Alexey Pehov - Chasers of the Wind

My sun opened her eyes.

“Shhh. They’re dead. I got here in time.”

What are they doing here?

They followed me. I wasn’t really in a state of mind to worry about a tail.

I’m too weak. I can only deal with one of them right now.

I saw the magical storm gathering in her dark blue eyes and said quickly, Stop! There’s no point. It seems that for today we can go our separate ways peacefully. “How do you feel?”

“My head is splitting,” she said, carefully prodding at the bump on her temple. She frowned.

“Can you walk?”

“There’s no need,” said Whip as he walked toward us. “Midge went for the horses. Is there a path to the village?”

“There is. Beyond that copse.”

“We’ll get you there. I had a word with the half-wit. He claims that there were more attackers than the corpses we have here. He doesn’t know how to count, but judging from the horses there were seven. And one had wings like a bird.”

“Yes. A Je’arre, damn him!” cursed Layen as she got to her feet with my help. “I didn’t expect him. He crept up on me from behind. It’s a good thing he didn’t kill me.”

“I wonder where he could be?” said Shen, transferring his attention to the surrounding trees.

Bamut got his crossbow at the ready.

“Calm down. You won’t catch him now. The little birdie vanished. Hey, friend! Stop crying. Go on then. Yes, yes. You! Go blow your nose at your cows!”

Pork didn’t need to be told twice. He hopped up and, forgetting about his gingerbread, which was scattered all over the grass, he fled into the forest. There you go. Now he’d go spread gossip about what had happened here around the entire village.

“Oho! What’s this?”

Shen peered into the belly of the cleft oak and then fished a pack out of it.

“It’s heavy.”

Without saying a word, I reached out my hand for his discovery. The lad was taken aback at my impudence, and he was about to object, but then he saw the threat in my eyes and gave it back.

“Is that yours?” inquired Whip.

“It’s ours,” I replied in an even voice.

They didn’t ask any more questions.

Rek died quietly. Luk missed the moment when it happened. He had fallen into an uneasy slumber and when he woke up the wounded man was already in the Blessed Gardens. His friend’s dumb luck had finally come to an end, but before then he’d managed the impossible—he and Luk had escaped from the Gates. He’d had to carry Rek on his back for part of the way; the man had lost too much blood. Then the guard had gone into the forest—the road was dangerous and they needed to wait a couple of days until everything quieted down. A deserted silver mine was located in the foothills not far from the citadel. There were scores of them in the area. In former times, silver for Imperial sols had been extracted here, but the veins had run dry and so the place had fallen into disrepair. Luk doubted he could find a better place for a temporary shelter. It was unlikely that the Nabatorian soldiers would bother to check a mine that had been abandoned more than eighty years ago.

Now he needed to go up. He fumbled for his axe and picked up his lantern but didn’t light it. He made his way by touch until the low ceiling forced him to crawl on his knees. Only then did Luk decide to expend the oil. The light that came from the lantern was meager, and he couldn’t even make out what was one and a half piss-poor yards in front of him. He crawled on all fours along the damp ground, cursing his own caution. He shouldn’t have gone in so far. He could very well have stopped by the entrance. No one would search for them here. When he was finally able to stand up to his full height, the guard breathed a sigh of relief. Walking was easier now. After some time he felt a weak gust of wind on his face and he knew that the exit was only a stone’s throw away. Passing by the fork that led to the lower mines, he scrambled over a pile of processed material and saw a weak light in the distance.

Doubts began to torment him once again. Suddenly the world outside seemed dangerous. Hastily dampening down his lantern, he walked forward slowly, constantly stopping and straining his ears. At one point he seemed to hear footsteps, and he practically jumped out of his own trousers, but there wasn’t a single sound in the mines other than his own labored breathing.

When he was about twenty yards away from the exit, Luk heard a gentle rustle and once again became frightened. But then he realized that it was only the rain. The guard smiled in relief and hung the lantern on a brace, the one from which he’d taken it when he’d gone below.

The rain was unexpectedly intense. Night was falling. The world was enveloped in a web of gray shadows. The wet earth smelled strongly of leaves and something rotten. Opposite the mine shaft, no farther than ten yards away, a thin man dressed in rags was standing with his back to the former guard of the Gates. The rain, which had thoroughly drenched his tatters of clothing and sparse hair, did not seem to bother this strange person in the slightest.

Holding his breath, Luk examined the stranger. The famished-looking man held himself stiffly and didn’t have any weapons on him. He didn’t seem dangerous. Although, the Damned also seemed like peaceful little lambs until the time came. The memory of Rubeola made Luk tighten his grip on his axe. Melot only knew what to expect from the stranger.

“Screw a toad,” muttered the soldier, and then he spat angrily. “He’s standing right in my way. Why couldn’t he enjoy the rain in a different place?”

Luk was starting to get very angry. Both at the stranger and at himself. His own caution, or more precisely his cowardice, infuriated him beyond belief. He had an axe. He was at least twice as strong. But he was still standing in the same spot as three minutes ago. Spitting once more on the rocky ground, the guard came to a decision. He stepped out into the rain and, gathering a bit more air into his lungs, he shouted, “Hey, you!”

The man turned around and Luk’s mouth instantly went dry. He saw the pale, so pale it seemed blue, face of the stranger; he saw the sunken-in nose, the black lips caked with blood, and the eyes burning with an emerald fire.

After his frantic flight, Ga-Nor pulled in the reins and jumped from his horse. Sooner or later the horse would get tired. The road was dangerous, and pursuit would certainly be sent from the Gates. The tracker was under no illusion what would happen then. One against many—he wouldn’t be spared. So he had to leave the road as soon as possible and disappear in the forests of the foothills. And then afterward perhaps he would head home, to the north.

The horse, its ears lowered, stood meekly in the driving rain. He pitied the animal, but there was nothing he could do. Ga-Nor took out his dagger, pricked the horse in its rump, shouted loudly, and quickly jumped to the side. The animal whinnied from pain and galloped away at full speed. The Son of the Snow Leopard watched it leave and then began the arduous climb up the rain-washed slope of a small hill. Above him grew a thick spruce forest—an excellent place for someone who wanted to disappear. Clenching his teeth stubbornly, the northerner continued crawling up the slippery slope.

Finally he reached the trees. When he was hidden beneath their bristly boughs, he stopped to take a breath. The road lay below him, but despite the rain and the imminent twilight, he could see it quite well from his hiding place—a narrow ribbon that curled between the low hills not far from a swift river, which was now brown from the driving rain.

About five minutes later a group of pursuers shot out from around a bend—a score of angry Nabatorians, whipping their horses into a lather. They rushed past, not even glancing toward the spot where the tracker had hidden himself. Ga-Nor hoped that the sons of snow maggots would not find his horse anytime soon, but when they did, just let them try and guess where he decided to get off to go on foot.