Alexey Pehov - Shadow Prowler

“You’re finished, you scum!”

Elodssa did not bother to answer. Of course, five against one was very bad odds, but the elf was saved by the fact that he was standing in the doorway and only two of them could attack him at once.

“Duck!” a familiar sharp voice said behind him.

He did as he was told and the bow that appeared above his shoulder fired an arrow that buried itself in an orc’s eye. Another shot, and a second orc fell, shot through the heart. Midla fired her third arrow point-blank into the face of the enemy running at her. Elodssa joined in the fight, giving the elfess time to put her bow away and draw her two swords.

Dodging a blow from the right, he raised his s’kash over his head, offering the flat side of the blade to his opponent’s yataghan. The orc was caught out, his yataghan slid along the downward slope of Elodssa’s s’kash, and the force of his own blow carried him forward an extra step, exposing his flank. The elf’s curving blade sliced through his opponent’s left arm and deep into his side. The elf then raised his weapon, stepped to the side-and the s’kash severed his enemy’s neck, sending the head tumbling across the floor until it stopped somewhere under the table.

Elodssa hurried to assist Midla, but she had already dealt with the final orc herself. There were two curved blades protruding from the enemy’s dead body. Midla slumped back against the wall, hissing in pain as she squeezed shut the gaping yataghan wound in her leg.

“Are you all right?”

“No, by a thousand demons! How could you be so stupid as to come here alone? What if I hadn’t got here in time?”

“I’d have had to manage on my own,” he said, tearing up a cloth he had found in the dwarf’s workshop.

“On your own,” Midla muttered, tightening the knot. “That wolf’s spawn even managed to wound me.”

“Can you walk?”

“I don’t think I’ll be able to walk for the next few months.”

“We have to get out of here. Who knows how many enemies entered the galleries.”

“Are these the ones who killed the guards on that distant gate?”

“Probably. I’ll carry you.”

Midla simply nodded. “Pull the swords out of the body-they mean too much to me.”

“Of course.” Elodssa pulled the twin blades out of the dead body, handed them to Midla, and set off toward the body of the man, intending to pull his own dagger out of it.

In defiance of all the laws of nature, the shaman was still alive, although there was bloody foam on his lips and it had dribbled down onto his chin and beard. Elodssa indifferently tugged the dagger out of the wound and listened to the man wheezing, gurgling, and whistling.

“You…,” the man began, trying to say something. “The Ma… ster will po… ssess the key… any… way.”

“I don’t know who your master is, but elves don’t part with their property that easily.”

Elodssa finished off the wounded man, watching with satisfaction as the brown eyes turned glassy. Then he took the key off the table, thought for a moment, and raked all the dragon’s tears into the bag lying on the floor, reasoning quite soberly that the dead had no more need of them, while the gnomes and dwarves would be able to get along without them.

“Is he dead?” Midla asked when he came across and lifted her up in his arms.

“Yes, he was working a spell when I got here. Doing something with the key.”

“That’s none of our business, let the shamans sort that out. Was he working for the orcs?”

“More likely the other way round,” Elodssa panted as he carried Midla out into the corridor. “They were working for him.”

“How is that possible? The orcs never obey anyone they consider inferior to themselves.”

“I didn’t have time to ask them. By the way, did you notice that they weren’t wearing clan badges?”

“Yes. That’s very strange.”

“That’s exactly what I mean. ”

“What are you going to do now? ”

“Report everything to the gnomes or the dwarves and get out into the open air.”

“And then?”

“ Then?” Elodssa thought for a moment. “Then I’m going to give the key to my father and change a few old laws, regardless of the opinion of the head of the house.”

“What laws?” Midla asked in surprise.

“Those that forbid the son of a royal dynasty and a scout to be together. Have you any objections?”

Midla’s smile was enough to let Elodssa know that there would be no objections from her side. Neither of them had noticed that in the depths of the key lying in the elf’s bag a faint purple spark was still glowing.

There are many who think there is no life in the darkness.

That is a great error. Perhaps, in the pitch-black emptiness of Nothing, life is not so obvious as in our own colorful world, but there can be no doubt that it exists. On this side and on that, doors opened for a brief fraction of a second with a despairing creak-columns of light in the boundless darkness, leading into goodness only knew where. I was suspended in emptiness and I saw many dreams, both beautiful and terrible at the same time. Dreams in which I was merely an observer; dreams in which I lived a thousand lives; dreams that were the truth and dreams that were simply dreams.

How long did this go on for? I don’t think that it was longer than eternity; anyway even eternity has to end sometime. And like dreams, eternity has the disagreeable habit of coming to an end at the most inappropriate time.

After several ages that seemed like mere minutes to me, the first crimson sparks were born in the darkness, the children of a gigantic bonfire that I could not yet see.

The number of sparks increased, they started flying faster, and now they were flying horizontally as well as upward, as if they were driven by some mischievous wind. Sometimes, when there was too much of the fiery snow, the snowflakes swirled together into an orange whirlwind. And at those moments, pictures of the past appeared before my eyes.

Another eternity passed and at one spot the darkness swelled up and turned yellow-the way paper turns yellow if you bring it near the flame of a candle-and then burst. Tongues of crimson flame appeared. Then more and more of them, and a moment later the flames consumed the darkness and filled the entire space of my infinite dream.

I can remember that those eyes looking at me are the slanting, golden amber eyes of an elfess whose name, I think, is Miralissa.

“Dance with us, Dancer!” The sound of jolly laughter made me look round.

There were three shadows whirling in a furious dance on the tongues of flame. They were not frightened at all by the presence of light; they remained as black and impervious to it as if there was no fire there at all.

“Come on, Dancer, do not be afraid!” One of them laughed, and made a circle round me.

“I don’t dance, ladies,” I said. My throat was dry, either from the cold fire or from my dreams.

“Look, he doesn’t want to dance.” Another shadow laughed merrily, flying right up to me.

For an instant I glimpsed the outline of a woman’s face.

“Why do you refuse to dance, Dancer? Why do you not wish to grant us the gift of at least one dance?”

“I have to go.” The flame behind my back was howling ceaselessly, and I thought it was beginning to grow warmer.

“Go?” The third shadow was there beside the first two. “But in order to go, you have to make us a gift of a dance. Come on, Dancer! Choose! Which of us is most to your liking?”