Chasers of the Wind

by Alexey Pehov

  * * *

  The foul weather had driven off the Nabatorian patrols to such an extent that no one bothered to stop a solitary rider. After an hour the northerner spied the small town spread out before the Gates and he grunted in surprise. He’d expected to stumble across ashes and ruin, as well as the enemy army. But the town seemed untouched, as if thousands of humans and nonhumans had never been there.

  The tracker slowed his horse to a walk. Where had the enemy army disappeared to? It couldn’t have just vanished into thin air, unless, of course, that was something the Walkers could do.

  He was riding slowly down the town’s only street when three riders appeared from beyond a turn and made their way toward him. He remained calm. The soldiers rode by him slowly, disinterestedly glancing at the emblem of one of the Nabatorian companies sewn into his cloak, and went on their way without saying a word.

  That worked out quite well.

  All at once, the citadel emerged from the shroud of rain. Four of the six towers were in ruins and the Wings were flung wide open. Until this moment Ga-Nor hadn’t really entertained the notion that the Gates could really have fallen. He could not imagine how this happened. Who was to blame for such a blunder? Who was responsible for the fact that the enemy had entered the lands of the Empire?

  “Hey, you!”

  He pulled at the bridle and turned around. Two men with crossbows were standing in the road.

  “Are you from the tower?”

  Ga-Nor couldn’t deny that, so he nodded.

  “With a message for the commander?”

  He nodded again. One of the Nabatorian soldiers frowned.

  “Why so shy, friend?”

  “Would you feel like chatting after bumping along for an hour in the rain?”

  Ga-Nor tried to soften out his hard “r,” which would give him away as a native of the north.

  “Well, all right. On with you.”

  He thanked Ug that the war dogs hadn’t bothered to peek under his cloak. There’s no way he could explain away his red hair. Redheads are a rarity in Nabator, where almost everyone is swarthy and black-haired.

  It would be smart to turn back while he still could. The mountains were vast; he could easily hide himself there. But it would be even better to head west. Sooner or later he’d reach the Golden Mark, and from there he could reach the Empire by sea. But … There they were, the Wings. Five more minutes and he’d already be home.

  Ga-Nor came to a decision.

  At the turn they tried to stop him but he hollered, dug his heels into the horse’s sides, and, not paying any heed to the outraged cries behind him, galloped through the inner courtyard. He trampled an idiot who didn’t have time to jump aside, hacked away at a fumbling halberdier with his sword, and then passed through the gate of the Viceroy into the lands of the Empire.

  Horns sounded behind his back.

  4

  Vzzzzzick … Vzzzzzick … Vzzzzzick …

  The whetstone scraped repulsively along the knife’s edge. Whip watched Midge’s daily ritual incredulously. He thought there was no point in such activity, and that the stunted assassin was merely expending time and energy for nothing.

  “Aren’t you bored of that yet?”

  “Why? You think it’s sharp enough?”

  “Sharp enough?” said Whip indignantly. “That’s all you’ve been doing since we left Al’sgara. Soon you’ll be able to carve stone like butter.”

  “Is that really a bad thing? And anyway, you’re exaggerating like always. You can’t even shave with it. Here, look.”

  As proof, Midge tested the knife on a lock of his own hair, which was instantly shortened by an inch.

  “Oh,” said the man, looking at his reflection in the knife with dismay. “It seems it really is sharp enough.”

  Shen came in from the street. Midge caught sight of him and picked up his whetstone once more. Glaring wickedly at Mols’s young protégé, Midge once again began sharpening his knife, which still emitted that repulsive sound, much to Whip’s dismay.

  “Where’d you lose Bamut?”

  “He’s following our friend, while Midge here screws around.”

  “It’s curious that you left him. You get bored, little boy?” replied the runt. Whip scowled.

  These two just wouldn’t leave each other be. He tried not to pair them up, but what else could he do? Put them on opposite ends of the village? Ah, thanks, Mols! You did me a bad turn, make no mistake!

  “Enough!” growled Whip, running out of patience. “I told you yesterday—if you wish to draw each other’s blood, you have to wait until after the mission.”

  “Well, we kind of carried out the mission yesterday,” said Shen through clenched teeth, not taking his eyes off Midge.

  “It’s for me to decide if we’ve carried it out or not. Midge, get up off your ass and go find Bamut. Consider it the start of your shift. And you, sit down and eat.”

  “You took a dislike to me from the start. Is that not so?” said Shen as he sat down on the bench.

  Whip waited until his shaf had been brought to him, took a sip, and only then did he answer.

  “All right then, lad. I’ll be honest with you. You’re unnecessary to our well-worn threesome. Like a fifth wheel on a wagon. I don’t know what pit Mols dragged you out of. And what’s worse—I don’t know what your deal is. I don’t know if we can count on you, and I don’t know what to expect from you.”

  “So you should test me,” said the blue-eyed man.

  “How can I? For right now, as long as we can’t verify that you’re good at your job, I, Midge, and even Bamut, good soul that he is, will think you’re a burden.”

  Shen scowled and then laughed shortly.

  “Say what you like! If you think I’m happy to be in your company, you are sadly mistaken. Gallivanting around the periphery of the Empire, being food for mosquitoes and rubbing shoulders with sullen old fools is not as much fun as you think!”

  Whip did not take offense at the word “fools.”

  “My, my, aren’t you scholarly. The words you know. ‘Periphery’!”

  Shen, realizing he’d blundered, sniffed loudly and began digging into his food. The leader of the team watched him mockingly. This was not the first time the kid had let his tongue slip. Every once in a while he peppered his speech with words or phrases that sounded strange to the ears of a native of the underworld. The lad played his part well, but it was clear he didn’t have enough experience. However, Mols surely had to have a reason for sending him with them.

  “Don’t mess with Midge. That’s my advice to you. My friendly advice. And don’t make such a face; you’re still too much of a pup to tangle with the likes of him. Midge will chew you up and spit you out. Leave him alone, I’m telling you.”

  “Yeah, sure, that runt will give it to me good!” replied Shen, spearing a piece of pork sausage. “He means nothing to me. I’d rather you talked to me about how much longer we’re going to be hanging about here.”

  “We only got here yesterday and you’re already homesick?”

  “Imagine that.… So, how long?”

  “Right now time is working against our friend. He’s not an idiot; he’s bound to realize that if we could find him, others could, too. A day, maybe two and he and his woman will go into hiding.”

  “And?”

  “Like I already said, Gray is an intelligent man. He understands that concealing himself will be hard. When there’s such a price on your head, they’ll even follow you down into the Abyss. He could put off the day of his death by running away to the edges of the Inhabitable Lands. He could creep into the swamps of the Blazogs, or into the aeries of the Je’arre, or the forests of the Highborn, but sooner or later he’ll get caught. You don’t just find ten thousand sorens lying about on the road. The hunters will find them, mark my words. There’s only one real option—to get them to leave you alone you have to kill the client.”

  “So you think Joch is doomed?”

&nbs
p; “Well, I think he has very little chance of seeing the next Feast of the Name.”

  “That’s too bad. They say that he disperses money on all the city holidays. Al’sgara will lose much with his death.”

  “So will the Viceroy. His hand appreciates the money, too. He’s everything to everyone. I’ve never seen another whose ass can fit so well on three different stools. The Emperor, the Walkers, and his own private interests. Ha! Sometimes I think being the Viceroy isn’t too shabby.”

  “Mmm-hmm. It’s a lucrative business. And not boring. All you have to do is be aware, write decrees, report to the capital, and dance with the ambassadors of Nabator and the Golden Mark. That, and rake the money in.”

  “You got the gist of it,” grunted Whip. A glimmer of respect slipped into his voice. “By the way, have you been in the guild long? I’ve never heard anything about you before.”

  “And who told you I was from the guild?” asked Shen, grinning suddenly.

  Whip squinted at him.

  “Mols said that you would come with us…”

  “But perhaps he said something about why I’d been attached to you?”

  No. He had said nothing of the sort. He’d simply ordered Whip to take the young man with him and not to ask any questions.

  “I owed him a favor, so he asked me to put you through your paces.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  It couldn’t be that simple. Why would Mols suddenly send a completely unknown man with them for no discernible reason? Simply to put him through his paces? Whip was not an idiot, and he didn’t believe in such nonsense. Shen understood that but he did not bother trying to reassure the leader.

  “I don’t know if you should talk about this with your friends.”

  “I shouldn’t. They have very little love for you anyway. Does that mean that you’re not one of us?”

  “If you think I’m going to start running around the village with a garrote or with throwing stars then you will have to be disappointed. Anyway, why would you need my help? To get your hands on the reward for Gray and his wife?”

  “No. Mols didn’t give such orders.”

  “What does Mols have to do with it? With ten thousand sorens you can spit on the guild. Begin a new life, yeah? Have you really never thought about risking it?”

  Whip didn’t say anything but by the way he tensed his fists, Shen knew that he had hit the mark.

  “It’s not important what I thought about or what I didn’t. What’s important is what I will do in the end. I won’t mess with Gray and Layen without orders from Mols.”

  “Are they so dangerous?”

  “That’s not the only reason. I never go against the orders I’ve received. No matter how much money is at stake. You don’t understand.”

  Shen shrugged his shoulders, indicating that for such a sum he personally would immediately forget about such scruples.

  “As far as Gray goes,” continued the leader, “he really is quite dangerous. Do you know his history?”

  “No. Only what you’ve talked about amongst yourselves.”

  “He arrived in Al’sgara about ten years ago. From somewhere to the southeast. Supposedly before that he had been shooting the Highborn in Sandon. He was very familiar with the bow, and not just with that. He rose very quickly. He began getting the most difficult and high-paying contracts. Certain people in the guild, especially those who ply our trade, didn’t like this. They were found one day in a cesspit. Dead. Midge, by the way, was also among those who were dissatisfied, but he quit while he was ahead. His friends didn’t. By and large, after that incident, no one bothered Ness. And then Mols took the lad under his wing. I worked with Gray once. I can say that he is entirely worthy of respect. He’s the best shot that I know of.”

  “Why did he go off to such a backwater after so many successes?”

  “No one knows for sure. Except perhaps Mols. I can only guess.”

  “I’d be very interested in hearing your guess.”

  Whip closely studied Shen’s countenance. Was he mocking him? But the young man didn’t bat an eye.

  “It’s time to go, to track down Bamut,” said the leader, getting up from the bench. “You coming?”

  “Yes. You’ll tell me your guess?”

  “Why should you care?”

  “I should know what to expect from him. Mols didn’t say anything.”

  “Hmmm…” Once again Whip looked searchingly at his companion. “Until Joch put the price on Gray’s head, I thought that he and Layen were dead. Seven years ago two burnt-up bodies were found in their hideout. Everyone, including myself, thought that some clever lads had managed to do Ness in after all. But now … now I’m beginning to think that he did everything right. At the time when our friend supposedly died, a very notorious assassination was carried out. The target was destroyed by an arrow. It was a masterful shot. Perfect. The archer was located in such a spot that he could have only made that shot if his hand was guided by Melot himself. I know only one archer like that, and that’s Ness.”

  “So Gray hit his target, duped everyone, grabbed his wife, and disappeared?”

  “That’s about it. By the way, he and his wife work together.”

  “Am I wrong or did it seem to me that you were more afraid of her than of your miraculous archer?”

  Whip frowned petulantly. Midge was right. Sometimes this lad annoyed him to no end.

  “She could boil your brain faster than you could pull your knife from its sheath.”

  “All women can do that.” Shen laughed.

  “I’m serious. She’s the only one in our line of work who has the Gift. Everyone thinks that Layen can only talk without opening her mouth, but when I worked with Gray I saw her blow up this one man’s head.”

  “How’s that work? Is she a Walker or something?” asked his companion.

  “No.”

  “An Ember?”

  “Why are you bugging me? No one knows. She has the Gift and that’s that. What difference does it make what kind? That’s enough talking. They’re waiting for us.”

  They stepped out onto the street and headed toward Ness’s house. Shen was thinking quietly to himself and Whip was beginning to wish that he’d held his tongue.

  “So who was the target?”

  The leader looked at his companion uncomprehendingly.

  “Who did Ness swat down that he had to flee so quickly?”

  “A Walker,” said the assassin dryly and, ignoring the dropped jaw and the look of utter shock on the face of his subordinate, he walked on.

  * * *

  Pork shuffled along through the forest, delightedly gnawing on a piece of honeyed gingerbread. The pockets of his torn trousers were bursting with sweets. The half-wit had bought the treats with the money that had been given to him by that kind gentleman. The one who rode on a knight’s horse but wasn’t a knight. But he was nice. And his horse was nice, too. And his sword. Also, he was Pork’s friend. Uh-huh. They were the best of friends. Pork would do whatever Uncle wanted. He’d even treat him to a bit of gingerbread. One he had nibbled on a bit. Or not! Maybe even a whole one! Then the village children wouldn’t say that he was greedy and stupid. Lies! All lies! They were always mocking. So he wasn’t going to give them any of his tasty treats. Never! Why should he share with those wolves anyway? All it’d get him was a dirty shirt and mud flinging again. And they won’t let him play knights. So when Pork ran away from home and became a knight, he’d show them all. They’ll be jealous!

  Now he was walking to his favorite glade. There, next to the swift river, he could eat up in peace and quiet, unafraid that someone would notice. Or even worse, start badgering him. Pork, let me try it. Just a piece, hey, Pork? There’s a good lad!

  Oh! The clingy leeches!

  In a fit of pique the half-wit kicked at a mushroom near his foot. Its cap flew into the air, slammed against a tree trunk, and burst apart into many pieces.

  “Whoo-hoo!” said Pork rapturously.

 
; He never would have guessed that mushrooms could fly and smash apart so well. This was so much better than old Roza’s turnips. The fool twisted his head around, searching through the grass for the prominent red caps, but there weren’t any nearby. Huffing in frustration, he walked out into the glade, but then he immediately retreated under the cover of the trees.

  He petulantly puffed out his lips. What crap! His favorite spot was already taken! Ann, the wife of the carpenter, was standing next to the old oak. What was she doing here? He’d just have to eat another piece of gingerbread, and then go out there and tell her that this was his glade. So go away!

  While Pork was chewing the gingerbread, he got another idea in his head. What if Ann suddenly stopped drilling holes into that silly tree with her eyes, and decided to take a swim in the river? Why not? It’s hot right now, she might want to. And he’d sit here all quiet and he’d watch. He’d see her naked. Pork had seen naked girls once before; they were bathing in the Black Pool on the night of the summer solstice. Of course, the village lads had noticed the half-wit skulking in the bushes and had beat him up. They nearly broke all his bones.

  Then Pork nearly choked on his gingerbread. The trunk of the oak split in two as if it had been struck by the axes of a hundred spiteful loggers. All the cowherd’s attention was fixed upon the tree, which is why he didn’t notice right away that there were men exiting the forest on the opposite side of the glade.

  * * *

  Old Morgen the blacksmith greeted me affably. He invited me into his house and sat me at his table. I did not want to offend him so we calmly discussed the weather, the future of the crops, and our neighbors. Finally it was time to get down to business.

  “That’s what I owe you for my tools.” I put six sols on the table.

  “There’s no hurry. I can wait,” said the blacksmith in his booming voice.

  “There’s no such thing as too much money,” I disagreed. “Anyway, I heard that you sent the matchmaker to your son. You’re going to have to count every penny now.”

  “You speak the truth,” Morgen said, grinning expansively. “Why have you begun to pay off your debts? You aren’t planning to leave us, are you?”