Alexey Pehov - Shadow Prowler

“Then tell me.”

“He was right all along. There was something going on behind our backs. He and Egrassa got there just in time. The tracker’s instincts led him to a small forest glade quite a long way off the highway. And there were three fellows there, every one of them exactly like the sorcerers who sneaked into Stalkon’s palace. Tomcat says they all had rings like the attackers that night.”

“What rings do you mean?”

“Ooooooh…,” the goblin gasped disappointedly. “I can see you just slept through the whole thing. All the men who attacked the palace had rings made like ivy. That’s one of the Nameless One’s emblems. So that they could recognize each other. Anyway, these lads in the glade had got a fire going and put a pot over it. I don’t know what they were planning to cook up, but it certainly wasn’t a fancy cake. As soon as the purple smoke started rising out of the pot-”

“Purple?” I asked.

I hated that color ever since Miralissa had sent me off to that incredible vision when I was being introduced to the key. Besides, it’s a color for the rich and privileged.

“I was surprised, too, but that’s exactly the way Tomcat tells it. And don’t you interrupt! Well, then… You’ve put me off now, Harold!” Kli-Kli whispered furiously.

“Purple smoke,” I prompted him.

“Ah, right! Well then, as soon as the purple smoke started rising out of the pot, Egrassa took his bow and killed the two shamans so fast, they never even knew what was happening. Tomcat overturned the pot and stamped out the fire, and then the creature that had been following all the way appeared out of thin air. Tomcat sensed it a long time ago, only it was invisible. It was some kind of tracker dog. Anyway, they killed it and set off to catch up with us-”

“And it took them all this time to do it,” I said acidly, completing the goblin’s story.

“Just wait, will you!” Kli-Kli said exasperatedly, jumping to his feet. “Now look, you’ve put me off again. I’m not going to tell you anything.”

“They set off back to catch us up,” I said hastily.

“Only they didn’t get very far,” said the goblin, sitting back down beside me again. “Either Tomcat and Egrassa missed one of those skunks, or the elf didn’t shoot fast enough, but one of the shamans must have managed to raise the alarm. Anyway, the road was blocked off in front of them and behind them by several squads of men who appeared out of nowhere. And Tomcat sensed that they’d started working their sorcery again somewhere close to the place where he’d just been. There must have been another group of sorcerers in the forest, but so far they’d been keeping quiet, and that was why Tomcat hadn’t sensed them. The Nameless One’s followers had our lads caught in a trap, so Tomcat and Egrassa had to turn off into the forest to get away from them, and that’s why it took them so long to get here. Their pursuers dropped back, there was no point in hunting the two of them through the undergrowth and fallen trees-the elf’s too good at confusing his tracks. And a day later, when Tomcat and Egrassa came out onto the road, they ran into Alistan and Eel. And that basically is the whole story.”

“Brrrr! I don’t understand a thing.”

“You’re not the only one.” The jester sighed. “The count and the elves were talking all night. It seems there are more shamans in Valiostr than Doralissians in the Steppes of Ungava. And the Nameless One’s supporters are absolutely countless. And then there’s your Master and his henchmen, and the strange magicians in the plague village. All hunting us, and all using magic to do it. It’s quite likely that if Tomcat and Egrassa hadn’t interfered in time with the spell those shamans were working, our group wouldn’t exist any longer.”

“But someone has worked the magic. You told me that someone else could have replaced the dead sorcerers.”

“So what?” The jester shrugged. “You have to understand that shamanism isn’t the wizardry of the Order, its laws are quite different. It only has to be knocked slightly off course and it turns out quite different from how the person working it intended. Remember the hand monster! Well, it’s the same thing here. There’s no knowing what it eventually turned into. We’re still alive, anyway.”

“Where did you get all your brains from, Kli-Kli?”

“From my grandfather, he was a shaman.”

“Yes, so you’ve told me a hundred times. So you think that whoever was plotting against us will simmer down now?”

“Why?”

“Well, you just said that the shamanism didn’t work.”

“If it didn’t work the first time, it will the second,” the goblin said with a shrug. “Working magic’s no problem for these lads, they’ll send some terrible monster with big teeth after us and then just disappear, as if they’d never even existed. The job’s done, their Master’s instructions have been carried out, they can hide away until the Nameless One comes out from behind the Needles of Ice.”

“They don’t have long to wait.”

“That’s what I’m saying. We need to get to Hrad Spein as quickly as possible and spoil the Nameless One’s mood for another five hundred years or so.”

Hallas came up to us.

“Listen, lads,” said the gnome, taking his pipe out of his mouth and blowing smoke rings. “It’s time to wake everyone up, or they’ll sleep until the coming of the Nameless One.”

“Well, let’s wake them up then,” said the jester, jumping to his feet and completely forgetting all his worries. “Don’t happen to have a bucket of cold water handy, do you?”

The complete absence of wind promised a very hot day. Almost as hot as the day before, and the day before that, and the day before that, and… I could carry on for a long time.

No one was particularly surprised when at noon we found ourselves roasting in a charming oven.

I personally always anticipated that time of day with a shudder. Neither a wet rag nor the goblin’s jokes and jingles were any help. But even so, everyone listened to the jokes and even laughed. Kli-Kli really pulled out all the stops in his efforts to demonstrate the skills of a royal court jester.

The group was complete once again and, despite the heat, we were in an exceptionally good mood… even me. Only every now and then a shadow of anxiety ran across Miralissa’s face. Once, as I drew level with the elfess’s horse, I heard a snatch of her conversation with Egrassa. She was still concerned about the shamans cooking up something horrible in their pots far behind us. From what she said it seemed that they wouldn’t rest until they had completed their sorcery.

I trusted the elfess’s intuition completely. The Nameless One’s minions could send some kind of filthy garbage crashing down on our heads at any moment. As they say, the laws of universal beastliness always take effect just when you’re not expecting anything.

That was why, to keep my nerves nice and calm, I kept glancing sideways at Tomcat in case he sensed anything in advance. But the overweight Wild Heart and failed magician of the Order remained serenely calm, even cheerful. And so the uneasy feeling that had overcome me gradually eased.

Hargan’s Wasteland was a welter of tall grass and low tangles of heather. Sometimes the narrow line of the path was completely hidden under the grassy covering. Our ears were set buzzing by the chirring of thousands of crickets. When we rode into particularly thick grass the gray-green trilling insects cascaded out from under the hooves of the horses, complaining at our invasion of their kingdom.

After a while, we made our way between massive boulders of black granite, each the size of a small house, and came upon a rickety old hut. Honeycomb said that the scythe men who made the winter hay for the surrounding villages spent the nights in it. The long rows of mown hay lying across the grassy meadows confirmed what he had said.