Alexey Pehov - Shadow Prowler

Events had woven themselves into a tight tangle of snakes. Now they were winding themselves tight around me and turning my skin cold. I just hoped that none of these snakes would bite!

For came back a few minutes later, carrying two massive bronze candlesticks in his hands, each with five lighted candles in it. The timing was just right; the sun had almost set and twilight had already begun creeping into the room with lazy impudence. The bright light of ten candles forced the gloom to move back, and it huddled into the very darkest corner of the room.

“Well then, I’ve heard your story. Now let’s deal with what you brought back from the Forbidden Territory.” For showed me the papers I’d taken from the Tower of the Order. “While you were sleeping, I took a look through these documents. There’s a lot that’s interesting… But you know, kid, none of it’s any good to you. Yes, there’s a map of Hrad Spein, and even a plan of how to get to the Horn, but it’s… it’s suicide. It’s practically impossible to make it along the route that you have to follow. You study the old maps yourself when you have the time, and you’ll realize how unrealistic it is. Hundreds of halls, passages, shafts. And that’s only down to the eighth level. These papers don’t even show what’s lower down. Here, take them.”

For pushed the maps toward me.

“Let them stay here for the time being, you hide them somewhere safe, I’ll pick them up before I leave,” I said to him.

“That’s up to you,” said For, raking the papers back across the table. “Ah, by the way. I found an amusing little page among these notes, look.”

I took the old, yellowed piece of paper.

“What is it?”

“It’s ancient orcish. I had to sweat over the dictionary a bit to translate it. There’s a lot I still don’t understand-the orcs’ language is a bit of a tangle-but I managed it, even though it’s probably not quite as fluent as it ought to be. It was in verse. Something like a series of clues. A total riddle. Read it.”

For handed me a piece of paper with the translation.

“Mmm, yes. I can hardly understand a thing.”

“Which bits do you think you did understand, my pupil?” For asked in surprise.

It had turned dark outside, and even the candles could not dispel the persistent darkness. It would soon be time to go about my business.

I drummed my fingers on the table thoughtfully.

“I think I began to understand the point of Sagot’s advice. This poem mentions some Selena who bears you up, and Sagot warned me I’d better not just stand on her, but keep my feet moving fast.”

“Hmmm…,” For muttered, and scratched his chin.

Then he grunted and poured himself some wine from a dusty old potbellied bottle. He offered me some, but I refused-today my head had to be crystal clear.

“Yes, well, I noticed the reference to Selena, too. This all requires a bit of serious thought. And by the way, don’t forget to show it to the elfess; she should know the ancient language of the orcs. She might be able to translate this page better than I have.”

“All right.”

“There’s absolutely no doubt that it’s about the Rainbow Horn. Look here: ‘First born of an ogre on the wide snowy plains’-that’s a reference to the shamans of the ogres creating the Horn, the final artifact of their race, before they all turned into animals. ‘It dwelt for centuries with elves in the Greenwood’-I’m sure you remember the old story about the head of the House of the Black Rose trying to invade the Desolate Lands. It was on that campaign that the elves took the Horn from the ogres. What comes next is clear enough, too: ‘And was given to Grok in token of the peace concluded between races during the Long Winter.’ The dark elves gave the Horn to Grok as an assurance of the peace between elves and men that came into force after the great invasion of the orcs that became known as the Spring War.”

“That’s clear enough.”

“Then there’s a bit of standard nonsense. This may be ancient orcish, but it was obviously written by a man. Still, these lines are worth thinking about: ‘You will avoid the tricks that we have set there, but be wary of earth and water and fire.’ What could that be, Harold, if not a warning that the magicians of the Order laid all sorts of traps? ‘And then, carry on! The twin doors stand open to the peace of the halls of the Slumbering Whisper, where the brains of man and elf and orc alike dissolve in unreason… And so shall yours.’ The open doors are most likely the entrance to the third level, or the double-doored level as it’s called in the maps. They show huge doors that lead into the lower halls of Hrad Spein. It’s quite possible that they could be sealed with a spell.”

“Is there any way to get round them, For? Is there another entrance?”

“I didn’t study the plan for all that long. There are four main entrances to Hrad Spein. One in the north, beside the Border Kingdom. Another in the heart of Zagraba, and two more beside spurs of the Mountains of the Dwarves. But the last two were blocked and walled off by the short folk long ago. Which means there are only two ways in. And they both lead to the doors. So I’m afraid you won’t be able to get round them.”

“Wonderful,” I replied. “And what if I can’t get them open?”

“Don’t think about that, I’m more worried about the halls of the Slumbering Whisper and the insanity that’s promised. That part wasn’t invented just for the sake of the style! And that’s only half the problem. Further on, there’s a mention of some kind of ‘Kaiyus’-that’s an orcish word, but from an elfin dialect, it couldn’t possibly be anything else. But what does ‘Kaiyu’ mean? Is it some kind of magic, or creatures, or something even worse?”