by Alexey Pehov
But for some reason he continued his game.
Whip casually tucked his legs underneath him so he’d be in a better position to jump on the sorcerer’s back. I comprehended what he was doing, but unlike him I relaxed and put my hands on my knees, closer to my utak.
“Where do your kinsmen come from?”
“From Al’sgara,” Shen said softly.
The White broke forth into a happy smile as if he and the healer had turned out to be compatriots.
“A fine city. Beautiful, so they say. My brothers and I plan to take a look at it in due time. A very interesting place. Many from Al’sgara possess the Gift. Do you have it, Ann?”
“No, kind sir. I’m not from that city.”
“Too bad.” Then he kept talking, as if reasoning with himself. “You don’t seem like a Walker. Perhaps an Ember? But I don’t feel your heat. What are you? A prodigy? If so, how did the Seekers miss such power?”
“I don’t understand what you’re talking about, kind sir.”
“Perhaps you don’t understand.” He didn’t bother to argue. “And perhaps you do. Alas, I can’t really tell. It’s heartbreaking, you know? So we’ll just have to continue this conversation later. In the presence of another … person. I’m going to tell him all about you today. You should be flattered by the honor.”
He stood up from the table, walked over to the door, and turned around.
“I will return with new questions, and it would be best for all of you if you prepared answers that will satisfy me. I’d be upset if I had to destroy a family circle so dear to my heart. The one I’m waiting for will arrive soon. And in the meantime, I’ve arranged some reliable protection for you so you won’t feel the need to run away in fear. See you soon, Ann.”
* * *
The sorcerer walked through the gate at an unhurried pace. He closed the latch securely behind himself. The five Morts who were waiting there for him shifted.
“Guard the house,” said the necromancer offhandedly. “Keep an eye on the humans. No one is allowed to leave. If they try, bring them back. But don’t maim them. And don’t even lay a finger on the woman. I need her intact.”
Ann seemed intelligent and not at all timid. The Sdisian admired that in people. She had lied, of course, when she said she hadn’t been in the forest. The beating of her heart gave her away. But when he’d mentioned the Gift, it was as if she didn’t have a clue. There was no indication she was lying. It was a pity he wouldn’t be able to sense her power unless she invoked it.
It’s possible he could deal with this himself, of course. He could easily torture her if it came to that. But he was fearful of making a mistake. If Ann died, and her ability with her, the Superiors (the title of sorcerers of the Eighth Sphere) would not be pleased. So he had to ask for help. The sorcerer didn’t like it, but he had no other choice. The command was crystal clear—if a person possessing the spark is found, they must be reported immediately.
Using the end of his staff, the Sdisian traced an undulating line in the dirt, which had been baked hard by the intense heat. He finished off his design with a triangle; then he spoke a short summoning incantation. A Herald wove itself from the meager shadows, spat angrily, received its instructions, and melted away. It knew whom to search for and what it had to convey.
Now all he had to do was wait.
7
Ga-Nor was a decent teacher. Over the past few days, Luk had learned more about the forest than he had in his entire life. Whenever a chance presented itself, the northerner trained his companion in the principles of tracking. Luk gained the skills slowly, but his progress was clear. At least the soldier had stopped trampling through dry bushes and leaving tracks in wet soil. He tried to walk on the edge of the trail so that he wouldn’t shred the cobwebs strung over it, and he walked in the Son of the Snow Leopard’s footsteps. He breathed far more quietly, spoke in a low tone, listened to the forest, and kept his eyes open. But the most important thing he learned was not to get in Ga-Nor’s way.
After several days of such training, Ga-Nor found that he didn’t have to keep an eye on his companion as much as before. The distance they traveled in a day’s march increased exponentially.
After their encounter with the Burnt Soul, no one else pursued the humans. It seemed that their enemies had finally lost track of the fugitives. But Ga-Nor played it safe and pushed them onward as if the entire Sextet (one of the titles given to the Damned) were at their heels.
At first they made their way through the forested foothills, which quickly gave way to rolling hills. After three days, they entered a wooded plain with many lakes, rivers, and streams in its low places. Impassible, thorny underbrush and thick fir copses blocked their path through the dark ravines and gloomy sycamore groves.
The companions moved westward rapidly. They avoided roads. In the beginning, when the terrain was rough, they traveled parallel to the road, but when they began moving away from it, Luk lost all sense of where they were and how far they had gone. He had no idea how the northerner determined their route. He tried to orient himself with the help of the sun, but that didn’t work. The soldier didn’t believe that the detours and spirals they wound through the forest every day would bring them to Dog Green. Once Luk dared to voice his concerns about the validity of their route, but all he got for his pains was a meaningful snort. Ga-Nor wasn’t going to explain anything to him.
The guardsman heaved a sigh. The endless, exhausting daily marches had him losing faith that they would get to where they needed to be. A village is not a city. The chance that they would pass right by it, not noticing it amongst all the beech, spruce, and oak groves, was great. And if they got lost, they could wander through the forest until the end of their lives. Or maybe stumble into Sandon (the vast forested territories to the east of the Empire. The Kingdom of the Highborn). And of course the Highborn would be beyond thrilled to greet the intruders. But then again, the tracker seemed to be heading in the wrong direction.
Stupidly, Luk decided to ask Ga-Nor which direction they were traveling.
“East.”
“What do you mean east? Are you sure?”
“I’m sure,” he replied serenely.
“But we need to go west, screw a toad!”
“But right now we’re going east,” said the northerner absentmindedly.
He stopped and crouched down, gingerly probing the ground with his fingers.
“What do you mean we’re going east? Why east?”
“Don’t panic! We’re going the right way. We just needed to make a detour. There was a really bad spot. We had to retrace our steps. Go more to the east.”
“Retrace our steps…” whined Luk petulantly. “And what about that route displeased you? It was just fine.”
“I told you, it was a really bad spot. A gove’s lair. Didn’t you smell it?”
“Well … yes. I smelled something strange. I thought it was some kind of herb blooming.”
“An herb … I have no idea what you would do without me. An herb! That’s what a forest demon smells like during its molt. So I decided not to meddle with it. It isn’t worth the trouble to get mixed up in that. Far better to lose a day of traveling.”
“Well, if there was a gove, then it’s understandable,” said Luk, forgetting his outrage. “But will you tell me when we’re going to get there? All we do is walk. I’m sick of all these trees. I want to get to the city. Have some shaf. If we keep going like this, I’m going to die.”
“Shaf!” scoffed the woodsman. “Right now, brother, the Nabatorians are gulping down your shaf.”
“But that doesn’t mean I can’t dream of it.”
“Drink some water from a stream and shut your trap.” Ga-Nor stopped feeling the ground and stood up.
“That’s all you know, isn’t it? ‘Shut your trap,’ ‘quiet,’ ‘don’t shout.’”
“Don’t shout.”
“Who’s going to hear us out here?”
“You clod, how many time
s do I have to repeat myself?” whispered the Son of the Snow Leopard. “The forest adores silence. Your shrieks can be heard for leagues. Speak in a whisper; I’m not deaf.”
Luk sniffed aggrievedly, but he lowered his voice. “You still haven’t told me when we’re going to get to that damned village.”
“Soon. We’re basically already there.”
“There’s no habitation anywhere near here.”
“Look under your feet. Do you see the tracks?”
“No.”
“The marks are old. They’ve already faded, and the earth doesn’t stick to my fingers. They’re twelve to fifteen days old.”
Ga-Nor passed his hand over a part of the footpath. To Luk’s eyes the spot looked no different than any other.
“Tracks still don’t mean anything.”
“Of course they mean something. And here, they mean a peasant’s bast shoes. Someone from the village was hunting. I’d advise against walking over there. There’s a trap.”
“Where?” The soldier stopped dead in his tracks.
“About five paces away from you. Straight on.”
“What do you mean? There’s nothing there, screw a toad!”
The ground looked like any other ground. If there really was a trap there, it was perfectly camouflaged.
“You never really see anything,” said the Son of the Snow Leopard irately. “But that doesn’t mean it’s not there. Walk behind me. Follow in my footsteps.”
He stepped off the footpath and walked around the dangerous spot.
“Why did they put it there?”
“How should I know? Maybe for the gove. Maybe for animals. Anyhow, we have no more than four hours to go.”
“And then we’ll get to relax!” This was the only thing Luk now dreamed of.
“If all is well. But no, we have to go farther. To Al’sgara. West of here is not like the north. We won’t encounter any civilization along the road. It’s just forest and the Blazgian swamps. And we’ll have to slog through them for another two weeks, if not more.”
The soldier groaned loudly, hoping the sound would express the full extent of his despair and frustration.
* * *
When it was past midday, and the shadows made by the trees were starting to lengthen, the travelers emerged onto the shore of a river.
Ga-Nor sat down on the ground and untied his bootlaces. Luk took off his shoes entirely. He walked over to the sun-warmed rocks and, blinking contentedly like a cat that had drunk its fill of cream, he lowered his feet into the cold water.
“You’ll get a chill,” the Son of the Snow Leopard warned him.
“I’m seasoned,” objected the soldier, and then he sneezed loudly.
Gnawing on a blade of grass, Ga-Nor chuckled knowingly.
“It’s not much farther. We’ll walk with the current. There, beyond that bend, that’s where the open forest begins. If we get through that, we’ll wind up in the village.”
“What do you mean? Have you been here?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know?”
The tracker shrugged.
“Fine. I’ll take your word for it. You don’t argue with northerners when it comes to instinct. Whew! I was starting to think we’d never get there. I’ve just realized how much I hate the forest.” He got up out of the water and began fumbling with his foot bindings. “Happiness is close at hand.”
“You’re rejoicing too early. We still don’t know what’s going on there.”
“What do the Nabatorians want with this backwater? Okni and Gash-Shaku, that’s where they’ll attack. If they go creeping into Al’sgara, they’ll be leaving the Steps of the Hangman open and they’ll get hit from behind. No. They will take the south first, besiege the pass, shut off all the retreats to the north, and only then will they turn around and take the Green City. That’s what I would do. I’d block the Steps first, and then have my fun.”
“You’re such a strategist.… The Nabatorians want everything. It’s possible that they passed by the village; it’s true that it isn’t really of strategic interest to them. But it’s also possible they didn’t. I don’t want to argue. We’ll see in an hour.”
“Well I’m quite willing to argue,” said Luk, narrowing his eyes craftily. “I bet a soren against what I owe you that we won’t see any Nabatorians.”
“You’re hoping to win back your debt?” The Son of the Snow Leopard chuckled and twirled his mustache.
“You got it.”
“It’s a deal. If everything is as you say, I will gladly forget about what you owe me.”
The soldier chuckled contentedly, thinking that victory was already in his pocket.
As Luk walked along the woodland trail, he wondered if there would be an inn in such a backwater. He seemed to recall that the lads from the third squadron had stopped by at an inn in Dog Green when they had to accompany the commander to Al’sgara one time. So he could expect shaf, edible roast meat, hot water for a bath, and a nice long rest on a decent bed. The two of them even had a whole soren, which had been sewn into the guard’s boot. He’d been saving it for a rainy day. It was a good thing he hadn’t had time to lose it at dice. Very soon this coin would give him and Ga-Nor the chance to feel like normal people once more. He wondered if the tracker had any money.
This question hadn’t bothered Luk before. There’d been no point. He glanced quickly at the northerner walking in front of him.
It was unlikely he had anything at all. The scouts didn’t carry money when they went on their forays through the Borderlands. Who would they trade with there? The highlanders? So if the redhead had any savings, they had been left behind at the fortress and had probably migrated to some Nabatorian’s pocket by now. May they all rot.
“Luk, keep up,” commanded Ga-Nor without turning around.
“I’m practically running already, screw a toad,” said the former guard indignantly. “And I have to drag my axe along, too.”
The tracker didn’t reply. Squatting down on his haunches, he began studying the ground. Luk, already long accustomed to his unhurried ways, waited patiently.
The thought crossed the soldier’s mind that the citizens of the Empire were unjust to the northerners. Especially the citizens of the central and southern provinces. They considered the Children of the Snow Leopard barbarians. Savages. Stupid, temperamental, crude people.
Dressed in wool and leather, parading about in kilts, constantly rattling their sabers—most people thought they were only fit to die for the glory of the Empire. Terrible lone wolves who gorged themselves on raw meat. Red-haired berserkers who painted their faces red and inked dreadful tattoos on their backs. And what’s more, they idolized the strange and incomprehensible war god Ug. It had yet to be determined if he was an enemy of the all-merciful Melot.
The most foolish rumors about them abounded: that they devoured the flesh of sickly infants born into their clans; that they took their own granddaughters to wife; that they bathed in melted snow, liberally seasoned with the hot blood of their enemies—these were just a few of the things said about the Children of the Snow Leopard when they were out of earshot.
Before, Luk had considered many of these rumors to be the truth. Of course, he didn’t believe in such nonsense as blood baths. But at the same time he was in agreement that all northerners were rude, unpolished, and impenetrably stupid. The guard didn’t even change his mind after he came to serve at the Gates of Six Towers and saw the Children of the Snow Leopard for the first time. The brief interactions he had with them only served to drive home the truthfulness of most of the rumors. They’d growled at him a couple of times, and almost struck him in the face. Luk didn’t try to chat with the barbarians all that much after that, and truthfully, it wasn’t that hard to avoid them. The garrison guards spent all their time circling the walls and gatehouse, or puffing their way through drills under the supervision of the sergeants, while the northerners went off on reconnaissance. They ran around the Borderl
ands, retraced their steps, rested, ate their fill, and again left for the mountains.
Traveling with Ga-Nor forced him to reassess his opinion of the northerners. The soldier could not call his companion a savage. It was possible that he would seem like one to the majority of the inhabitants of the enlightened Empire, but not to Luk. The tracker was not stupid, rude, or quick-tempered. Just the opposite. Experienced, intelligent, prudent, and dispassionate, he was able to size up any situation and he never made hurried decisions.
“There’s quite a few tracks. Even hoof prints. They come here often,” noted the Son of the Snow Leopard, narrowing his eyes.
Suddenly stepping away from the path, he sniffed the air.
“You smell that?”
A gove? A Burnt Soul? The walking dead? The thoughts flew by in a vortex in Luk’s head. After the events at the Gates of Six Towers he expected anything at all.
“No. What’s there?”
“Get your axe ready. Cover my back. Follow me, but keep looking around. If you see something, tell me, but don’t shout it out loud.”
The path fell behind them. The companions walked through the dense underbrush, holding the river to their left the entire time. It was hidden from their eyes by dense thickets, but Luk could hear it murmuring over the sandbar. They came out into a forest clearing where the grass was up to their waists. Ga-Nor again began to scent the air and listen intently.
“What?” asked the guard, trying not to breathe too loudly. Right now the northerner was his sole support and hope. “What kind of crap is it this time, screw a toad?”
“We’ll see soon. Stop leering at me, I’m not a whore! Didn’t I tell you to keep looking around? We’re in no less danger in high grass than we are among the trees. An entire army could hide here.”
Luk gulped fearfully and squeezed the shaft of his axe with damp palms. The clearing suddenly seemed dangerous to him.
Contrary to the guard’s expectations, no one rushed to jump out of the grassy overgrowth. They passed through the clearing without any misadventures. They entered an oak grove. And it was only then that Luk smelled what Ga-Nor’s sensitive nostrils had picked up a long time ago—the scent of rotting corpses.
