Alexey Pehov - Chasers of the Wind

“Hey!” he yelled with all his strength. “Hey! I’m here! Down here!”

At first no one answered. But then he saw a person looking down at him from above. Drawn by his cries, the stranger had lain down on the edge of the trail, peering down into the precipice. Ga-Nor wanted to shout yet again, this time from joy, but then he examined the stranger more closely and the shout stuck in his throat. He knew that face. Neither dirt nor blood could change it. The sharp jaw, the shaggy red hair, the scar on his brow. Da-Tur. But his upper lip was twisted into an evil grimace, baring his straight white teeth, and his eyes… his eyes were green.

The creature who had been his blood brother stared at him unflinchingly. Without taking his gaze from the corpse, the northerner reached for his dagger and this served as a signal. The corpse, bristling with the enchantment of the Sdisian, pounced on Ga-Nor. Splaying his arms and legs like a spider he fell to the spot where the soldier had just been.

The sound the body made as it met the ledge caused the Son of the Snow Leopard, who was long accustomed to both death and blood, to shiver violently. It seemed like the crunch of the bones could be heard even in the Golden Mark. Despite the broken ribs protruding through both flesh and clothes, the shattered arms and the right leg that was sticking out of its socket at an unnatural angle, the dead man tried to get up.

Ga-Nor did not hesitate. Pulling out his dagger he slipped behind the creation of the Sdisian sorcerer and grabbed hold of its bloodstained red mane, pulling the head of the dead man back and cutting open its neck with one swift motion. The weapon made a vile sound as it scraped across the creature’s vertebrae. The tracker stopped only when the green light faded from Da-Tur’s eyes.

Breathing heavily, he took his prize—a broad dagger—from the twice-dead body and with his foot he pushed the corpse over the precipice. Ga-Nor was not going to risk having that thing next to him. The Son of the Snow Leopard did not feel any regret over his actions. Da-Tur was long dead, his soul in Ug’s halls, and the thing that remained in this world was only a shell subject to the Sdisian’s whims.

The sun had almost reached the mountain peak and long shadows were covering the valley below. Ga-Nor quickly began his climb.

It was all much simpler than he had expected; the northerner easily found holds with the help of the daggers. He saw a crack, drove the dagger into it, pulled himself up by one arm, planted the second knife just a bit higher, and pulled himself up again. Over and over again. The Son of the Snow Leopard had no fear of heights and he was slowly but surely coming closer to the edge that would be his salvation. When no more than two yards remained until he reached it, the tracker paused and allowed himself a short rest. The top part of the cliff was far more difficult than all that had come before. The cracks were smaller. And the wind had picked up, too, threatening to blow him into the chasm.

Ga-Nor reached the very top just as darkness fell. Recalling Da-Tur’s fate he cautiously raised his head over the edge. Allowing his eyes to get accustomed to the darkness, he studied the area thoroughly. No one there. Wheezing in relief, he rolled over the edge and immediately sprung to his feet, menacingly clutching a dagger in each hand.

There were neither corpses nor Sdisian sorcerers. It was empty. Quiet. Ta-Ana’s body was nowhere to be found. That caused his hackles to rise. The tracker peered intently into the darkness, prepared to do battle, but no one attacked him. Whatever had become of the archer, she wasn’t here.

Ga-Nor saw Da-Tur’s sword lying right there on the trail. He picked it up and set off at a brisk pace for the pass, looking around constantly. The Son of the Snow Leopard had not yet given up hope of reaching the Towers and warning the commander. Perhaps it was not too late.

Before the War of the Necromancers the lands of the Empire stretched into Nabator itself and did not end at the Boxwood Mountains. All of what was now called the Borderlands had been part of the Empire. Cities and villages grew up in the valleys through which the trade routes wended their way. But everyday life shattered when the Damned appeared. From that point onward, these lands were abandoned by the Empire. Their dark fame spread too wide. Only the highlanders dared to live in the cheerless, cold valleys.

The people left, but the cities like Gerka remained. Eight of the Spires, watchtowers built by the Sculptor himself, were also abandoned. Only the ninth, dubbed the Alert Tower, was still used by the armies of the Empire. The ancient books tell that the Sculptor carved out these towers at the same time he created the legendary Gates. Soaring upward of sixty yards in height, constructed of black stone, with a multitude of arrow loops, they had stood for a thousand years.

From the outside you would never be able to tell that the last Spire in use had experienced many wars over the years. It looked exactly as it had the day its construction was finished. It seemed fragile and lovely, as if the Sculptor had not been a human, but a Je’arre. Some people said that the legendary master took a flow of mountain air into his hands and fashioned it into this shape of celestial beauty. And then he turned that air into stone.

In the stories told to us by our elders, it was said that until the War of the Necromancers, the watchmen in the towers could easily converse with their colleagues who were located in the other eight Spires. Perhaps there was an element of truth in these stories, but at the present time they seemed like fairy tales.

There were similar whispers that there was a vault under the tower, sealed nowadays, where the Paths of Petals slumber. Through them, a soldier could instantly travel to the Spire that required his assistance. But this too became legend long ago. The Walkers can no longer control the Petals.

The Sculptor built the Alert Tower not far from the road that led to two passes. Ga-Nor reached it at midday. From a distance, the tracker could see that there were dozens of vultures circling over the cliffs beyond which the Alert Tower was located. The Son of the Snow Leopard stopped and frowned. To an attentive man, such a congregation of scavengers spoke volumes.

The reality confirmed his worst fears. A gallows had been constructed in front of the Spire, and three dead men in the uniform of Imperial soldiers were dangling from it. All the rest were scattered below the walls; they hadn’t even found the time to bury them. Replete with the meat of the fresh corpses, the vultures were shrieking nastily at one another, fighting over the tastiest morsels.

The tower had new masters.

Nabatorians.

Ga-Nor hid behind some rocks and studied his enemies. What had happened was beyond his comprehension. Apparently a detachment of enemy troops had slipped through the pass and slaughtered the watchmen. The last part didn’t really surprise Ga-Nor. In former times, two hundred of the most select soldiers had served here, but recently the commander of the Gates had been sending about twenty. And sometimes not even that many.

The long years of peace had given them the impression of security. And as usual, it was a false impression.

And now it had come to a head. The watchmen had been caught unawares. They hadn’t even managed to raise the alarm. Twenty soldiers had no chance whatsoever against a hundred well-trained black-haired warriors.

The Nabatorians were making themselves at home and had already begun to settle into the Spire. That could only mean one thing—they weren’t expecting any danger from the direction of the Gates. What had happened to the fortress?

Ga-Nor stopped losing himself in speculation when cavalry appeared on the southern road. The northerner began to count, but he gave up at six hundred. A large squadron of pikemen and crossbowmen passed by next. Apparently, an entire army was gathering beneath the walls of the citadel. Ga-Nor wondered what the King of Nabator was expecting. The Gates were not so easy to take.