Shadow Prowler

by Alexey Pehov

  “Don’t worry,” Valder replied to my thoughts. “He can’t get in, the door won’t let him.”

  “Who is he?” I asked, taking out the magical light.

  “I don’t know, I’ve never seen him before.”

  “Can I wait out the day here? Is it safe in the tower?”

  “Alas, my friend. In this part of Avendoom nowhere is safe.”

  Sagot! So in twenty minutes it will all be over.

  Holding the bright trinket out in front of me, I inspected the interior that I already knew from my dream. Nothing had changed, except that the walls were covered with soot, and there was a human skeleton lying on the floor.

  “An old friend,” Valder whispered sadly.

  A friend? Ah, yes! The archmagician. What was his name? Ilai? No . . . Ilio.

  I had to go up. To where Artsivus had said the archive was kept. Grab the plans of Hrad Spein and run—and I had just had another one of my crazy little ideas. Valder chuckled inside my head in approval of my plan.

  I flew up the black marble staircase that wound round the central column like a gigantic snake. The light of the magical trinket picked images out of the darkness—frescoes that told the history of the Order. Now the second floor and the door leading to the archive. I happened to raise my head, and saw the broken end of the serpentine stairway pointing up into the predawn sky. This was all that was left of the mighty Tower of the Order.

  Bursting in through the door, I found myself in a long, wide corridor. The light picked out decayed Sultanate carpets under my feet, elegant carved furniture, tapestries on the walls, and hundreds of doors.

  May the Nameless One take me! Which one is it?

  “Go on! The archive hall is farther along!”

  I broke into a run. The corridor seemed endless; the magicians of the Order had obviously done something with the space in order to expand the inner premises of the tower a little.

  “Stop!”

  I had almost rushed past it. The wooden doors were standing slightly open, as if someone had left the archive in a hurry. Perhaps that was what had actually happened, and the magician who had returned from Hrad Spein and carried the maps through the Forbidden Territory had never got as far as the Order. Wouldn’t it be funny if he had never got as far as the tower, and there were no maps here?

  The magic light began to fade.

  “What’s happening?”

  “The magic of the tower’s smothering it. It won’t be any more help to you. Hurry!”

  I entered the huge room. There was almost no time left now.

  Hmm. Not bad. The Royal Library would be green with envy. Even it didn’t have this many magic books and ancient tomes. Shelves upon shelves upon shelves. Books upon books upon books. And it was all permeated with magic. A stranger could wander about in here for hours and still not find what he was looking for. May a h’san’kor devour my dear departed granny.

  “Straight on!” Valder barked. “Left! Follow these shelves, turn left again at the end! Straight on. Farther, farther, farther . . . Stop! Turn round! There it is!”

  Panting hard, I looked down at the elegant crystal table with nothing standing on it except a large black casket, decorated with silver deer. Its lid was raised slightly and I could see a bundle of papers. There it was, my goal!

  I grabbed the treasure with trembling hands and stuffed it into my bag. Now it was time to get out of there.

  “Vukhdjaaz!” I howled as loud as I could. “Vukhdjaaz, it’s me!”

  For a few moments nothing happened, and I started getting very nervous, afraid that my plan wouldn’t work. And then my old acquaintance appeared straight out of the bookshelves. A real little charmer. And I must confess that if anyone had told me only a few hours earlier that I would be glad to see him, I would have twirled one finger at the side of my head and told the madman where he could go.

  “Well? Have you got the Horse?” he asked, his green eyes glittering furiously.

  “Take me to the edge of the Forbidden Territory, please, to the start of the Street of the Roofers,” I said in a rather polite and cultured manner.

  But demons are obviously not taught to be polite and cultured.

  “Have you lost your mind, manling?” Vukhdjaaz hissed, grabbing me by the sides of my chest. “Or drunk a drop too much? Do I look like a carriage driver?”

  “I have to get out of here!” I had no time for arguing with this creature. “Take me where I ask, and you’ll find out where to get the Horse!”

  The demon gave me an angry and suspicious look, obviously wondering which way to devour me, then suddenly opened his fingers and let me go.

  “All right, I’ll take you where you want to go, but if you trick me I’ll suck the marrow out of your bones.”

  “A deal.” I took a deep breath.

  “Are you ready, manling?”

  “Yes.” Without even looking, I grabbed a couple of ancient tomes off the nearest shelf.

  What can I say, it’s a professional habit. I could sell those books to people who appreciated them for huge money—why not earn a bit extra, since I hadn’t been able to stick my nose into the gnomes’ bank?

  “I’ll just take . . .”

  Vukhdjaaz grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and pulled me up against him.

  Clack!

  In the first instant the wall leapt toward me. In the second something gray flickered in front of my eyes and my ears felt as if they were stuffed with cotton wool. In the third, I was already standing beside the magic wall, blinking in amazement.

  “. . . a couple of books,” I said, completing my interrupted sentence.

  “You already took them,” the demon snorted. “Well? Where is it?”

  “Come to the Knife and Ax tomorrow at exactly one minute after midnight and I’ll give you the Horse.”

  Vukhdjaaz gave a muffled growl and bared his huge teeth. “I can tell you’re lying!”

  “Why would I?” I asked, shrugging my shoulders and squinting up nervously at the sky. About two minutes to dawn at the most. “You can always find me. Come, but at precisely the time I said, otherwise the Horse might no longer be there.”

  “Don’t try to tell me what to do, you little snake! I’ll be there!” the demon growled, and disappeared into the wall of the nearest house. He didn’t even remind me about sucking the marrow out of my bones.

  I breathed a sigh of relief, carefully set the books on the top of the wall, clambered up onto it myself, and was about to climb down when I remembered a piece of unfinished business.

  “Valder, you have to go now.”

  “Good-bye,” the archmagician’s voice replied immediately.

  “Thank you. Live in the light.”

  I felt something disappear from inside me. The archmagician was gone.

  I jumped down from the wall, then reached up and took the books lying on top of it. Well, that was that. I’d done something no one else had ever done—gone right through the Forbidden Territory. Of course, I’d cheated a bit and obtained help from a demon, but your average philistine didn’t have to know anything about that.

  I was just about to go when I heard a shout from behind the wall:

  “Harold, save me!”

  I jumped up, grabbed hold of the top of the wall, pulled myself up, and saw who was calling me.

  It was Shnyg, hobbling and stumbling along the Street of the Roofers and repeatedly falling over. So he’d survived, the tenacious son of a bitch! He must have raced the entire length of the street to get here in time.

  “Shnyg, old buddy, do you need my help?”

  “Harold! Don’t leave me!” he shouted.

  I’m not exactly overflowing with love for neighbors who would like to stick a knife in my heart, but there was a good reason to help Shnyg . . . if, of course, he was willing to tell me about his client and about the mysterious Master.

  “Quick!” I barked. “Speed up! Dawn’s almost here.”

  There was despair written all over the
thief’s simple face. With all his might, he forced himself to go faster.

  “Now,” I said, honey dripping from my words. “All you have to do is tell me who your client is, and what you know about the Master. Then, my friend, I’ll quick pull you right over the wall.”

  Shnyg stopped and wailed, “I can’t do that, Harold. He’ll kill me sure! Please! Help me over and we’ll make a deal!”

  But then the pink dawn flooded the horizon, dispelling the darkness. I jumped back swiftly, sliding down off the wall onto the ground, and out of the corner of my eye I saw blinding-bright rays of crimson light come bursting out of the unfortunate thief in all directions. There was a muffled howl, and then silence. Oh well, I probably couldn’t have trusted anything he said, anyway.

  I picked the heavy books up off the ground, hugged them against myself, and set off through the awakening neighborhoods of the Artisans’ City.

  In this part of the city they got up very early. These hard workers left sleep behind when other people were still dozing. If you want to make money, get up early. Funny, the rich sleep late and they earn more than these poor slobs will ever see.

  The baker had lit his stove long ago, and there was a pleasant smell of fresh bread and dough coming from his house. The milkman was hurrying on his rounds, pushing along a huge cart loaded with metal canisters. A tinsmith was on his way to the Port City. An old house painter yawned widely as he wandered along, still not fully awake.

  “Go on, get out of it!” said a frail old woman, waving an equally old and tattered broom at a drunk lying on the ground. They don’t like idlers in the Artisans’ City.

  I think that after the announcement that the demons of night had been driven out of Avendoom forever, the number of drunks who didn’t get home, but fell asleep on the way, increased sharply. The city went on living its life without paying any attention to what was hidden behind the white wall of the Forbidden Territory. In two hundred years people can get used to even more terrifying neighbors than that.

  “Well, there’s evil there right beside us, but it stays on the other side of the wall, it doesn’t come out here and bother us. So that’s all right. Our grandfathers lived here, our fathers lived here, now we live here. And our grandchildren and great-grandchildren will be all right, too!”

  That’s the way almost every one of them thinks.

  Sometimes when I hear these simpletons it makes me feel really angry. It’s just like sitting on a powder keg with a lighted fuse out in the open air and hoping for a shower of rain. I understand that there’s nothing that can be done with this ulcer on the body of the city, the mysterious Stain. But you can’t just close your eyes and hope that the gods will save you! Because . . .

  Damn it! I was tired.

  The Artisans’ City was behind me, there weren’t many people out on the streets, and I had no problems as I walked through a part of the city that was still half empty at this early hour of the morning. A few of the locals gave my tattered and dirty clothes a dubious sideways glance, but on this particular occasion, I really couldn’t care less about them. My less than joyful expression frightened off the most curious of them and I plodded on quite calmly all the way to Cathedral Square.

  Here I was met by the familiar senior priests. It looked as if these old ruins had not even left their posts since the last time I’d seen them. Both of them regarded me with expressions of something less than delight. However, they hadn’t been put there to think but to carry out a very important and responsible assignment—to repeat the same phrase over and over again, like parrots from faraway places.

  “Do you struggle with the Darkness within you?”

  Oh, that’s exactly what I was just talking about!

  “I exterminate the Darkness,” I replied wearily, keen to get the irrepressible cathedral staff’s idiotic and pompous nonsense over with as soon as possible.

  “Then enter and address Them,” the second priest told me, in a voice that sounded rather feeble and uncertain.

  Probably my appearance wasn’t conducive to long theological discussions.

  “I’ll address them straightaway,” I muttered, heading toward the living quarters of the priests of Sagot. And thinking in particular of someone who took gold pieces for idiotic pieces of advice.

  The knight-and-ogre fountain was still gurgling merrily, throwing up jets of sparkling water. There were priests bustling around the statues of the gods. The morning cleanup, before the worshipers arrived. One of them was carefully wiping Sagra’s face with a rag, another was laying a bouquet of flowers at the feet of the attractive Silna. They took no notice of me.

  I stopped in front of the archway that brought back rather unpleasant memories. After a moment’s hesitation, I took a step forward.

  Nothing happened.

  No over-clever creature of darkness tried to grab hold of me. And no one threatened to suck the marrow out of my bones.

  Strange.

  Maybe something had happened? I strolled backward and forward, waiting for someone to do me the favor of grabbing me. Nothing. Right, the Darkness take that Vukhdjaaz! I gave up and took myself off to For’s chambers.

  On the way I came across several priests who were extinguishing the torches that had burned all night. The servants of Sagot took no notice of me; they had apparently been informed of my impending visit. I walked up to the familiar door, pushed it open, and barged into my teacher’s dwelling. He had clearly not gone to bed, but sat up at the table all the time I was away. The table, by the way, was empty, with not a single crumb of food, which was another strange thing. For must have been worried about his wayward pupil after all.

  “So there you are,” he said with a start when he caught sight of me, but gave no sign of being glad. “Did it go well?”

  I dumped the bag containing the papers and books on the table in front of him.

  “Oho!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t expect that. Will you tell me what it was like?”

  “Later,” I mumbled. “A bit later. Wake me up when it gets dark.”

  And with those words I pulled off my dirty clothes, flopped onto the bed, and sank into the welcome embrace of sleep.

  13

  WHAT IT SAID IN THE PAPERS

  I was woken by the rustling of pages being turned, but I didn’t open my eyes in a hurry, deciding to carry on lying there for a while instead.

  “That’s enough idling about, it’s evening already,” For said peevishly when he spotted that I wasn’t asleep.

  “Is it already dark?” I asked with a yawn.

  “It soon will be. Have you got things to do?”

  “Unfortunately,” I muttered, sitting up on the bed. For had occupied his favorite armchair and was studying one of the old tomes that I had brought back from the Tower of the Order. The other book and the bundle of manuscripts were lying beside him on a small table.

  “I took the liberty of throwing away your clothes. Only beggars could wear them now, and even they would probably be too ashamed. There are some new ones on the chair. What do you think, will dark colors suit you?”

  I usually leave rhetorical questions unanswered. In any case, For knows perfectly well that it’s handier to work in dark clothes at night and—let’s be frank about it—far less dangerous. Only a madman would dress up in white to enter the houses of rich men who would probably spot him from a hundred yards away and arrange a warm welcome, followed by a hard poke with something very sharp.

  The clothes were a good fit, except that the shirt was a bit tight in the shoulders, but that was only a minor problem. My gaze fell on a table beside the window set with food and my stomach gurgled in craving.

  “I see that your nocturnal stroll has not damaged your appetite, so perhaps it’s time we sat down at the table and thanked Sagot for another day of life?” said For, putting the book down and getting up out of his chair.

  “When did you start reading old books on magic?” I wasn’t aware that my old friend had developed a new interest.


  “I wasn’t really reading it,” For said with a shrug as he walked toward the table. “Merely a cursory valuation of the goods. You could get three or four hundred for both books. I can suggest a buyer; I still haven’t lost my old contacts.”

  “I don’t need gold just at the moment,” I muttered, sitting down at the table.

  The warm rays of the setting sun pierced the elegant wooden lattice on the windows like lances and fell on my face. The evening sky was blazing like incandescent steel.

  “But you hold on to the books in any case, someday I might have to sell them,” I said.

  “All right,” For agreed with a nod.

  He had an interest in the deal as well—twenty percent of the selling price. The money would always come in handy for Sagot’s shrine.

  “But just what do you think you’re doing sitting there? You ought to wash your hands at least, you dirty swine, honestly!”

  “I washed my hands, I washed my hands,” I growled, but I got up obediently and went to the washstand.

  I really was dirty, and I needed a wash. I only grumbled for form’s sake, because of the hellish tiredness that I still felt even after sleeping all day long.

  “And have a shave while you’re at it! You look like a real bandit, kid!” For’s voice said behind me.

  I mechanically ran one hand over my three-day stubble.

  “It’ll do as it is. I’m not going to the royal ball, after all!” I snorted, lowering my hands into the water. “There’s no time. I still have to deal with a whole gang of horse breeders.”

  “Well, you know best. Anyway, tell me what it was like in there. We ought to record it for the chronicles and future generations.”

  “So you’ve become a chronicler as well now? The things you discover about your old teacher!” I said, going back to the table.

  “The old knowledge is slipping out from our world very rapidly. A lot has already been lost.” For sighed. “You must agree that your story could help a lot of people, especially as this is primarily for the chronicle of the shrine of Sagot.”