Алексей Пехов - Shadow Chaser

“I beg your pardon, Lady Miralissa,” Eel drawled, speaking for the first time. “Just recently the lads and I heard you talk about this mysterious Master. Could you tell us a little more about him? We feel like blind kittens—we don’t even know which direction danger might strike from.”

“I think Harold can tell you more than I can.”

The Wild Hearts all turned to look at me.

“Mumr, pour me some beer,” I said to Lamplighter. “This is going to be a long story.”

“Well, I’ve already heard it, so I’ll be off to bed,” Kli-Kli said with a yawn.

“I’ll hit the hay, too,” said the gnome. “Just tell me tomorrow, that is, today, where this Master’s head is, and I’ll give it a tap with my mattock, so he won’t bother us anymore.”

“You’re a great hero,” Deler snorted.

“Sure, not like certain dwarves who wear stupid hats on their empty heads,” said the gnome, and walked out before Deler could come up with a worthy reply.

I had a potbellied mug of beer in front of me, and I began my story.…

“Mmm, yes…,” Deler grunted when he had heard me out. “This is an interesting business we’ve got involved in, right, Uncle?”

“Don’t whine,” the sergeant told the dwarf. “You knew what you were getting into when you left the Lonely Giant with us.”

“I did,” Deler agreed with a nod. “We’ve seen worse in our time. Survived ogres in snows of the Desolate Lands, went hungry for weeks at a time, walked all the way to the emerald green Needles of Ice. We won’t retreat now just because of some creep.”

“No, we won’t, dwarf,” Alistan declared quietly. “We have nowhere left to retreat to. There’s a good chance that the Key will leave the mansion before the night’s over. Are there any volunteers?”

“I’ll catch up on my sleep in the morning,” said Marmot, taking Invincible off his shoulder and handing him to me. “Take care of him. I’m with you, Honeycomb.”

“Wait, I’ll take a stroll with you,” said Egrassa, getting up from the table. He took his s’kash and walked out of the tavern with the two Wild Hearts.

“Mmm,” Deler drawled thoughtfully. “Am I imagining things, or did Tresh Egrassa really take a sword with him?”

“The law of Ranneng does not apply to elves, Deler,” Miralissa said with a smile. “We can carry weapons wherever we wish.”

The dwarf grunted in disappointment and muttered to himself, but not loudly enough for Miralissa to hear: “If you’ve got long pointy teeth you can carry a ballista around if you like, but they won’t let an honest dwarf take his own ax into town.”

I picked up the dozing ling and went off to bed.

The next morning I was woken by Invincible’s shrill, furious squealing. At first I was too sleepy to understand what was going on, but as usual divine enlightenment struck me out of the blue. The answer was very simple—I could hear Invincible squealing because a certain little green stinker had decided to annoy the formidable little mouse.

“Ai! He bit me! I swear by the great insane shaman Tre-Tre, the little rat bit me!” the goblin roared.

“You only got what you deserve. And when Marmot finds out you’ve been teasing his little friend he’ll tear your head off.”

“You’re a fool, Harold,” said Kli-Kli, licking his terrible wound.

“Oh, no. I beg your pardon,” I said, getting up off the bed. “You’re the fool here, not me.”

“True, I am a fool,” Kli-Kli agreed amiably. “But then, I’m wise, too. And you’re just a fool.”

“And how did you get to be so wise?” asked Lamplighter, who was listening to our conversation.

“What do you mean?” I snorted as I put on my shirt. “He was dropped on his head as a child, and ever since then he thinks he’s a wise fool.”

“Maybe I am only a wise fool, but you, Harold, are a genuine fool. And you know why? Because a wise man knows he’s a fool, and that makes him a wise fool. But people like you, who think they’re the cleverest and wisest of all, don’t even realize what absolute fools they really are.”

“What wonderful reasoning,” I remarked, feeling slightly confused. “Did you ever think of becoming a professor of philosophy at the university?”

“Oh, what big words we know,” said the little goblin, who found this exchange very amusing. “Phi-lo-so-phy! It must have taken ten years for a fool like you to learn that word. And as for reasoning, I can prove to you that you’re a fool in no time at all. Do you want me to?”

“No.”

“That’s because you’re a fool,” the goblin snapped back. “Are you afraid?”

“I just don’t want to hear any proofs from the king’s fool. You’re an idle chatterbox, Kli-Kli.”

“I’m an idle chatterbox? No, I’ll prove to you that you’re a fool who doesn’t listen to wise men,” said the goblin, getting furious. “Look here. Proof number one. Who would ever take on a Commission to get the Rainbow Horn?”

“A fool!” I said, forced to admit that the green midget was right.

“Oh, you grow wiser by the hour,” the jester said with heartfelt sincerity as he bound up his bitten finger with a handkerchief.

The handkerchief wasn’t exactly fresh and clean, and it had very vulgar little blue flowers embroidered along its edges.

“To continue,” the green bedbug said, “proof number two! When you refused to accept the authenticity of the goblin prophecies about a Dancer in the Shadows, that is, about you, you acted like the greatest fool of all time, didn’t you?”

“I acted like an intelligent man. Why would I want to be in any of your ludicrous prophecies? I became a fool when I allowed you to call me the Dancer in the Shadows.”

“Oh!” he sighed disappointedly. “Now you’ve started turning stupid again. But never mind, you may be a fool, but you accepted the name, and now there’s no way you can get out of it. The prophecy will be fulfilled.”

Kli-Kli simply adored the Bruk-Gruk —the goblin Book of Prophecies that’s supposed to predict every important event that will ever take place in Siala. And supposedly there’s a special cycle of predictions called “Dancer in the Shadows.” The goblin insists that these fairy tales are about me, but I don’t want to have anything to do with any crazy goblin shamans. The last thing I need for a happy life is to find that I’m the hero of some silly book.

“And how did he accept the name, Kli-Kli?” Mumr asked.

“How, Lamplighter-Mamplighter? Very simply. Because he’s a fool.”

Something must have got stuck in the goblin’s brains. He’s obviously going to repeat that word all day long now, like a green parrot. Lamplighter wasn’t satisfied with this answer from Stalkon’s personal jester, so Kli-Kli kept up his harangue: “I’ll tell you. The prophecy about the Dancer in the Shadows says that this dancer, who will definitely be a thief, will save the entire world from a nasty villain. But before he does that, a whole heap of events and signs have to happen. There are all sorts of ways you can recognize the Dancer, that is, our very own much beloved, absolute fool Harold, also known as the Shadow. First the Dancer has to bind demons using the Horse of Shadows, then he has to kill a purple bird, and then take up the name.”

“And what’s all this got to do with Harold?” asked Mumr, puzzled.

“Oh, it’s hard work talking with you fools,” said Kli-Kli, stamping his foot and pretending to be angry. “We can say that Harold bound the demons, can’t we?”

“Not me, the magicians of the Order bound the demons.”