by Alexey Pehov
“Remember, Harold,” the elfess told me as we walked to the magnificent carriage with a team of six Doralissian horses that Quidd had somehow managed to find, “we shall be in the house of a servant of the Master.”
I just had to hope that everyone at the reception was a bonehead and no servants of the Master happened to remember that a goblin left Avendoom in the company of elves.
We were hoping for a miracle, making a Vastar’s bargain with destiny. In the house of a servant of the Master. There was no need to remind me. I was only too aware of that.
8
DUKE GANET SHAGOR’S DRALAN
It was already dark and the carriage drifted through the emptying streets and parks of Ranneng like a phantom ship from the old sea legends. Kli-Kli, the elves, Eel, and I were sitting on the soft benches, Lamplighter and Arnkh had taken on the job of driving our carriage, and Deler, Hallas, Honeycomb, and Uncle accompanied us on horseback.
Miralissa had strictly forbidden the Wild Hearts to bring any weapons with them except for daggers. The Nightingales were too afraid of spies and assassins from the Wild Boars and Oburs to allow strangers to enter their house with any large sharp objects hanging on their belts. Deler had immediately asked the Elfess in a peevish, discontented voice: “But couldn’t you avert their eyes, Tresh Miralissa, the way you did with the Ranneng guard, after we rescued Master Harold and Eel?”
On that occasion it had cost the elfess a serious effort to ensure that the guardsmen would not notice the weapons sticking out from under our group’s clothes while they were riding through the town. The dwarf received a polite and chilly refusal, and he had to leave his beloved poleax at the inn. I hardly need to say that Deler was not particularly happy about this.
We came closer to the Nightingales’ estate and I began feeling calmer as the nervous trembling that I usually suffer before starting any job passed off.
After all, I’d been in all sorts of risky situations before, hadn’t I? Being a dralan for a while is a lot less dangerous than stealing the reward for my own head from the house of Baron Frago Lanten, the leader of the Avendoom municipal guard. And it’s nowhere near as dangerous as taking a stroll through the Forbidden Territory or a going down into the burial chambers of Hrad Spein. Jumping into a pit swarming with vipers and then climbing back out—surely that’s the very test for a master thief?
“As soon as you sense the Key, let us know and make your way to the exit,” Egrassa warned me, checking the edge of his crooked dagger with his thumb.
“Got you.”
He’s right, there’s no point in taunting demons any longer than necessary. The longer we hung about in the house, the more chance there was that we’d run into some kind of trouble.
I prayed hard to Sagot that there wouldn’t be any bright spark at Balistan Pargaid’s house who knew the real Ganet Shagor in person, or we’d find ourselves in a real mess that not even Miralissa’s shamanism could get us out of. And we couldn’t afford to forget about my old friend Paleface, either. He might have left the city without trying to settle scores with me, but … That piece of scum could turn up at the most inappropriate moment just as suddenly as he had disappeared.
“What are you thinking about?” asked the fool, jangling his little bells.
“The vicissitudes of fate and various possible kinds of trouble,” I answered.
“Don’t you worry, Dancer in the Shadows, I’m here with you!”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“We’re losing days,” Miralissa said in a dull voice as she tidied away a lock of hair. “It’s August already, and we haven’t crossed the Iselina yet. If things carry on like this, it will be September before we reach Hrad Spein.”
“You are mistaken,” Egrassa disagreed. “The Black River is two days’ hard riding from Ranneng, then it’s two weeks to reach the Border Kingdom, and another three days from there to Zagraba. And then a week in Zagraba until we reach Hrad Spein. So we should be there in late August.”
“These are not our lands, cousin,” the elfess sighed. “The eastern gates of Hrad Spein lie in the territory of the orcs. We do not know how long it will take us to get through the Golden Forest.”
And we don’t know what we might run into on the way, either. Or how much time I’ll need in Hrad Spein. Or if I’ll be able to get the Doors open. Or if I’ll be able to find the Horn in the labyrinth of the Palaces of Bone. Or get back out with it.
“Time will tell,” the elf replied to Miralissa, and put his dagger back into its sheath.
Time! Accursed time. We lost too much of it in Hargan’s Wasteland, and now we’re losing more of it in Ranneng. If it goes on like this, we won’t get the Horn back to the capital before the start of winter.
Meanwhile our carriage was ascending the memorable incline that I had ridden down in the cart only a few days earlier.
“We’re almost there,” Kli-Kli murmured with a shudder.
Oho! So even the goblin is feeling nervous! And there he was trying to reassure me.
“Right, Harold, you know what to do. Put on a miserable face and pray to that Sagot of yours to help you find out where the Key is.”
Put on a miserable face?
“Will this do?” I asked, squinting sideways at the jester, and he gave me a thumbs-up.
“Whoa there!” we heard Arnkh say.
The carriage stopped. A man with a gold nightingale emblem on his formal uniform came up to the door.
“Name yourselves, my worshipful lords.”
“His Grace Duke Ganet Shagor, the honorable Milla and Erala of the House of the Black Moon, and Dralan Par!” the jester barked as crisply as a dozen royal heralds. “And, of course, the duke’s favorite jester. That’s me, in case you didn’t recognize me.”
Miralissa and Egrassa had changed their names for simpler ones, and that’s something quite unheard of. The pride of the race of the Secondborn does not, under any circumstance, allow an elf to use a name that is not his own. So today’s event must be very special indeed, if two elves from the highest families of the House of the Black Moon decided to change their names.
Members of a noble family could attract close attention of an unwelcome kind, so for the time being the elves had dropped their proud ssa. And in addition, although Pargaid had never seen us, he could have heard from informers in Avendoom about the elves called Egrassa and Miralissa who had visited the king, so we could hardly be too careful. The elves had changed their own names, but not the name of their house. For members of the elfin race, their house is absolutely sacrosanct.
“May I see your invitation, Your Grace?”
The jester insolently thrust an envelope under the guard’s nose. The light blue paper bore an embossed seal with a clear image of a nightingale.
“There! Any more questions? Or do you want to make His Grace angry?”
“I beg your pardon,” the soldier muttered in fright and started backing away, almost tripping over the scabbard of his own sword. “Proceed!”
Up on the coach box, Arnkh clicked his tongue to urge the horses on and the carriage set off, but then stopped again before it had even gone a yard.
Another guard came up to us. Unlike the first, he was dressed all in silk, not chain mail. His bald cranium could have been the envy of all the warriors of the Border Kingdom. He had a nose like a mountain eagle’s beak, thick bushy eyebrows, ears that stuck out, and a long beard. His eyes were the color of blue steel, and they slid over us with a piercing gleam, remembering our faces.
“I beg your pardon, Your Grace, but may I take a look at the invitation?” this man asked drily.
“We have just been checked! You forget yourself, guard! You see a duke before you!” Eel snapped in a cold voice.
“My most humble apologies yet again, milord, but this is Balistan Pargaid’s order, and this check is for your own safety.”
“Give him the paper, fool!” Eel hissed. “Bear in mind that your conduct will be reported to the count,
and I shall personally give you a flogging!”
“As Your Lordship wishes,” the man said indifferently.
“Yes, the seal is genuine,” he said with a nod after examining the letter carefully. “My most sincere apologies for the inconvenience.”
There was not even a hint of regret in his voice.
“Take this for your pains,” Eel said acidly, and tossed the man a copper coin. He automatically caught it and his eyes glinted in fury.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” he said with a bow. “I shall remember your generosity.”
The carriage moved on and the gates of the estate were left behind. Now we were driving slowly through a small park.
“There was no need to humiliate him,” Miralissa said after a pause.
“In Garrak the nobility are not used to dealing politely with commoners. I do what my character requires,” Eel said with an indifferent shrug.
“This is not Garrak, and that man is dangerous.”
“I know, but even so I did what had to be done.”
“That man is called Meilo Trug,” the jester said in a quiet voice.
“You know him?”
“Yes, I saw him five years ago at a tournament held in honor of the birthday of Stalkon’s younger son. He won the section for open combat on foot. A master of the long sword.”
“He might have recognized you,” I muttered anxiously.
“I don’t think so. I was watching him from the grandstand, but it’s not very likely that he saw me.”
The carriage stopped in front of the mansion house, in which every window was brightly lit. The door of the house opened and servants with golden nightingale emblems on their clothes bowed low and respectfully to us.
Kli-Kli was the first to jump out of the carriage, and he immediately started making faces.
“Milord, noble gentlemen!” said a man clutching something like a massive, richly decorated mace or staff as he bowed to us. “In the name of Count Balistan Pargaid I am happy to greet you! Follow me, you are expected.”
Eel nodded, which seemed to be exactly what the lad was waiting for. He swung round and led us into the building along a carpet runner. Kli-Kli overtook our guide and skipped along in front of him, jingling his little bells merrily. The herald tried to take no notice of the goblin twirling about right under his feet.
The reception hall began immediately inside the door, and it was bursting at the seams with guests. I didn’t know there were so many nobles in Ranneng and the surrounding area! And this was just one of the warring parties! There were all the Oburs and Wild Boars, too, almost as many of them as the Nightingales!
The hall was crammed to the breaking point, groaning and screwing up its eyes at the bright colors of the guests’ rich costumes, swooning over the vast diversity of hairstyles, choking on the smell of perfume. I glanced round the hall with a practiced eye, trying to keep an expression of disdainful boredom on my face. Yes, the valuables on the ladies would have made up a dragon’s treasure hoard. There were plenty of spoils on display.
Thousands of candles were burning and it was as bright as day. Beside the fountain that had been set in the very center of the hall on somebody’s insane whim, musicians were playing to amuse the gathered guests. There were servants darting about, carrying trays with goblets of sparkling wine. I could hear voices and jolly laughter on all sides.
The lad who had showed us in struck his staff on the floor three times and yelled so loud that I almost jumped out of my skin.
“Duke Ganet Shagor of the House of Shagor! The honorable Milla and Eralla from the House of the Black Moon! Dralan Par!”
“And the jester Krya-Krya, you simpleton!” Kli-Kli shouted, bowing elegantly to the guests.
People turned to look at us and bowed respectfully. The goblin skipped over to me.
“Now what?” I asked him, barely even opening my lips.
“Drink some wine and put on a clever face, and that’s all that’s required of you. I’ll go and get to know the people.”
Before I could open my mouth, Kli-Kli had disappeared among the ladies and gentlemen. Miralissa quickly got talking with a pair of rather tipsy ladies, speaking with surprising expertise about male elves and the intricacies of elfin fashion. She batted her eyelids and twittered away as recklessly as if she was a total fool, and if I didn’t know her, I would never have guessed that this was all just pretense. The ladies listened to her, open-mouthed.
Egrassa walked along a wall hung with ancient weapons with the air of a connoisseur.
“Milord Shagor?”
A man dressed in a doublet of blue and black velvet approached Eel and me. Tall, with a neat black beard, a gleaming white smile, and quizzical brown eyes. His temples were already gray. His features were noble but perfectly agreeable. Lads like that are often used as models for heroes in temple frescoes.
There was something vaguely familiar about his face.
“Whom do I have the honor of addressing?” Eel inquired with just the slightest of bows. According to Kli-Kli, a duke doesn’t really have to bother bending his back at all. I bowed rather more deeply.
“Count Balistan Pargaid. I am delighted that you have accepted my invitation,” the man replied, bowing gently.
“Thank you for your kind invitation to this wonderful reception, count. Allow me to introduce my protégé, Dralan Par.”
A faint nod. Dralans may be nobles of a kind, but they’re not held in very high esteem.
“Do you always accompany the duke everywhere, dralan?” Balistan Pargaid asked, flashing his white smile.
“I like to travel, milord. And a journey with His Lordship is always full of adventures.”
“Is that so?” Another polite and meaningless smile. “I hope that I have not dragged you away from more important business with my untimely invitation, duke?”
“Indeed, no. I was in need of a little diversion.”
The gentle music drifted round the hall and the people on all sides glanced curiously in our direction, but merely bowed politely, without trying to join in the conversation.
“I was not in time to meet you in front of my house, but I have heard that you are traveling with elves. Forgive the indiscreet question, Your Grace, but what is your connection with that particular race?”
Before Eel had a chance to reply, the jester popped out from behind the wide skirts of a lady already well past her youth, who was languidly sipping wine. The goblin was holding a cream bun in each hand.
“Bed,” he said.
“What?” the count asked, blinking.
“My master, may his backside sit on the Sea Cliffs for another two hundred years, travels with elves because they’re good in bed. Pay no attention to the dralan. He just travels.”
For a moment I was dumbstruck at such an audacious, bold-faced lie. I think that if the elves had heard what the goblin said, they would have gutted him like a fish, even though he was wearing a jester’s cap. Eel received the news about his preferences with the calm composure of a genuine duke. Balistan Pargaid, on the other hand, chuckled and gave him a knowing look.
“One must have a little variety in one’s life,” said Eel, shrugging his shoulders casually. “Otherwise it simply becomes too boring.”
“Well, naturally. Is this your fool, milord?” the count asked, examining Kli-Kli with interest.
“Is this our master, milord?” the goblin asked Eel in the same tone of voice, and stuffed both cream buns into his mouth, which instantly made him look like a hamster. Kli-Kli thought for a moment, and then spat both tasty morsels out onto the Sultanate carpet.
“My fool is sharp-tongued, but not trained in good manners, please forgive him.”
Kli-Kli made a face and bowed very low to Balistan, almost burying his nose in the carpet.
“I could say that I am glad to be here, if only there weren’t so many stuffed dummies around, dear count,” the jester squeaked.
Count Balistan Pargaid laughed merrily. “Not every man
would dare to call my guests stuffed dummies!”
“In case the count has failed to notice, then I must regretfully inform him that I am not a man, but a goblin,” said Kli-Kli, jingling his little bells.
“Duke, your fool is amusing! Let me have him!”
“Don’t sell me for anything less than a thousand gold pieces!” the jester exclaimed. “And don’t forget to give me my share after the deal!”
“I’m afraid, count, that if the duke lets you have his fool, then my lord will become your bitter enemy. Believe me, Krya-Krya is a walking disaster!” I said, deciding it was time for me to open my mouth.
The count laughed again.
Meanwhile the herald struck his staff on the floor and announced more guests.
“Ah, please excuse me, Your Grace, but, you understand, the obligations of a host. We will certainly find time to talk again, will we not?”
“Of course, count. Of course.”
“Duke. Dralan.”
Then all those idiotic bows again. If it goes on like this all evening, my head’s going to fall off for sure.
“I’ll take a stroll to the fountain. Let’s meet by the stairs,” Eel said, and walked away from us.
“Well, what do you make of him? I mean the count.”
“Not now,” the jester hissed out of the corner of his mouth, jumping up and down desperately and jingling his bells. “Can you sense the Key?”
Jingle-jangle! Ding-dong!
“No.”
Kli-Kli grunted, disappointed.
Ding-dong! Jingle-jangle!
“Take some wine. Take a stroll!” Kli-Kli whispered to me, and disappeared into the crowd of Nightingales.
I looked around, but I couldn’t see the elves or Eel. The longer this evening went on, the more wonderful it became.
With a casual gesture I halted a servant giving out drinks and took a glass of sparkling rosé wine from him, wishing that there was something else. I can’t stand that Filand piss-water. One glass is enough to set my insides on fire, as if it had been spiked with poison.
“Would the gentleman like some sweet fruits?” An entire dish of foreign garbage sprinkled with powdered sugar was thrust under my nose.
