Chasers of the Wind

by Alexey Pehov

  I nodded and hurried away without saying good-bye.

  * * *

  Tia snuck into Haven by hiring a fisherman. He was snoring away in his tub when the Damned woke him, and he doused Pork in the choicest language. Typhoid ignored this completely and asked him to carry her to the port of Al’sgara. The drunkard laughed in her face and called her crazy, but Typhoid thrust some gold under his nose. This sobered him up right away, and he plopped down at his oars hastily.

  All her fears proved unfounded. No one stopped them or even hailed them. As Leprosy had implied, this way of getting into the city wasn’t guarded very vigilantly. For now, at any rate. So less than an hour later the faint lights of the port appeared. When the boat came alongside a wooden pier, Tia stabbed the man with her dagger and walked away, leaving the body in the boat.

  Now she had to find the blond archer who would lead her to the Healer. She’d been wandering around the city since early morning. Typhoid walked at random, hoping she would be lucky and her spark would bring her to the archer. She didn’t dare go to Hightown or Second City—the chance that she would run into one of the Walkers, Embers, or Scarlets there was too great. And it wouldn’t do to forgo caution in the other neighborhoods either. A second encounter with a wizard might not end as well as the first.

  Tia started with the lowest districts, the ones right by the sea. Of course, not an hour passed before she was lost—Al’sgara was completely different than it had been five hundred years ago. Many of the streets and alleys hadn’t existed in her time. As a result, the Damned was not an inch closer to her goal and, angry at herself and Pork, returned to the port, deciding to look for lodging in an old warehouse.

  The next day also came to nothing. All that Tia knew was that the blond was in the city. Al’sgara was too big, and her inability to use her Gift openly was oppressive. Without her abilities she couldn’t do anything. Every minute she was tempted to call upon her power. And time after time she restrained herself, whispering that it was not yet time. She still had a few days left to her, and for the time being she just needed to search and not despair.

  She should be lucky. All her life, Typhoid had walked hand in hand with luck. Suffice it to recall the day when Retar died saving her from Sorita’s jackals—it was a miracle she escaped. And she had left Ginora’s side the day before the woman was brought to bay in the Marshes of Erlika. Or … she didn’t want to recall how she had survived but lost her body.

  Despite these internal arguments, the Damned fell into deeper despair with each passing hour. She was afraid that she wouldn’t succeed before Rovan arrived.

  But she was lucky again. And as always, when she least expected it. That night something caused her to wake up and crawl from the warehouse toward the sea. Pork was whining quietly somewhere on the edge of her consciousness, begging her to leave him alone and to let him go home. She ordered him to shut up, and just at that moment she saw two people standing on the pier. Tia didn’t need any light to recognize the blond archer, whom she’d been vainly searching for these past few days. The mark hanging over his head spoke for itself.

  Her first impulse was to grab the bastard and shake the information out of him. But Typhoid never made the same mistakes twice. She remembered what happened the last time she allowed her fury to prevail over her reason. There was no rush. He would not escape retribution. She just had to take her time.

  The Damned began to scrutinize the archer’s companion. His back was toward her, but he didn’t seem to be the wizard who had dealt with her so deftly. Just in case, she inspected him using a small shred of her Gift.

  Her breath caught in her throat.

  Multicolored spots danced before her eyes. Her temples began aching with a throbbing pain. The stranger had the Gift. And what a Gift it was; it made Tia want to hide away and pray to the gods in whom she did not believe. The man was bursting with power inside; Tia had never seen anything like it. It wasn’t light, and it wasn’t dark. It was primal, incomprehensible, and so powerful that the magic of the Damned was like a raindrop in the ocean in comparison. He could casually crush them all with one finger as if without a care in the world. The thing that the mages of this world since time immemorial had called the spark, hot and bright, should in him be called a “tangle”—it was constantly changing shape, pulsating as if it were alive. It seemed to be woven from a multitude of dancing shadows. Typhoid watched this breathtaking dance, and the pain she was feeling intensified. It was like looking into the Abyss itself, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away.

  Tia was torn in two. She wanted to wail and run away, if only not to see, not to feel this impossible, mighty, ancient, primordial force. But she couldn’t force herself to move. She was drawn to the majesty of the shadows, like a moth to a flame.

  Then it all ended, as if someone had blown out a candle. The pain disappeared. The member of the Sextet could no longer see the tangle. She had stopped sensing the Gift that was as old as the world; it was as if someone had slammed the door leading to the Abyss in her face. The blond was walking away, in the opposite direction from where the Damned was hiding. She watched his retreating back in despair but remained where she was. The stranger stood between her and the archer. He blocked Typhoid’s path, and she didn’t dare walk past him.

  A few more seconds and the man she’d so tenaciously pursued vanished into the night. A wave of hopeless despair swept over her. And then the terrifying man with the tangle of shadows in his chest turned his head in her direction.

  She couldn’t see his face, hidden as it was by his hood, but she felt his gaze. It was burning, tormenting, painful and … mocking? The stranger looked at her, and Tia forgot how to breathe, terrified of what he would do next. He took a step toward her and Typhoid couldn’t stand it anymore. She ran away.

  21

  The last night of our stay in Al’sgara we changed hideouts. Layen was hoarding her strength for the job, and every time she opened the secret door to the Sculptor’s sanctuary her scanty reserves were devoured. That was unwise so we moved to an inn, despite the considerable risk. It was located not far from Second City on quiet, sleepy Chestnut Street.

  We got a clean, comfortable room on the third floor. From the window there was a wonderful view of the hill that was bounded by the wall of Second City. There were virtually no guests; people preferred the much cheaper establishments located by the outer walls and the sea. But good food, regular sleep, and a reliable door—that was what we needed, and so we weren’t bothered by the price.

  My sun was studying the plans of Joch’s compound. Stump had been kind enough to share them with us. I don’t know how Mols managed to get hold of something so valuable (no doubt someone was slaughtered), but the papers were very helpful to us. Early in the evening I had to leave Layen to her occupation and go to a last meeting with Stump before the job. We needed to discuss a few details.

  I took a roundabout route. I had to make a big circle and lose a certain amount of time, but I knew what I was doing. It was far better to lose an hour than to draw trouble down on my ass. A few times I checked if anyone was shadowing me, but it was all clear.

  They came at me just when I was walking through a vegetable market. A tall, gray-haired man lost interest in a tray of cucumbers and turnips and appeared next to me. He had a kind face, a thick, fluffy beard, and bushy eyebrows, which made him look even more good-natured, as well as laughing blue eyes and a very steady hand with a short Groganian knife, which he held to my liver.

  “Hi there.” Greybeard grinned at me.

  Nothing good could come of this. He was not at all worried by the crowd. He held his knife well. From the outside, it gave the impression of two old friends meeting. Yet this “friend” could drive a few inches of excellent steel into my liver at any second. This was the first time I’d seen the man. Judging by his accent, he was from the north, probably from the capital, and that meant he was just passing through and was not under Mols’s command.

  A small blond man
with a mass of freckles on his cunning face slipped out of the crowd. I noticed that his left wrist was held tight to his body, and there was a small bulge in the sleeve of his loose shirt. Probably a throwing knife. He came up close to me and put his arm around my shoulder.

  “You have a chance to live a little bit longer. Where’s your woman?”

  “What reason do I have to answer?” I looked into the crowd, trying to figure out if they were just working in a pair or if there was someone else.

  “You don’t have a wealth of options. If you don’t agree to help us, you’ll be writhing in pain for a long time. Believe me, my friend here will make sure of it. Then we’ll find your woman ourselves and think of a way to do her in good. Or, if you’re accommodating, you can die with her. But quickly and without pain. I give you my word that you’ll both be sent to the Blessed Gardens without feeling anything.”

  Some doubt obviously showed on my face, so Greybeard explained, “We try to do our work cleanly and not to drag it out. Believe me, we don’t take any pleasure in causing our targets pain. We’re professionals.”

  He wasn’t lying. It really was the case. They were very calm, they didn’t flinch, they weren’t nervous and they were completely unafraid of me. They worked skillfully and harmoniously. These two were Giiyans. Masters. Much better than me. Much better than most that ever worked for Mols.

  I had no choice. If I refused now, I’d die right away. If they had managed to catch me, then sooner or later they’d find Layen. It was far better to take the risk. Perhaps I’d get lucky. Al’sgara is large, and anything could happen along the way.

  “Okay. I’ll help you.”

  “The right choice,” said Greybeard. “Well done, lad.”

  He spoke softly and kindly, but he didn’t shift the blade. I felt the shallow wound oozing blood under my shirt.

  “Where is she?”

  I hesitated.

  “Don’t get jittery. Relax.”

  “Near Second City.”

  “Let’s take a walk. Do we have to tell you what will happen if you think of doing anything stupid?”

  “No.”

  “I’m liking this lad more and more.” Greybeard smiled broadly. “Good. Walk next to me. Don’t rush. If you make a move, call out, or make a scene, I’ll finish you. If you intend to take a chance anyway and run away, my friend throws knives quite well. Am I explaining myself clearly?”

  “Yes.”

  I knew I would have to take a risk along the way. There were two of them, and one of me. They were better. But I didn’t have any choice.

  “Limp. A lot. Please don’t forget about it.” Freckles was walking behind my back. “Move.”

  I diligently limped on my left foot as if it had just been sprained. Greybeard amiably supported me under my arm with a steely grip, and not for a second did he ease up on the pressure of the knife. The lads trusted in their skill so much that they didn’t even think it was necessary to relieve me of my utak or my bow. However, the latter didn’t present the slightest threat to them. I wouldn’t have time to draw the string back. But I was happy that they hadn’t touched the Blazgian throwing axe.

  However, it seemed my happiness was premature. Someone’s deft hands slipped under my jacket and a second later I was left unarmed.

  “That’s Marna,” Greybeard explained to me kindly.

  I didn’t know what Marna looked like; she was somewhere behind me, with Freckles. One thing was clear, though—there were three of them.

  We left the market and went out onto Jennet Street. Out of the corner of my eye I observed movement to the right and above us. I raised my head and managed to see something interesting.

  “Jakan.” My companion smiled. “I heard that you’re a good shot, but my friend is quite good, too. He’s there just in case we make a false step.”

  So, now there were four in the team. A Je’arre, an archer. This was really quite bad. The winged one flew from rooftop to rooftop and was ready to shoot me at any moment.

  “Truthfully, Jakan really wants to use you as target practice,” said Greybeard confidentially. “Some friendly advice—don’t give him a reason.”

  “Why such a dislike?” I cast a bored glance at a squad of Guardsmen. As one would expect, they ignored us. And thank Melot that it was so; otherwise I’d already have one foot in the Blessed Gardens.

  “You killed his boyfriend in that forest. So Jakan isn’t your biggest fan.”

  It took me several seconds to figure out what the Giiyan was talking about.

  He meant the forest glade not far from Dog Green and the attack on Layen when she went to collect our money. Besides those monsters who were rotting under the open sky, there had also been a flyer, who stunned my sun. He was the only one who managed to get away.

  “The team he was on then wasn’t distinguished by their experience.”

  “I have no doubt, since you’re still alive.” He winked at me. “They were amateurs. That’s why you beat them.”

  “Why are you working with him?”

  Greybeard sighed sorrowfully. “You have to make sacrifices, buddy. Jakan knew your face. He’s been a great help to us.”

  “How did you find me?”

  “Don’t worry about it. You did everything right, friend. Just the usual bad luck, that’s all,” he comforted me. “Neither I nor my partners have anything against you personally. It’s just a job that will pay out a decent amount of money. Well, you understand.”

  I did understand. But for some reason I wasn’t particularly thrilled that Joch was going to send ten thousand their way for our souls.

  I could feel Freckles’s attentive gaze on my back. Invisible Marna’s skirts were rustling. The winged freak was following me somewhere up above. The fourth man’s knife could punch a nice hole in me at any time, piercing my liver. I could already hear Melot’s servants singing to me near the gates that led into the Blessed Gardens.

  “What are you going to do with the money?” I asked.

  “Buy a house by a lake. I’ll angle for fish and bring my grandkids to visit. I love them very much.”

  Greybeard chatted incessantly. While we were walking, I got to hear his opinion about the weather, the war, gambling, and fishing. He paid special attention to the last topic. Grandpa was an avid fisherman. So avid in fact that I began imagining how I would plant him on a big hook instead of bait and cast him far out into the sea, where perhaps some monster would devour him.

  “We’ve been walking for a long time,” said Freckles.

  Greybeard smiled into his mustache and pressed on the knife a little harder than before. I gritted my teeth so as not to groan.

  “My friend thinks you’re trying to dupe us.”

  “I’m not.”

  “And yet, we’ve been walking for too long. If we haven’t arrived in the next ten minutes, we’re going to have to part ways with you, even though you are a wonderful conversationalist. I don’t really want that.” He clucked his tongue sadly. “What about you?”

  “Me neither.”

  “Don’t let me down, lad. Where to?”

  “On the left,” I said without batting an eyelash.

  When I had left, Layen was sitting at the table near the window. All I could do was hope that she was still busy there, and that she would look out the window by chance. Of course, it was a foolish hope, but I clung to it with all my might. There was nothing else I could do. I even started to walk a little slower, so I could stay in sight for as long as possible, but Greybeard noticed this and without lengthy consideration, he gently poked the knife into my side.

  “Thinking about something?”

  “Yeah. My last request.”

  “Sorry, we don’t fulfill those,” he said sympathetically. “Speed up.”

  And then it dawned on me!

  You stupid ass! You should have thought of this earlier! I could speak to Layen! I could, but over the past month I’d gotten used to her being silent. Only a few days ago, in the secret refu
ge of the Sculptor, she’d tried to say a few words and had almost succeeded. I remembered what she said, about how her Gift was coming back to her every day. It was very possible that my sun now had enough power to hear me.

  Layen! I called. Layen!

  For an entire, infinitely long second nothing happened, and then a warm wave ran along my spine.

  Ness?

  Afraid that her ability would run out at any second, I babbled, Look out the window! Carefully!

  The curtain stirred faintly on the third floor.

  I understand. Her words came to me, and then she was gone from my head.

  I felt relief sweep over me. Now Layen was warned, and whatever happened to me, she wouldn’t be so easy to take.

  “Here?” Greybeard glanced quickly at the inn.

  “Yes.” I nodded.

  “Security?”

  “I didn’t notice any.”

  It wasn’t clear if he believed me or not.

  “Are there any guests?”

  “Yes.”

  “But I don’t think there are very many.” He chuckled. “You picked out an expensive little nest. We’re in luck. Change places with me.”

  Freckles pressed a blade to me, giving his partner the chance to withdraw. They did it very deftly. They’d clearly practiced it out more than once.

  “I’ll take a look,” said Greybeard. “Marna, stay.”

  He walked into the inn. The Je’arre was sitting on a nearby building. Noticing that I was looking at him, he grinned wickedly. I shifted my glance to the woman who was standing next to the Giiyan. They were obviously relatives—she was just as short, blond, and freckled. A large bag was hanging over her shoulder.

  “What are you looking at?” she asked sullenly.

  “What have you got there?” I nodded at the bag.

  “You’ll find out soon enough,” the woman promised.

  Greybeard returned.

  “It’s clear. Listen to me, lad. You’re doing everything right. Our agreement remains valid. If you keep your word, we’ll keep ours. Where do we go?”

  “The third floor.”