by Alexey Pehov
Kli-Kli’s weak point is his beloved goblin Book of Prophecies, which he knows from cover to cover. And now, you see, I wasn’t Harold the thief any longer, but a walking prophecy, who was destined to save the kingdom and the entire world. Yeah, sure. If I had my way, I’d rob it, not save it.
“Kli-Kli,” Arnkh put in, “why don’t you tell us if this little book of yours by the shaman Tru-Tru…”
“Tre-Tre, not Tru-Tru, you great ignoramus!” the goblin interrupted the bald warrior resentfully.
“Written by the shaman Tre-Tre,” Arnkh went on as if nothing had happened, but the goblin interrupted him again: “The great shaman Tre-Tre!”
“All right. Written by the great shaman Tre-Tre. So, is there anything in it apart from your beloved prophecies?”
“For example?” The native son of the Border Kingdom seemed to have succeeded in catching the goblin off balance.
“Well, for example, a cure for a gnome’s toothache?”
Hallas, who had drawn level with our little group again, heard the conversation and pricked up his ears, although he tried to pretend he wasn’t interested at all.
Kli-Kli spotted this and gave one of his now-watch-what-happens smiles—a clear sign that he was about to play one of his rotten tricks.
The jester paused so theatrically that Hallas started squirming in the saddle with impatience. When the gnome’s fury was just about to reach the boiling point, the goblin spoke.
“It does.”
“And what is it?” I asked, tugging desperately at my bridle and trying to steer Little Bee out of the space between Kli-Kli and Hallas.
As sure as eggs were eggs, the goblin had some rotten trick in mind, and I had no wish to be caught in the line of any heavy objects when the bearded gnome decided to spill the royal jester’s blood
“Oh!” Kli-Kli declared in a mysterious voice. “It’s a very effective remedy. In principle it could have been applied at the very beginning of Hallas’s ailment, and the tooth would have stopped hurting immediately. I swear by the great shaman Tre-Tre’s hat, Harold, it’s the truth.”
“Then why didn’t you say anything?” the gnome roared, setting half the street fluttering in alarm.
Uncle turned round and waved his fist at us, then pointed in Alistan’s direction and ran the edge of his hand across his throat.
“Cut the clowning, Kli-Kli,” Marmot said good-naturedly. “People are looking.”
“All right, not another word,” the goblin promised solemnly, gesturing as if he were locking his mouth shut.
“What d’you mean, not another word?” the gnome asked indignantly. “Deler, tell that green-skinned lout that if he doesn’t give me the remedy, I won’t answer for myself!”
Kli-Kli gazed at the gnome with his blue eyes and said with a very doubtful air, “I’m not so sure you’ll like the goblin remedy for a toothache, Hallas.”
“Can’t you just tell me, Kli-Kli?”
“You won’t use the method anyway,” said Kli-Kli. “And I’ll simply have revealed a goblin secret for nothing.”
“I promise that I will use your method this very moment!” said the gnome, struggling desperately to hold himself back from wringing the goblin’s neck.
A broad smile split Kli-Kli’s green face from ear to ear, making him look exactly like a wickedly contented frog.
I worked away even more desperately with my bridle, holding Little Bee back until I was beside Lamplighter, and the goblin and the gnome were ahead of me. My brilliant maneuver did not go unnoticed by Marmot, Deler, and Arnkh, who repeated it precisely. Hallas and Kli-Kli were left on their own: None of us wanted to be caught between the hammer and the anvil.
“Remember, you promised to use the goblin method,” the prankster reminded the sick man. “Well then, in order to cure a sick tooth, you have to take a glass of ass’s urine and hold it in your mouth for an hour, then spit it out over your left shoulder, preferably into your best friend’s right eye. Your toothache will disappear instantly!”
Hallas gave the goblin a baleful glance, spat juicily on the ground under the hooves of his horse, and urged it on. I think Kli-Kli was rather upset. Like everyone else, he’d been expecting thunder and lightning.
“Tell me, friend Kli-Kli,” I asked the downhearted goblin. “Have you ever tried that remedy yourself?”
The jester looked at me as if I were demented: “Do I look like an idiot, thief?”
I just knew he was going to say something like that.
* * *
“Behold and tremble, Harold,” said Honeycomb.
“I am trembling,” I said, with my eyes glued to the Fountain of the Kings.
And what a sight it was! I’d heard a lot about this fountain before, but this was the first time I’d ever set eyes on it.
The huge column of water fifty yards high was regarded as one of the sights of Ranneng. The fountain took up the whole square; its roaring jets of water soared way up into the sky, and then fell back down to earth, shattering into a watery haze that shrouded the entire area. The droplets of water and the rays of the sun merged in a passionate embrace to create a rainbow bridge that sliced the sky above the square into two halves and came diving back down into the fountain.
Those in the know said that when the dwarf master craftsmen created this miracle they had a little help from the Order. It takes magic to produce a rainbow that appears out of the spray every day of the week in any weather. It looked as if I could reach out my hand to touch the seven-colored miracle and feel all the airy fragility of this bridge in the sky.
“Magnificent.” Arnkh sighed contentedly, catching the fresh spray on his face.
Late June and the first half of July had been so hot that even a hardened warrior like Arnkh had taken off his beloved chain mail a couple of times during our journey. And for someone from the Border Kingdom who has been used to wearing armor almost since the day he was born, that is a very serious concession indeed.
Fortunately, over the last few days the heat had abated a little, but it was still hot enough to make me worry about my brains boiling in my skull. So it was sheer bliss for our group to stand beside the fountain, where the air was so cool, fresh, and clean.
“No halt here!” Alistan announced without even glancing at the marvelous sight.
So much for our rest. When I thought about the long journey under the summer sun waiting for us after Ranneng, I felt really bad. In the name of a h’san’kor, what was wrong with the weather this year?
“What’s wrong with you today?” an indignant voice asked right in my ear. “Here I am fluttering about like a lark in front of a cockerel to get your attention, and you might as well be deaf!”
“And did you say anything interesting, chatterbox?” I asked.
“Chatterbox!” the jester snorted. “I wasn’t simply talking talking, I was extolling the beauties of this glorious city.”
“I don’t see much beauty around here at the moment,” I muttered, looking round the street.
It was just an ordinary street. Little old two-story houses with battered, peeling walls, although I had to give the locals some credit—not all the buildings looked totally decrepit. But I definitely couldn’t see much beauty. If I hadn’t known I was in Ranneng, I would have thought this was the Outer City of Avendoom.
“Wait a bit, we’ll get to the park in a moment; the trees there are just like those in the Zagrabian forest!”
“Have you been here before, then, Kli-Kli?” asked Lamplighter, who had ridden up to us on his roan horse Stubborn.
Loudmouth’s horse was trudging after Stubborn, flicking her ears in protest at being dragged in such a perfunctory manner.
“Yes, I was here once,” Kli-Kli mused, smacking his lips. “I was on a mission for the king.”
Hallas almost choked in surprise. Forgetting all about his sick tooth, he stared at Kli-Kli and said: “Don’t go telling me fairy tales, goblin. I’ll never believe the king could trust you with important bus
iness.”
“Baa!” said Kli-Kli, sticking his tongue out at the gnome.
“Never mind, tell us your silly story anyway, it’ll ease the boredom. Are we never going to get to this inn?” Marmot said.
“Why, there’s no distance left at all. We just go through the park into the Upper City, where the university is, and the school of magic and all the rest of it. A fine district it is. We’ve haven’t got far to go now.”
The goblin was simply playing the clown and waiting to be asked again.
“Come on, get on with it,” said Lamplighter.
“Just let me think where to start,” Kli-Kli agreed graciously, and put on an important air, as if he really was thinking.
“Harold, hold Invincible for me while I take my jacket off,” said Marmot.
“All right,” I agreed, and Marmot tossed his ling across, onto my shoulder.
Marmot’s shaggy tame rat Invincible took a sniff, grunted, wheezed, and settled down on my shoulder. It was incredible, but apart from Marmot I was the only one in the entire party that the ling didn’t bite; he even allowed me to stroke him when he was in a generous mood.
I couldn’t fathom just why the long-haired rodent from the Deserted Lands took such a great liking to me. But when I saw the way the rat howled and tried to bite Kli-Kli’s finger every time he reached his hand out to it, I chuckled merrily, which greatly annoyed the goblin.
“You promised us a story, Kli-Kli,” I reminded him.
“Ah, so I did! Right, then: A year ago the Oburs and the Wild Boars decided to conclude an alliance and give the Nightingales a bloody night of it. There was a fine old brawl all set to break out in Ranneng, and that was not in Stalkon’s interests. They would have started with the Nightingales and finished with His Majesty. And so I was sent.”
“And our truly fearless little friend defeated them all!” Deler chortled.
“You dwarves don’t have even a spark of imagination,” Kli-Kli snorted. “I was sent here to make the Wild Boars fall out with the Oburs and vice versa, to make sure that those noble gangsters never thought about concluding an alliance again.… And that’s just what I did!” There was a distinct note of pride in the goblin’s voice.
“And how did you pull that off?” I chuckled, handing the ling back to Marmot.
“I used the same plan as you did in that business with the Horse of Shadows. Set everyone against everyone else.”
“Set everyone against everyone else? What’s he talking about, Harold?” asked Lamplighter, puzzled.
“Don’t bother your head about it, Mumr,” I said: I didn’t want to get into that story just then. “And how did the Oburs and Wild Boars take to your plan, Kli-Kli?”
“You know, Harold, it’s strange, but they really didn’t like my plan at all!” The jester giggled. “Especially the Oburs! Those noble gentlemen were so upset when they heard that one of the Wild Boar counts was marrying his daughter to a Nightingale that without thinking twice they set up a really lively betrothal party for the Wild Boars. And the Wild Boars gave tit for tat by slitting the throats of a couple of Oburs. The mayhem that broke out in the city then ended any more talk about an alliance. The nobles of the south carried on squabbling among themselves, and my king had no need to feel concerned for the safety of his throne. The threat of rebellion and civil war was postponed indefinitely, and the whole kingdom came to thank the jester for the peace and tranquillity of Valiostr.”
“Well, isn’t our fool a fine lad after all!” Arnkh chuckled, jangling his chain mail.
The nobles of the south are like a fishbone stuck in the king’s throat. Painful to swallow, and if you try to spit it out, you’re likely to make things worse. Because if their lordships aren’t watched carefully, they might turn around and strike a deal with the western provinces, and that would be the end of the throne. As soon as the squabbling and intriguing comes to an end, the nobles—and especially the nobles who have formed an alliance—will start looking for something else to do with their armed men.
During the time of our present king’s father there was an unpleasant incident when the western nobles decided to overthrow the dynasty. They were annoyed, you see, because the king didn’t want to give away the Disputed Lands to Miranueh. Fortunately, that time the rebels got nowhere. The royal guards surprised them by turning up when they weren’t expected. And the nobles of the south failed to support the revolt of their neighbors to the west: the Wild Boars, Nightingales, and Oburs were too busy with each other to take notice of any appeals to take part in a conspiracy.
We were riding through the park, with its giant oaks. I could hardly believe that trees that size grew inside the city limits. There weren’t any big trees in Avendoom, even in the grounds of the royal palace, not to mention the other districts of the city. With the cold weather that the winds bring us from across the Cold Sea and the Deserted Lands, all the trees are taken for firewood the moment winter arrives. The folks from the Port City and the Suburbs would soon have reduced all these trees to nothing but stumps.
The road started rising uphill and we emerged from the park to find ourselves in the area of Ranneng immediately around the university and the school of the Order. The houses here were a bit newer and more handsome than the ones we had ridden past earlier. But even so, the streets were still swarming with people. More people than there were fleas on an unwashed dog, that’s for sure.
The inn, separated off from the street by a fence, was a large, respectable-looking establishment of three stories.
“Well, blow me!” Deler said with a whistle as he surveyed our temporary residence. “If the building’s that big, then the kitchen must be huge, too. And a huge kitchen is a sure sign of good food! What do you think, Hallas?”
The gnome merely cast a mournful glance at his partner and kept his mouth shut.
“You’re right there, Deler,” boomed the giant Honeycomb. “We’ve had enough of that lousy grub Uncle and Hallas dish up. Oh, I could just do with a suckling pig and horseradish!”
“And you shall have one, dear sir. You shall quite definitely have a suckling pig! And even two! I hardly think one would be enough to satisfy a mighty warrior like yourself!” replied a potbellied, red-cheeked little man who had appeared from out of nowhere. “Good day, Lady Miralissa. I’m glad to see you again in my most humble establishment.”
“And I am glad to see you alive and well, Master Pito,” the elfess replied with a polite smile. “How are things at the inn?”
“We get by well enough and just about make ends meet.”
“Don’t give us the poor mouth,” Ell said with a smile. “You’ve put on weight in the half year since we were last here.”
“What do you mean?” the innkeeper protested, brushing aside the comment from Miralissa’s bodyguard. “That’s just from the worry of everything! Oh! Tresh Miralissa has brought some new travelers to my establishment! But where are the ones who were here last year? I can only see their lordships Egrassa and Ell.”
“They are no longer with us,” Miralissa replied reluctantly.
I didn’t know this part of the story, but from the fragmentary phrases that the dark elfess had let slip in conversation with me, I realized all the companions who left the Forests of Zagraba with her, apart from Egrassa and Ell, had been left behind in the snows of the Needles of Ice. Only three elves and Uncle’s platoon, who had accompanied Miralissa to Avendoom, had escaped alive from the Deserted Lands.
“What a catastrophe!” the innkeeper exclaimed, wringing his hands. “How could that have happened?”
“Why don’t you show us our rooms, Master Pito?” Egrassa suggested.
“Oh!” said the innkeeper, realizing that he had touched a sore spot. “I beg you most humbly to forgive my curiosity. Please follow me, good gentlemen. I’ve already given one of your companions his room. And poured beer for him!”
“Who have you given a room to, good master?” Markauz asked suspiciously, narrowing his eyes and lowering his
hand to his sword.
“Have I done something wrong?” the innkeeper asked in dismay, stopping dead on the spot. “He arrived and said he was with you and—”
“Who arrived?” Count Alistan interrupted him.
“Why, I arrived, Milord Alistan, I did!” said Loudmouth, emerging from the door of the inn with a mug of beer in his hand.
“Oho!” said Arnkh with a sharp intake of breath. “You move like greased lightning! I expected you this evening.”
“How’s the girlfriend?” Lamplighter asked as he walked past Loudmouth and then disappeared through the door of the inn without hearing his reply.
“I didn’t go to see any girlfriend,” Loudmouth protested feebly.
“Of course not. You went mushroom-picking,” said Marmot as he followed Mumr inside.
“Come in, gentlemen, come in!” said Pito, feeling firm ground under his feet again. “All the rooms have been made ready.”
Kli-Kli gazed round at the group with his blue eyes and asked: “Nobody objects if I stay in Harold and Lamplighter’s room, do they?”
Of course no one objected.
The main hall of the inn was the size of a city square; there were chandeliers with candles up under the ceiling, sturdy chairs with carved openwork backs, long benches, and stout tables. There was a huge owl carved out of a single tree trunk hanging on one of the walls, a staircase leading up to the second floor, a bar counter, and a strong oak door leading to the kitchen.
“Do you have many guests, Master Pito?” Count Markauz asked, taking off his leather gloves and tossing them onto the nearest table.
“No one, apart from you.”
“How so?” asked the captain of the royal guard, raising one eyebrow in amazement. “Is business really going that badly?”
“Don’t be concerned, milord!” the innkeeper said with a cunning smile. “Tresh Miralissa paid the inn’s expenses for two years in advance.”
“We decided to make the Learned Owl what you humans would call our headquarters,” Egrassa said. “My cousin paid Master Pito not to take in any other guests, and with no one else staying here we can feel perfectly at ease.”
