Alexey Pehov - Chasers of the Wind

“Interesting,” muttered the stranger as he pensively stroked his staff with his fingers. “Do you know where this woman lives?”

“Yeah. Here. Not too far.”

“Will you show me the way?”

Pork nodded in agreement and then hiccupped in surprise. It seemed to the half-wit that the skull on the staff was grinning at him.

We couldn’t leave Dog Green the day that Mols’s foursome waltzed into my home. The Nabatorians, for all their amiability, vigilantly guarded the ways out of the village. The nocturnal attempt undertaken by Layen and me to escape into the forest nearly ended in disaster. Two ambushes, plus the frequency of patrols, plus the watchers on the towers and the fields lit with bonfires put a wrench in our plans. We had to return. We ran into Whip in the yard. He was not in the least surprised by the return of his hosts, armed and geared up for travel. He only chuckled meaningfully, took a bite out of his turnip, and, without saying a word, headed for the section of the house allocated to our guests, all the while whistling a soft tune.

Throughout the following days I was sullen and mean. And only Layen, who had long since gotten used to such fits of petulancy, could calm me. I felt like a wolf ready to snap at anyone who got in his way. Idleness threw me off balance. Beyond all that, I had a sense of impending disaster and it made me feel like an animal caught in a snare.

Whip tried not to get under our feet too much. The others also conducted themselves more quietly than the water under the grass. Even Shen and Midge stopped squabbling, though that was all they did the first evening. Now they had concluded a sort of temporary truce—they were ignoring each other’s presence. Our guests saw us twice each day, at lunch and at dinner. We all kept our silence, quickly ate the proffered food, and then retired. And Midge, despite his grumbling, took it upon himself to fill the huge barrel by the shed with water from the well. But no one really objected to his taking the initiative.

A week after the arrival of the Nabatorians, Whip decided to have a little talk with us. “We’re leaving in a couple of days.”

At that moment I was morosely dragging my spoon through my soup and I asked mockingly, “You planning on prepping in the meantime?”

“Yes. I need to clarify the patrol routes and the shift changes.”

“I can tell you that right now.”

“Then what’s stopping you?”

“The desire to live a long and happy life.”

“I see,” he muttered and then fell into thought for a long time. Eventually, and for some reason looking at Midge while he did so, he asked, “There’s no chance?”

“Well, there’s always a chance.” My tone was still derisive. “But you won’t get out quietly. That I guarantee. But fighting your way through isn’t very sensible. Not right now, at any rate.”

“Why can’t you just go through the forest?” wondered Shen.

“And what then? The only road to Al’sgara is here. It’s forest for leagues around. And beyond that there are swamps. The Blazogs have tried to dam it, but you can’t get through. The only feasible path is the highway. And they are watching it.”

“And yet we’ll risk it. Staying here any longer is too dangerous.”

“As you wish,” I said, shrugging my shoulders apathetically.

“Are you afraid?” Shen asked tauntingly. Whip hissed at him in warning, but the healer didn’t bat an eye.

Contrary to the expectations of all those present, I did not get angry and just said lazily, “I’ll tell you what, kid. On the day I fall for such an idiotic trick, you can demand a hundred sorens from me. If, of course, you don’t lose courage.”

Midge brayed with delight that his antagonist had been so readily handled. He slapped his hand on the table. But before Shen had time to come up with a scathing rejoinder, he was interrupted.

“Damn…. We have a guest!” warned Bamut, who had been sitting by the window all this time, carving a silly little man from a wooden block.

Seeing who was entering the courtyard, Layen’s face went whiter than the stranger’s cloak and she swore obscenely.

“Nobody move. Be calm,” I said, picking up a hatchet from under the table.

“He’s alone,” marveled Midge.

“Midge, stay quiet! I have no desire to scrape your intestines off my ceiling. Whip, put a muzzle on him. And on that milksop, too.”

Shen didn’t get offended at the term “milksop;” more than that, it seemed that he didn’t even hear it. He was just as pale as my sun. Midge changed his tune slightly and asked in a plaintive tone, “Will somebody tell me who this guy is?”

“Just stay quiet, okay?” Even the perpetually composed Bamut was starting to get nervous. “We can leave out the back.”

“What’s the point? He’ll still sniff us out,” said Whip with hopeless anguish. “The bastard pinned us down! We’ve really stepped in it now! What does he want here?”

“We’re about to find out.” Layen flicked away a strand of blond hair that had fallen in her eyes and went out to meet the necromancer.

They watched each other for a second. Layen hoped that she looked sufficiently frightened.

The necromancer was young. No more than twenty-five. But judging by his staff, he was a master of the Fourth Sphere (after they have graduated from the Sdisian magical academy, competent mages enter into the Spheres of Mastery. The highest Sphere is the Eighth). For such an age, that was exceedingly high. That means that the boy is talented, obviously. Layen tried to choose her actions wisely, knowing that the most important thing was that she not overact her role. And he’s undoubtedly intelligent. He could cause us a lot of problems. How unfortunate that he came! What if this sorcerer is also a Seeker (bearers of the Gift who are able to detect the spark in other people) ? Did he catch the scent of my Gift?

She bowed quickly, hiding her eyes so that the White would not read anything in them. Quickly, swallowing her words, she began to chatter, “What brings such a fine gentleman to our home? Do you wish to place an order? Please don’t worry, good sir, everything will be made to your specifications, whatever you like. Just ask anyone, they’ll tell you the best carpenter in the village lives here. Why, just last year, at the fair, the one they put on at El’nichi Ford, there—”

“Be silent,” the visitor interrupted her calmly. He’d obviously lost all interest in her. Now he was looking around the yard searchingly. “I was told that Ann and Pars the carpenter live here.”

Layen’s heart beat painfully.

“You were shown the right path, good sir,” she replied obsequiously, privately wishing that she could disembowel the damned chatterbox who led him here. “That’s us.”

“I want to see them. Urgently.”

“I’m Ann. My husband’s in the house.”

Tenacious brown eyes searched her face. Thick, black eyebrows crawled upward in surprise. Suddenly the necromancer chuckled. “Either you’ve been deceiving me, or you’re smarter than you seem.”

Layen tried to maintain her subservient countenance. She decided not to look at the Sdisian any longer. She was afraid her eyes would give her away.

“Lead me inside!” he said sharply, not waiting for an answer.

“Please, please,” she said in a rush. “I invite you in, good sir. We always welcome guests to our table.”

The necromancer entered the house and saw the five men. He snorted.

“You have quite a lot of husbands.”

“I’m her husband,” I responded calmly as I got up from the table. “And these are our kinsmen. Come in, have a seat.”