Алексей Пехов - Shadow Chaser

He was going to say something else to her, but the girl put her finger to his lips, smiled enchantingly once again, and walked to the fountain without looking back. Djok hesitated for a moment and left the garden. It was time for him to prepare for the tournament, and Lia was expecting him to win.

The girl waited for five minutes, then walked down the garden. She pulled up the arrow that was stuck in the ground and examined it carefully.

Excellent. Lun was busy with his little boat, her father was with his friends, nobody would miss her for a while.

She had to get the arrow to a certain person as quickly as possible, and then there would be a reward waiting for her from the Master. She smiled the smile that Djok loved so much.

“What do you make of this town, Eroch?” Endargassa asked.

“A barbarous place, Tresh Endargassa,” the elderly guard riding beside the prince replied deferentially.

Eroch was an elf of the old school, and his attitude toward humans was highly disdainful. Endargassa did not agree with his old friend and k’lissang. The houses of the dark elves had to maintain relations with humans. No matter how strange, uncultured, aggressive, and treacherous people were—they had power, and only their warriors, acting together with the elves, were capable of annihilating the orcs.

And this was why the leaders of the nine dark houses had taken counsel together and decided that the time had come to unite the forces of men and elves into a single army to oppose those who dared to call themselves the Firstborn. This was why the eldest son of the head of the House of the Black Rose had come to Valiostr with a formal missive for the king. This was why Endargassa’s younger brother had been sent on a similar mission to the Border Kingdom.

“You are wrong, Eroch; men hold power, and without them we will never finally deal with our cousins.” This was not the first time that Endargassa had begun this conversation.

“Perhaps they do hold power, Tresh Endargassa, but men are avaricious, cruel, and very dangerous. We will deal with the orcs without their help.”

“Thousands of years of war with the Firstborn prove that this is not true, my friend Eroch. We are equally matched, and nobody can gain the upper hand. The army of men is the force that can alter the course of centuries of war in our favor.”

“Men fight in ranks, they have cavalry, they are not accustomed to fighting in the forest. Or at least, most of them are not.”

“Then we shall have to drive the orcs out of the forest,” Endargassa said with an indifferent shrug.

“Before he sent us on our way, your father should have remembered ‘The Legend of Soft Gold,’” Eroch sighed.

“‘Best defend your own house yourself’?” the prince cited. “Of course, I remember that. But that is only a song. And the events in it never really happened.”

“Of course, Tresh Endargassa, of course. But the legend expresses the wise lesson that one should not trust men. Otherwise, after the orcs they will set about us.”

Endargassa merely grinned. Eroch was certainly no great supporter of an alliance with men.

“Men can be dangerous. And you haven’t even put on your armor!” The bodyguard’s words had a reproachful ring to them.

Endargassa was dressed in a light silk shirt with a black rose embroidered on the chest, and he certainly looked vulnerable among his forty-nine-warrior escort, with their glinting armor of bluish metal.

“If you wish to swelter in a case of iron in this heat—that is your business,” said Endargassa. “And then you are here with me, so what could possibly happen?”

Eroch did not say anything, he just assumed an even more somber expression and glanced around with his yellow eyes at the human crowd that had lined the streets in order to gaze at the honored guests.

“And here is the reception party,” said Endargassa when he saw a group of twenty horsemen clad in heavy armor galloping toward his party.

“Tresh Endargassa, in the name of our glorious King Stalkon of the Broken Heart, I am happy to welcome you and your companions to the capital of Valiostr!” declared a horseman in white and green armor. “I am Count Pelan Gelmi, captain of the royal guard, and I have been instructed to escort you to the royal palace.”

“Very well,” said the elf with a nod. “We will follow you, Milord Gelmi.”

The knight nodded, and they rode on. The horsemen parted the festive crowd, making way for the honored guest. Milord Gelmi reined back his horse and rode alongside the prince.

“As you may have noticed, Tresh Endargassa, today is a holiday in our town, that is why the streets are so full of people.”

“And I thought they had all come out to welcome me,” the elf jested.

“Naturally, that as well,” Milord Gelmi replied, embarrassed. “Are you aware that today is the annual royal tournament? His Majesty has invited you to join him in the royal box.”

“Most certainly.”

“At the end of the tournament our bowmen will try their skill. They say you are a fine shot, Tresh Endargassa. Would you care to join the contest?”

“No, thank you,” said the prince, with his features set in a faint smile. “I think that would not be entirely honor—”

There was a sudden movement in the air, and an arrow struck Endargassa in the neck. The elf swayed, clutched at his throat, gasped, and fell from his steed onto the street.

The dark elves grabbed their s’kashes, the men clutched their swords, the crowd scattered wildly, trampling each other underfoot, someone dashed to the body, hoping to stop the blood, but it was already too late. Endargassa, the crown prince of the House of the Black Rose, was dead.

“The marksman’s on the roof,” someone shouted.

“Men will answer for the death of my lord!” roared Eroch, holding the body of his prince tight against himself.

Count Pelan Gelmi was pale-faced and frightened. He was surrounded by fifty grim and furious dark elves, who had just lost their noble kinsman.

We have to act, or swords will be drawn! he thought.

“Chuch! Cut off the street! Brakès, gallop to the king with the news. Darkness, find that marksman! Paru, summon the entire guard here! Don’t just stand there! Do something!”

The men went dashing off to carry out their orders; the count dismounted and leaned down over the dead elf. Eroch was kneeling in a puddle of blood, with his s’kash lying beside him. He had broken the arrow and pulled it out of Endargassa’s neck, and the two harmless pieces were lying in the blood.

“If you do not find the assassin, we shall take our own revenge for the death of Tresh Endargassa,” Eroch said with bitter hatred.

The count picked up the pieces of the arrow, getting bloodstains on his expensive formal gloves.

“Chuch!”

“Yes, milord.” One of the knight’s men rode up and reined in his horse.

“Do you recognize that?” the count asked the lieutenant of the guard, sticking a piece of the arrow under his nose.

“Ye-es…” Chuch was just as surprised as the count. “That arrow…”

“I think we shall catch your lord’s killer within the hour,” Lord Gelmi interrupted, turning to Eroch.

“We will wait … for an hour.”

There was still at least an hour to go until the beginning of the royal tournament, but Djok was already hurrying on his way to the field where the main competitions were due to be held. For one thing, he was curious to find out who would compete in the general combat, and for another, he needed to prepare—check the wind and inspect the area where all the competitions would take place.