Chasers of the Wind (11 page)

The northerner rummaged in the bag that he’d taken from the saddle of the Nabatorian horse. He extracted sugar, an onion, a small hunk of cheese, and a quarter of rye bread from it.

“I trust you’re capable of eating and talking at the same time?” asked Ga-Nor as he sliced the onion with his dagger.

His companion nodded and told his story as he ate. The Son of the Snow Leopard listened attentively. Everything was far worse than he thought. The Damned were involved in this business! Rubeola’s name used to terrify him as a child. And it probably wasn’t just her. How many of them were there? Six or eight? The Damned would be far more trouble than all the others. If, of course, Luk wasn’t lying, as was his habit. But he was clearly not lying.

Nabator had been wanting to conquer the south of the Empire for centuries. And now that long-awaited event was coming to pass.

“Surely someone else must have escaped.”

“Maybe,” replied Luk listlessly. A blind man could see that he didn’t really believe it. “Rek and I managed to get out because we ran from the walls along the southern stairwell. It’s not far from there to the fifth portal. I just don’t think that anyone followed us. A swarm of Nabatorians fell on them. And Morts, too. We barely got through.”

“Did the Walker really die?”

“Yeah,” said the soldier mournfully. “The Damned hit the wall so hard that…”

He didn’t finish, and he didn’t really need to. A heavy silence fell. Both men watched the flames of the fire and thought their own thoughts.

Luk considered himself lucky. Ga-Nor was an excellent tracker and not a bad swordsman. The chances of living were far better with him than if he were alone. If the northerner hadn’t come to his rescue, he would already be dead.

“Ga-Nor? What now?”

The Son of the Snow Leopard answered reluctantly, “We will have to get through on our own. Going to El’nichi Ford makes no sense. I’m sure they’ve already taken it. I think that Nabator will head for Okni and Gash-Shaku. That would deprive Al’sgara of support. And it will give them the opportunity to gather up their forces to strike at the heart of the Empire. As soon as we leave the foothills, we need to head west.”

“I need to go to Al’sgara,” Luk declared suddenly. “The Walker begged me to report about the Damned.”

“I’m sure they already know.”

“And if not?”

“Then they’ll know in a day or two. At any rate, you’ll be too late.”

“I promised.”

Ga-Nor looked at the obstinately pursed lips of his companion with astonishment. He hadn’t expected it—that a gambler would keep his word.

“If you won’t go with me, I’ll go by myself.”

“There’s forest all around. And beyond that the Blazgian Swamp begins. You’ll die.”

“If we keep going west, we’ll get to Dog Green. There’s a road there that goes to Al’sgara.”

“Do you really think that the Nabatorians haven’t blocked it off?” scoffed the northerner.

“It’s worth the risk. Are you coming with me?”

“Let’s talk about it tomorrow. Right now I need to sleep. I’m very tired.”

“I’ll keep watch,” Luk offered at once, immensely cheered up. The northerner didn’t refuse him; he promised to think about it. That was a mercy. It would be much worse if he refused to budge and said no. It was as easy to change the minds of that stubborn tribe as it was to get a Je’arre to sell his silk cheaply.

The soldier picked up his axe and sat down by the door, laying his weapon next to him.

“Wake me up toward morning. I’ll relieve you.” The tracker pressed his back against the wall and closed his eyes.

“Sure. Ga-Nor?”

“Yes?”

“Where did those corpses come from? Shouldn’t they be with their necromancer?”

“They should. But they can run away.”

“How?”

“With their legs.”

“And what about the ones chasing us? They aren’t going to come here and surprise us in the early hours of the morning?”

The Son of the Snow Leopard snorted crossly, but he still answered, “Only if they know how to track. But they are far too stupid for that. They shouldn’t find us. If they do, wake me. And now shut up and let me sleep.”

Luk nodded but his companion didn’t see it. He was asleep.

The soldier shifted about, trying to get comfortable. He glanced at the door. He took a deep breath, yawning widely. Listening to the patter of the rain falling on the roof, he watched as the flames died down.

*   *   *

Ga-Nor awoke and heard peaceful snoring. Without opening his eyes, the northerner cursed. Luk had fallen asleep without waking him up, of course. An infuriating blunder that could have cost them their lives. But this time they had been spared. No one had tried to infiltrate their asylum during the night, and that meant that they had managed to get the creatures off their trail.

That was good.

Judging by the sun striking him in the eyes, the weather had changed. That, and it was probably late morning. He’d slept deeply. But that was not surprising—the strain of the last few days necessitated a proper rest. Maybe Luk was right not to wake him. He needed to gather his strength.

He recalled last night’s conversation. Luk’s proposition was sound. It was unlikely that the Nabatorians would be tempted by that little village. Beyond that, there was no point skulking about in the forest on an empty stomach. He had little food, and without a crossbow he couldn’t survive by hunting. That, and there wouldn’t be time for it. But in Dog Green he could stock up on food and at least one of his troubles would be lessened.

The sun was beating down on his eyes. He knew he should get up, but he didn’t feel like it. The warm light was an unexpectedly pleasant sensation. Suddenly a shadow of some kind ran across the sun; the rays stopped falling on his face for a second and then returned again. It was just for a moment, and it could have meant nothing at all, but the northerner’s complacent mood disappeared instantly. He quickly opened his eyes and squinted against the light.

Through the window opposite where he was lying, he could see the crowns of the sycamores and a swatch of clear blue sky. Which meant, as he had supposed, that the fleeting shadow had not been a cloud.

He kept perfectly still and did not take his tense gaze from the window. He cautiously dragged in air through his nostrils. The scent was so slight that even the keen nose of the northerner did not smell it immediately. But when he detected it, Ga-Nor’s blood ran cold. They were in a heap of trouble now. Ug take him if he was mistaken!

The air smelled of almonds.

He only knew of one creature that gave off such a smell. And right now it was not on the side of soldiers of the Empire. If it hadn’t been for the shadow, Ga-Nor never would have sensed the danger. The intelligent creature had placed itself downwind and the forest was not silent. The birds were chirping with all their might, not at all bothered by the presence of an intruder.

What now? Would the enemy wait until they left the hut? How long would its patience last? Could it see him right now?

The northerner glanced at Luk. He was sleeping with his mouth open. The soldier was lying opposite the second window and he didn’t even suspect that his scalp was at risk of becoming a trophy.

Ug, help me! What bad timing!

Trying to make as few movements as possible, Ga-Nor groped for the bread that remained after last night’s meal. He ripped off a piece with his fingers and rolled it up into a ball. He took careful aim and then flicked his makeshift projectile at Luk’s forehead. Luk opened his eyes.

When he saw the northerner’s troubled face, Luk clearly wanted to ask what was going on. Ga-Nor quickly held up his fingers in warning, begging him to keep silent. Thank Ug! He understood. Using his fingers, the Son of the Snow Leopard tried to explain that they were in danger. And that too was understood. Now for the most difficult part—they had to back away from the window so that they weren’t visible from outside. They needed to do it quickly, and if possible simultaneously. He didn’t know which window their adversary was watching from.

Unfortunately, the soldier did not understand the complicated clan sign language of the Children of the Snow Leopard, but he did know the customary army hand signals. The redhead tried his best to explain to him what he had to do.

“On the count of three,” mouthed the tracker. “One … two … three!”

Ga-Nor shot up into the air. There was a whistle, followed by a dull thud. The tracker crashed to the floor, went into a roll, and landed right underneath the window. He quickly looked around.

Luk was alive. Right then he was pressed against the door but his chubby, good-natured face had turned the color of sour milk. A yard-and-a-half-long shaft was sticking out of the wall right where the soldier had just been leaning. It was thick. With violet-red plumage.

“Damn it!” swore the northerner.

“What is it?” gasped Luk, who was scared nearly to death, vividly imagining how he would have been nailed to the wall by that thing.

“Away from the door! Move!”

If there was one thing Luk did not lack, it was quick wits. He didn’t bother asking stupid questions and did what he was ordered. Holding his axe fast in his hand, he rolled to the side and crawled on his stomach to a less dangerous spot between the wall and the stone stove. It was a blind spot for the bowman.

The next arrow punched right through the flimsy door panels, coming out of it two handbreadths. If the guard had stayed put, he’d already be dead.

“Luk? You alive?”

“Seems like,” said the soldier, touching himself with trembling hands. “What is it?”

“A Burnt Soul.”

“A real one?”

He instantly realized the stupidity of that question. This wasn’t one of his old sergeant’s boozy tales.

“Where did it come from?”

“Ask me something easier,” grumbled Ga-Nor. What had brought the creature to the forest was another question entirely. “Sit still, keep your head down.”

“No problem!”

Luk realized that they had been backed into a corner. It was keeping an eye on the hut so that they couldn’t get out. If they stuck their noses outside, they’d get hit by an arrow.

For the time being, Ga-Nor was out of the eye line of the Burnt Soul, but it could easily change its position. Trying not to raise his head and clinging to the wall, the northerner quickly crawled over to a corner where he couldn’t be reached.

Luk tensely watched the Son of the Snow Leopard from the opposite end of the hut. The tracker crouched down and, catching the troubled look of his companion, smiled joylessly. He understood what a mess they were in.

“How long do we have until he gets tired of waiting?” asked the guard.

Ga-Nor noted that the soldier was not panicking and that he had his weapon in hand.

Good for him.

“It all depends on how long he’s been here and what he wants.”

“Scalps. I don’t know about you, but my hair is dear to me.”

“You barely have any left.”

Luk smiled sourly.

“And yet. What do you plan to do?”

“I plan on thinking.”

How could he kill a Burnt Soul without a crossbow? If they tried to run past him, he’d pick them off like fattened hens. Going out the door was suicide, as was the window. And the roof.

Burnt Souls were excellent archers. It is possible that the humans and the Nirits of Bragun-Zan shot more accurately than the inhabitants of the Great Waste, but in terms of strength the Burnt Souls had no equal. The longbows of these creatures rivaled the most formidable crossbows. One of their arrows could easily pierce most of the armor made by the blacksmiths of this world.

The Imperial forces had come up against the warriors of the Burnt Souls a few times since the War of the Necromancers. Most often these confrontations did not end favorably for the humans. The dreaded bowmen had not been seen in the lands of the Empire for a long time, but they were well remembered. And if even the smallest parts of the stories about them were true, dispatching the archer would be far from easy.

“Will he come in here?”

“I don’t know,” replied Ga-Nor after a little thought. “If he’s an idiot then he might. Take a look at the roof. If he climbs up to the smoke hole, he’ll pick us off like rabbits.”

“You go take a look.” Luk picked up his axe with a decisive air. “Screw a toad, but I don’t plan to waste away here.”

Before the Son of the Snow Leopard had time to ask what the soldier was up to, he began to chop away at the floor. The axe rose and fell, breaking the old floorboards. After only a few minutes a hole appeared in the floor, which would be wide enough to crawl through without too much difficulty.

While he was working, the man was out of breath and sweating but his good-natured face looked utterly pleased.

“My father was a hunter. These log houses are always built on stilts. The floor is raised a yard, if not two, above the ground. When they spend the winter, they keep produce down there. We can’t get to the trapdoor; it’s under the window. That’s why I’m doing this.”

“And what then? Are you suggesting that we crawl under the floor?” The northerner’s expression was skeptical.

“No. I’m suggesting that you do that.” Seeing how the red eyebrows lifted upward, Luk rushed to explain. “It’s unlikely that I could kill off that beast, but you can.”

“How will I get out of the ground? Dig a tunnel?”

“I’m telling you, the hut is built on stilts. Planks are fastened between the floor and the ground. They’re all rotten. It won’t take much strength.”

“And while I’m crawling around down there you’re just going to sit it out up here?”

Luk shrugged. “I could crawl around with you down there. That’s not a problem for me. But sneaking up on a Burnt Soul—no way. You know he’d hear me coming a league off. I’ve never gone scouting through the Boxwood Mountains, you know.”

Ga-Nor pondered it. A way out was being offered to him. The risk, of course, was great, but they either had to risk something or wait here until they died of hunger. Or until help came for the Burnt Soul. Morts, for example. Then it would be far too late to do anything. And the soldier was right. There was no way he could do this. He walked through the forest like a wild boar, making so much noise that even a deaf man could hear him. He would do more harm than good. Ga-Nor would have to do this himself.