Alexey Pehov - Shadow Prowler

“Just wait a bit with that mouse of yours,” the huge man retorted. “It’s somewhere near here. I think we need to turn round and ride back a bit.”

“You said that half an hour ago,” muttered Hallas.

“Let’s look for it in the morning,” said Kli-Kli, supporting Marmot.

The goblin had been tying knots in his string almost without a break. Now he had hundreds of them, and he claimed that very soon they would produce some terrible goblin magic.

No one took any notice of his blather, except for Deler, who asked to be warned when everything was ready so that he could hide as far away as possible from the place where the failed shaman planned to demonstrate his abilities.

“Are you sure this track is here? Have you walked along it yourself?” Eel asked.

“No. I was still a little kid then. My grandfather showed me it. The shepherds used it to take their sheep out to graze all summer in the wasteland. The grass there was really something.”

“That’s hardly surprising,” Kli-Kli commented dryly.

“Do you know something about this place?” Miralissa asked.

“I’ll tell you all an interesting story at the halt, if you don’t fall asleep.”

“I remember!” Honeycomb suddenly howled and slapped himself on the forehead. “I remember! It began beside two trees that leaned toward each other like a pair of drunks!”

“There was something like that,” said Ell, brushing aside a lock of hair that had fallen over his eyes. “About fifty yards back.”

Everyone heaved a sigh of relief, realizing that the halt they had been anticipating for so long would soon arrive. I myself was barely able to stay in the saddle and my dearest wish was to get down from Little Bee.

“That’s it! There they are, the darlings!” Honeycomb exclaimed when the silhouettes of two aspens emerged from the darkness, looming up in isolation above the bushes. “The track starts right between them.”

“Right then, a halt.” Hallas climbed gratefully out of his saddle and I followed his example. “Uncle! Are we going to eat anything today or do we bed down on an empty stomach?”

“You never think of anything but filling your belly, longbeard.” Deler laughed.

Do I need to tell you what the gnome said to that? Everything had come full circle.

“Someone promised to tell us a story,” said Arnkh some time later, when we were all sitting round the campfire with hare stew in our bellies.

“If you wish,” said Kli-Kli, setting aside his bundle of knotted strings. “What would you like to hear?”

“You mean you know a lot of stories?”

“I am the king’s jester, after all,” the goblin said, offended. “I have to know them for my job.”

“You promised to tell us about Hargan’s Wasteland, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Ah-ah…,” Kli-Kli drawled. “Have none of you ever heard about Hargan’s Brigade?”

Some shook their heads, some shrugged indifferently. The name didn’t mean anything to anyone.

“You people have such short memories.” The goblin sighed. “You know, it all happened only a little less than five hundred years ago.”

“Come off it,” Loudmouth laughed. “That’s time enough to forget anything at all.”

“But not the Dog Swallows Brigade to which Avendoom probably owes its very survival to this day.”

“Dog Swallows?” Uncle echoed with a frown. “I don’t recall any such unit. At least, it doesn’t exist in Valiostr…”

“It doesn’t now, and it never will again,” Kli-Kli said in a sad voice. “It all happened during the Spring War. The orcs came pouring out of the Forests of Zagraba in an endless flood, taking everyone by surprise. Tens of thousands of them descended on the Border Kingdom, but the main thrust of the blow was directed at Valiostr-”

“You don’t need to tell us that,” said Arnkh, interrupting the goblin.

“Who’s telling this story, you or me?” Kli-Kli asked furiously. “If you’re so smart, you do the talking, and I’ll go to bed! But if you can’t, keep quiet!”

Arnkh raised both hands in a gesture of submission.

“Grok set his army on the march and gave battle on the banks of the Iselina. For six days the Firstborn tried to force the river, but the men held firm. On the seventh day, at the cost of enormous losses, the orcs broke through Grok’s defenses in four places and threw back the army of men, forcing it to retreat to the north. The whole of south Valiostr was lost. There was no news from Shamar, and Grok thought that the Borderland had already been annihilated.”

“Ha! The Borderland doesn’t surrender that easily! We withstood that siege!” said Arnkh, but fell silent when he caught Kli-Kli’s eye.

“Isilia, as usual, did not get involved in the war, hoping that the cup of woe would pass it by. It was pointless to ask for help from Miranueh-your state had never lived at peace with that country. It made absolutely no sense to say anything to the dark elves after the Long Winter came, following the grotesque death of their prince; none of them had even been seen in Valiostr for many years… The kingdom was left to face the enemy alone. Only destiny and the army, gentlemen, could halt the flood of orcs.”

“The Firstborn had never attacked in such numbers before. That was a terrible time,” Uncle said with a nod.

“The humans despised the other races too much. How could they accept half animals as their allies? And then this happened. No one had anticipated the coming of the orcs, and they paid a heavy price for their lack of vigilance. After a long retreat, the weary army engaged the Firstborn under the walls of Ranneng and lost the battle. The capital was taken and then destroyed. The army and the king retreated to the north. The exhausted men, constantly harassed by the advance units of the enemy, fell back toward Avendoom in order to fight its final battle there-they had nowhere else to retreat to. Except to the Cold Sea, or past the Lonely Giant into the Desolate Lands.

“Either of those would have been suicide. All they could do was to die with dignity. Grok needed time to prepare for the final battle-time which, unfortunately, he didn’t have. The army had to rest, if only for one day.

“This area used to be covered with thick forest. There weren’t any villages yet… that is, there were some, of course, but pitifully few. In those times, no one thought about building a road or a main highway, there was only a fairly large track from Ranneng to Avendoom. And it happened to pass straight through the area that is now known as Hargan’s Wasteland. In our times the old road has been forgotten and abandoned, but then it was the vital thread that connected the central cities of Valiostr. The army retreated along it. A council that included both soldiers and members of the recently founded Order of Magicians decided that part of the army had to be sacrificed so that it could hold up the invaders for at least a few days. The area was advantageous-full of forests and marshes, with just one road, which was the only way the enemy could advance. At one point the road crossed a deep ravine with impassable swamps on its left and its right. It was decided to hold the enemy back here for as long as possible. To allow the main human forces to get as far away as possible.”

The goblin broke off, wrapped himself in his cloak, and continued.

“They put out the call and looked for volunteers. People who would decide to stay and give battle. You men are amazing creatures. Sometimes you’ll tear each other’s throats out for a copper or some piece of rubbish, and sometimes you decide to cover your comrades’ backs, knowing that you’ll never get out alive. Just over three thousand soldiers volunteered. Three thousand men willing to condemn themselves to death, to dig their nails into the slopes of that ravine, but not let the orcs pass. Four hundred of them were chosen; it would simply have been stupid to sacrifice the rest.”