Алексей Пехов - Shadow Chaser

The effect of these words on the warriors of the Borderland was like an exploding powder barrel. I even heard Milord Alistan’s teeth grind together. Had this Meilo said something important?

“I heard you, soldier,” Lady Alia said with a nod. “Do you accuse one particular person of the crime or all of them?”

The shadow of a smile flickered on Meilo’s lips and he was just about to answer when Balistan Pargaid intervened:

“All of them! He accuses all of them!”

The smile on Meilo’s face turned sour, as if the count had just committed some stupidity without realizing it.

“The answer has been heard,” the marchioness said hurriedly. “You will be given the chance to prove your lord’s case.”

“We will do it here and now!” Balistan Pargaid intervened again.

“No, according to the laws of Sagra, the owner of the land on which the challenge was issued must be present at the judgment. We are now on the lands of my lord and father, and for the court to be held we shall have to go to Mole Castle, where the rules of combat will be announced.”

Combat? Did she say combat? I definitely did not like the sound of that.

“But…,” Balistan Pargaid began in annoyance.

“You can withdraw the challenge, that is up to you,” Alia Dalli said imperturbably. “The rules do not forbid it.”

“No, we will go with you, milady.”

“As you wish, milord. I wish to remind you that if your men dare to attack my guests before the duel, there will be very serious trouble indeed,” the girl replied.

She did not offer the count and his men her protection.

We continued on our way, with the marchioness’s men keeping an inconspicuous eye on the count’s men, who were observing them. The count rode beside Oro Gabsbarg without speaking. Paleface’s glance gave me an unpleasant, cold feeling in the back of my neck.

“Marmot,” I asked. “What is the Judgment of Sagra?”

“I don’t know. If Arnkh was here, he could explain the laws of this country to us.”

“The Judgment of Sagra? I’ve heard something about that business, lads,” said Lamplighter. “The court of the goddess of war … It used to be very common among the warriors of the Border Kingdom. When some questionable decision was made or a warrior’s honor was insulted, then the Judgment of Sagra decided the matter. A duel, in other words. The lad with the big ears has challenged us to a fight, and no warrior in the Border Kingdom would deny him the right to do that.”

“Is it a duel to the death?” asked Marmot, glancing sideways at Meilo Trug.

“That all depends on what the man who challenged us says to the lord of the land. If he says to the death, then to the death it is.”

“You talk about it so calmly, Mumr,” I said with a crooked grin. “That Meilo has turned out to be very cunning.”

“It could have been worse,” Lamplighter replied philosophically, taking out his reed pipe.

“How could it?”

“If the count hadn’t interfered, then his servant could have chosen any opponent he wanted. But then Milord Pargaid said he accused everybody.”

“And now this … what’s his name?” asked Marmot.

“Meilo,” I prompted him. “So now this Meilo will have to fight all of us?”

“No, it will be decided by drawing lots. No need to be so nervous, Harold. You’re not involved in this business.”

“Why?”

“The Judgment of Sagra is only for soldiers. You, Kli-Kli, and Miralissa aren’t soldiers.”

“I’m not a soldier?” exclaimed Kli-Kli, ablaze with righteous indignation. “Why, I’m a better soldier than any of you! I even know what the combat pension is!”

“All right, Kli-Kli, well done. Just calm down, will you,” Honeycomb said in a conciliatory tone.

“Hey, goblin,” called a soldier with a gray mustache, who had heard Kli-Kli’s howling. “Sing us your song.”

“And why not? Right away!”

And he did sing it. In fact, he kept on going for a good ten minutes.

“A good song,” Dalli’s man croaked approvingly. “Plenty of heart.”

“Well then? Am I a soldier?”

“Sure you are!” he said quite seriously.

The Border Kingdom warriors laughed—in a single day’s march they had grown fond of Kli-Kli’s jokes and songs.

How naïve they were! They hadn’t yet experienced the charm of a nail in their boot or a tub of cold water in their bed.

The empty region was behind us now, and we passed a little village at least once every hour. But, unlike our villages in Valiostr, they were surrounded by stockades and they had watch towers with archers on them. Every peasant in the Border Kingdom can swap his plow for a battle-ax at a moment’s notice when he needs to repulse an attack by the enemy.

“How’s your health, Harold?” asked Paleface, drawing even with me on his horse.

“Just fine, thanks. How’s yours, Rolio? Have you recovered after that skirmish with the demons?” I replied.

“So you…,” Paleface said slowly, and grinned. “I don’t recall ever telling you my name.”

“You were never that strong on etiquette. I had to find out for myself.”

“All the more reason for you to be concerned about your health.”

“Oh, I’ll take good care of myself. Very good care. What brings you out on such a long journey?”

“A problem by the name of Harold. The way you stole that Key was very clever. I found that impressive, believe me.”

“I feel flattered, on my word of honor.”

“Well then, I’ll be seeing you again soon.”

“I hope not.”

Paleface was not likely to try anything here. There were too many men around; he’d never get away with it if he tried to dispatch me to the light now. The moment I suddenly fall off my horse and start bleeding, they’d slit the killer’s throat for him. And naturally, he didn’t want that. So I could expect him to wait until I was alone before he tried his tricks.

We spotted Mole Castle easily from the distance—a huge gray bulk with walls rising up forty yards into the sky and twenty square towers set in a full circle.

The walls were bristling with ballistas and catapults, the wide moat was filled with running water; anyone who tried to take the citadel by storm would have a hard time of it.

When we stepped onto the drawbridge, the walls towered up above us menacingly. I raised my head and the men on the top looked like little beetles. The mighty gates of oak, clad with sheets of steel, quickly opened wide in invitation and the portcullis was raised, but in an attack, only the mightiest of battering rams could ever have broken through that barrier.

About twenty soldiers were on guard duty beside the gates. The head of the watch greeted Lady Alia and we rode into the castle. I found myself in a short tunnel with its walls studded with loopholes for archers.

Standing by the wall like a predator ready to pounce was a huge crossbow engine that fired forty bolts at once. And hanging on chains up under the ceiling there were basins that the defenders could fill with tar and hot oil. Yes, Algert Dalli’s home was certainly a tough nut to crack, not to be taken easily.

We rode into the courtyard of the castle, but to call it a yard was a joke—it was the size of a large town square.

“Milady Alia,” one of the soldiers said, bowing, “your lord and father is expecting you.”

“Thank you, Chizzet,” said the marchioness, jumping down off her horse. “Follow me, noble gentlemen. And those who seek judgment, too. Chizzet, arrange accommodations for our guests.”

Naturally, a plain ordinary thief was not invited to an audience with Milord Kind Heart, and, to be quite honest, I didn’t even suggest it. Milord Alistan, Baron Oro, the elves, Count Pargaid, and Meilo followed Lady Alia, and the rest of us set off after Chizzet, who had promised to find beds for us.