Chasers of the Wind (37 page)

“No. But I think a pig will always find a way to get dirty.”

He nodded thoughtfully; then he remembered his plate and looked with dismay at his cold food.

“At first, when I saw the boy, I thought he was a bandit. Then something made me look at him differently. I’m telling you, what I saw amazed me. It was like someone was standing behind him and pulling the strings. And this one had the Gift, no doubt about it. More than enough to incapacitate you. So I didn’t hesitate.”

“You took your wand and finished the wretch,” I concluded for him.

“I’m afraid not,” he said gloomily. “I wasn’t able to kill it, or even drive it out completely.” It was clear that Gis was wounded to the depths of his soul. “It was so far from everything I’ve experienced before that not a single one of my formulas of expulsion worked. Do you understand what I’m talking about, or should I speak more simply?”

“I understand. Go on.”

“Well, anyway, I managed to cut the thread for a short time and give the lad his freedom. You saw how he came to.”

“What happened to the spirit?”

“It’s keeping its head down for the time being, I suppose.”

“And you can’t beat it?”

“You can beat anything. The question is how. I suppose if you destroyed the physical shell that holds the spirit, there might be some chance of getting rid of it.”

I just ground my teeth. This was the second time I was regretting that I hadn’t sent the cowherd to the Blessed Gardens. I should have done it the moment Midge dragged him out of the bushes into that accursed glade.

“In fact, we were lucky. If I hadn’t caught the spirit by surprise, it could have all ended badly. I had a thought. Were there any Walkers or Embers in your village?”

“What would they have to do there?”

“Hmmm.… Well, they could just be passing through. I’m just trying to figure out where such a strange entity came from. I’d bet my wand it was a mage in life.”

“Anything’s possible.”

“So you haven’t seen anyone like that? Strange.” He lowered his bushy eyebrows.

“What’s so strange?”

“I have a hypothesis, a guess,” he immediately corrected himself, thinking I didn’t know the meaning of the first word. “If a mage died next to your Pork, then his spirit could very well have made use of the opportunity and…” He didn’t finish and, sighing bitterly, started in on his cold food. But I sat there, neither living nor dead. Unlike Gis, I knew what kind of mage had died in Dog Green.

A Damned!

The murderer of Sorita!

Typhoid!

And Pork, as far as I recall, was not very far from her at the time.

Was I right? Did that snake really manage the impossible and survive after the attack of the Healer and my arrows? Rumor has always had it that the Damned cling to life, but that’s just insane! And if she really did survive and shift herself into Pork, then it’s quite clear just who the “cowherd” was looking for. Shen and Layen!

“Hey! My friend. Are you all right?” Gis inquired solicitously, while pouring gravy over his meat.

“Yes,” I said, and I forced a smile.

*   *   *

The cowherd stopped glancing back over his shoulder every second the day after that horrible Mistress, who had wronged and terrified Pork for so long, disappeared. After he ran into Pars the carpenter, who had nearly beat him, his lady no longer appeared. At first Pork didn’t believe in his good fortune and kept waiting for the terrible woman to return at any moment. He shivered like an aspen leaf in a strong fall wind from anticipation. He was scared, hungry, his whole body hurt, and he wanted to go home.

For a while the half-wit hid in the village, fearing to bump into the savage carpenter who was chasing after him, but when the danger had passed he even dared to sneak into one of the empty houses and steal a few onions. That somewhat assuaged his hunger and Pork set out to return home. Even though there he had to deal with his father’s beatings and the ridicule of the villagers, he was always well fed and not terrified by the horrible living dead.

Having come to this decision, he left the village, but he headed in the completely opposite direction from that which would lead him to Dog Green. Unaware of this, the half-wit confidently walked through the endless fields. He didn’t meet a single living soul along the road, not counting the multitudes of squirrels to be found in this region. Pork was so hungry that he tried to catch at least one of them. Regardless of the fact that the animals seemed fat and clumsy, they ran quickly and immediately hid in their holes. Pork shoved his hand into the nearest hole and his finger was bitten mercilessly. Just then he happened to look over his shoulder and see Mistress’s face, deformed with fury.

Then the pain came.

15

The last time I beheld these legendary walls was seven years ago, after Layen and I assassinated the Walker and hastily fled from the southern capital. In the rays of the rising sun the strong fortifications, towers, and temple spires of Al’sgara seemed carved out of rose marble. It was a captivating sight, to say the least. Especially for those who were seeing the great thousand-year-old city for the very first time.

The Sculptor himself had once had a hand in the construction of the defensive walls and towers. He imbued these ancient stones with so much magic that no one in the entire history of the Empire had taken the city by storm or destroyed the great mage’s creation. Al’sgara had survived the Nabatorians and the navy of the Golden Mark, rebellious Viceroys, the Dark Revolt, and the War of the Necromancers.

The enormous city was surrounded by six fortified rings. The three outermost rings were built several centuries after the death of the Sculptor—Al’sgara had grown in prosperity with each passing year, and had long since passed beyond the first three rings. The growth continued and now the current Viceroy was not in much of a hurry to empty the coffers to defend the soft underbelly of the district that the locals call Dovetown, and visitors call Newtown. However, until this past year there had been no need to defend this part of Al’sgara—the Empire hadn’t been at war with anyone for a long time. Now there was fortification, but it was too late. They wouldn’t have time.

The Pearl of the South is spread out along the wide, green valley of the river Ors, which originates in the Boxwood Mountains. Narrow and fast near the peaks, here its banks stretch a quarter of a league across before it flows into the sea at a leisurely, dreamy pace. The city itself is located between the sea and the Ors. The western part abuts Moon Bay, where the port is, and the southern part stretches along the river.

I was riding along the river bank, now and then glancing at Al’sgara, which was located on the opposite shore. Despite the early hours, quite a few people had gathered at the ferry. The motley crowd was discussing that most important of topics—the war. They were speaking of the newly reassembled Second Army, which was stationed one march away from the city, and about whether the Nabatorians and the frightful necromancers would reach here or if they could be stopped at Gash-Shaku, the Isthmuses of Lina, or the Steps of the Hangman. Judging from the conversation, not much had changed since the moment we met Gis. He had told us the same news and it all boiled down to one thing—our forces were still standing and were not planning to retreat.

As I had expected, not a word was said about the Damned. I don’t know if it was because the Sextet were in no hurry to show themselves or if the Walkers were in no rush to announce to the common people who they had to face. In my view the latter was very wise. Fear defeats an army no less than swords and magic.

I was able to cross quickly; three sols to the ferry guard allowed me to skip the line.

“From the south?” he asked, checking one of the coins with his teeth.

“Yes.”

“And how’s it there?”

“Quiet as a swamp. And here?”

“The same. Get going. I don’t have time for chatter.”

I led a recalcitrant Stallion onto the gangway. The ferry smelled of damp wood, oil for the chains, horses, and fish. My neighbor was a thin man with a wart on his nose—a petty trader of cloth. During the leisurely ride, I questioned him well and heard much of what was going on in the city. The situation was not good. But I didn’t care. I just had to take care of business and then slip away, letting all of it go up in blue flames.

“Prices are three times as high as they were in the spring. The Viceroy increased taxes. The Guards are acting up.” The trader continued his complaints.

“And what about the port. Is it closed?” I asked, my heart freezing in my chest.

“The port? No, the ships are sailing. But not often. Very few foreigners are visiting right now. They don’t want to get stuck here. Only those who are greedy. They make a lot of profit on their goods. Mostly sailors from Sino and smugglers. The strait of the Golden Mark is blockaded by the Nabatorian fleet. They say they’re letting through all the ships except for ours.”

I had learned everything I cared to, so I listened to the rest of the unnamed trader’s complaints with half an ear. I could take a breath and relax a bit. Take a load off. The port was open; the sea lanes, for the most part, were not in danger. There are other places to sail besides the Golden Mark. At least the ships were sailing. And that meant I’d be able to convince some captain to take us onboard and get us far away from here. Just a trifling thing remained before our departure—to find Joch and convey Layen’s and my displeasure with his actions.

The ferry wheel dragged the thick chain out of the dark water with a thunderous clanging, and the shore came closer and closer. I could already make out the faces of those standing on the pier.

There were a lot of people there to greet us. Among them were those who wanted to go to the opposite shore, mainly merchants transporting goods. There were also porters, barkers for the city inns, and, of course, Guardsmen. Only a blind man could ignore the dozen lads in red-and-white uniforms. Four had crossbows, while the rest carried formidable glaives. The sun was shining at our backs and in their faces, so the Guardsmen could only make out our faces once the strong men on the ferry stopped rotating the lever that caused the wheel to gather the chain.

“Here we are then, people!” yelled the old ferryman rakishly. “Please step out onto the shore. Kuha, change the team!”

I waited for the pedestrians to leave the ferry, and then they opened the horse corrals and I took Stallion’s reins. He was clearly annoyed that I’d forced him to ride on such an unreliable vessel and he nearly took a bite out of me. I had to keep an eye on him.

One of the Guardsmen bestowed a serious gaze on me but, not noticing anything suspicious, lost all interest. I’m sure the Viceroy put men at all the entrances to the city just in case enemy spies tried to get into Al’sgara. Or a necromancer. One or the other would cause all sorts of trouble. And if they started a siege, life in Al’sgara would go down the drain.

Somehow I doubt that the Guards could detect even the worst spy, not to mention those wearing white robes. And if one of the Damned should deign to come here …

I shuddered at this last thought. The face of the beautiful Typhoid, disfigured by Shen’s magic, appeared before my eyes and then … the half-wit Pork. If he (or she) came to the city, I’d be almost afraid to imagine what might happen. To me. To Layen. I could feel it in my soul—we were far more interesting to her than the fall of all the cities in the Empire. I’d have to move fast to avoid such an unpleasant encounter.

Joch, Joch, right now you’re the biggest bone in my throat. You couldn’t conceive of leaving us alone, and thus the heads of Gray and Weasel will never be safe. If you offer up ten thousand sorens, you can always find people willing to kill a thousand people, let alone just two. And that means we’ll never be left in peace and we’ll have to be always on the alert, looking over our shoulders, waking up in the night and waiting, waiting, until that happy man comes who will catch us and pull in that most deserved jackpot. Personally, I would like to live to a ripe old age, and any three-fingered cretins standing in my path will just have to be dealt with.

Apart from the main road that leads to the Lettuce Gates of Al’sgara, Dovetown was an insane maze of alleys, lanes, side streets, and thoroughfares. If you were not a local, it was easy to get lost. The majority of this part of Newtown (the dirtiest, by the way, of all those that have grown up under the Outer wall) consisted of one-story buildings placed at random, with no sense of order. So any kind of reasonable route was out of the question. There were homes, stores, workshops, stables, cattle yards, and the Abyss knew what else. The Viceroy really was a fool for having drawn out the question of fortifying Dovetown for so long. After all, only a fool could hope that Nabator and Sdis would bypass Al’sgara altogether.

I wasn’t planning on taking a long stroll through the district. I had absolutely nothing to accomplish here; my goal was beyond the walls. So I kept to the main road, taking no turns, merely looking from side to side. Over the past seven years, this suburb had grown in breadth, taking over the entire right shore of the Ors, and it had become even more dirty, chaotic, and unpleasant. I held no love for this little neighborhood, even though I had to work in it a few times for the guild. Those who settle here don’t have enough money, experience, success, or luck to move beyond the Wall, as it was simply called here. I stuck to the main street so that I could get to the Lettuce Gates as soon as possible.

I noticed the man walking behind me accidentally.

By an ancient shop that sold all sorts of rubbish, I had to duck so as not to hit my head on the iron sign. It turned out brilliantly, even though the shopkeeper smothered me with abuse for stumbling into his wares. When I turned around to say something vile in reply, I saw the sneaker who was tailing me out of the corner of my eye. I’d had the honor of beholding this short lad when I exited the ferry. He’d been leaning against the wheel of a wagon sunk into the mud, blinking from the morning sun hitting his face. A man like any other. I didn’t notice anything unusual about him, so I ignored him. But I shouldn’t have.