Алексей Пехов - Shadow Chaser

“So what harm have fir trees ever done to you?”

“I don’t like them. They’re bad trees. Dark.”

“And there’s some-one hi-ding in them,” said Honeycomb, opening his eyes in mock terror.

“That’s right, for instance Balistan Pargaid and that witch of his! She’ll jump out and shout ‘Whoo-oo-oo,’” Deler added.

“It’s such hard work talking to fools like you,” the jester muttered miserably, and he didn’t speak to us again until that night.

Although it was already the second half of August, and according to all the laws of nature the morning should have been just as hot as the previous day, the weather turned bad again, and if I hadn’t known it was August, I would have thought it was late October.

Hazy and cool—those are probably the two words that best describe the day. The sky was completely covered with swollen, grayish purple clouds, and I began to feel afraid that I would have to travel in the rain again, as I had done on the journey to the Borderland. The cool wind did nothing to improve my spirits, either. Deler grumbled about the ache in his bones, Hallas grumbled about Deler, Kli-Kli grumbled about both of them. I’m sure I don’t need to explain what kind of a din all that created.

“Look, now we’re entering the Land of Streams, as we call this area,” said Servin, the same lad who had started the conversation about orcs the day before. “We’re right on the edge of the inhabited region. In about four hours we’ll be in Cuckoo.”

“Cuckoo?” Marmot asked. “What’s cuckoo?”

“That’s the castle where the garrison is.”

“A-ah. How many men do you have there?”

“Four hundred, not counting the servants and magicians.”

“Magicians?” Hallas asked in a very suspicious tone of voice. For some reason the gnome couldn’t stand magicians of the Order.

“Yes, master gnome, magicians. We have a magician in every fortress. In case the orcs’ shamans show up.”

“If the orcs’ shamans show up, it’s simpler to just climb into your coffin than hope for any help from the Order’s cheap conjurers!” Hallas snorted contemptuously.

“Come now, master gnome, the magicians are really a great help! I remember I was in Milord Fer’s detachment when we were defending Drunken Springs, and a shaman did show up—he almost dispatched all hundred of us to the light. If we hadn’t had a magician there, I swear by Sagra I wouldn’t be talking with you now.”

Hallas muttered something to himself and changed the subject.

Ell came galloping up and said that Miralissa wanted to see me, so I had to follow the k’lissang to the front of the column. The elfess was chatting politely with Fer. But when she spotted me, she reined back her horse and asked:

“Harold, can you sense anything?”

“N-no,” I answered after thinking for a moment. “What should I sense, Lady Miralissa?”

“I don’t know,” she sighed. “Is the Key silent?”

“Yes.” The dwarves’ handiwork had not given any sign since that night at Balistan Pargaid’s house.

“I’m worried by Lafresa’s sudden disappearance. She wasn’t at Mole Castle with Balistan Pargaid, but she must be somewhere, and the count wasn’t too upset when the judgment went against his man.”

“I also got the impression that he had the ace of trumps hidden up his sleeve.”

“Ace of trumps?” She thought for a moment. “Ah, yes! Cards. Yes, you’re right, he must have some contingency plan, or he would not have given up so easily. I suspect the hand of that maidservant of the Master in this, and I thought that you ought to sense her, since you’re attuned to the Key.”

“No, I don’t sense anything, Lady Miralissa.”

“A pity,” she said sincerely. “Although, on the other hand, if you can’t sense her, then she must be somewhere far away.”

“Or close by, but the artifact cannot sense her power,” said Egrassa.

I preferred Miralissa’s explanation; it made me feel a lot safer.

“Lady Miralissa, may I ask a question?”

“Please do.”

“Balistan Pargaid is our enemy, he serves the Master, and yet you let him leave Algert Dalli’s castle without hindrance. Why?”

“Have you still not realized that the laws in the Border Kingdom are different from the laws of Valiostr? Balistan Pargaid had sat at Milord Algert’s table, and to arrest him … Here that would require more substantial evidence than just our word. And in addition, after the Judgment of Sagra, the count was entitled to leave, and no one had any right to stop him.”

I nodded, and in my heart I cursed the damned warriors of the Border Kingdom and their stupid laws.

“What was she talking to you about?” Kli-Kli asked curiously.

“Nothing important.”

The jester cast a wary glance at the gloomy sky and asked:

“Did you know that we’ll be in Zagraba today?”

“Today? But I thought that—”

“Try using your head when you think, Harold. It’ll be a lot better that way, believe me,” the jester remarked. “Time is passing, so we’ll go straight from the castle to Zagraba, and it’s much safer to go there at night.”

The forest thinned out, the gloomy fir trees shrank away to the sides, the road took a turn to the left, and a large village appeared ahead of us.

“Noble warriors, what is the name of that village?” Kli-Kli asked the soldiers with a pompous expression on his face.

“Crossroads,” Servin answered again. “From there it’s only an hour on foot to the castle.”

“A-a-ah,” the jester drawled, gazing hard at the houses in the distance.

Fer raised his clenched fist and the column halted.

“What’s happening?” asked Marmot, breaking off from playing with Invincible.

“A strange kind of village,” Eel hissed through his teeth, pulling his “brother” and “sister” closer to him.

“That’s right,” Lamplighter agreed, hurriedly tying the ribbon round his forehead. “I’d say very strange.”

“What’s strange about it?” I asked, puzzled.

“Can you see any people?”

“It’s still a bit far away,” I replied uncertainly, peering hard at the distant little houses.

“Not too far to see the people,” Marmot countered. “Look—there’s no one by the houses, no one in the street, and the watch towers are empty, too. I don’t know any village in this country that doesn’t have archers on its towers.”

The Wild Heart was right—there was no one on the towers.

“Harold, have you got your chain mail on?” the goblin asked in concern.

“Under my jacket.”

After conferring with the sergeants and Milord Alistan, Fer waved his hand, and the column slowly moved toward the village.

“Keep your crossbow close,” Deler advised me, putting on his helmet.

The soldiers’ sense of alarm infected me, too, and I took out my little weapon, set the string, and loaded the bolts. One ordinary bolt, and one with the spirit of ice. Deler pressed his poleax against his horse’s flank with his foot and also armed a crossbow, which was three times the size of mine. Several soldiers in the detachment did the same.

“Make haste slowly, lads, Fer says to keep your eyes peeled,” said the sergeant, Grunt, when the column entered the village.

The straight street was as empty and quiet as if everybody had died.

“Why isn’t there any stockade here?” I asked.

“No point, the village is too big,” Servin answered, keeping his hand on the hilt of his sword. “It would be too big a job to fence it in, and Cuckoo’s just down the road—”

“Servin, Kassani, Urch, One-Eye!” Fer called, interrupting the soldier’s reply. “Check the houses. In pairs.”