Shadow Chaser (45 page)

“I had a dream in which he wasn’t executed. At least, not in the way that was planned.”

“If you’ve had a dream, then why are you asking me?” the yellow-eyed elf asked. “That young lad was lucky; some soft-hearted individual slit his throat from ear to ear.”

The elf ran his fingers across his own throat to show how it was done.

“We don’t like to go into that story very much. Djok managed to slip through the fingers of our executioners just before the actual execution. A lucky bastard. We never found out who dispatched him into the darkness. There was a rumor that one of the orcs crept in and played a joke on us. But I don’t really believe that.”

“And…”

“Harold, it was more than six hundred years ago, there have been so many generations, and you want me to remember the old men’s stories? I don’t know any more than that.”

“I understand … but couldn’t you tell straightaway that he wasn’t guilty?”

“You know the saying anger clouds the judgment? You humans looked for … er, what do you call it … a scapegoat. Why bother trying to find the guilty party if the elf was killed by Djok’s arrow? Or an arrow very much like his? Your people had a choice. Either try to find the real killer and get involved in a war, or sacrifice one human life and forget the whole thing. Your king at the time acted wisely—the scapegoat was found, the arrow was shown in court, there was a confession, even if it was beaten out of him, witnesses…”

He pulled a wry face.

“My ancestors were no better, grief and fury clouded their reason, and we wanted revenge for what happened in Ranneng, even if the man accused wasn’t guilty. We tried to question him further, but after your beatings and our tortures … He just kept begging us not to beat him … At the time he had been found guilty; it was only three months later that they started digging deeper and discovered it was a different archer and Djok was somewhere else at the time.”

“A different archer?”

“You people don’t like to talk about your mistakes any more than we elves do. He confessed. Voluntarily. Came and told us how it all happened, where he had been hiding. How he fired. The only thing he didn’t say was why he did it.”

“He?”

“The real killer.”

“Did no one think that he was simply a madman with nothing better to do?”

“How would I know, Harold? Perhaps that’s how it really was.”

“But it was too late. Djok was already dead.”

Ell shrugged.

“One human life wasn’t very important.”

“You’re wrong,” I said quietly. “You don’t know what happened because of that terrible mistake.”

“Oh?” He looked hard at me. “Then tell me, if I’m so stupid.”

“Forget it, it’s just idle talk now.”

The elf nodded and immediately forgot about our conversation.

But I didn’t. Now I knew who, what, and why.

*   *   *

Milord Alistan decided to send out scouts, and now Eel and Marmot moved off far to the right or the left, in search of possible danger. So far all was quiet, and I personally would have been perfectly happy for the peace and quiet to continue for a long, long time, all the way to Hrad Spein, but all good things come to an end. Marmot came back in the afternoon and reported that there was an armed detachment moving in our direction.

“Horsemen,” he reported to Milord Rat. “About a hundred or a hundred and twenty, maybe more. All wearing armor. About half a league from here.”

“Balistan Pargaid’s men!”

“They don’t look like his, but I could be wrong, it was too far to see.”

“Did they see you?”

“You offend me, milord.” Marmot chuckled. “If we hurry, we can still get away and avoid them.”

“I don’t think we’ll be able to do that,” said Ell, pointing to a horseman who had appeared in the distance. The man noticed us, swung his horse away, and galloped off in the opposite direction. They had their scouts, too.

“Then we’ll see who comes off best,” said Deler, picking up his poleax.

“You’ll have time enough for fighting,” Honeycomb rebuked the irascible dwarf. “Keep calm. And Hallas, that means you especially.”

“Right,” said the gnome, beating out his pipe and putting it away in his saddlebag. “I’m as silent as the grave.”

Then Eel joined our group, and he had seen a little more than Marmot.

“It’s definitely not Pargaid, unless he’s trying to confuse us. They have two banners—a green field with a black cloud and lightning, and a yellow field with a clenched mailed fist in a flame.”

“I can’t say anything about the first, it’s some petty landholder, but I do know the second banner. It belongs to Count Algert Dalli, Keeper of the Western Border,” Alistan Markauz replied.

“What is he doing on someone else’s lands, milord?” the jester asked.

“It’s not necessarily him, it could just be a detachment of men who serve him.”

“I can tell you who the first banner belongs to, milord,” I interrupted. “Unless I’m mistaken that is the crest of Baron Oro Gabsbarg. We saw him at Balistan Pargaid’s reception, Kli-Kli.”

“Ah, yes, the big shaggy one! Of course, of course, now I remember.”

The atmosphere became a little less tense. I didn’t really think that the warriors of the Borderland and the baron’s men would hack us all to pieces. They were not like the bloodthirsty Count Pargaid, whose men had been waiting for us at Upper Otters—Ell had caught a glimpse of the nightingales embroidered on their clothes. The count’s henchmen had turned the inhabitants of the village against us after someone had forwarded a message. I didn’t know how the message had overtaken us—perhaps with a pigeon, or a raven, or by magic, but they had certainly arranged a warm welcome for us.

The column of horsemen appeared up ahead. They were galloping straight toward us, and I can’t say I felt very happy about that. When that kind of force is moving straight at you, you can’t help wanting to be as far away as possible. The banners fluttered in the wind, the armor and lance points glittered in the rays of sunlight, the horses’ hooves hammered on the ground … The column was approaching rapidly.

“Steady, lads,” Honeycomb said through his teeth and, without even realizing it, he reached for his ogre hammer.

Two knights wearing heavy armor were riding at the front. One was wearing a closed helmet in the form of a cock’s head with green plumes. The other was not wearing any helmet and had a thick black bushy beard, which made him easily recognizable as my acquaintance Baron Oro Gabsbarg. These two were followed by their arms-bearers, then came the standard-bearers, and after them the warriors in chain mail and half-helmets with broad strips of metal protecting their noses. Many of them had lances and shields.

When the horsemen were only twenty yards away from our group, the man in the helmet raised his right hand with the open palm upward, and the column halted. The baron, the knight, arms-bearers, and standard-bearers rode toward us.

“Name yourselves,” the “cock” said as he approached. The helmet made his voice sound dull and lifeless.

“Bah!” cried the baron when he saw me. His expression was very astonished indeed. “May I be damned if I do not behold before me the Dralan Par in person!”

Oro screwed up his eyes, glanced at Eel, and asked uncertainly:

“Milord duke?”

Eel didn’t look like a duke at that moment, and the magic mask that Miralissa had applied to his face had faded long ago, so that Duke Ganet Shagor was now swarthy skinned and dark haired, and no longer concealed from the baron’s gaze.

“Not entirely,” said Alistan Markauz, riding forward. “Gentlemen…”

“I can’t believe my eyes. Count Alistan Markauz in person, may lightning strike me! You’re here, too! I am genuinely flattered! Have you decided to take up my invitation and visit Farahall after all? Lieutenant, allow me to introduce my guests. This is Count Alistan Markauz, our glorious King Stalkon’s right hand and captain of the royal guard, this—”

“Please allow me to introduce the others to your noble companion, baron,” Alistan said, politely interrupting Gabsbarg.

“I shall be honored,” the “cock” rumbled, and removed his helmet.

Marmot gasped, because the knight was a woman—a young girl with her head completely shaved in the fashion of warriors from the Border Kingdom.

“This is the Marchioness Alia Dalli, lieutenant of the guard, daughter of Count Algert Dalli,” the baron bellowed.

“Gentlemen,” the girl said, bowing her head in polite greeting.

“Milady, allow me to introduce my companions to you. Tresh Miralissa and Tresh Egrassa are from the House of the Black Moon. Ell is from the House of the Black Rose.”

“Ah…,” the baron rumbled in amazement, gaping at Eel and me, and wondering why Alistan had not given our names.

“Eel is a soldier, Harold is a thief,” Milord Rat explained with harsh simplicity.

“A thief?” Oro looked as if someone had smashed him over the head with a log. “A thief?”

“Now that’s a pleasant surprise, isn’t it?” Kli-Kli put in. “By the way, as usual, everyone’s forgotten about me. Allow me to introduce myself, the king’s jester Kli-Kli. I’m on leave at the moment.”

“A thief!” Oro repeated in an even more astonished voice, and then out of the blue he suddenly burst into thunderous laughter. “And does the dear Count Balistan Pargaid know about this? I wonder what all those high-society leeches would say if they knew they spent the evening in the company of an ordinary soldier and a criminal.”

“That’s just the beginning of it,” Kli-Kli declared modestly.

Baron Oro Gabsbarg was not at all upset at being told the truth. These Borderland nobles are certainly a strange breed.

“Gentlemen,” said Alia Dalli, “may I inquire what has brought you to the Borderland?”

“We’ll tell you gladly. We are on our way to Zagraba.”

“Zagraba? But the elves’ territory lies far to the west; you can only reach the orcs’ lands from here.”

“That is where we are headed,” Miralissa answered the girl.

“But in the name of the gods, what do you want there?” the baron exclaimed. “There are much easier ways to commit suicide.”

“Yes, Zagraba certainly has little to recommend it,” Alia Dalli agreed with him.

“Forgive me, my lady, but we are on a mission of state importance, and the fate of all the Northern Lands depends on it. That is all I can tell you, only your noble father may learn the rest. I trust that you will take us to him.”

“Of course,” Alia said with a nod. “The gates of our castle are always open to you and your companions, Milord Alistan. We are on our way there at the moment and will be glad to lead you to Mole Castle.”

“Then let us not delay, milady, we have a long journey ahead.”

“In a few hours we shall be in the Border Kingdom, and we shall reach the castle by tomorrow evening,” said Lady Alia, and put her helmet back on, once again becoming an anonymous knight. “Follow us, gentlemen.”

Our group set off again, together with the column of soldiers. Alistan and Miralissa joined Alia Dalli, and all the others tried to stick together. But Kli-Kli decided to have a bit of fun, since there was so much new company. Within an hour the ranks of soldiers were ringing with raucous laughter—the jester had finally found a place to display his talents.

Baron Oro Gabsbarg rode up at the front, just behind Alistan Markauz, who was talking to Lady Alia, and sometimes he cast curious glances in my direction. To be honest I must say that they got on my nerves a little. Sagot only knew what kind of man he really was: He seemed friendly and warm-hearted, but he might just turn round and chop your head off for no reason.

Eventually he couldn’t hold back anymore and he waited for me to draw level with him and asked:

“A thief, then?”

“Yes, milord.”

“Hmm … well, you certainly fooled me. This mission of Milord Rat’s … er, er … I meant to say Milord Alistan Markauz’s—”

“It’s the king’s project,” I lied, in order to make myself completely safe.

“Oh,” he said, and chewed on his mustache thoughtfully. “I’ve never had any thieves as friends before.”

Oro Gabsbarg pointed a finger at me. It was the size of a thick stick of sausage.

“I beg your pardon, if your honor has been offended, milord,” I replied, choosing my words carefully.

He flashed his small black eyes at me, suddenly broke into a smile, and slapped me heartily on the back. I almost went flying off Little Bee.

“All right!” the baron boomed amiably. “The most important thing is, you’re a good fellow. And it will give me something to boast about to my lady wife when I get back to Farahall.”

Did I already mention that the barons of the Borderland are rather strange people?

“But I do feel truly sorry for you … er … what’s your name again?”

“Harold, milord.”

“I feel truly sorry for you—wandering around in Zagraba is no fun.”

“I understand that.”

“Not very well, I think, otherwise you’d be traveling in the opposite direction. Perhaps Algert Dalli can persuade Milord Alistan to drop this plan of his.”