Chasers of the Wind

by Alexey Pehov

  As two shadows they slipped out from under the cover of the trees. Trampling the flowerbeds, they broke out into the open and appeared near the door. Harold busied himself with the lock, and Layen peered intently at the corner of the house, from which someone could appear at any moment. The guard with the crossbow didn’t even move. Truly, the deep sleep of fools is our best ally. It came my turn to run. The thief had just finished with the door.

  We were in a dimly lit gallery on the ground floor, where every fifth oil lamp on the walls was lit. Their flames wavered timidly, thickening the gloom. The floor was covered by a plush carpet. To the right were a series of closed doors, and to the left, tall windows.

  I went first, behind me came the thief, listening intently and for once serious. No more jokes or strangeness. Cool and collected, just like us. Layen brought up the rear, glancing behind as she walked.

  The gallery led us to the greenhouse.

  Joch loved flowers, especially rare ones. It was one of his many passions, and he purchased rare plants from distant lands for astronomical sums.

  I passed by some kind of mangy palm, suspiciously rustling vines, a miniature tree, and an enormous flower that reeked of rotten flesh; the leaves of one furry plant were burning with a dim light like fireflies. I really wanted to sneeze from all the unusual smells. Layen was staring at the glowing bush and almost overturned a pot holding some kind of thorny plant that bore a distorted resemblance to a rotten cucumber. Harold grabbed the tilting pot in time and put it back in place, looking at us reproachfully.

  “Watch where you’re walking,” he whispered.

  We left the greenhouse and came out into a small room with a fading fireplace and pictures on the walls. Right opposite the exit was a staircase lined with white marble, which led upward. Like all the floors in the house, it was covered with carpet.

  “Beyond there is the kitchen. We need to go up,” said Layen quietly.

  “I’ll go first. You two follow.”

  Holding my bow at the ready, I left the room and began slowly walking up the stairs. I stopped on the second floor and looked around. I waited for my companions. I walked up to the third floor. Then the fourth. In all this time, we didn’t encounter a single soul. I’ve already mentioned sleep. It’s a great ally. It was the hour when it was too late not to sleep and too early to wake up. There was minimal risk.

  “Joch’s bedroom is there.” Layen pointed in the direction we needed. “Down the hall, through two rooms and a parlor.”

  “You still with us, thief?” I asked.

  “It’s too hot.” He frowned. “With your permission, I’ll snoop around a bit. I might find something interesting.”

  I shook my head doubtfully. “You’ll get caught.”

  “Not likely. I just need a few minutes. I’ll catch up.”

  “Leave him. We have our own concerns,” said Layen, and then she warned Harold, “Mind you, we won’t search or wait for you.”

  He nodded and walked away from us. I followed him with my gaze and sighed. “We shouldn’t have let him go.”

  “He might hinder us. Let him go.”

  I frowned uncertainly. If he stumbled upon someone, it would definitely hinder us. But I didn’t argue. The next two rooms were empty, but there were three men in the parlor. One was standing idly by the door, and two were sitting by the fire at a small table laden with fruit. They were playing dice.

  The lad at the door caught sight of me, opened his mouth in shock, and instantly got his throat slit. This guaranteed that he wouldn’t cry out and raise the alarm. Blood flowed in all directions from the ghastly wound in his neck that I’d made with the edge of my arrow. The guard fell to his knees and was dead a second later, laid out on the carpet that had muffled the fall of his heavy body. Layen’s crossbow snapped harshly and the man sitting with his back to us fell face-first into a bowl of Morassian grapes. For some reason, his companion threw his dice at us and then grabbed a short sword lying on the table. He jumped up—and died from a second arrow.

  A few seconds and three corpses. None of the guards had a chance to make a sound. After seven years of retirement, we hadn’t lost our skills and we still worked seamlessly and quickly. Layen reloaded her crossbow and nodded toward the double doors made of oak with bronze handles, which led into Joch’s bedroom. Through the slits in her mask, her eyes shone with a hostile blue light.

  I nodded in reply, took a new arrow from my quiver, rested it against the bowstring, and went to stand opposite the entrance. Layen walked over a corpse, trying not to step in the blood soaking into the carpet, and headed toward the bedroom. She took hold of the door handle and pushed the door open gently; then she gracefully slipped to the side, leaving the path free for me. After a moment I was in the room, which was fairly well lit with burning candles.

  Joch was on an enormous bed with bloodred curtains and white sheets, too occupied by a red-haired girl to realize right away what was happening. The wench saw us first and squeaked in fear, shying away from us to the far corner of the bed, drawing a blanket up to her chin. Joch Threefingers, a tall, broad, middle-aged man with a handsome, refined face, a neat beard, and the yellow skin of a native of Urs, cursed filthily and then, catching sight of us, froze.

  The masks didn’t fool him. He knew who had come to him and why. For several long seconds we looked at each other. Joch smiled crookedly with paled lips, sat down on the bed, and looked at me defiantly. He had decided to take revenge on me for severing two of his fingers; he took a risk, set his life against ours, and lost. I had nothing to say to him. No pompous, malevolent, or triumphant words. There was no need for it. He was a smart fellow and he read the verdict in my eyes.

  I shot, hitting him in the heart. The arrow passed through his chest, and fine drops of blood fell onto the sheets and pillows. Threefingers fell onto his right side and died a moment later. The girl sniveled submissively.

  “Don’t even think of screaming,” Layen told her sternly.

  The girl squeezed her eyes tightly shut and whined softly, “Please don’t kill me. For Melot’s sake! I haven’t even seen your faces! I’d never recognize you. Please! Please! Have mercy on me!”

  Layen went over to her and lightly struck her on the neck with the side of her palm. That was quite enough to make the red-haired girl lose consciousness for a long time and so we didn’t have to fear that she’d raise the entire house against us. I checked Joch’s body just in case. Convinced that he was really dead, I indicted to my sun that we should leave. We had nothing more to do here.

  We found Harold in the parlor. The thief was leaning against the doorjamb, looking at the corpses lying in their own blood with gloomy interest.

  “Not very clean work. It’ll never come out of the carpet. And you could easily get three hundred sorens for that one.”

  “Enough yakking,” I said. “We can talk when we’re out of here.”

  “As you wish. I just made a circuit of several of the deceased master’s rooms, may he rest in peace, so I can live without the carpet.”

  We quickly made our way to the stairs and began to descend, but on the second floor luck turned her back on us. A door opened and two men ran right at us. The first, with a sword, was one of Joch’s thugs. The second looked very similar to Ga-Nor—a redheaded northerner.

  Harold spun to the side and under the protection of our backs. Layen drove a bolt into the belly of the Son of the Snow Leopard, rightly considering him the more dangerous of the two. Despite the wound, he drew his sword, roared so loudly the ceiling rattled, and threw himself at us. Harold helped by shooting two bolts one after the other from behind our backs. Both men were on the floor, but they’d done their job, alerting the entire house.

  With soft catlike steps another two redheads stepped out of their doors. A third northerner was coming up the stairs from the first floor.

  Terrific!

  The thief obviously didn’t plan on waiting for further developments and he took to his heels, choosing a
somewhat unconventional path of retreat. Tossing the discharged crossbow, he dashed over to a window and leaped through it, and together with a hail of wooden framing and fragments of glass, fell somewhere outside. Given the fact that the second floor was fairly high up from the ground, Harold’s act could only be considered suicide. But he left this world beautifully, there’s no doubt about it. Even our opponents froze, completely stunned, for a moment.

  I took advantage of that pause and shot down the one who was coming from below. One of the remaining warriors rushed at me with a roar. I raised my utak. Fortunately for me, the redhead slipped in the blood of his fallen comrade and fell to his knees, letting his guard down. My strike was glancing and not very strong, and the northerner, even though he was wounded, almost chopped off my legs with his sword. I had to dodge it and finish him off with a second blow.

  When I was done with my opponent, I turned to Layen, but she was coping without my help. The redhead thought that a woman posed no threat to him. He grabbed her and lifted her up into the air.

  Bad idea.

  The dagger hidden in Layen’s left sleeve slipped into her hand, and she jammed her weapon right under her opponent’s chin. Then she pulled down sharply, ripping open his neck.

  Somewhere on the floor above us alarmed cries rang out. Once we made it to the room on the ground floor, I threw a hefty little end table at the window. The glass burst with a resounding crash, and, slipping over the fragments underfoot, we leaped out.

  The thief was not there. To be honest, I was expecting to see his body smashed to pieces, but all that remained on the ground was the twisted frame and broken glass. Our companion who’d fled in such a timely manner was a surprisingly resilient man.

  We rushed through the flowerbeds, ruthlessly trampling the unfortunate tiger lilies and Groganian roses. The house was waking up more with each passing second, lights were flashing in the windows of the upper floors—people were running with torches up there. For now they thought that the assassins were in the house, but they’d soon start scouring the grounds.

  We’d almost reached the orchard when I saw three men running toward us from around the corner of the house. Two of them had short bows in their hands. The archer closest to me shot but missed.

  “Under the trees! Quickly!” I yelled at Layen.

  The archers were no more than eighty paces away.

  Twang!

  I laid out one of the archers, but his companion was a nimble fellow. A shattering blow in my right thigh blinded me with pain, and I collapsed into the grass. The archer screamed triumphantly and rushed toward me. A guard armed with a club was running with him.

  That bastard actually managed to hit me!

  The arrow had pierced through my thigh, and the leg of my trousers was quickly soaked with blood. I had to rest on my left knee to take the shot, practically blind because of the pain.

  Twang!

  A repulsive rattle informed me that I had not missed. There was one opponent left, but Layen got there in time. She tore my axe from my belt.

  The axe flew through the air with a zing, a dull thud, and a falling body.

  “Oh, Melot!” she groaned, grabbing me under my armpits and dragging me under the cover of the trees. “Hold on! Everything will be all right, my love!”

  The pain had receded a bit, and my vision gradually cleared. My throat was dry and I was terribly thirsty.

  “It’s not fatal,” I croaked. “The arrow needs to be pulled out.”

  “I’ll do it.”

  “No. I’ll do it myself.”

  Clenching my teeth, I broke the shaft sticking out of my leg. I groaned and swiftly yanked out the part that was sticking out of the other side of my thigh. Then I almost passed out.

  “We need to stop the blood.” Layen had been squeezing my shoulders the entire time.

  “Not now and not here.” Tears were rolling down my cheeks. “We need to clear out of here, before it gets any worse. Help me stand.”

  Hopping on my uninjured leg and leaning against her shoulder, I hobbled away. I don’t know how long it took us to get to the barn; sometimes the pain took over and I was unable to keep track. Fortunately for us, no one was chasing after us anymore.

  Layen picked up the lantern we’d left behind, lowered herself into the hole first, and supported me as I awkwardly dropped down.

  “It seems the thief didn’t get away,” I said. “Or he was so kind as to leave us the light.”

  My sun lowered the grate. I barely squeezed myself under the dismantled wall and lamely helped her put the bricks back where they should be. This gave us a bit of hope that we’d briefly confuse the pursuit. My ears were buzzing and my head was spinning. Before we dealt with the wound we had to get as far away as possible, but I knew that if we delayed treating it, I would lose consciousness very soon from blood loss.

  Layen ripped open my bloody trouser leg with her dagger. She quickly retrieved clean cloths from her pack and a vial of strong-smelling antiseptic liquid.

  She wiped away the blood.

  “It went through cleanly,” she said, referring to the arrow, and suddenly poured half the vial on me. I howled from the burning pain and almost jumped out of my own skin.

  She skillfully dressed the wound, tying the ends of the bandages together. Multicolored specks floated before my eyes, and the sound of bells was ringing in my ears. I passed out for a while. When I came to, I saw that my leg was already bandaged and that Layen was crying silently.

  “Don’t,” I begged. “I promise not to die for the next hundred years.”

  She dutifully wiped away her tears and smiled. “I’m okay. I just got scared.”

  I’m not going to relate how I hobbled back along the underground tunnel. But I can congratulate myself on the fact that the walls, constructed so long ago by the Sculptor, heard so many curses and oaths from me that they’d easily be able to hold their own against an entire crew of sailors.

  The only weapons we had left were my bow and our daggers. Layen had lost her crossbow while we were fighting the northerners, and my trusty utak remained in the skull of one of our opponents. Neither I nor my sun had bothered to pick it up at the time.

  A pity. I’d had that thing with me since Sandon.

  When we saw a dim light pouring in on us from the ceiling, I cried out, “Stump!”

  “Well, finally!” he replied with evident relief. “Damn! What’s with you?”

  “Perhaps you could pull us up first and then ask questions,” I retorted sluggishly.

  He dropped the rope.

  “Did you succeed?”

  “Yes,” said Layen shortly.

  “Thank Melot!” sighed the Giiyan with even more relief than before. “Let us pull you up. Where’s the thief?”

  That meant that Harold hadn’t come back this way. Smart. He realized that Mols might get rid of him. Or maybe he just preferred another route. I hope he got out.

  “You go first,” I said quietly to my wife. “They are afraid of your Gift, but still, be careful.”

  “Can you manage on your own?” she asked just in case.

  “Yes. Stump, pull!”

  While she was going up, I extinguished the lantern and checked my dagger. It was unlikely they were planning to play some nasty trick on us, but Melot protects those who protect themselves.

  “Come on!” called Stump.

  I tied the rope around me securely and then walked my way up the wall, ignoring the pain in my leg. Two of the red-faced Giiyan’s assistants swiftly pulled me up.

  “That’s unlucky,” Stump said, glancing quickly at my leg. “You need a healer.”

  “I was just thinking that myself.”

  “Lads, help him to the door.”

  “There’s no need. I’ll do it myself.”

  “You don’t trust me?” sneered Stump.

  “Would you?” I returned his sneer.

  “As you wish. Hobble along on your own. Follow me, boys.”

  Huffing re
sentfully, he headed for the staircase, leaving Layen and me alone.

  “He seems fairly peaceable,” she said uncertainly.

  “But a dagger up the sleeve doesn’t hurt. Help me up there, please.”

  I somehow managed to climb up, and when we got to the main room—that’s when it happened.

  Layen cried out in warning, and in the same instant translucent lilac chains appeared on our wrists. The next instant we were on the floor, bound hand and foot by magic. All I could do was watch.

  Besides Stump and his henchmen, there was Mols and six of her people, five of the Viceroy’s Guards and some Walkers—three women in long blue dresses with red circles sewn into their chests, and white veils over their hair.

  I looked at Mols furiously. “This is foolish, Katrin!”

  Her face remained impassive. “I didn’t have a choice. You understand.”

  I did. But I wouldn’t forgive it. Sooner or later she would pay for her betrayal, I swore by the Abyss!

  “Is this them?” asked the oldest of the Walkers.

  “Yes,” said a familiar voice from somewhere to the right. I shifted my eyes and saw Shen. He was alive and well. “Yes,” he repeated. “That’s them.”

  And then darkness came.

  23

  All Typhoid could think about was that nighttime encounter by the pier. She kept getting lost in her conjectures: who had fate brought into her path, and how was that strange man with the incomprehensible power connected to the archer? She stayed trapped in her mind until evening when she sensed a surge in the magic of the girl-prodigy. The one because of whom all this started.

  The Damned quickly rushed to the place where magic had been used. But before she got there, the wretched girl had already disappeared. But the inn where she had apparently been staying was swarming with Guardsmen. The Damned sensed death, and a Walker approaching in the darkness. Staying any longer would be risky, and Tia cleared out while she still had a whole skin. She couldn’t get back to Haven before curfew, so she decided to spend the night under the open sky. She chose an old cemetery in Second City, the exact same one where Ness and Layen had hidden not so long ago.