Chasers of the Wind (3 page)

“I hope this will jog your memory.” The rider threw Pork a coin.

Pork caught it and his jaw dropped. The silly bear had thrown him a whole sol! Now he could buy himself sweets and eat them where no one could see. Pork wouldn’t share them with anyone. That’d show them, calling him an idiot! The cowherd bit into the coin and, quickly, so they wouldn’t be able to take it away, hid it in his bag.

“You described them really well. That’s Pars and his wife, Ann. I recognized them right away.”

The men exchanged looks.

“Where can we find them?”

“Oh, that’s really easy. He lives just outside the village, not far from the blacksmith’s shop. You’ll see his house right away. It has little ponies with wings etched on the gates. They’re pretty. I want some. If you go through the whole village, you’ll see it.”

“Has he been living here for a long time?”

“I can’t remember.” The half-wit scrunched up his brow, strenuously trying to recall. “A long time.”

“Take it easy, friend,” said the lean rider.

The strangers turned their horses. When they got to the road Pork’s shout carried to them.

“Hey, misters! It’s just that Pars can’t shoot from the saddle. He’s a carpenter!”

*   *   *

“Did you need to coddle him so, Whip?” petulantly asked the rider that Pork had dubbed young. “Why did you need to have that conversation with a half-wit? We could have asked anyone we met in the village.”

“It’s so kind of you to try to teach me. Anyone else we met wouldn’t be an idiot. You couldn’t have bribed them for a sol. You don’t know villagers. They won’t budge if they’ve decided they don’t like your face, and then there’s nothing you can do.”

“We could tickle them with our knives.”

“Well, then you would be the idiot, Shen,” sneered Whip. “Four against how many? This is not the outlying towns of Al’sgara with our timid peasants. The locals here wouldn’t jump at the sight of your blade and fawn over you. These places are savage. Every man can stand for himself. There’s enough axes and clubs around here that you won’t know what hit you. No little knife would save you.”

“Well, then we could just check every home ourselves. We’d find him somewhere.”

“Oh yes, very simple. Sixty households. How much time do you think we’d need to get that done?”

“An hour? Maybe two?”

“Exactly. And if we encounter some kind soul who runs off and warns him about our arrival? And he decides he has nothing to say to us? What then? Do you want to go to Mols and offer excuses?”

This last argument completely drained the young man of his desire to quarrel. He petulantly pursed his lips and fell silent.

In the meantime the riders had crested the hill and caught sight of Dog Green. The village was situated along both banks of a narrow river. The idiot had led them astray—there were far more than sixty houses. To the right of the road was a small graveyard, and just a bit farther on, a clear-cut area. On the farther shore there was a field, upon which encroached the gloomy wall of impenetrable forest. The village, lost on the edge of the province, had been carved out in a circle from the forests, low hills, and numerous ravines.

Whip’s team had taken a long time to get here from Al’sgara. These last few days they had been forced to sleep beneath the open sky. For leagues around there was not a single inn. They had completely left behind tolerable food, wine, and women. All they had for company were mosquitoes and gadflies. Thank Melot that they hadn’t encountered any forest spirits or goves
(a species of lower demon)
in the wilderness. They had kept to the road. True, even though no evil creatures had crawled out of the depths of the forest, wild animals had.

“Damn, but that blessed idiot didn’t say which shore we should search for our carpenter,” said Bamut, the one who was ravaged by smallpox.

“We’ll find him. The task’s almost done. We’ve reached the end.” Whip urged his horse forward.

His companions followed him without hesitation. They rode past the graveyard, which didn’t even have a fence around it. They passed by a well, where two peasant women were cursing at each other, arguing over who would draw water first. And then they were in the western part of the village.

They were being eyed warily. Rarely were outsiders seen here, especially ones on horseback. But no one questioned them.

The riders found the inn quickly. The building stood out from the rest. It was large with a red chimney and ornamental doors. The innkeeper, having caught sight of potential lodgers, practically choked on his shaf. His eyes went so wide that Whip began to fear that he had suffered a stroke.

Whip had no doubt there would be spare rooms.

“We rarely have visitors here,” hurriedly muttered the innkeeper as he pocketed the soren
(a large gold coin)
he’d received from the shortest of his guests. “Come in, please. Usually people just ride straight through to El’nichi Ford. We’re out of the way here. Do you wish to eat something? We can get everything ready quickly, in no time at all.”

“How do you even make a living? If you have so few guests, I mean?”

“There hasn’t been anyone since midspring. We only survive thanks to the loggers. They come to drink shaf and wine. But only in the evenings. Right now there’s no one here. There will be nothing to bother you. Come in, come in. Thank Melot, who sent you to my modest hearth!”

“Is there a blacksmith in your village? My horse has a limp,” said Whip casually.

“Of course. Old Morgen. Go down the road, good sir. Then take a right, ride through the square until you get to the edge of the village. Right by the woods. You can’t miss it.”

Shen and Bamut exchanged significant glances and once again climbed into their saddles. Whip and the short one, who answered to the name of Midge, followed their example.

“Prepare rooms and supper for us,” the eldest of the four said over his shoulder. “We’ll be back soon.”

The innkeeper hastened to assure the benevolent gentleman that everything would be done to the best of his ability, and then he ran off to execute the order. It didn’t even enter his head to wonder why all four were going to the blacksmith when only one of their horses was lame.

*   *   *

“According to the half-wit, he’s not far from the blacksmith.”

“If he wasn’t having us on,” remarked Shen.

Whip chuckled. The kid was hoping that the fool had led them astray. That would indeed be an excellent confirmation that his commander had made a mistake.

In his dreams.

Whip didn’t really understand why Mols had found it necessary to break up their tried and true threesome with a fourth. Shen was far too green to even be able to think. He acted first, and only afterward did he perceive the consequences. He was foolish. It wouldn’t be long before he died as a result.

“If he was having us on, I’ll go back and toss him in the river,” replied Whip, trying not to show his annoyance. “Everywhere you go, you’ll find an idiot who’s willing to sell out the people closest to him.”

They slowly rode along the street, attentively looking around. From under a fence a dirty, shaggy hound shot out with a high-pitched yipping. It didn’t dare run after the horses, but it hurled invective at the riders until they had disappeared from its sight.

“Looks like we found it.” Midge nodded toward the gates. “There are the ponies.”

In point of fact, thin-legged horses with swan’s wings were carved on the wooden doors. It was the house they were searching for. It was large, bright, and built out of pine logs.

“Well, you see there, Shen,” said Whip with a smile. “Seems you should trust people sometimes. Including idiots.”

The young man just twisted up his lips in response.

“Bamut, stay here. Keep an eye on the horses,” ordered the leader of the team.

“Damn, but what if he slips out through the back?”

“You have such a bad opinion of our friend.”

“Time changes people. Hey! Damn! Leave the crossbow!”

This last was directed at Shen, who was reaching for the weapon that was hanging off his saddle.

“Why should I?” he asked uncomprehendingly.

“Do as you’re told,” said Whip, in support of his comrade. “We came here to have a chat. Just a little chat. That thing could ruin everything.”

“You’re not afraid, are you, boys?”

“It’s none of your business what we’re afraid of and what we’re not.” Midge edged into the conversation. “It’s your job to keep your mouth shut.”

Shen had been getting on the shorter man’s nerves for a while now. It was highly probable that sooner or later they would have a serious dustup and after the fight one of them would never get up again. Whip would put his money on Midge. He was experienced, cruel, and cunning, and he knew his business well. Only Mols knew how many souls that diminutive assassin had sent to Melot’s bosom.

“Both of you shut up!” yelled Whip, seeing that the young man was not holding the crossbow as casually as before. “You can sort out this stupid quarrel when we get back to the city, if you still wish. But right now we have a common cause. There’s no time for getting into a knife fight. I’m telling you right now, if you grapple with each other, you’ll be booted out of the guild faster than Mols can think of your names. Do I make myself clear, you blockheads?”

“Yes,” said Midge, taking his hand from his knife. “I got carried away.”

“I understand,” agreed Shen easily, handing over the crossbow to Bamut.

“Then let’s do what we came here for. I’ll be the one to talk. No sudden moves. Shen, that means you.”

“Yeah, I get it! I get it. Why are you talking to me like I’m a child?”

“Because chopping cabbage with a sword is one thing, but talking shop with a gardener is something completely different.”

Having said this, Whip opened the gate and walked into the yard, immediately catching sight of the man he was looking for.

Naked to the waist, the man was chopping firewood. Shen had heard about him from his associates, but he turned out to be completely different than he’d imagined. He’d thought he would be sturdy and strong, with large pectorals and massive fists. The man who was known as Gray in Al’sgara did not correspond to the image created in Shen’s imagination at all. The man was not burly. And he didn’t seem to be a hulking giant capable of decapitating a five-year-old bull with one swipe. There was nothing threatening about him. He was lank and wiry. He didn’t have a single bit of excess fat, nor of bulging muscle, on him.

Shen had known people like this before. They didn’t use force so much as the energy stored in the bands of sinew in their arms. A tough fellow. And probably as durable as a hundred Blazogs
(a race of swamp dwellers)
. The heavy axe was practically flying through the air.

Just then the man stopped chopping and saw his guests. He narrowed his gray eyes and with a casual motion changed his grip on the axe. This gesture did not go unnoticed by the riders. Shen stiffened and slowed his pace. Midge quickly glanced to the side. Only Whip remained calm. He smiled; only his alert eyes spoke to the fact that the leader was drawn as tight as a loaded crossbow. He continued until he was five yards from the master of the house and then Mols’s messenger stopped.

“Hello, Gray.”

The man stayed defiantly silent for a moment, and then he replied, “Hello, Whip.”

“How are things going?”

The carpenter grimaced angrily.

“Not bad. Until today.”

Whip preferred not to notice the grimace on their host’s lips.

“You’ve settled down really well. The wilderness, the forest, the river, no city noise. And your house is excellent.”

“I can’t complain,” came the dry answer. “What brings you here?”

“Business, of course. Can we talk?”

“That’s strange. I thought that was exactly what we were doing.”

“You won’t invite us in?”

“It’s messy in there,” he replied sullenly.

Whip chuckled. “Six years have gone by, and you haven’t changed a bit. You still hate having company.”

“Seven, to be exact. Hey there, Midge.”

“Hi, Ness. I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. You disappeared quite cunningly.”

Their host shrugged his shoulders.

“Seeing as you found me, not quite as cunningly as I’d hoped. I suppose that Bamut is waiting outside the gates?”

“You know him. The man has no love for house calls. Mols sends his regards.”

“Good old Mols,” drawled the carpenter. “It’s hard to escape from him.”

The master of the house took a step to the right and forward, going around the split wood, and Midge echoed his movement, taking a step backward. Unlike Shen, the diminutive assassin preferred to keep a distance between himself and their unsociable host. For the first time since the beginning of their conversation, Ness smiled knowingly. Then he planted his axe in the stump and dragged his fingers through his flaxen hair.

The tension lessened slightly.

Just then a tall young woman appeared on the porch. Her light, almost-white hair was held back in a tight braid, and she was wearing a long black skirt and a linen tunic. When she saw the strangers, her dark blue eyes flashed with rage, and her thin lips pressed into a straight line. A shadow ran across her face and Whip involuntarily reached for his pouch. He had a talisman blessed by a priest of Melot in there. He knew that the amulet would be of no help against her, but the foolish superstition proved stronger than his reason. Only at the very last moment did he restrain himself and remove his hand.

Now he had to keep an eye on both the man and the woman.

“Good day, Layen.”

She ignored the greeting. She looked at her husband. He looked back at her in return. It seemed as if they were speaking with their eyes. Layen turned around and went back inside. Just before she closed the door, she cast the unwanted guests one last warning glance.

Midge let out a relieved breath. He’d been holding his breath the entire time the woman was on the porch.

“Didn’t you used to work as a threesome?” Ness asked Whip.

“That we did,” said the leader wryly, showing just how pleased he was with the circumstances that had foisted a fourth upon him.