overflowing with water, and seemed to have moved a bit closer. This was not just rain coming toward us, it was a genuine tempest.
No one heard what Tomcat had said. Well, almost no one.
Deler set his hat dashingly on the back of his head and started singing:
> If you have a rope on your neck—there will be treason under the mountains.
If you tread clay with your feet—you’ll get a sharp knife in your back.
If you fall asleep in disgrace—your dreams will be shattered by an arrow.
And you will not forge strong fetters for holding your friends or your enemies!
If you do not wish to enter the world of shadows—strike first and kill if you can!
Strike first and kill if you can!
“Why so gloomy?” Kli-Kli asked after listening to the dwarf’s simple little song.
“That’s the way it ought to be,” Deler said solemnly. “That’s the war march of the dwarves.”
“It sounds better for marching to the chamber pot than against the enemy,” Hallas said scornfully.
“Some connoisseur of war marches you are!” Deler retorted. “You bearded midgets don’t even have any like that.”
“Shut up! Right now!” Tomcat growled.
The gnome and the dwarf stopped arguing and gaped at him in astonishment.
“Oh, come on, Tomcat,” Deler said, clearing his throat. “Nothing terrible’s going to happen. We’ve already made up, haven’t we, Hallas?”
Hallas nodded eagerly.
“It’s nothing to do with you!” the tracker exclaimed, stopping his horse and staring fixedly up at the sky. The storm clouds were closer now; they had licked away a quarter of the blue sky. A distant rumble of thunder was carried to us on a light wind.
“What’s disaster?” asked Loudmouth, who also had his eyes fixed on the horizon. He had been infected by the tracker’s alarm.
“Shut up, will you!” Tomcat growled irritably, sniffing at the air.
Speaking for myself, I couldn’t smell anything at all. So what if it did rain a bit and we got wet? What was there to get all alarmed and excited about?
“And the day started so well,” Kli-Kli said dejectedly.
“Those bastard children of lowdown skunks did it after all!” Tomcat whispered. He dug his heels into the sides of his horse and hurried to catch up with the elves and Alistan, leaving us behind, bewildered, at the back of the group.