by Alexey Pehov
“I must. On business.”
“It’s good to have business.” The blacksmith grunted. “It’s far better than wearing out your trousers. When do you return?”
I smiled wryly.
“That’s why I came to you. We won’t be returning. I don’t want to sell my home. And anyway, I don’t have enough time to do it. They say that your boy Ren has nowhere to take a wife. You only started building a month ago. It’s too long to wait. Take our house. Have them live there. Either permanently or until you finish your own cottage.”
Such a generous offer bewildered him. He grunted, settled back in his chair, and thoughtfully contracted his brows.
“This is unexpected. Melot as my witness, this is quite unexpected. You really are a strange man, Pars. To give your property away just like that.”
“I’m generous.” For all my efforts to the contrary, my smile still came out slightly bitter. “If it’s got to be given away anyway, it should at least go into good hands. So, will you take it or not?”
“Of course I’ll take it. I’d be a fool if I didn’t. It’s just awkward to take it for nothing. People will talk.”
“People always talk. Let them.”
“Let me at least pay you a part of the money. So you won’t be living in poverty.”
I did not have time to reply. A burning summons exploded in my mind.
Help me!
The mental picture that Layen sent me showed me the glade where we’d hidden the money received for the assassination of the Walker. Without so much as a good-bye, I tore out of the home of the rather startled blacksmith and set off to help her. As I ran I kept trying to call out to her. To no avail. For the first time I could remember, Layen was silent. In light of what she had shown me, it was safe to assume the worst. I’d already cursed myself five times that I had allowed her to do this by herself.
The only weapon I had was a throwing axe. It was useful on a hunt, and perhaps even for assassination, but it would not work against a bunch of well-armed opponents.
I flew through the brush growing alongside the river and immediately saw what was happening in the glade. About twenty steps away from me a short lance was stuck in the ground. Next to it was the body of a man. There was another corpse not far from the forest edge. Layen was lying still on the opposite edge of the glade.
Three men were standing above her. They were laughing and joking, and apparently they were not at all concerned about the death of their comrades. One of them had just lowered his trousers.
A whirling sphere flew through the air and then my throwing axe hit the back of the would-be rapist’s head with a vile thud. He flapped his arms and, gushing blood, fell to the ground. I rushed out into the glade toward the two survivors.
One of them began to lift his crossbow, the second reached for his sword. This did not frighten me. I merely grinned and sped up. Just as the scum pressed the trigger I flipped. The crossbow bolt zipped by me without causing any harm. I landed on my hands, slowing down as I rolled over my head onto my back. I leaped to my feet near the spear. I grabbed it as I ran and I cast it at the swordsman. The spear caught him in the stomach, hurling him backward and pinning him to a tree. The bounty hunter screamed in pain and started grabbing at the bloodstained shaft with his hands.
My remaining adversary was clenching a bolt in his teeth and frantically trying to load his crossbow again. I didn’t give him the chance. I landed near him, fell to my knees, and ducked under the weapon when he tried to smash it into my head. Twisting my fist, I hit him hard in the hamstring. He shrieked, lost his balance, and fell.
I rolled away from him and ended up next to the corpse that had my axe sticking out of its head. I pulled out the weapon and rushed back over to my adversary, who was beginning to stand. I put all my strength into kicking him in the face, breaking his nose. And then I laid into him with two swift, strong strokes, breaking open his skull. By this time the one run through by the spear had stopped struggling and let out a final gasp.
It was all over.
I rushed over to my wife. I was relieved to see that she was alive—she was just unconscious. A large bump had formed on her left temple. The skin was badly cut and blood was dripping down her cheek.
Behind me a bowstring twanged loudly, a bolt whistled, a cry was heard. Bamut flew out of the underbrush with his discharged crossbow. Whip and the kid, whose name I hadn’t bothered to find out, appeared behind him.
“They found you quite quickly,” shouted Whip.
For all his friendliness he did not take his eyes off my utak (a Blazgian throwing axe) for a second. As for me, I cast my eyes to the side, without losing them from my sight, and saw the man that Bamut had taken down. One of these guys, hungry for easy money, had hidden himself during the fight. When I was distracted by Layen he decided to try his luck and take the prize. Well. He’d almost succeeded.
I’m losing my grip.
“Damn, what would you have done if we hadn’t shown up?”
“I’d have managed,” I replied sullenly.
By this time Bamut had dexterously reloaded his weapon and cocked it in the bend of his elbow. I didn’t like the way he was looking at me. It looked like he wanted to make some easy money himself, by the way he glanced quickly at his leader, searching for approval. Whip just gave a barely discernible shake of the head to the unvoiced question. Bamut smiled, shrugged his shoulders, and slung the weapon back over his shoulder. And then, no longer paying any attention to the rest of us, he began going through the pockets of the dead men.
The tension lessened slightly, but we were all trying not to make any sudden moves. As before, I stood between Layen and Mols’s people. I wasn’t persuaded of their peaceful intentions, not at all.
“What’s wrong with her?” Whip asked cautiously.
I didn’t answer; I just narrowed my eyes in suspicion. I had to figure out what this threesome had in mind.
“If we wanted you dead, you’d already be dead.”
I smirked disdainfully and remained silent.
“Layen needs help,” Whip insisted.
“How did you find us?”
“We followed you.”
“More like chased you,” the young one corrected his leader.
He was avidly studying the corpse pinned to the tree.
“You handled him really well.”
“So you decided to take on the role of bodyguards?” I asked, and after a slight hesitation I tucked the axe into my belt. “Is that really in your job description?”
“Well, it seems we changed it just in time. I don’t recognize their mugs.” Whip idly nudged one of the bodies with his toe. “They’re not ours. Stray birds. How’s Layen?”
“Alive.”
“Can I take a look at her?” asked the young man suddenly, and then he flinched at my savage glare. “She needs help now.”
“I can help her myself,” I snapped.
None of these men were going to come anywhere near my wife.
“I’m a healer.”
“Since when does the guild take on healers?”
“I’m not part of the guild. Whip can attest to that.”
Whip hesitated, but then he nodded. Was he lying or not?
Bamut had to ask, “Whip, what’s Shen talking about?”
Whip winced and changed the subject. “What about the stiffs?”
“Two of them have their faces burnt off,” replied Bamut. “I didn’t know that Layen could do that. You can’t tell who they are. Damn.… Is he really a little healer? Do you think Mols could send us off with an apothecary next time?” Bamut chuckled heartily, but no one else found his joke amusing.
“So can I take a look?” asked Shen.
“Okay,” I said, moving reluctantly to the side. “But you watch yourself…”
“Don’t threaten me!” he said, his eyes gleaming angrily.
I stood so that I could keep an eye on both the healer and Bamut at the same time.
Frightened
screams came from the forest. Midge appeared. I’d been anxious about where that bastard was hiding himself. He was dragging Pork, who was balking and shrieking, by the scruff of the neck. What was he doing here?
Next to the tiny assassin the half-wit looked like a giant. But this didn’t bother Midge in the slightest.
“The stupid swine shat himself.”
“Where did you find him?”
“In the brush, of course. He was peeping. But perhaps he was with these lads. There’s seven horses not far from here. Should I kill him?”
When he heard these last words, Pork howled. Choking on his sobs and entreaties, he crawled toward Whip on his knees. All I could make out was “not my fault I thought naked auntie and then those wicked…” Then, “I’m no-o-o-othing! I he-e-erd co-o-ows! I’ll give you gingerbrea-ea-ead!”
“Calm down, friend. And keep your gingerbread. No one’s going to kill you.”
Layen groaned and I immediately forgot about the half-wit and rushed to her. I growled and Shen prudently moved aside.
My sun opened her eyes.
“Shhh. They’re dead. I got here in time.”
What are they doing here?
They followed me. I wasn’t really in a state of mind to worry about a tail.
I’m too weak. I can only deal with one of them right now.
I saw the magical storm gathering in her dark blue eyes and said quickly, Stop! There’s no point. It seems that for today we can go our separate ways peacefully. “How do you feel?”
“My head is splitting,” she said, carefully prodding at the bump on her temple. She frowned.
“Can you walk?”
“There’s no need,” said Whip as he walked toward us. “Midge went for the horses. Is there a path to the village?”
“There is. Beyond that copse.”
“We’ll get you there. I had a word with the half-wit. He claims that there were more attackers than the corpses we have here. He doesn’t know how to count, but judging from the horses there were seven. And one had wings like a bird.”
“Yes. A Je’arre, damn him!” cursed Layen as she got to her feet with my help. “I didn’t expect him. He crept up on me from behind. It’s a good thing he didn’t kill me.”
“I wonder where he could be?” said Shen, transferring his attention to the surrounding trees.
Bamut got his crossbow at the ready.
“Calm down. You won’t catch him now. The little birdie vanished. Hey, friend! Stop crying. Go on then. Yes, yes. You! Go blow your nose at your cows!”
Pork didn’t need to be told twice. He hopped up and, forgetting about his gingerbread, which was scattered all over the grass, he fled into the forest. There you go. Now he’d go spread gossip about what had happened here around the entire village.
“Oho! What’s this?”
Shen peered into the belly of the cleft oak and then fished a pack out of it.
“It’s heavy.”
Without saying a word, I reached out my hand for his discovery. The lad was taken aback at my impudence, and he was about to object, but then he saw the threat in my eyes and gave it back.
“Is that yours?” inquired Whip.
“It’s ours,” I replied in an even voice.
They didn’t ask any more questions.
5
Rek died quietly. Luk missed the moment when it happened. He had fallen into an uneasy slumber and when he woke up the wounded man was already in the Blessed Gardens. His friend’s dumb luck had finally come to an end, but before then he’d managed the impossible—he and Luk had escaped from the Gates. He’d had to carry Rek on his back for part of the way; the man had lost too much blood. Then the guard had gone into the forest—the road was dangerous and they needed to wait a couple of days until everything quieted down. A deserted silver mine was located in the foothills not far from the citadel. There were scores of them in the area. In former times, silver for Imperial sols had been extracted here, but the veins had run dry and so the place had fallen into disrepair. Luk doubted he could find a better place for a temporary shelter. It was unlikely that the Nabatorian soldiers would bother to check a mine that had been abandoned more than eighty years ago.
Now he needed to go up. He fumbled for his axe and picked up his lantern but didn’t light it. He made his way by touch until the low ceiling forced him to crawl on his knees. Only then did Luk decide to expend the oil. The light that came from the lantern was meager, and he couldn’t even make out what was one and a half piss-poor yards in front of him. He crawled on all fours along the damp ground, cursing his own caution. He shouldn’t have gone in so far. He could very well have stopped by the entrance. No one would search for them here. When he was finally able to stand up to his full height, the guard breathed a sigh of relief. Walking was easier now. After some time he felt a weak gust of wind on his face and he knew that the exit was only a stone’s throw away. Passing by the fork that led to the lower mines, he scrambled over a pile of processed material and saw a weak light in the distance.
Doubts began to torment him once again. Suddenly the world outside seemed dangerous. Hastily dampening down his lantern, he walked forward slowly, constantly stopping and straining his ears. At one point he seemed to hear footsteps, and he practically jumped out of his own trousers, but there wasn’t a single sound in the mines other than his own labored breathing.
When he was about twenty yards away from the exit, Luk heard a gentle rustle and once again became frightened. But then he realized that it was only the rain. The guard smiled in relief and hung the lantern on a brace, the one from which he’d taken it when he’d gone below.
The rain was unexpectedly intense. Night was falling. The world was enveloped in a web of gray shadows. The wet earth smelled strongly of leaves and something rotten. Opposite the mine shaft, no farther than ten yards away, a thin man dressed in rags was standing with his back to the former guard of the Gates. The rain, which had thoroughly drenched his tatters of clothing and sparse hair, did not seem to bother this strange person in the slightest.
Holding his breath, Luk examined the stranger. The famished-looking man held himself stiffly and didn’t have any weapons on him. He didn’t seem dangerous. Although, the Damned also seemed like peaceful little lambs until the time came. The memory of Rubeola made Luk tighten his grip on his axe. Melot only knew what to expect from the stranger.
“Screw a toad,” muttered the soldier, and then he spat angrily. “He’s standing right in my way. Why couldn’t he enjoy the rain in a different place?”
Luk was starting to get very angry. Both at the stranger and at himself. His own caution, or more precisely his cowardice, infuriated him beyond belief. He had an axe. He was at least twice as strong. But he was still standing in the same spot as three minutes ago. Spitting once more on the rocky ground, the guard came to a decision. He stepped out into the rain and, gathering a bit more air into his lungs, he shouted, “Hey, you!”
The man turned around and Luk’s mouth instantly went dry. He saw the pale, so pale it seemed blue, face of the stranger; he saw the sunken-in nose, the black lips caked with blood, and the eyes burning with an emerald fire.
* * *
After his frantic flight, Ga-Nor pulled in the reins and jumped from his horse. Sooner or later the horse would get tired. The road was dangerous, and pursuit would certainly be sent from the Gates. The tracker was under no illusion what would happen then. One against many—he wouldn’t be spared. So he had to leave the road as soon as possible and disappear in the forests of the foothills. And then afterward perhaps he would head home, to the north.
The horse, its ears lowered, stood meekly in the driving rain. He pitied the animal, but there was nothing he could do. Ga-Nor took out his dagger, pricked the horse in its rump, shouted loudly, and quickly jumped to the side. The animal whinnied from pain and galloped away at full speed. The Son of the Snow Leopard watched it leave and then began the arduous climb up the rain-washed slope of a small
hill. Above him grew a thick spruce forest—an excellent place for someone who wanted to disappear. Clenching his teeth stubbornly, the northerner continued crawling up the slippery slope.
Finally he reached the trees. When he was hidden beneath their bristly boughs, he stopped to take a breath. The road lay below him, but despite the rain and the imminent twilight, he could see it quite well from his hiding place—a narrow ribbon that curled between the low hills not far from a swift river, which was now brown from the driving rain.
About five minutes later a group of pursuers shot out from around a bend—a score of angry Nabatorians, whipping their horses into a lather. They rushed past, not even glancing toward the spot where the tracker had hidden himself. Ga-Nor hoped that the sons of snow maggots would not find his horse anytime soon, but when they did, just let them try and guess where he decided to get off to go on foot.
After waiting several minutes, the Son of the Snow Leopard crawled away from the edge. He stood there, carefully examining the spot where he’d been lying. The thick carpet of soggy needles looked trampled. That was bad, but there was no help for it. He couldn’t wipe away all traces of himself even if he tried.
Ga-Nor flung the hood of his stolen cloak over his head and trotted along the route he’d chosen. He didn’t think that he should try to go very far into the mountains; it would slow his progress too much. It would be better to walk along the ridge under the cover of the forest. Very soon the foothills would turn into rolling hills and then into flatlands. There he could turn to the west and try to reach the frontier garrison if, of course, it had not yet fallen to the advance troops of the enemy. The tracker wanted to hope that the well-fed, idle southern army would be able to hold back the wave of dark blue (referring to Nabator’s colors) locusts that would soon come swarming over them.
It got dark quickly. The rain didn’t let up for a minute. As he passed through the branches of the drowsy trees, so heavy with water that they brushed against the ground, it seemed to the tracker that the forest was conducting an unhurried argument with the sky. Suddenly the experienced ear of the tracker caught the distinct sounds of a battle winding through the disarming murmuring of the trees.
