Алексей Пехов: Shadow Blizzard

“What? Why, may I be—”

“That is an order, soldier! Dance!” said the captain of the guard in a voice with a steely ring to it.

“Dance, my friend,” said Deler, putting a reassuring hand on the gnome’s shoulder. “It’s only a dance for a flinny, after all. Imagine you’re dancing for me.”

That settled the matter. The gnome snorted disdainfully. “A gnome dancing for a dwarf! I’d rather dance for a flinny.”

And he did dance. It looked like some kind of gnomish military dance. At least, Hallas performed it with his battle-mattock in his hands, and it resembled a fight more than a dance of celebration. The Golden Forest had probably never seen a performance like it before. Lamplighter played along, helping the gnome out with his whistle. Kli-Kli clapped his hands merrily. Deler almost burst his sides laughing.

“That’s all!” the panting gnome declared.

“You gnomes dance even worse than you cook,” the flinny declared.

Deler managed to grab Hallas by the arm just in time and drag him out of harm’s way.

“Now, how about the news?” said Miralissa, trying to be polite despite everything.

“News. People have been seen in the Golden Forest. They are two days ahead of you. More than twenty men. All armed. One woman. I saw no crests on their clothing.”

“Which way were they headed?”

“They were moving toward the Red Spinney. Two days ago it was still calm there.”

“I’d wager my soul that’s Balistan Pargaid and his men,” Milord Alistan said with a frown.

“And Lafresa. They’ll be at the entrance a lot sooner than us,” Kli-Kli sniffed.

“After their blunder with the Key, do you think they’ve decided to arrange an ambush for us at the entrance?”

“Perhaps, Harold, or perhaps not.” There was an anxious glint in the elfess’s eyes. “They might take the risk of trying to grab the tastiest morsel of all.”

“The Horn?”

“Yes. If you tell anyone about our conversation, I shall find you,” the elfess said, turning to the flinny.

“I understand that it is best not to interfere in elves’ secrets. I shall be as silent as the grave,” the flinny muttered discontentedly.

“Were any of the men wounded?” I asked him.

“One of them was missing his left hand.”

“It’s them.”

Well, if his hand was missing, it was definitely Paleface. That rat had been hunting me for ages, and during his last attempt to dispatch me into the light, Hallas had cut off his left hand. Paleface worked for Influential, or Player, as the Master’s servants called him. Player was some bigwig in Avendoom and it was thanks to his loving care and attention that I had almost lost my life. And for the time being Paleface was a member of Balistan Pargaid’s retinue.

Count Balistan Pargaid, for those who don’t know him, was a servant of the Master, and it was from his house in Ranneng that I stole the Key that we hoped to use to reach the very heart of Hrad Spein. Lafresa was supposed to deliver the Key to the Master in person, but I stole the Key, and then Balistan Pargaid and Lafresa set off after us in hot pursuit.

So far we had somehow managed to get the better of them, and not even a trial by combat had done them any good. Mumr had carved up his lordship’s prize warrior, and then everything had suddenly gone quiet. Balistan Pargaid and his retinue had disappeared. We had been wondering where he could have gotten to. Lafresa had already disappeared sometime during the trial by combat, and now it seemed likely that she had set out for Hrad Spein, and the count had caught up with her along the way. It was clear enough why Lafresa wasn’t afraid of entering Zagraba—she hoped that her shamanic skills would keep her safe. And she had no other choice anyway: The artifact had been lost, and the Messenger, who had instructed her to deliver the Key, would be very upset, not to mention the Master himself.

“What is the second piece of news?” Egrassa asked, looking at the flinny.

“The price of the second piece of news is a pinch of sugar.”

“We don’t have any sugar,” Hallas said spitefully. “We’re not confectioners, you know. Maybe I should do another dance for you?”

The gnome’s words sounded like a challenge.

“Oh, no! My heart couldn’t stand another spectacle like that! What do you have instead?”

We looked at each other. Darkness only knew what might interest this dealer in news.

“I have a sweet!” Kli-Kli suddenly announced.

“Show me it,” said Aarroo, leaning forward.

Kli-Kli hastily rummaged through the many pockets of his outfit and took out a battered-looking sweet, still wrapped in its bright golden paper. He must have been saving it since Avendoom.

The flinny studied it closely and then, with a bored expression on his face, as if he was doing us a humongous favor, declared, “Garbage, of course, but it’ll do. Throw it on the ground.”

I thought it was all an act, and the flinny actually liked the sweet. He lowered his dragoatfly right onto the sweet and started tying it to the belly of his mount.

“News. A man has been seen in the Golden Forest. Wearing a gray cloak, his face was not visible. Armed with a spear. Walking quickly, almost without stopping at all. Four hours’ flying away from you. Coming straight here. Seems like the Golden Forest has been smeared with honey; I haven’t seen so many outsiders in a long time. Ah, yes! I advise you not to interfere with him—the forest spirits say he’s a warrior.”

“We’re not exactly cobblers,” Deler protested.

“When the forest spirits say that someone’s a warrior, we usually take notice, but that’s up to you. The price of the third piece of news is the ring of that beanpole over there with the long mustache,” said the flinny, with a nod toward Alistan Markauz.

“Which one?” the count asked.

“Well, certainly not the silver one with your crest,” the little extortionist quipped. “You people are too sensitive about those little family knickknacks. It’s stupid to ask for them—you won’t give them up anyway. I like that one, with the red ruby.”

Alistan took the ring off his finger without the slightest objection and put it on the ground. The flinny smiled contentedly and the ring joined the sweet under his dragoatfly’s belly.

“Is your news worth it?” I asked.

“That’s for you to decide, not me. News. There are orcs nearby.”

“Where?” asked Egrassa, reaching for his bow.

“In the ruins of the city of Chu. Six of them. Ordinary scouts. They’re not waiting for you. They’ll stay there for another five days.”

“How do you know that?”

“I heard,” the flinny said with a grin. “One of them fell into a trap and broke his leg, and now he’s delirious, so only five of them are fit to fight. You can finish them off, or you can just avoid them.”

“We shall take note of your information. Is that all?”

“Yes. There is no more news, good-bye.”

The dragoatfly hummed as it rose up into the air and flew off toward the forest with its belly touching the tops of the daisies. The little beast was well loaded, and I was surprised it could get off the ground at all carrying that weight.

“Flinnies are very fond of all sorts of rings,” Kli-Kli enlightened me.

“I’ll remember that.”

“Rotten skunk!” Hallas exclaimed, watching with anger in his eyes as the flinny flew away.

“What can you expect from a flinny?” Kli-Kli asked with mock surprise. “They earn their living by peddling the news.”

“So won’t he sell us to that group of orcs? I think the Firstborn could find something to pay for information on our whereabouts. I don’t trust those little runts.”