Chasers of the Wind (16 page)

“You’re such a strategist.… The Nabatorians want everything. It’s possible that they passed by the village; it’s true that it isn’t really of strategic interest to them. But it’s also possible they didn’t. I don’t want to argue. We’ll see in an hour.”

“Well I’m quite willing to argue,” said Luk, narrowing his eyes craftily. “I bet a soren against what I owe you that we won’t see any Nabatorians.”

“You’re hoping to win back your debt?” The Son of the Snow Leopard chuckled and twirled his mustache.

“You got it.”

“It’s a deal. If everything is as you say, I will gladly forget about what you owe me.”

The soldier chuckled contentedly, thinking that victory was already in his pocket.

As Luk walked along the woodland trail, he wondered if there would be an inn in such a backwater. He seemed to recall that the lads from the third squadron had stopped by at an inn in Dog Green when they had to accompany the commander to Al’sgara one time. So he could expect shaf, edible roast meat, hot water for a bath, and a nice long rest on a decent bed. The two of them even had a whole soren, which had been sewn into the guard’s boot. He’d been saving it for a rainy day. It was a good thing he hadn’t had time to lose it at dice. Very soon this coin would give him and Ga-Nor the chance to feel like normal people once more. He wondered if the tracker had any money.

This question hadn’t bothered Luk before. There’d been no point. He glanced quickly at the northerner walking in front of him.

It was unlikely he had anything at all. The scouts didn’t carry money when they went on their forays through the Borderlands. Who would they trade with there? The highlanders? So if the redhead had any savings, they had been left behind at the fortress and had probably migrated to some Nabatorian’s pocket by now. May they all rot.

“Luk, keep up,” commanded Ga-Nor without turning around.

“I’m practically running already, screw a toad,” said the former guard indignantly. “And I have to drag my axe along, too.”

The tracker didn’t reply. Squatting down on his haunches, he began studying the ground. Luk, already long accustomed to his unhurried ways, waited patiently.

The thought crossed the soldier’s mind that the citizens of the Empire were unjust to the northerners. Especially the citizens of the central and southern provinces. They considered the Children of the Snow Leopard barbarians. Savages. Stupid, temperamental, crude people.

Dressed in wool and leather, parading about in kilts, constantly rattling their sabers—most people thought they were only fit to die for the glory of the Empire. Terrible lone wolves who gorged themselves on raw meat. Red-haired berserkers who painted their faces red and inked dreadful tattoos on their backs. And what’s more, they idolized the strange and incomprehensible war god Ug. It had yet to be determined if he was an enemy of the all-merciful Melot.

The most foolish rumors about them abounded: that they devoured the flesh of sickly infants born into their clans; that they took their own granddaughters to wife; that they bathed in melted snow, liberally seasoned with the hot blood of their enemies—these were just a few of the things said about the Children of the Snow Leopard when they were out of earshot.

Before, Luk had considered many of these rumors to be the truth. Of course, he didn’t believe in such nonsense as blood baths. But at the same time he was in agreement that all northerners were rude, unpolished, and impenetrably stupid. The guard didn’t even change his mind after he came to serve at the Gates of Six Towers and saw the Children of the Snow Leopard for the first time. The brief interactions he had with them only served to drive home the truthfulness of most of the rumors. They’d growled at him a couple of times, and almost struck him in the face. Luk didn’t try to chat with the barbarians all that much after that, and truthfully, it wasn’t that hard to avoid them. The garrison guards spent all their time circling the walls and gatehouse, or puffing their way through drills under the supervision of the sergeants, while the northerners went off on reconnaissance. They ran around the Borderlands, retraced their steps, rested, ate their fill, and again left for the mountains.

Traveling with Ga-Nor forced him to reassess his opinion of the northerners. The soldier could not call his companion a savage. It was possible that he would seem like one to the majority of the inhabitants of the enlightened Empire, but not to Luk. The tracker was not stupid, rude, or quick-tempered. Just the opposite. Experienced, intelligent, prudent, and dispassionate, he was able to size up any situation and he never made hurried decisions.

“There’s quite a few tracks. Even hoof prints. They come here often,” noted the Son of the Snow Leopard, narrowing his eyes.

Suddenly stepping away from the path, he sniffed the air.

“You smell that?”

A gove? A Burnt Soul? The walking dead?
The thoughts flew by in a vortex in Luk’s head. After the events at the Gates of Six Towers he expected anything at all.

“No. What’s there?”

“Get your axe ready. Cover my back. Follow me, but keep looking around. If you see something, tell me, but don’t shout it out loud.”

The path fell behind them. The companions walked through the dense underbrush, holding the river to their left the entire time. It was hidden from their eyes by dense thickets, but Luk could hear it murmuring over the sandbar. They came out into a forest clearing where the grass was up to their waists. Ga-Nor again began to scent the air and listen intently.

“What?” asked the guard, trying not to breathe too loudly. Right now the northerner was his sole support and hope. “What kind of crap is it this time, screw a toad?”

“We’ll see soon. Stop leering at me, I’m not a whore! Didn’t I tell you to keep looking around? We’re in no less danger in high grass than we are among the trees. An entire army could hide here.”

Luk gulped fearfully and squeezed the shaft of his axe with damp palms. The clearing suddenly seemed dangerous to him.

Contrary to the guard’s expectations, no one rushed to jump out of the grassy overgrowth. They passed through the clearing without any misadventures. They entered an oak grove. And it was only then that Luk smelled what Ga-Nor’s sensitive nostrils had picked up a long time ago—the scent of rotting corpses.

*   *   *

The corpses smelled awful. Even if Pork decided not to bathe for an entire year (which, of course, his father would never allow him to do), he would not reek so badly. The village idiot, who had returned to the glade for the third time, wasn’t feeling very well. His head was spinning and his belly was churning from the smell. He’d already been sick twice, the last time right on his shirt.

This was bad, so very, very bad. Now he had to wash it, or there was no way he could go home. He’d have his backside tanned so hard that he wouldn’t be able to sit for a month. His father wouldn’t see that he was friends with the kind, glorious Nabatorians and that man who turned out to be a real magician. After Pork asked, he even gave him these dead bodies. And now they were his. He could do whatever he wanted with them. Ha!

And everything that belonged to these dead men was also now his. None of the Nabatorians could take it away from him. And if they did, Pork would go to his friend the magician, tell on them, and he’d turn the pissants into something moldy. He’d let them all know that Pork had been wronged! What friends he had, oh my!

Thousands of flies were circling over the rotting bodies and buzzing obnoxiously. They kept trying to fly into his mouth. The idiot spat and swatted at them, but this helped little. The heat was making him sweat, and the sweat, as well as his soiled shirt, only served to attract the vile insects. But Pork kept doing what he’d come here to do.

He was already the proud owner of two pairs of boots that stank pretty strongly of carrion (one pair fit perfectly and instantly found itself a more worthy master); one gold chain; three purses with a bit of small change; a knife with a pretty handle made of stag horn; a sharp, very sharp sword; and all sorts of other things. In the course of a single hour, Pork had become a truly wealthy man.

His dream had almost come true—he’d buy all sorts of things and then he’d be taken into the knighthood. Just try and let them stop him! And if they didn’t take him, he’d go into magic. And then what? He’d wear a curved sword and carry a staff, too. Why not? It turns out people are far more frightened of necromancers than knights. You see, all the villagers only spoke about Pork’s best friend in whispers, and only during the daylight hours. Chickenshits! Even Captain Nai, the bravest Nabatorian in the village, spoke very respectfully to the magician and didn’t argue with him.

Except, Pork was a bit jealous of Pars the carpenter. What if he was a closer friend to the necromancer than himself? Just look, the magician went to his house, stayed there for a while, and then left behind five Morts. They were bone-dry, like little skeletons, and they had skeem-swords. And their faces were noseless, and their eyes were yellow, so very yellow, like the eyes of old Roza’s cat. Last month, Pork had decided to check if the tub of lard knew how to swim, and he captured the cat, but he couldn’t get it to the river. The old woman’s house pet fought for dear life and scratched his arms up. He had to drop it. Right into a puddle.

But those Morts were beyond hideous, really! When Pork saw them he nearly died of fright. They were standing without moving a muscle. They just swiveled their eyes all around and didn’t let anyone near Pars’s house. True, no one really went there. People were afraid to walk along that street.… How contrary this corpse is! He doesn’t want to give up his boots, not no how.

Pork kicked the body out of spite, causing hundreds of flies to shoot up into the air.

The nasty boot didn’t want to slide off the foot of the nasty dead man.

He tried and tried. He puffed, pulled, yanked—it wasn’t happening. But the boots were really nice. Leather, embroidered with gold thread near the eyelets. If you wore such boots, all the virgins would be yours. You wouldn’t even have to persuade them. You’d just have to get there in the nick of time and climb off your horse. So what if they smell—that’s nothing. That’s not at all terrible, you know. The pigsty reeks, too. He washes that every week. He could wash the boots too. And clean them. And then go charm the virgins.

He dawdled there for a long time. He had a whole heap of goods. He needed to go back to the herd before Choir ran off. But he couldn’t leave boots like these. Someone would definitely come by and snatch them up. And a good thing if it was only them. There was more wealth than the heavens here. They’d filch it before he had time to blink. He couldn’t take it with him. How could he drag all this away? In what? And he couldn’t lift it all, either. It was too heavy. He needed to hide it. Maybe in the trunk of the cleft tree; perhaps the fools wouldn’t look there. Or in the bushes. He just had to get these damned boots off.

Pork turned around so his back was to the dead man, grabbed the boot again, and pulled. The bushes on the edge of the glade suddenly rustled and two men appeared in front of the frightened cowherd. The first was tall, redheaded, and old. With a sword and a funny skirt. The second was chubby with a face overgrown with bristles. He had an axe.

“A logger,” muttered Pork.

He also realized that the strangers had come at a really bad time. Just when all his riches were heaped in a single pile. Of course, they had to come for them now.

“Mine!” screeched the cowherd as he vacillated between the pile of stuff and the boots that were still attached to the corpse.

Then, realizing that there was no way he could deal with the men, he ran away from both them and his pile, shrieking with resentment and fear.

*   *   *

“Who was that, screw a toad?” asked Luk through the arm of his shirt, which was pressed up against his nose and mouth.

The carrion stank so badly that he was afraid he would pass out.

“It’s obviously not a living corpse. Usually they run toward you, not away,” Ga-Nor replied sarcastically.

“Melot only knows. He looked like a—”

“A looter. It’s a pity he ran away.”

“Why?”

“Because we could have asked him some questions. And also because he might get it into his head to lead someone here. We’re leaving. Move!”

Luk raised no objection. He regarded it as the greatest fortune that he was allowed to quit the putrid glade where the dead (definitely dead, thank Melot!) bodies were lying.

Ga-Nor set off at a run. The guard was panting but he did not lag behind. They kept up that tempo for about ten minutes. Finally, the northerner stopped, hopped into the underbrush, and disappeared. Luk nervously stayed where he was.

“Am I going to have to wait long for you?” The disgruntled face of the tracker appeared from out of the thicket.

“How was I supposed to know that I should go in there too?” the soldier said as he crawled under cover.

“Look.”

“Where?”

The Son of the Snow Leopard shifted a branch.

“There.”

Beyond the edge of the thicket stretched a small field, and beyond he could clearly see the village laid out along the shores of the river. Luk was so overjoyed at this sight that he didn’t immediately notice the search tower where the figure of an archer, just barely visible from such a distance, stood, nor did he notice the patrol of three soldiers walking through the houses.

“Now you owe me two sorens.”

Luk mentioned his toad in a dispirited way. The money was a trifle. To the Abyss with it! The Nabatorians were far worse than losing a bet. Were they really fated to make their way through the forests and swamps all the way to Al’sgara?

“I’d rather die here,” he groaned.

“Hold off on dying. Wait.”

“We can’t think of something just sitting here.”

“I’m not asking you to think. I’m asking you to wait. We need to stay for a while and watch. It’s too early to leave. We’ll wait until nightfall, and then we’ll see.”

“There’s no way we can slip through the village unnoticed.”

“Nonsense!” spat Ga-Nor. “Just look at them. What are they guarding, and what do they have to fear? Especially from this direction. If it wanted to, a Snow Troll could slip into that village, to say nothing of a man. Look now! They seem to have caught wind of us.”