Alexey Pehov - Shadow Prowler

I didn’t feel at all sorry for the fat thief who had been killed by Vukhdjaaz.

“No, Markun won’t. And I hope that now his place in the guild will be taken by someone more worthy and it will become what it used to be in the days of my youth. But this Rolio’s never going to let you be. Markun is dead, but he wasn’t the one who gave the murderer his Commission, it was some influential servant of the Master, and that means you’d better watch out for your head.”

“I will,” I agreed. “But anyway, I came to say good-bye. I have to go to see the king, and then set out.”

“Only don’t go at this time in the morning! Everyone at court is asleep, and there’s certainly no one expecting you there. Better take a rest, Harold, you look to me as if you’ve been used as a plow horse for every field in Siala.”

It was hard to disagree with that. I felt more than ready to get my head down for as long as possible. A hundred years or so would probably do, and while I was asleep this spot of bother with the Nameless One would sort itself out naturally…

But of course, next morning nothing had changed for the better. The Nameless One was still up there beyond the Needles of Ice, nursing his grudge against Valiostr, and I had to travel more than a hundred leagues to collect that magical penny whistle.

For and I parted with few words.

“Take care of yourself, kid.” That was all that he said before I gathered up my things and left his hospitable dwelling, hoping I’d be able to come back to see the old priest after my visit to Hrad Spein.

I walked to the palace without any adventures. There had been a light shower of rain in Avendoom while I was sleeping, and the air still had an elusive scent of coolness that was threatening to disperse in the hot rays of the sun. The rain had fallen and disappeared without trace. The sky was a clear azure blue that could compete with the eyes of a goblin, and there was not a single cloud in sight. It was just past midday, and the sun was really scorching. There was a wind, too, but it was so hot that it brought no relief. Something very strange was going on with the weather that year.

In the Inner City the rich men were carrying on with their calm, unhurried lives, ignoring the heat and other minor difficulties of life. The houses here were white and packed with the best life had to offer. But the first thing that strikes you when you walk into the Inner City is how clean everything is. Not a single speck of the dust and dirt that you get so used to in the Port City.

And the people here are respectable, too. These lads don’t steal purses. The gents in the Inner City handle such huge sums of money and steal on such a grand scale that I could never earn that much in ten lifetimes of nonstop thieving.

I was stopped once by the Inner City Guard. My appearance was none too respectable, on account of my clothes. But it was okay. They just asked where I was going, and when they got the answer, they left me alone. It turned out they had already been warned about my visit.

The huge bulk of the royal palace, surrounded by walls that were anything but decorative, occupied a substantial part of the Inner City. A small fortress within the fortress city. Every new king in the Stalkon dynasty regarded it as his duty to finish building something, build something new, or improve something. The result was that the palace had grown to an immense size, while remaining what it had always been since it was first founded-a fortress.

First of all I planned to go in through the gates for servants and those delivering food to the royal kitchen, but then I thought: Why should I go in through the little back gate like some rustic peasant? The king has personally invited me to come and see him, I didn’t ask him to do it, so they can open the central gates for me.

I crossed the Parade Square at an angle, walking confidently straight toward the gates. When the guards on duty spotted me, they livened up noticeably.

“What can we do for you?” one of them inquired, clutching a spear with a long narrow tip.

Ever since the Stalkon dynasty ascended the throne, the palace had been protected by the king’s personal guard, which was now commanded by the eternally gloomy Milord Rat. Only nobles could serve as guardsmen, and guarding the king was regarded as an exceptional honor, especially for youngest sons who could expect no pickings from their fathers’ estates, while here they could actually distinguish themselves and acquire estates of their own.

These lads didn’t like to put on airs and graces. All those fancy ceremonial halberds or poleaxes carried by the guards of the emperors of the Two Empires were no use for the normal defense of a head of state in unforeseen circumstances. A spear-now that’s a weapon of war. Ever since the father of the present Stalkon was attacked by rebels from the western provinces, no one had tried to persuade the guards to change their weapons for anything else. It was the warriors’ spears that had saved the king and the kingdom.

“I wish to see His Majesty,” I said.

The young noblemen are well educated, of course, but everyone enjoys a joke at the expense of an idiot. The entire platoon of ten guards burst into delighted peals of laughter.

“Would you like to go straight to him?” asked the guardsman who had begun the conversation. “To join him for a small glass of wine, no doubt?” he said, winking merrily at his comrades. “Well, well! We’re very pleased to have a jester from the Market Square come visiting!”

“And how shall we introduce you, milord?” another guard asked with a bow that was elegant, despite being humorous. “You’re probably a marquis, like me? Or a duke? Your business with the king must be very urgent, I’m sure!”

The guardsmen started laughing again.

“You’re a jolly lad. But now be on your way. The king’s not seeing just anyone today, as usual.”

“Wonderful!” I said with an indifferent shrug. Just let Artsivus say that I hadn’t even tried. “Good-bye, milords.”

But before I could leave, a soldier with the badges of a lieutenant of the guard appeared out of nowhere and demanded that I name myself.

“Harold,” I replied.

The guards’ faces immediately dropped and the marquis even spat on the ground at his feet.

“So what was that comedy all about?” he asked me. “Why couldn’t you have said straightaway?”

“Follow me, I’ll show you through,” the lieutenant told me. “And next time, gentlemen, I’ll have your hides if you disobey an order from milord Alistan.”

The young noble lords had enough wits to keep quiet and not argue with the lieutenant. But their mood had definitely been spoiled. Too bad.

The road led from the gates directly toward a huge gray building with tall arched windows. There were plenty of people on the grounds, both servants and those who lived here thanks to Stalkon’s gracious generosity. I took a sly look around, just in case I should ever happen to come back here on my own account.

However, we didn’t go into the building. The lieutenant turned aside and led me along a path paved with yellow sandstone.

“So tell me, Harold, what is this business you have with milord Markauz, if he’s dashing off somewhere and dumping all the guards on me?” the lieutenant suddenly asked.

“I don’t know, milord.” I wasn’t going to give away state secrets to the very first person I met.

I thought I heard the lieutenant sigh.

“He’s going away at a bad time. A very bad time. The guards and the king need him here.”

I didn’t say anything.

“This is your spot. Sit somewhere and wait. Someone will come for you.”

The lieutenant walked away, with the silver buttons on his blue and gray uniform glittering in the sun.