Алексей Пехов - Shadow Chaser

We were given rooms in the Tower of Blood, as the inhabitants of the castle called it. Good rooms, with beds, rushes on the floor, and windows overlooking the courtyard.

Eel told me that a citadel of this size could hold as many as six hundred people at once. A huge swarm of people. Kli-Kli, who never slept in a bed, laid out his blanket on the floor and ran off to stick his curious nose into every corner of the castle. Ell turned up and told us that the duel would take place the following morning.

“To the death,” he added in a steady voice.

That immediately spoiled my good mood. But there was more to it than that. If we lost, then the Key that had been recovered with such difficulty would go back to Balistan Pargaid—that was the law of the Judgment of Sagra.

“And what if we leave under cover of darkness?”

“Leave the castle, Harold? The Judgment of Sagra is sacred to the warriors of the Borderland. We either win or we lose the Key. There is no third way.”

“I’ll smash that fancy popinjay’s head open in person!” Hallas threatened. “Have they decided who’s going to fight in the duel?”

“The lots will decide that. Come with me, Milord Algert is waiting for us.”

“Can I come with them?”

“You’re not involved in the drawing of lots, Harold.”

“But can I come?”

“Yes,” he said with an indifferent nod.

The hall to which the count led us rivaled the castle’s courtyard in size. There were quite a number of people there—all wool and steel, swords and shaven heads. Every man in the kingdom seemed to have gathered together. Kli-Kli was running about, getting under people’s feet, amusing the soldiers, but as soon as he saw us, the performance came to an end, and the jester joined our group.

“Where did you get to?” I asked quietly.

“I was touring the local sights. By the way, they have carrots in the kitchen.”

“Congratulations.”

Miralissa, Egrassa, and Alistan were already there, and so were Balistan Pargaid and Meilo Trug. Oro Gabsbarg clutched a beer mug in his huge paw of a hand. When he spotted me, the baron nodded solemnly.

Alia Dalli was standing behind a short man with broad shoulders, whose cheeks were covered with a two-week growth of stubble. Like all the soldiers in the castle, this man had a shaved head and was dressed in chain mail and coarse soldier’s trousers. He was toying thoughtfully with a dagger that had an expensive handle of ogre bone. Count Algert Dalli the Kind Heart, unless I was very much mistaken.

We walked up to the table at which his lordship was sitting.

“And so, you have not changed your decision?” Milord Algert asked Meilo after looking intently at each of us in turn.

“No, I demand the Judgment of Sagra.”

“Very well. All that remains is to choose an opponent. Bring in the straws!”

“Hey, Garrakian! Catch!” said Meilo Trug, throwing a copper coin to Eel. “I think I owe you that.”

Eel caught the copper and calmly tucked it under his belt.

“Thank you. A bit of extra money always comes in handy.”

“You suggested that I ought to be whipped. I shall pray to Sagra to meet you in combat.”

“Whatever is your pleasure,” Eel said, bowing imperturbably. Hallas muttered angrily to himself and gave Trug a dark look.

And then a soldier came in with the straws sticking out of his fist.

“Whoever draws the short straw will face this man for the Judgment of Sagra tomorrow morning,” said Algert Dalli. “Let me remind you that you are free to refuse to take part in the draw, but by doing so you acknowledge your guilt.… I can see that no one wishes to do that. Draw lots, and may Sagra be with you!”

Ell was first. He reached out boldly and drew a long straw.

Egrassa. A long straw.

My heart was pounding as loudly as if I was drawing lots myself.

Milord Alistan. A long straw.

Honeycomb. A long straw.

Hallas. A long straw. The gnome looked disappointed. He had really wanted to take part in the duel. He wasn’t bothered at all that one of the opponents would have to be carried out feet first. Like any gnome, Lucky was overflowing with confidence.

Eel. A long straw. Meilo Trug thrust out his lower jaw in disappointment.

That left only Deler and Lamplighter.

Mumr. A short straw. Short. Sagot save us all! Lamplighter’s going to fight.

Algert Dalli’s soldier opened his fist to show the whole hall that the last straw, which would have been Deler’s, was long.

The dwarf spat angrily. He had been keen to fight, too.

Mumr did not seem at all upset that the next day he had to fight a duel to the death. He cleared his throat, shrugged indifferently, and put the straw away in his pocket.

“So be it,” said Milord Algert. “The weapon?”

“The long sword,” Meilo Trug replied, glaring hard at Mumr.

“The long sword,” Mumr said with a nod.

“Tomorrow morning you will be sent for, but now I invite you to share bread and honey with me.”

I didn’t know about the others, but I couldn’t eat a single bite, and I got up from the table leaving the food on my plate untouched.

“Any moment now,” Kli-Kli said with a nervous little jump. He sniffed and took a large bite out of his carrot.

“Can you stop chomping for a little while?” I growled at him irritably.

“No, I can’t,” said the royal jester, shaking his head. “When I get nervous, I want to eat.”

“Calm down, Kli-Kli,” Honeycomb told him. The commander of the Wild Hearts was just as jumpy as I was.

“What do you think, Honeycomb?” asked Kli-Kli, biting off yet another piece of carrot. “What are Mumr’s chances?”

“I don’t know.”

“It all depends on how well he handles his sword,” said Hallas, puffing away on his pipe.

“Believe me, Meilo was born with that piece of steel in his hand,” Kli-Kli sighed. “It’s not that easy to win a royal tournament.”

“Our Lamplighter’s no pushover, either,” the gnome replied. “You don’t get an oak leaf on your sword handle for nothing.”

I paid no attention to them. I wasn’t interested in their arguments.

The morning had turned out cool, and the sun was hidden behind the clouds that covered the entire sky. Together with many inhabitants of the castle, we were standing round a large open area of hard-tamped earth in the center of the courtyard. There were no fanfares and no festive streamers; this was not a tournament, but a trial by duel. Milord Algert and his daughter, the elves, Balistan Pargaid, and Alistan Markauz … all of them were probably as nervous as I was, but you couldn’t tell it from their noble features.… Darkness take me, I felt as if I was the one who had to go out there and fight. Oro Gabsbarg was the only one who seemed to be bored.

A whisper ran through the rows of spectators, and I turned my head and saw Meilo Trug. He walked unhurriedly out into the arena, turned to face the nobility, and bowed.

Even for this occasion Meilo had dressed like a dandy: a red silk shirt with wide sleeves, maroon breeches, boots polished until they shone, black leather gloves. The bidenhander was resting on his left shoulder. The long sword was almost as long as the man. Stick it in the ground and the massive round knob at the end of the handle would reach up to Meilo’s chin.

Mumr appeared a minute later. He entered the arena from the other side of the castle courtyard and halted facing his opponent. Like Meilo, Lamplighter was wearing a shirt, but it was black wool, not silk. Coarse soldier’s trousers and a pair of soft boots … The only thing the duelists had in common were the leather gloves on their hands and their heavy bidenhanders.