by Alexey Pehov
He just sat there, his eyes dilated in terror, peering into the darkness, waiting apprehensively for morning.
13
Layen and I had stayed at the inn, the Supreme Witch, several years ago and even though quite a lot of time had passed, I found the establishment without much difficulty. The sturdy two-story building had a sign, on which a fairly talented hand had painted a red-haired woman with a malicious appearance. True, it resembled a witch as much as a Je’arre looks like a butterfly. That is, they had nothing in common.
There weren’t all that many people in the common room. But in about an hour, just when it started to get dark, the neighborhood residents would drag themselves in to toss back a mug of shaf or a glass of reska. Then it will get so crowded, people will be sitting on one another’s heads.
Luk, as he had promised, urgently requested food, drink, and a bath. A servant boy was sent to the nearest shop for new clothing. When he found out that we were ready to foot the bill, the soldier got right down to it. But I didn’t mind; I could spare the extra sorens.
Layen and I got a nice room—bright and clean. Through old habit, the first thing we did was check the door. It was hefty, with a good dead bolt. It wouldn’t be easy to knock down. From the window there was a view of the inner courtyard, the stables, and the barn. That was also excellent—there was always the chance we’d have to leave without drawing special attention to ourselves.
I left my wife to rest and freshen up and went to a weapons dealer at the far end of town. There I grudgingly bargained with the surly dealer, who apparently didn’t have such particular customers every day. I only stopped when I’d selected two dozen more or less decent arrows from the three hundred he had on offer. I had complete confidence in ten of them, while the remaining fourteen were of middling quality, but they’d do in a pinch.
After I paid, I returned to the inn, which was now crowded; the customers were piled high on top of one another, with servants rushing around between them with trays full of orders. It was one hell of a ruckus. It smelled pleasantly of cold mint and chamomile shaf, and the aroma of roast meat tickled my nostrils.
Our table was the one closest to the stairs that led up to the second floor. Happy and content, Luk was laying into his food assiduously. Shen, who had cheered up some, was sipping his cooling drink and playing with Midge’s knife. I won’t say that he impressed me, but the lad was somewhat skilled. Layen was listlessly watching the knife as it flashed through the Healer’s fingers. Like I said, the Healer couldn’t make an especially striking impression on a person who had earned her keep working risky jobs.
The northerner was looking around more than he was eating. His interest was caught by a neighboring table, where some miners were sitting. There they were discussing important news—the war that was sweeping across the northeast of the Empire.
By the bar, the young, thickset innkeeper was arguing about something with a man who had just come in. This stranger’s muddy cloak caught my attention. Regardless of the age of the fabric, the emblem sewn onto it was still discernible. It was the boots and cloud of the couriers’ guild.
“Keep your mouths shut,” I warned my companions, and then, without getting into particulars, I headed over to the disputants.
“Where should I seat you?” boomed the innkeeper. “You see how many people are here. All the tables are taken.”
“Fine, no need to get nasty,” said the courier soothingly. “Just bring me food in my room.”
“It’ll be a while ’til the room is ready. It’s being cleaned now. You’ll have to wait.”
“If you want, you can sit at my table,” I said, interrupting their conversation. “We have a free seat.”
“I’d be honored.” The courier bowed, making no secret of his pleasure.
“Bring him some food,” I instructed the innkeeper, who immediately cheered up once he saw that the unpleasant situation had been resolved.
“I hope I won’t be disturbing you,” said the man I’d invited as we walked over to the table. “My name is Gis.”
“Take a load off.” Unlike the others, Layen had instantly realized that an excellent opportunity to learn the latest news had fallen in our laps. “Was the road hard?”
“It wasn’t easy.” Gis looked around at us curiously as the innkeeper set his plate down.
He was middle-aged, short, and lanky. He had a narrow, sallow face with a large, fleshy nose, a shiny bald head, and thick, unkempt mustaches. His eyes were dark, sharp, tenacious, and thoughtful. But his hands were strange; he had narrow palms with long, elegant fingers and well-groomed nails that would be more fitting for a musician or a juggler, but not for a man who spends his entire life on the road. Those hands perplexed me greatly, and at any other time I would have pondered their significance, but today, after our onerous journey, I was not up to it.
“Are you traveling?” he asked as he dug into the food.
“Yes,” said Ga-Nor curtly, kicking Luk, whose mouth was wide open, under the table.
The kick didn’t escape Gis’s attention, but he in no way showed it. He meditatively broke a griddle cake in two, dipped it in gravy, and declared, “You’re a colorful group.”
“When you joined us, it became even more colorful.” Layen smiled pleasantly. “Common room tables have a way of bringing all sorts of people together.”
Gis returned the smile.
“True enough, my lady. I’ve seen it often during my travels. Once I even saw a human, a Blazog, and a Je’arre amicably playing dice.”
“All that and amicably? Flyers can’t get along with each other, to say nothing of other races!” said Luk, and he dissolved into laughter.
Most people have no love for the Je’arre due to their pride, fierce tempers, and disdain for other races. Even the Highborn of Sandon do not elicit as much ire as the Sons of the Sky (what the Je’arre call themselves).
“Why would you call me lady?” wondered Layen.
Gis winked merrily.
“Have you not noticed how the entire common room is looking at you? Do you know the reason? You’re wearing trousers. Our south is too stuffy. That which is normal in the north, here is considered an open invitation, if not a vulgarity. Even the whores wear skirts, to say nothing of the more dignified gentlewomen. Very few women can allow themselves trousers. Only the inhabitants of the northern parts of the Empire, and you don’t look like them, or the nobles who disregard the opinions of those around them. I chose to place you in the second classification. Was I mistaken?”
Shen soundlessly repeated the word “classification” and raised his eyebrows in surprise. I also noticed that our guest was an exceedingly well-educated man.
“You’re mistaken, in that you overlooked yet another possibility—it’s far more comfortable to travel in trousers than in a skirt.”
“I think that he”—Gis pointed at the impassive Ga-Nor—“might disagree with you. For the Children of the Snow Leopard, trousers could never compare for comfort with a kilt.”
“A kilt is not a skirt,” said the northerner. “But there is a snowflake of truth in your words.”
“I thank you.”
“You know the clan signs of my people quite well,” said the northerner.
“I’m a courier.” He shrugged. “I have to keep my eyes and ears open. Besides, only the Snow Leopards wear red and gold plaid. It’s easy to remember.”
“Are you bound for Al’sgara?”
“Yes, my lady.” Our companion insisted on addressing Layen as a noblewoman.
“From the mining colonies?”
“From Gash-Shaku.”
“Gash-Shaku!” Luk exclaimed, his mouth falling open. “But Bald Hollow isn’t on the way! Why would you take such a detour?”
Gis’s face darkened.
“If I’d had my way, I wouldn’t have. But the prairies are enveloped in flames. The road between Al’sgara and Gash-Shaku has become too dangerous. Nabatorian and Sdisian soldiers. There are rumors of necr
omancers. I had to detour to the east, toward Okni. The battle hasn’t taken hold there yet. Our boys are keeping the enemy in check at the Isthmuses of Lina, so I was able to slip past. True, my journey was doubled.”
“What’s happening in Gash-Shaku?” Shen leaned forward.
“I slipped out of there a day before the city was besieged.”
“But the army! Where is our army?”
“The Second Southern Army was completely destroyed. They say the Sixth and the First retreated to the Katugian Mountains for redeployment. Perhaps they’ll try to lift the siege. The Third is mired in the Isthmuses, so there will be no help from them. I’ve heard nothing about the Fourth. The Fifth holds the Steps of the Hangman, so I don’t think they’re rushing off to save anyone. The most important thing is not to let the enemy break through to the north.”
“Not good,” said Luk, aghast.
He was right. It didn’t seem like our troops were doing so well. The second-largest city in the Empire was under siege, and battle was raging from the forests of Sandon to the Golden Sea. The enemy, ignoring the untouched southwest, was striving to take the most important position—the Steps of the Hangman. If they succeeded, they would cut off reinforcements coming from the north and would have no fear of a sudden strike from behind.
“And all because someone was nodding off at the Six Towers,” said the courier. “No one knows how such a thing could have happened.”
Ga-Nor kicked Luk again, so he’d keep quiet.
“So it looks like we’re losing?”
“Not yet. They have a hold on the eastern part of the country, but the Nabatorians have progressed no farther than the Isthmuses, even with the aid of the necromancers and the creatures of the Great Waste. Our boys are standing firm. Elite troops and reinforcements are coming closer through the Katugian Mountains. The Mineral Plains have been taken, Gash-Shaku is surrounded. Until it falls, the enemy is unlikely to strike the Steps. It’s too dangerous. Plus, in the west we are resisting them. But the battles are hard fought. If not for the fortified citadels and stockades that constantly delay the enemy forces, who knows how it would all play out. And the land is also on our side. There are more than enough geographical hindrances for the Nabatorians. So maybe we’ll be victorious.”
“It’s hard to believe there’s a war going on. It’s so quiet here,” said Shen.
“A hundred leagues to the north would make you believe, lad. If you strike through the forests and swamps toward the Six Towers, you’ll see it with your own eyes before the week is out.”
“Do you have any idea what’s going on in Al’sgara?”
“I’m just now headed there. But it seems like many in that city regard what’s happening as something very far away. They think it doesn’t concern them. And there are fools who don’t believe the rumors at all.”
“And there’s no army to defend it.”
“They’ve left Al’sgara to the dogs. You know what will happen if our forces are defeated. It’s true there was a whisper that the Viceroy may be putting together a force to replace the Second Army, and it may even carry the same name, but it will essentially be a militia of irregulars, retreating troops, and mercenaries. It’s just not enough. If the regular army couldn’t do it, then how will they?”
“What about the Walkers?”
“They are fighting. They are battling with the Sdisian sorcerers and their creations. In some places successfully. But they won’t succeed in burning out the entire infection. At times you meet evil where you least expect it. Four days ago I nearly lost my head.”
“Nabatorians?”
“No. They haven’t drawn so close yet. This was worse. Corpses were climbing out of their graves.”
“A lot?”
“The entire village. There was no one living. If not for my horse, I wouldn’t have escaped.”
“And by a whole village, how many do you mean, sir? Ten? Twenty?” asked Layen.
“Two hundred.”
My sun pursed her lips but said nothing. However, I did not keep my doubts to myself.
“It’s strange that the necromancers have some sort of task in our villages when their strength is needed in the north.”
“I agree.” Gis was not put off by my skepticism. “But I’ve heard about no less than three such cases. Villages and townships where there are no survivors, but which are full of hungry corpses. And this in the very heart of the unconquered territories.”
“The Sdisians are trying to add to our troubles,” Shen said a second before I could.
“And to sow panic,” I backed him up.
“Courier.” The innkeeper walked over. “Your room is ready.”
“Already? Well then, I suppose it’s time for me to go. I need to rest. I’ll be on the road again early tomorrow morning. Thank you for inviting me, friends.”
“Thank you for telling us the latest news.”
“There’s nothing to thank me for.” He smiled mirthlessly. “It’s not the kind of news that causes joy. Good night.”
Gis bowed and then quickly ascended the staircase.
“What will we do?” asked Luk, after clearing his throat for emphasis.
“You want to go to Al’sgara.” I wanted to eat.
“Well, yes. But what then?”
“Then our paths diverge. Layen and I have our own problems, as do you.”
Shen peered at me furtively, but I chose to ignore it. The redhead nodded in agreement, not disputing our right to look after our own affairs.
I knew how I was going to proceed even before the conversation with the courier. Gis only strengthened my confidence in the decision I’d made. Right now we had one vital goal—we would go to Al’sgara and explain to Joch how wicked it was to offer money for Gray and Weasel. That would spare Layen and me from headaches in the future. When no one is chasing after your head, life becomes so much more tranquil. And then only one road will be left—to the Golden Mark. The ships should still be in the harbor while the war is still far off. They’d overcharge us terribly, of course, but thank Melot we had the money. We’d make it.
“Did you notice what he didn’t talk about?” Layen asked us.
All eyes turned to her.
“Not a word about the Damned. Not one. The finest rumors, guesses, and theories, but nothing about the Sextet. As if they don’t exist.”
“Perhaps they’re in no rush to show their strength,” suggested Luk.
“Wasn’t it you who told me that Rubeola tore apart the Six Towers? And her friend was not exactly subtle in Dog Green. I think that, for the time being, the Walkers don’t want to frighten the common folk. For as long as they can attribute all the displays of magic to the Sdisian sorcerers, they will continue to do so. The Whites may be dreadful, but they are nothing compared to the Sextet. Why spread premature panic not only in the population but also among the soldiers? I don’t think the soldiers would fight as well as before if they found out that the old legends had come to life.”
“That may very well be. I think our lads have more than enough on their plates if they have to contend with twenty thousand corpses,” said Luk.
“There can’t be more than a thousand,” she corrected him perfunctorily. “However you calculate it.”
“And why is that?” The soldier clearly didn’t believe her words. “If there were no less than two hundred in that village the courier raced through, then there’d have to be just as many in other places, right? Something about that doesn’t sit right with me.”
“And something about that courier doesn’t sit right with me. I think he’s lying. It requires considerable power to raise a single kuks. Not all of the sorcerers can even manage such a feat. It’s quite a difficult task to transfer a portion of your own spark into a dead body, to constantly keep it under control, to always be expecting your creature to attack you. It’s not worth the waste of power. There are far easier and more efficient means of spreading terror or of creating obedient servants for oneself. A veteran
necromancer can raise no more than ten bodies. The sorcerers of the Eighth Sphere can control perhaps thirty or forty zombies. But they’d use up all their power doing it. So, they rarely engage in such nonsense. They raise the dead when they have nothing better to do. Thus, thousands are out of the question. But to hear Gis tell it, there are two hundred living dead in one pitiful little village. For that you’d need five necromancers of the highest order! If not six. And there simply aren’t that many in the world. And they’d be doing nothing more than sitting around a useless village, wrangling corpses while waiting for a chance passerby.”
“Also, the courier said that this was not the first instance,” I supported Layen.
“Exactly. If you count how many sorcerers you would need to fill three or four villages with the dead … I doubt Sdis would send so many Elects for such an insignificant matter.”
During this discussion, Shen had been sitting with his fists clenched and his gaze lowered.
“So then how do you explain the existence of those dead men that attacked me at the old silver mine?” Luk insisted.
“I don’t know. Perhaps there was a necromancer nearby, or perhaps he simply sent them away from the Gates, or maybe they killed their sorcerer. The spell of summoning doesn’t usually vanish with the death of the conjurer. A particle of the spark remains in the puppets and they live on after their master has died. It’s possible that you had the luck to run into just such wretches.”
“I’m going out for a walk.” Ga-Nor stood up from the table and, walking round the numerous customers, headed for the inn’s exit.
“And I, if you don’t mind, am going to bed.” Luk yawned widely and, taking a full mug of shaf with himself for company, he went upstairs, satisfied and full.
The three of us remained. Shen was just sitting there, drumming his fingers on the tabletop. I enjoyed his behavior recently less and less. If earlier he behaved like a callow youth who flung insults around indiscriminately, now he spent a large portion of his time in contemplation. It always seemed to me that the lad was planning some kind of nasty trick.