Chasers of the Wind (30 page)

“I know. Crow’s Nest holds the eastern road to Al’sgara.”

“There you have it. It’s no wonder that Bald Hollow has been left to its own fate. It’s not the right place to stop the enemy.”

“That’s idiotic,” disagreed the northerner.

“I think the Imperial commanders have a better idea of what’s idiotic and what’s not. You’re nothing more than a soldier—”

“And you lecture too much. To each his own, Shen,” I interrupted him.

“What are you insinuating by that?”

“There’s no need for a healer to meddle in the business of warriors. If you want to fight a war, enlist in the army.”

“Perhaps I will do that. Unlike you all, I love my country.”

“You all?” Luk scowled. “Just who do you have in mind, lad, screw a toad?”

“He means Layen and me. This has nothing to do with you. You can keep your peace.” I chuckled meanly. “To the front, Shen! To the front! You do know that if you decide to go away no one will cry for you.”

“Oh, no. We’re getting to Al’sgara together.”

“As you wish. But if you suddenly decide to go into soldiery, just give a whistle. I’ll happily find a recruiter for you.”

“You’re very kind.”

“I know.” I stepped closer to him and whispered so that Luk and Ga-Nor wouldn’t hear me, “But it would be better for you if you didn’t test my kindness. Do we understand each other?”

“Entirely.” His eyes were hard. “I’ll remember your words.”

“I really hope so. And I’ll remember that you remember them.”

At times we understood each other perfectly.

“Shen, do you have a dream?” Luk interrupted our conversation.

“What?” he asked suspiciously.

“Oh, nothing. I was simply trying to encourage conversation. I, for example, dream of a real bed, some chow, clean clothes, a barrel of shaf, and hot water.”

“What a fastidious guy you are!” The Healer laughed. “I wouldn’t have thought!”

“If you had crawled around forests and bogs with me, ran from the Damned, dead men, and Burnt Souls, well then, you’d want the same thing.”

“You forgot about something, Luk,” said Ga-Nor as he kicked a pebble in the road. “Where will you get the money from?”

“Well,” he said, embarrassed. “I have one soren. I think it’s enough for you and me.”

The redhead raised his eyebrow in surprise, but he remained silent. It was clear that he hadn’t expected his friend to have any money.

“If it’s not enough, we’ll happily treat you,” offered Layen.

Now it was my eyebrows that crawled upward. I hadn’t anticipated such sudden generosity from her. Of course, we had a lot of money; we could feed a whole squadron of northerners for five years, but Layen rarely offered help to outsiders. Should I take this to mean that she had decided to accept this pair into our team?

No matter. I was not against it. Unlike Midge and Bamut, they weren’t too bad. And I didn’t expect them to play any nasty tricks on us, unlike our Healer.

*   *   *

Even though Pork was rolled up in a warm blanket, he still shivered softly. The fire was no use at all and the forest hanging over the road seemed sinister. The cowherd was expecting a forest monster to come out of the darkness at any minute and devour him. The two horses standing by the stream whickered softly every once in a while, and each time the peasant flinched.

The village idiot was horribly terrified, and he very much wanted to cry, but he didn’t, fearing that Mistress would wake up and he’d have to do things he didn’t want to again. And then he’d wake from a trance in some nightmarish place. Like a graveyard. Or the lair of a man-eating gove.

He could not imagine how he found himself so far from his native village. At some point he’d heard Mistress command him to go to sleep and not bother her until morning. But Pork couldn’t get to sleep. Next to him lay the living corpse that used to be called Gry. The dead man watched the miserable cowherd with lifeless eyes. This made everything even more frightening. The half-wit recalled how the lady forced him to go up to the gallows and cut the rope, and then she disappeared from behind his left shoulder and the dead guy came alive and sat up, startling all the Nabatorians. Pork wanted to run away, but Mistress, who was crouched in the carcass of the hanged man, would not let him run far. The sobbing cowherd and the living corpse left the village together.

The first night, when the dead man stopped moving and was apparently asleep, Pork tried to flee. He didn’t succeed. The enraged lady suddenly appeared behind his shoulder and then he was punished. After the insane pain, the pathetically whimpering cowherd crawled back to the fire on all fours; the terrible woman returned to the body of the dead man and he heard nothing more from her before morning. But the fool didn’t even consider running anymore.

He just sat there, his eyes dilated in terror, peering into the darkness, waiting apprehensively for morning.

13

Layen and I had stayed at the inn, the Supreme Witch, several years ago and even though quite a lot of time had passed, I found the establishment without much difficulty. The sturdy two-story building had a sign, on which a fairly talented hand had painted a red-haired woman with a malicious appearance. True, it resembled a witch as much as a Je’arre looks like a butterfly. That is, they had nothing in common.

There weren’t all that many people in the common room. But in about an hour, just when it started to get dark, the neighborhood residents would drag themselves in to toss back a mug of shaf or a glass of reska. Then it will get so crowded, people will be sitting on one another’s heads.

Luk, as he had promised, urgently requested food, drink, and a bath. A servant boy was sent to the nearest shop for new clothing. When he found out that we were ready to foot the bill, the soldier got right down to it. But I didn’t mind; I could spare the extra sorens.

Layen and I got a nice room—bright and clean. Through old habit, the first thing we did was check the door. It was hefty, with a good dead bolt. It wouldn’t be easy to knock down. From the window there was a view of the inner courtyard, the stables, and the barn. That was also excellent—there was always the chance we’d have to leave without drawing special attention to ourselves.

I left my wife to rest and freshen up and went to a weapons dealer at the far end of town. There I grudgingly bargained with the surly dealer, who apparently didn’t have such particular customers every day. I only stopped when I’d selected two dozen more or less decent arrows from the three hundred he had on offer. I had complete confidence in ten of them, while the remaining fourteen were of middling quality, but they’d do in a pinch.

After I paid, I returned to the inn, which was now crowded; the customers were piled high on top of one another, with servants rushing around between them with trays full of orders. It was one hell of a ruckus. It smelled pleasantly of cold mint and chamomile shaf, and the aroma of roast meat tickled my nostrils.

Our table was the one closest to the stairs that led up to the second floor. Happy and content, Luk was laying into his food assiduously. Shen, who had cheered up some, was sipping his cooling drink and playing with Midge’s knife. I won’t say that he impressed me, but the lad was somewhat skilled. Layen was listlessly watching the knife as it flashed through the Healer’s fingers. Like I said, the Healer couldn’t make an especially striking impression on a person who had earned her keep working risky jobs.

The northerner was looking around more than he was eating. His interest was caught by a neighboring table, where some miners were sitting. There they were discussing important news—the war that was sweeping across the northeast of the Empire.

By the bar, the young, thickset innkeeper was arguing about something with a man who had just come in. This stranger’s muddy cloak caught my attention. Regardless of the age of the fabric, the emblem sewn onto it was still discernible. It was the boots and cloud of the couriers’ guild.

“Keep your mouths shut,” I warned my companions, and then, without getting into particulars, I headed over to the disputants.

“Where should I seat you?” boomed the innkeeper. “You see how many people are here. All the tables are taken.”

“Fine, no need to get nasty,” said the courier soothingly. “Just bring me food in my room.”

“It’ll be a while ’til the room is ready. It’s being cleaned now. You’ll have to wait.”

“If you want, you can sit at my table,” I said, interrupting their conversation. “We have a free seat.”

“I’d be honored.” The courier bowed, making no secret of his pleasure.

“Bring him some food,” I instructed the innkeeper, who immediately cheered up once he saw that the unpleasant situation had been resolved.

“I hope I won’t be disturbing you,” said the man I’d invited as we walked over to the table. “My name is Gis.”

“Take a load off.” Unlike the others, Layen had instantly realized that an excellent opportunity to learn the latest news had fallen in our laps. “Was the road hard?”

“It wasn’t easy.” Gis looked around at us curiously as the innkeeper set his plate down.

He was middle-aged, short, and lanky. He had a narrow, sallow face with a large, fleshy nose, a shiny bald head, and thick, unkempt mustaches. His eyes were dark, sharp, tenacious, and thoughtful. But his hands were strange; he had narrow palms with long, elegant fingers and well-groomed nails that would be more fitting for a musician or a juggler, but not for a man who spends his entire life on the road. Those hands perplexed me greatly, and at any other time I would have pondered their significance, but today, after our onerous journey, I was not up to it.

“Are you traveling?” he asked as he dug into the food.

“Yes,” said Ga-Nor curtly, kicking Luk, whose mouth was wide open, under the table.

The kick didn’t escape Gis’s attention, but he in no way showed it. He meditatively broke a griddle cake in two, dipped it in gravy, and declared, “You’re a colorful group.”

“When you joined us, it became even more colorful.” Layen smiled pleasantly. “Common room tables have a way of bringing all sorts of people together.”

Gis returned the smile.

“True enough, my lady. I’ve seen it often during my travels. Once I even saw a human, a Blazog, and a Je’arre amicably playing dice.”

“All that and amicably? Flyers can’t get along with each other, to say nothing of other races!” said Luk, and he dissolved into laughter.

Most people have no love for the Je’arre due to their pride, fierce tempers, and disdain for other races. Even the Highborn of Sandon do not elicit as much ire as the Sons of the Sky
(what the Je’arre call themselves)
.

“Why would you call me lady?” wondered Layen.

Gis winked merrily.

“Have you not noticed how the entire common room is looking at you? Do you know the reason? You’re wearing trousers. Our south is too stuffy. That which is normal in the north, here is considered an open invitation, if not a vulgarity. Even the whores wear skirts, to say nothing of the more dignified gentlewomen. Very few women can allow themselves trousers. Only the inhabitants of the northern parts of the Empire, and you don’t look like them, or the nobles who disregard the opinions of those around them. I chose to place you in the second classification. Was I mistaken?”

Shen soundlessly repeated the word “classification” and raised his eyebrows in surprise. I also noticed that our guest was an exceedingly well-educated man.

“You’re mistaken, in that you overlooked yet another possibility—it’s far more comfortable to travel in trousers than in a skirt.”

“I think that he”—Gis pointed at the impassive Ga-Nor—“might disagree with you. For the Children of the Snow Leopard, trousers could never compare for comfort with a kilt.”

“A kilt is not a skirt,” said the northerner. “But there is a snowflake of truth in your words.”

“I thank you.”

“You know the clan signs of my people quite well,” said the northerner.

“I’m a courier.” He shrugged. “I have to keep my eyes and ears open. Besides, only the Snow Leopards wear red and gold plaid. It’s easy to remember.”

“Are you bound for Al’sgara?”

“Yes, my lady.” Our companion insisted on addressing Layen as a noblewoman.

“From the mining colonies?”

“From Gash-Shaku.”

“Gash-Shaku!” Luk exclaimed, his mouth falling open. “But Bald Hollow isn’t on the way! Why would you take such a detour?”

Gis’s face darkened.

“If I’d had my way, I wouldn’t have. But the prairies are enveloped in flames. The road between Al’sgara and Gash-Shaku has become too dangerous. Nabatorian and Sdisian soldiers. There are rumors of necromancers. I had to detour to the east, toward Okni. The battle hasn’t taken hold there yet. Our boys are keeping the enemy in check at the Isthmuses of Lina, so I was able to slip past. True, my journey was doubled.”

“What’s happening in Gash-Shaku?” Shen leaned forward.

“I slipped out of there a day before the city was besieged.”

“But the army! Where is our army?”

“The Second Southern Army was completely destroyed. They say the Sixth and the First retreated to the Katugian Mountains for redeployment. Perhaps they’ll try to lift the siege. The Third is mired in the Isthmuses, so there will be no help from them. I’ve heard nothing about the Fourth. The Fifth holds the Steps of the Hangman, so I don’t think they’re rushing off to save anyone. The most important thing is not to let the enemy break through to the north.”

“Not good,” said Luk, aghast.

He was right. It didn’t seem like our troops were doing so well. The second-largest city in the Empire was under siege, and battle was raging from the forests of Sandon to the Golden Sea. The enemy, ignoring the untouched southwest, was striving to take the most important position—the Steps of the Hangman. If they succeeded, they would cut off reinforcements coming from the north and would have no fear of a sudden strike from behind.

“And all because someone was nodding off at the Six Towers,” said the courier. “No one knows how such a thing could have happened.”

Ga-Nor kicked Luk again, so he’d keep quiet.