Alexey Pehov - Shadow Prowler

“I do not know how to dance,” I said, shaking my head and turning away.

The amber eyes had still not disappeared, but they were slowly moving away, disappearing behind the wall of flame. I dashed toward them, but instantly I was scorched by the searing cold. I covered my face with my hands in fear.

“You see, Dancer,” the second shadow said with a nod. “You can only dance your way through the fire. Dance, or you will remain here forever!”

I could already distinguish each of them by their voices. They were so similar and at the same time so different.

“Which of us do you choose?” the third one asked again. The heat behind my back was becoming unbearable.

“All three,” I said sullenly.

One piece of foolishness more or less. What difference did it really make?

A momentary bewilderment.

“You are truly a Dancer,” the first shadow said in surprise. “You take everything from life.”

“Well then, we shall lead you through the barrier. Hold on!”

The shadows embraced me, shielding me with their dark bodies against the fire advancing from all sides. And they led me. An eddying swirl, a darting, sliding lightness, a black flash of lightning piercing the wall of flame and pushing me toward the amber eyes.

I am falling…

“We will dance the djanga with you yet!” I heard a voice say behind me.

A final, angry spurt of crimson flame enraged at its own impotence. Night…

“What’s wrong with him?”

The voice pierced through the dense cobweb of unconsciousness, severing its threads like the blade of a dagger. It snatched me from the bottom of my sleep, slowly lifting me up to the surface so that I could take a gulp of the fresh air of life.

“He’s coming round! Egrassa, give me the flowers! Quickly!” Miralissa’s voice was tense and…

Perplexed? Frightened?

“What, may the Darkness devour me, is going on here?” asked the first voice.

I thought I knew it, too… Alistan Markauz.

“Calm down, count, explanations later! Egrassa, why are you taking so long?”

“Here.” The elf sounded calm.

I smelled the sour scent of some herb and winced involuntarily.

“All right, Harold, time to stop this comedy! Open your eyes!” The imperturbable Ell’s voice was sharp and tense.

I tried. I really did try. But my eyelids were terrible heavy; they were filled with lead and refused to obey me.

“Come, Dancer, open your eyes! I know you can hear me!”

Miralissa calls me that, too-Dancer! It’s all Kli-Kli’s fault. The goblin was the first one to claim that I’m supposedly in some prophecy or other. I ought to strangle him, but I feel sorry for the little green creature.

One more effort. This time everything was much easier. The elfess had a will of iron. The first thing I saw was her face. Miralissa was leaning down over me and, despite her swarthy complexion, she was exceptionally pale. “Thank the gods,” she said when I looked up at her and smiled. Standing a little farther away were the two elves, as tense as two taut bowstrings or the strings of some musical instrument. Markauz was standing beside them. He looked gloomy. But then, that was his constant mood; we had all grown used to that long ago.

“How are you feeling?” asked Miralissa, putting her hand on my forehead again.

How am I feeling? My arms and legs are all there. I don’t think I have a tail. Everything’s all right. Just what are they all in such a flurry about?

“I feel fine. Why?”

I attempted to get up off the bed, but Miralissa gently pushed me back down.

“Lie down for a while.”

“Will someone explain to me what is going on?” asked Milord Alistan, unable to restrain himself any longer.

“I wish someone would explain to me,” Miralissa snapped irritably, and shivered, as if there was a chilly draft in the room. Quickly, she recovered her composure and was all business again. “Everything was going as usual. The standard procedure for attuning the key-it can be carried out by any third-year apprentice who knows almost nothing about shamanism. Everything was normal, and then the key suddenly flared up with a purple light and I lost contact with Harold. His consciousness was transported to such distant realms that we had great difficulty in bringing him back here. Or rather, somehow he made his own way back-all our attempts were unsuccessful. I don’t understand a thing!”

The artifact flared up with a purple light? That happened in one of the dreams. Some man… Sunik? Suonik? I can’t remember. He did something to that key. Something not exactly good. Another of the Master’s minions, that was who he was.

“Harold, can you remember anything?”

“Well, something,” I said slowly.

“Stop muttering! What do you remember, thief?” Alistan was still furious.

“Dreams. Thousands of dreams.”

“What dreams?”

“It’s all your key’s fault, you should have made it yourself, instead of sending a prince to the dwarves!” I said in a reproachful voice.

“How do you know that a prince commissioned the key?” Miralissa’s eyes widened in surprise.

“From a dream, I suppose…,” I said after a moment’s thought. “I even remember the elf’s name-Elodssa.”

“Elodssa the Destroyer of Laws,” Ell said, nodding to confirm that I wasn’t lying. “There was a head of the House of the Black Flame with that name. Long ago, more than a thousand years. But I did not know that he commissioned the key.”

“He didn’t commission it,” I said, defying Miralissa’s prohibition and sitting up on the bed. “His father did. Not even his father, all the elves. Dark and the light. And Elodssa went to the dwarves. That was how it all happened.”

“What happened?”

“Pay no attention. It was only one of many dreams.”

“Dreams have the quality of showing the past. Or the future. It is quite possible that without even knowing it, you saw a page from that book.”

So I had to explain.

“If we can rely on my dream,” I concluded, “then something bad was done to the key and now it doesn’t work the way it should.”

“But before it worked just fine!” Alistan objected.

“We didn’t know anything about the Master before,” Ell retorted. “Something in the key could have awoken, and it almost drew Harold in.”

“Enough!” said Miralissa, clicking her fingers in annoyance. “We shall carry on with what we have been doing. In any case, the artifact has remembered Harold.”

“And I think I’ll be going. If none of you have any objections, that is.” I got up off the bed and walked toward the door.

“Don’t forget the key,” Alistan said.

“No, let it stay with me for a while,” said Miralissa, unexpectedly supporting me. “I shall check it again. We have to be sure that it is absolutely safe.”

Marvelous! I left the thoughtful elves and the disgruntled Count Rat.

On the way to my room Tomcat called me. He looked somber.

“Have you seen Alistan?” he asked without stopping.

“He’s with Miralissa.”

Tomcat nodded and set off toward the elfess’s room.

“Where have you been gadding about?” That was how the jester greeted me when I appeared in the doorway.

Lamplighter wasn’t there yet, and Kli-Kli was making up a bed for himself on the floor, between the two beds with cracked wooden frames.

“Are you fond of sleeping on a hard surface?” I asked, ignoring the goblin’s question.

“I’d advise you to do the same, it’s good for the health,” said Kli-Kli, plumping up his cushion.

“Thank you, I think I’ll pass on that.” I took a plug of cotton wool out of my pocket-one of several that I had taken care to request from the innkeeper’s helpful wife-and put it in my ear.