Alexey Pehov - Chasers of the Wind

We were intending to leave the city, but not in the way the client had planned. There was far too great a chance that he or she would decide to kill off the people who had done the dirty work. Layen had come up with her own plan and was now prepared to put it into motion. Only she and I knew where we were going after the task. For everyone else, Gray and Weasel would just disappear. They would die.

I rested the arrow on the bowstring and did not take my eyes away from the snow-covered street. Twilight. The idiot lamplighters are late again. Damn it! I need light right now!

The wind’s still moving to the northwest. Half a finger. After a minute it will change to the north.

I’ll keep that in mind.

Good luck. There they are!

And then I saw them. A group of people walking quickly toward Sacrum Square. In the front were two Guardsmen, followed by a woman. Then two more people behind her. The procession was tailed by a pair of soldiers.

The tip of the arrow suddenly gleamed with a purple light. I almost dropped it.

Layen! The arrow is glowing!

Don’t worry. It senses the spark of the target. One hundred and five yards.

Don’t worry? If they got it into their heads to look over in my direction I could forget about luck.

Which one of them? The first one?

Ninety-five yards. No. The second to the left.

Are you sure?

Yes. Listen to me. The one in the sable coat. Ninety. As soon as I say….

I watched the small female form in the sable coat. They were approaching the minimum distance but I didn’t shoot. It was a bad angle. After a moment the second woman obstructed my view of the victim.

Ninety-five… one hundred… one hundred and five…

She was walking farther and farther away from me. Another twenty seconds and the nearby house would block my view.

To the north. A quarter of a finger. A wagon is coming toward you. It will hide the target in eight seconds. Wait. One hundred and ten.

I watched her back as it withdrew. But I fully trusted Layen’s instincts. There was the wagon. A moment and it was gone.

One hundred and fifteen…. Now!

Years of training took hold. I acted without thinking. I raised the bow up, drew explosively (a shot from a powerful bow generally has to be made without a long pause while holding the string taut and aiming. Because of the great force of the tension the shot proceeds like a so-called explosion since both hands jerk away from each other) and shot.

Twang!

I immediately jumped back from the window to the wall, having noticed that the arrow darting toward its target was leaving behind a purple trail.

Layen acted simultaneously with me. Of course, I didn’t feel anything but I knew that the protection of the unsuspecting Embers had been crushed.

Thwack!

For a moment the street was illuminated with the purple light. The arrow had found its target.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

The din from outside made it clear that the Embers had recovered and were striking out at random. Layen was quiet, fearing that now the sorceresses might be able to hear our silent communication. I hoped with all my heart that my sun had already fled.

I dropped the bow and, slipping off my gloves as I ran, fled from the attic. I descended to the second floor by way of a rickety ladder. I opened a door and entered the room I had rented out earlier, where I changed quickly into an apprentice baker’s smock that was lying on top of a loaf of fresh bread. I did not neglect to rub my clothes and hands with flour.

As I walked, I bit off a chunk of bread and, chewing, opened the window that led out onto the backyard. Having measured off the distance, I leaped onto the shed. From there I dropped down into a snowbank. I stood up and looked around.

The yard was empty. I ran up to the low fence, easily hopped over it, and passed through a breezeway that emerged into a narrow alley. And then, without any undue haste, I strolled away. I could hear shouts, muffled by the distance, coming from Rukovits.

From my spot all I could see was the looming bell tower. Or more precisely, what remained of it. The Embers had gone berserk and, without pausing to think, were focusing their magics along the upper floors of the nearest buildings, hoping to wound the assassin.

Well then. It’s a good thing I made my nest in a less noticeable spot, otherwise I would have been flattened. By the time they understood the what and the how, Layen and I would be far away, and our alleged corpses would be found burnt to a crisp in the old hideout of Jola and Ktatak. I hope my friends will forgive us for burning up one of their storehouses.

I left the scene with brisk strides.

“I’ll get ready,” Layen sighed, and stood up from the steps.

I shook my head, banishing the recollections. Seven years have gone by, but I remember it as if it were yesterday.

“Yes. You’re right. We’d best ditch the village by tomorrow evening. I won’t be able to pick up the money.”

“I’ll fetch it. But I’ll do it tomorrow.”

“Alone? Are you sure you’ll manage?”

“Quite sure. Will we tell Whip?”

Whip was not a bad man, but it would not do to stay too close to him.

“No.”

I frowned. I really didn’t like the idea of her going into the forest alone. But only she could get at the money. That was the truth.

“And if he figures it out and decides to keep us company?”

I considered the alternatives and declared, “It would be better for him if he didn’t find out.”

Layen smiled tightly and went back inside the house.

Ga-Nor leaned toward his captain’s ear and softly whispered, “I don’t like this.”

The shaggy-haired Da-Tur said nothing in reply. Ta-Ana answered for him, “The whole time we’ve been cooling our heels here, not a single one of those six men has budged. They sure sleep soundly!”

The Children of the Snow Leopard (one of the clans of the northern part of the Empire) were crouched on a low rocky ledge. Below them a small fire was burning, around which lay their adversaries, bundled up in tattered blankets. The cautious highlanders usually set a watch, but this time they hadn’t. And this fact did not sit well with the squad’s tracker. One might have thought that Ga-Nor had overlooked an ambush, but the captain of the redheaded soldiers would sooner chop off his own hand than believe that his blood brother could have missed a warning sign.

The uncertainty was throwing him off balance. Da-Tur thought yet again that their reconnaissance mission was cursed. The northerners who served at the Gates of the Six Towers knew the gorges and trails of the Boxwood Mountains like the backs of their own hands. They were the best scouts in the Empire. No enemy patrol could possibly slip through the mountain passes unobserved while the Children of the Snow Leopard watched over them.

When Da-Tur’s ten had left the Gates of Six Towers, they hadn’t thought they would encounter any trouble. Everything had been quiet as the squad descended into the valley beyond the primary ridge. But every settlement, every square inch of land had been swarming with Nabatorian soldiers. And then Ta-Ana had noticed the white robe of a Sdisian in their midst. The scouts returned back the way they had come without hesitation. They had to report what they had seen to the commander of the Gates as soon as possible.

On the return trip, in one of the gloomy ravines, they had been attacked by a mountain gove. They had acted foolishly. They should have bypassed the old watchtower that had been abandoned by the Empire’s soldiers back during the War of the Necromancers (fought over five hundred years before the events described here, after the Dark Revolt of the Damned. After the war the Empire gave up the lands that lay beyond the Gates of Six Towers and, having retreated across the mountain range, began a war with the Highborn for the forests of Uloron and Sandon). But the northerners were in a hurry, so they decided to cut their journey short and they did not take the detour. And so it was that they chanced upon the ravenous creature, which had just emerged from its summer hibernation. Only three of them survived: Da-Tur, Ga-Nor, and Ta-Ana. Seven Children of the Snow Leopard remained forever in that narrow gorge.