by Alexey Pehov
“It’s all the same. In that case, you’ll be able to manage the spear.” The elf handed me the Gray One’s krasta. “The s’kash and the bow are enough for me, but this will suit you better. At least you can hold your enemies off for a while.”
“Thank you,” I said, taking the weapon.
“Only, if you’re going to swing it, don’t forget that one end’s weighted. I wouldn’t like to see it go flying out of your hands at just the wrong moment,” Egrassa warned me, and after that the question of the weapon never came up again.
With the gray vampire’s legacy in my hands, I felt more confident. And the chain mail that had been left in Mumr’s safekeeping while I took my trip round Hrad Spein inspired me with some hope, too. We had to eat on the march, whatever the gods provided. And that day the gods weren’t very well disposed toward us, or you could say my stomach was never anywhere near full. Kli-Kli ambled along up at the front, behind Glo-Glo, and I kept catching myself thinking I couldn’t get used to the idea that the goblin was really a gobliness.
The group was in fairly high spirits, which was understandable enough—the orcs didn’t seem to be planning to chase us. In his joy, Hallas even started crooning “The Song of the Crazy Miners.”
To build his dam across the stream
The beaver gnaws the bark
The badger digs to build his set
And we carve out the rock!
In arrogance that does not speak
The haughty mountains stand.
Behold our fury surge and seethe
As our mattocks pound and pound.
Who fears the mountains’ arrogance,
With beer himself consoles,
But we drink fury for our strength
And the laughter in our souls.
The granite trembles as we swing
And we hack and hack away.
Beneath the mountains in our mines
No god could last a day.
We are the mountains’ only Kings,
The depths defer to the gnome.
Be wary, then, of entering
The vastness of our home.
We level mountains to the ground,
Make rivers seethe and surge,
And death and blood can only feed
The fury of our rage!
The fire and flood we both do scorn
For the distant battle’s story.
We are the true Bones of the earth—
Behold the Miners’ fury!
“Well, well,” Deler muttered good-naturedly after listening to the song all the way through. “Lucky’s started his crowing again.”
“You’re just envious because your race doesn’t have any songs like that, even in the Zam-da-Mort,” Hallas chuckled in anticipation of an old familiar quarrel.
“You can find all sorts of things in the Castle of Death, and you know that perfectly well,” the dwarf said, avoiding an argument with the gnome.
“So I’ve heard,” said Hallas, suddenly serious, and he didn’t sing any more songs.
By lunchtime the sun peeped out, which made the walking much more pleasant. Glo-Glo suddenly started veering farther and farther left, and the stream that had been our companion for so long was left behind among the trees. Now we were not walking south, but west. Milord Alistan seemed rather unhappy with this circumstance, and Glo-Glo had to explain that there was an orc city nearby, and we had to make a detour. Unless, of course, we wanted to enjoy the hospitality of the Firstborn.
After trudging a fair distance through the forest undergrowth, by evening we were back beside our old friend, the stream, and while it was still light, we reached a dense grove of fir trees that held the stream tight in its shaggy, prickly embrace. We spent the night there, safely concealed from prying eyes by the huge fir trees. Egrassa forbade us to make a fire—there were orcs nearby—and we had to spend the whole night without any warmth. Twilight fell in the forest suddenly—but then, it always does in autumn.
Halas and Deler went to sleep straightaway (they were on sentry duty for the second half of the night). I started settling down to sleep, too, but as soon as I lay down and snuggled up tight in my warm blanket, someone shook me by the shoulder. Mumr.
“Yes?”
“Show me it, eh?” he asked in a plaintive voice.
“What?” I asked, puzzled.
“The Horn. We never had a chance to get a decent look at it back at the Labyrinth. I’m really curious to see what we’ve done all this for.”
“But it’s dark! Egrassa said we can’t light a fire. The Firstborn might smell the smoke.”
“I’ve got a way out,” Egrassa said unexpectedly, and a small glow appeared between the palms of his hands. “I don’t know much shamanism, but I can give you three minutes of light.”
The magical light lasted just long enough for us to take a good look at each other’s faces. Apart from Deler and Hallas, nobody was even thinking of sleeping. Everybody was waiting for Harold to show them the Horn. I had to get up and open the bag that never left my side.
“So that’s it…,” Eel murmured, examining the artifact with an amazed expression.
“May I…,” Milord Alistan inquired timidly.
I gladly handed him the Rainbow Horn. As far as I was concerned, he could have it. He could keep the tin whistle safe for his beloved king.
The old shaman was standing closest to the captain of the guard, and the Horn ended up in his hands. He closed his eyes, held the artifact against his forehead, made a face as if he’d eaten a whole plateful of sour gooseberries, and delivered his verdict:
“It is weak. Very weak. The power has almost left it; it will only hold out for a few more weeks, and then…” Glo-Glo didn’t finish what he was saying, but everybody knew what would happen then.
“So we need to press on,” said Alistan Markauz.
“We still have masses of time, milord. In early November the S’u-dar is already snowbound, and it will be very difficult for the Nameless One to leave his lair. And then it’s a long journey from the Needles of Ice to the Lonely Giant. The sorcerer’s army won’t reach the fortress before mid-January,” Lamplighter reassured the count.
“Mumr’s right, milord. A winter campaign is too difficult. The Desolate Lands are completely snowbound. In winter the Slumbering Forest is a dangerous place, even for servants of the Nameless One. The Crayfish Dukedom will take another two months to start moving,” said Eel, shaking his head thoughtfully. “The enemy will wait until spring, when the passes will be free of snow.”
“And what if he doesn’t?” Egrassa asked.
“If he doesn’t wait, then this winter campaign will cost him a quarter of his army, Tresh Egrassa.”
The warriors argued and discussed the various possibilities for an attack by the enemy. Kli-Kli yawned frantically, covering her mouth with her hand, and to be honest, I must confess that I was struggling to stay awake, too. But the others seemed just fine. Were they made of iron, or what? Before going to sleep, I put the Rainbow Horn back in the bag and checked on the other things, too. The Key was there all right, but the emeralds I had carried so diligently halfway across the Palaces of Bone had disappeared without trace. I would have laughed, but I was far too sleepy. Those cursed orcs had stolen what was rightfully mine, may the darkness take them.
* * *
I was the last to wake up; all the others were already on their feet. Hallas was handing out the meager ration. When he noticed me, the gnome winked and thrust a piece of stale bread and a slice of dried meat into my hand. That was all there was for breakfast.
“What time is it?” I moaned.
“Darkness only knows, Harold,” Deler answered, sharpening the blade of his beloved poleax with a whetstone. “The mist’s incredibly thick, so I can’t really say, but dawn was no more than fifteen minutes ago.”
“We’re moving out, Harold, roll up your blanket,” said Alistan Markauz. He didn’t intend to wait until I was wide awake.
We walk
ed slowly now. Who knew what might be hidden in the mist, and running into an orc outpost would be the easiest thing in the world. So we had to be on the lookout as we advanced. It was absolutely silent all around. The shroud of mist swallowed up all the sounds, and even the babbling of the stream sounded strangely subdued and ominous. Kli-Kli shuddered and kept turning her head warily this way and that. When she caught me looking at her, she said, “I hate the mist. It makes us all blind.”
“Don’t be afraid, Kli-Kli,” Hallas said to cheer her up. “If there was anything here, we’d have run into trouble a long time ago.”
“I know,” she muttered. “But even so, I’ve got a bad feeling. Something’s going to happen. I can smell it.”
“Please don’t start spreading panic, Jester,” Eel implored her. But despite his skeptical tone of voice, he still checked to make sure his “brother” and “sister” came out of their scabbards easily.
Forty minutes later we remembered her warning. It was already quite light, but the mist was showing no sign of disappearing, and so we couldn’t make the sound out clearly at first.
Boo-oom! Boo-oom! Boo-oom!
The mist swallowed up the sounds, and we felt the rumble of the drums more with our skin than with our ears.
“Orcs!” Deler hissed, grabbing his poleax.
“They caught up after all!”
Hallas uttered a long, florid curse combining human and gnomish. His brief oration included a mention of the orcs appearing in Siala through some misunderstanding, and that was followed by a listing of the kinds of intercourse orcs indulged in when they weren’t banging on their drums.
“Hallas, shut up!” Milord Alistan growled.
The gnome stopped in the middle of an especially florid turn of phrase, and Egrassa lay down on the ground, parted the leaves, said a few words in his guttural language, and started to listen. The drums carried on.
“They’re an hour and a half away. Moving very quickly.”
“How many of them are there, Tresh Egrassa?” the count asked, gripping the hilt of his sword and straining to see something through the wall of fog.
“I don’t know, milord. I’m no master at weaving these spells. I can only say that there are many of them.”
“Your little bees didn’t do us much good, shaman!” Hallas told Glo-Glo in a frankly spiteful tone. “Now what are you going to do?”
“Take you by the legs and give the orcs’ army a good hammering with your head!” Glo-Glo replied furiously. “If it wasn’t for my spell, they’d be roasting the soles of your feet already!”
“Can you help us, most venerable sir?” asked Milord Alistan, taking the bull by the horns.
“If milord has in mind delightful little bees or some kind of thunder and lightning, then my answer is no. I won’t be able to work any real impressive magic for a long time. Just a few small things.”
“What about Kli-Kli?” I blurted out.
“Not advanced enough, Harold,” said Glo-Glo, shaking his head. “He still has far too much to learn.”
“A jester working spells is all I need now! Is there anything you can do?”
“Yes, I can draw the pursuit away from you, at least for a while. And take this.” Glo-Glo handed Milord Alistan something that looked like a lump of soil.
“What’s that?” Lamplighter asked.
“Your salvation,” said Glo-Glo, wiping his hands on his cloak. “If you really have your backs against the wall, crush this lump in your fist, and those who are pursuing you will follow the one who crushes it.”
“How do you mean?” Eel asked.
“The idea is that the one who activates the spell runs away from the group, and the orcs will follow him, thinking that they are chasing all of you. The trouble is that the solitary individual will probably be killed, the orcs will not lose the trail, and sooner or later they will catch up again. So milord, decide for yourselves which of you will run if it should come to that. I can lead away those who are following us now, and lead them a long way off—the forest spirits be praised, I have enough strength for that—so beware, not of those who are behind, but those who are ahead. Since they have survived, our pursuers have probably informed their kinsmen about the fugitives, and there are two large orc settlements ahead. The forest is full of orcs, so keep your eyes open. Follow the stream to the lake and turn northwest. Perhaps you will break through. Tresh Egrassa, may fortune smile on you.”
The elf nodded.
“That’s all I have to say. Move quickly and try not to stop, but don’t get careless. Kli-Kli, one moment.”
Glo-Glo took his granddaughter to one side and the others set about checking their weapons.
Kli-Kli came running up, and Glo-Glo addressed all of us: “May the forest spirits preserve you.”
And then he added, just for me: “Take good care of yourself, Dancer, and do what must be done.”
I didn’t know what he meant by that “do,” but I nodded, just to be on the safe side.
“Thank you for getting me out of the Labyrinth, Glo-Glo.”
The old shaman just chuckled, then he nodded in farewell and disappeared into the trees.
“Forward,” said Egrassa, and started running alongside the stream.
16
THE SONG OF THE FLUTE
I had no more strength to run and I collapsed and fell. What I needed now was to lie there for a while, get my breath back, recover my strength. But my dreams were not fated to come true. I was grabbed by the arms from both sides and jerked back onto my feet.
We will catch you.… We will kill you! the drums sang behind the wall of mist.
“Run, Harold!” Eel hissed.
“Just a little farther!” said Lamplighter, adding his plea to his comrade’s. “Run, lad! You can do it!”
Gulping, I nodded. I had an unmerciful stabbing pain in my side, but I had to run, I had to.
“Take him!” Eel barked, and he and Mumr dragged me on.
I set one foot in front of the other as best as I was able. Hallas and Deler followed the example of their two comrades and grabbed the exhausted Kli-Kli. She didn’t have any strength to resist. So the gobliness and I were the only two who had broken down after the two-hour chase. But the warriors were tired, too, and now we were weighing them down. I accepted the support from Eel and Lamplighter for about ten minutes and then ran on my own.
“Can you manage?” the Garrakian asked me uncertainly. “Give me the spear.”
I nodded weakly.
We will catch you.… We will kill …
At noon the mist was still hanging all around us, as if Zagraba had decided to hide us forever from the eyes of the world and its own primeval thickets. But I didn’t care anymore. An eternity later, when Egrassa realized he was the only one who could maintain the pace he had set and everyone else urgently needed a rest, the elf ordered a halt. I dropped where I stood.
“How d’you like dashing about like this?” Kli-Kli wheezed.
“I’m not used to such long-distance sprints,” I answered. “How about you?”
“I’m all right, but Deler was carrying me piggyback for the last forty minutes, and he was suffering.”
“Don’t worry, my friend, I’m all right,” said Deler, breathing like a punctured blacksmith’s bellows—as we all were.
“The drums have stopped!” Eel said, interrupting us. He was sitting on the ground, leaning back against an old golden-leaf.
“Have they really gone?” Mumr asked in relief.
Lamplighter had had it harder than anyone else. Running through the forest with a bidenhander and looking after me at the same time was no easy job.
“Either the Firstborn have decided to pursue us in silence, which isn’t like them at all, or the goblin has managed to put them off our trail,” Egrassa mused thoughtfully. “How much time do you need to rest, milord?”
“How much time do we have?”
“A little more than ten minutes, then we’ll have to set out again if we
don’t want the orc patrols to find us. We’ll go along the stream—it flows northward. The orcs aren’t gods, they could quite easily lose our trail, and if we hurry, we’ll be out of the Golden Forest in a week.”
“And then it will take us another week to get out of Zagraba. We’ve stirred up the Firstborn, Egrassa; they probably won’t stop following us at the edge of the Golden Forest,” Eel objected.
“Maybe you’re right, and maybe you’re not,” the dark elf told the Garrakian. “If we don’t make any noise and attract attention to ourselves, I’m quite capable of leading us out of Zagraba. Only in the name of all the gods—move quietly. The mist is thick, the orcs are very close, and I’d prefer it if we noticed them before they know we’re here.”
* * *
I’d have said the eight orcs were moving very quietly, but to Egrassa’s keen hearing they sounded very noisy, so we had no trouble concealing ourselves and falling on the enemy en masse. We couldn’t afford to let the Firstborn go—they might come across our tracks and realize we’d duped them and then come after us again or, even worse, warn their friends. In that case the element of surprise would be completely lost, and we’d find ourselves back in the role of foxes running from a pack of hounds.
It was all over before it even started. The orcs hadn’t been expecting our ambush, and the element of surprise was decisive—and fatal. Kli-Kli and Eel threw knives at the same instant, and Egrassa used his bow. Before the orcs realized what was happening, four of them were dead. The other four drew their yataghans and one dashed toward Egrassa, as the most dangerous of our group. But the Firstborn’s way was blocked by Mumr, who had been ordered to protect our only bowman at any cost. Lamplighter met the Firstborn, struck him in the groin with a rapid jab, immediately dodged aside so that he was behind his opponent, and sliced off the Firstborn’s leg with a single smooth stroke.
The skirmish was so brief, I didn’t have time to join in. Alistan, holding his sword with both hands, clashed with another orc, but the two enemies had only exchanged one blow apiece when Egrassa put an arrow in the orc’s back. The same fate overtook the orc who went for Deler.
