Shadow Chaser tcos-2

by Алексей Пехов

While they were talking I plucked up my courage and, when there was a pause, I said: “I had a dream…”

  Alistan snorted suspiciously. He didn’t take my “visions” very seriously. Kli-Kli groaned dolefully and grabbed hold of his head. But Miralissa nodded approvingly. I told them about the Master’s prison and the Messenger’s conversation with the mysterious woman.

  “Interesting,” the elfess said after a short pause. “You seem to have some special affinity for the Master. I must tell the chroniclers of the House of the Black Moon about this—perhaps they’ll be able to learn something from it. But if your dream really is prophetic, then this Lafresa is dangerous for us. If she should manage to get hold of the Key first, all is lost. Somehow I have no doubt that this woman would be able to break the knots that bind the artifact.”

  I chose my words carefully. “Lady Miralissa, why can’t the Master’s servants simply deliver the artifact to their lord without waiting for this woman?”

  “Yes, indeed,” said Alistan, supporting me. “What could be easier than to deliver the glass bauble to where it’s needed without having to rely on the witch?”

  “The Key is attuned to Harold, and if it is delivered to the place where the Master lives without those bonds being broken, it could be too dangerous for our enemy.”

  “Wait!” The impassive Eel looked up from his food and stared at the elfess in amazement. “You know where the Master lives?”

  “I can guess,” the elfin princess replied reluctantly. “The Master, if he controls beings like the Messenger and endows his servants with such powerful magic, must be in a place where there is a concentration of immense power. And in a place like that, an artifact attuned to someone else would create such powerful turbulence in the flow of magic that the Master would be deprived of his powers and abilities for a long time. Therefore they have to destroy the bonds first, and only a highly experienced shaman can do that.”

  “A place of power, the House of Power,” I muttered to myself, recalling the phrase that the messenger had spoken to Lafresa.

  “What did you say?” Miralissa asked sharply.

  I raised my eyes from my plate and looked at the elfess in surprise. She was gripping the edge of the table so hard that her knuckles had turned white.

  “I said ‘the House of Power’… do you know something about it?”

  I spotted the swift glance that Miralissa exchanged with Kli-Kli.

  “The question is: Where did you hear about it?” she answered.

  “In my dream,” I said with a shrug, and then recited the list: “House of Power, House of Pain, House of Love. House of Fear…”

  The swarthy elfess’s skin turned paler and paler with every name. Kli-Kli choked on his custard pie and started coughing. Deler thumped the goblin on the back with all the generosity that his dwarf heart could muster.

  “I do not like your dreams, Harold! What else have you discovered?”

  “Well … nothing,” I said, rather surprised at the fervent insistence of this lady who was always so calm.

  “Are you sure?” The amber eyes drilled into me, trying to draw out the innermost secrets of my soul.

  “Yes,” I replied quite honestly, without turning my eyes away.

  She suddenly went limp and seemed to age. Wrinkles of fatigue appeared on her forehead and in the corners of her mouth; the fingers with the black nails reluctantly released their grip on the tabletop.

  “What did I say?”

  “That would take too long to explain, Harold. We don’t have time for it just at the moment,” Kli-Kli said hastily.

  Was that a note of nervous tension I heard in the little goblin’s voice?

  I cleared my throat and stared down at my plate, still mechanically stirring my soup with the spoon and thinking that the jester and Miralissa had far more business and secrets in common than they showed.

  Secrets.

  Nothing but secrets. They were dancing and prancing around me like the shadows from a flaming torch, but there was no way I could get a grip on them. More and more secrets, so many that soon I would drown in the murky stream. Who is the Master? Who is Influential, or Player? Why does the Master want the Horn? Is he the Nameless One’s enemy, too? Why does the Master take such pleasure in playing cat and mouse with us? Who is the Messenger? What is that world of Chaos that I entered in my dream? What kind of strange dreams are these? What are the Houses of Power, Pain, Love, and Fear? And a thousand and one other questions that I don’t know the answers to.

  I didn’t ask the elfess and the goblin any questions—Miralissa would only have fobbed me off with a seductive smile, and Kli-Kli would have pretended to be a total fool.

  I had lost my appetite, but I stoically finished my soup, feeling the elfess’s searching glance on me as I ate.…

  * * *

  “We need to have a talk, thief,” Alistan Markauz said drily when I got up from the table.

  “Of course, milord.”

  “Follow me.”

  He started up the stairs to the second floor of the inn, without even looking to make sure I was following. I walked up after him. Egrassa and Miralissa were already waiting for us in the room. Ell wasn’t there; he had taken on the job of keeping an eye on Bass, who at that moment was dining in the hall and trying to teach Lamplighter how to play some card game or other.

  “Have a seat, Harold,” said Egrassa, pointing to a chair. “A glass of wine?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  I was immediately on my guard. The dark elves had never offered me a drink in their company before. Miralissa’s cousin was exceptionally courteous today. And they say that elves are spiteful, wicked creatures.

  But then, so they are.

  Men have never really lived at peace with the dark elves of Zagraba or the light elves of the Forests of I’alyala. There has always been friction, through all the thousands of years that our two races have known each other. Fortunately, things have never gone as far as open war, but border skirmishes have been common, especially during the period after men first appeared in Siala.

  The dark elves had concluded a treaty of peace and friendship with our kingdom, but before that the yellow-eyed race had never shown any great fondness for the inhabitants of Valiostr. And even now the elves were not helping us to resist the Nameless One out of the sheer kindness of their hearts. Elves have about as much kindness in their hearts as their closest relatives, the orcs.

  That is, none.

  The silence in the room dragged on. I eventually cleared my throat and asked:

  “What did you want to see me about?”

  The question sounded a little impolite, but what can they expect from a thief? Fine manners? I don’t have them.… Or, rather, I do (thanks to For), but I didn’t want to use them at that moment. They’re going to ask me again what it was that saved me in Hargan’s Wasteland or how I found out about the houses.

  “Be patient, thief,” said Alistan Markauz, who was standing at the window. “We’ll start as soon as Kli-Kli gets here…”

  “Kli-Kli’s already here. You can start, Your Grace!” The jester slipped in through the door, winked at me, and sat down on the bed. He was relaxed now, playing the fool, nothing like the lad sitting at the table downstairs who had suddenly tensed up when he heard my innocent phrase about the House of Power.

  “Well now … I didn’t talk about this downstairs, your friend is there, Harold.”

  “I think he should be locked up for the time being,” Egrassa said with a glint of his fangs. “It’s ridiculous that we should suffer the inconvenience of hiding in our own home.”

  “Everyone else already knows the news, so you and the Garrakian are the only ones left,” Alistan Markauz continued, although it was clear that he shared the elf’s opinion concerning Bass. “Ah, and here he is…”

  Eel entered the room silently, nodded politely, and froze, leaning back against the upright of the door frame in a pose that reminded me of a statue from the beginning of the A
ge of Dreams.

  With this latest arrival, the small room suddenly felt rather crowded.

  “We have found out who owns the estate and where the Key is,” Markauz said sternly, turning away from the window.

  “Are you sure that it’s still there?”

  “It is in the city,” the elfess answered for him.

  “I beg your pardon, Tresh Miralissa, but how can you be sure of that?”

  “I applied the bonds to the Key. I can sense it. If it was not in the city … But then you should sense it, too, as the one to whom the Key is bound.”

  “You must be mistaken, I don’t feel anything apart from fatigue and the need to sleep,” I muttered discontentedly.

  “It’s just that you’re as thick-skinned as a herd of mammoths, Harold!” said Kli-Kli, taunting me as usual.

  “Perhaps it’s not there yet, but it will come. Especially when you find yourself close to the artifact. It’s like a kind of itch. And the house where they are hiding it belongs to Count Balistan Pargaid.”

  When the elfess said that, Milord Markauz glared at me, as if he was expecting some kind of immediate response.

  “So?” I asked stupidly.

  Kli-Kli grabbed hold of his head in despair and started groaning as if all his teeth were aching.

  “Harold, you’ve locked yourself away in your own little world and you can’t see further than your own nose!” the goblin said. “Count Balistan Pargaid is the most influential individual in the south of Valiostr. The antiquity of his family line rivals the Stalkon dynasty, not to mention the fact that he is the leader of all the Nightingales and a very, very dangerous character. He is no ardent admirer of our king. He keeps a low profile, but give him a chance, and the Pargaids will advance their claim to the throne. And believe me, they have a serious right to that claim. Now that we know Pargaid is conspiring with the Master, I am doubly afraid for the king’s welfare.”

  “Pargaid and his standard-bearers can put up eight thousand swordsmen, not counting all sorts of other petty riffraff. A force like that has to be taken seriously,” Alistan rumbled.

  It was obvious that he was not fond of Pargaid. But what is the love of a nobleman worth, anyway? They’re always squabbling over land, sticking daggers in each other, slipping poison into each other’s drinks, and then the simple soldiers are the ones who have to bear the consequences.

  “His lands extend from here almost as far as the oaks of Zagraba, and as for gold…”

  “All right. So we’ve found out who the estate belongs to. Now what are we going to do?” I asked, looking at Alistan.

  He tugged on his mustache and answered reluctantly. “I don’t think there’s any way we can simply break into his house. Without a map of the patrols and without knowing exactly where the Key is … it would be suicide. The Nightingales’ guards will be on the alert. It’s a big house, and you won’t be able to run round all the rooms. The risk is too great.”

  “You’re absolutely right, milord. There’s no simple way to get in there, and if we do get in, we need to know exactly where the artifact is.”

  “Kli-Kli has suggested a plan of how we can infiltrate the count’s house.”

  Kli-Kli? Has suggested? A plan? I glared at the goblin in astonishment.

  “Well?” he asked testily. “Do you think I’m incapable of proposing a brilliant plan?”

  “You’re capable all right,” I said, making no attempt to argue. “Only I have absolutely no doubt that your brilliant plan will lead us all straight to the graveyard.”

  “All right, Harold. It’s not a brilliant plan, just a few bright ideas from a goblin. So where was I now? It’s no secret that the day after tomorrow Count Balistan Pargaid is holding his annual reception in honor of the great victory of the Nightingales over the Wild Boars two centuries ago. And we have a genuine chance of getting into the festivities—”

  “I beg your pardon, Kli-Kli,” Eel put in. “But I find it hard to believe that we will be allowed into the Nightingales’ holy of holies for a polite how-do-you-do.”

  “Don’t worry, Tight-Lip. They’ll let us in, all right. Not only will they let us in, they’ll actually invite us themselves! Balistan Pargaid is well known as a dedicated collector of antiquities, and that will be very helpful to us.”

  “Kli-Kli, have you really got some rare old book of your grandfather’s stuck in your back pocket?” I asked provocatively.

  “You’re a fool, Harold. Show him, Lady Miralissa.”

  Without saying a word, the elfess handed me a bracelet. I turned it over in my hands, studying it carefully. Black steel, crudely forged, runes, writing in what I thought was ogric.

  “Is this really what I think it is?” I asked, looking up at Miralissa.

  “I’m not a mind reader, Harold.” For a fleeting moment the black lips curved into a smile. “Yes, it is very valuable. The bracelet was forged by the ogres in the times before they withdrew into the Desolate Lands.”

  Yes, that was it. A piece of ordinary metal, not even a single ounce of precious metal, but the antiquity of the item, and the fact that it was one of the very few artifacts still surviving after the ogres, made it worth two or three hundred gold pieces. Serious money. Especially for someone in my profession.

  “So we buy our pass into the house with this?” I asked the goblin.

  “We’ve already bought it! While you were resting on that soft straw, we weren’t just sitting about doing nothing. Count Balistan Pargaid has already been informed that this rare piece is in the city and he has politely forwarded an invitation for the Duke Ganet Shagor to attend his modest reception, and to bring his valuable treasure with him.”

  “Mmmm…,” I murmured. “I don’t quite catch the connection between us and this duke.”

  “The connection’s absolutely direct, Harold,” Kli-Kli said, looking at me with a mocking smile. “Duke Ganet Shagor is none other than yourself, in person!”

  That was the moment when I realized I was going to strangle the little blackguard for his stupid bright little ideas.

  “Kli-Kli,” I said, trying to speak in a quiet, ingratiating voice. “My friend, did you have too many magic mushrooms for breakfast again? What sort of duke will I make?”

  “The perfect kind. You want to get into Pargaid’s house? Then you’ll be a duke,” the jester snapped back.

  “I don’t know how to be a duke!” I exploded. “I’m a thief! A thief, not a nobleman and a high society peacock! Couldn’t you find anyone else for the job?”

  “Who do you suggest, Harold?” Miralissa asked. “The Wild Hearts will not do, they are warriors. Anybody would recognize them as simple men straightaway. Milord Alistan cannot do it, he is known at court. Who does that leave? Only you.”

  “Why does it have to be a duke, why not an elfess or a miserly dwarf?”

  “Because news about the collector has already spread through the city, and the collector is a man.”

  “But I don’t know all those stupid noblemen’s rules—etiquette and all that high society stuff! I’ll be spotted in the first five seconds!”

  “Oh, Harold, don’t make me laugh!” said Kli-Kli, sitting on the bed and swinging his legs to and fro jauntily. “Do you think those idle spongers will understand anything? You’re a duke now, not just some lousy little marquis. Just put on your usual gloomy face, and no one will even come near you or ask you any questions. Just be haughty, cold, and smug, like Master Quidd’s turkey cock, that’s all!”

  “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said, shaking my head. “This is a wild gamble.”

  “Our entire journey to Hrad Spein is a gamble,” the jester said in a serious voice. “We have two days. I’m going to try to teach you something in that time. And I’ll tell you your life story.”

  “Are dukes as thick in our kingdom as flies on rotten meat? Kli-Kli, fear the gods! Everyone knows who all the dukes are! Where are you going to get another one from? Overseas? With my accent even a Doralis
sian could tell that I’ve lived in Valiostr all my life!”

  “Now, don’t get so excited! There is one duke, the king’s second cousin via one of his grandmothers. He’s an eccentric, he lives like a hermit and hasn’t left his castle for twenty years, so no one will recognize you as an imposter.”

  “But there are—”

  “If I say no one, that means no one. Don’t worry, I’ll be there with you, and if anything happens—”

  “No!” I snapped.

  “No what?”

  “No. You won’t be there with me!”

  “And why’s that?”

  “Kli-Kli, you’re a walking disaster with two skinny little legs! If you go with me, we’ll definitely never get out alive!”

  “I’m going with you, Dancer in the Shadows, that has already been decided. And in any case you’ll need a retinue and prompter. In case you didn’t know, dukes don’t go out visiting all on their own.”

  “A fine retinue! A little green fool!”

  “Precisely, a fool, you fool! Who’s going to take any notice of you when a jester appears in the house?”

  Hmm? Well, I had to admit to myself that the goblin was talking sense there—if he pulled a couple of his rotten tricks, everybody would be keeping their eyes on him.

  “They could recognize you as the king’s jester.”

  “No chance!” he retorted. “The chances of meeting a familiar face among the Nightingales are very slim. And anyway, all goblins look the same to you humans. It will all go off perfectly, no one will suspect a thing. Master Quidd has already obtained garments appropriate for the occasion. You will be accompanied by Egrassa. And the other six lads, as a guard of honor.”

  “I’m sorry, but any child could see through your plan! I don’t look like a nobleman, I don’t look like a duke, and no matter what you say, a single question about heraldry, and the truth will be obvious! I swear by Sagot, this will be a disaster! We’d do better to risk breaking into the house! I repeat, goblin, we have absolutely no chance.”

  “Not only do we have no chance, we have no choice, either,” the goblin sighed. “Or do you have some other duke in mind?”

  “I do,” Eel said unexpectedly.