Shadow Prowler (28 page)

“And have a shave while you’re at it! You look like a real bandit, kid!” For’s voice said behind me.

I mechanically ran one hand over my three-day stubble.

“It’ll do as it is. I’m not going to the royal ball, after all!” I snorted, lowering my hands into the water. “There’s no time. I still have to deal with a whole gang of horse breeders.”

“Well, you know best. Anyway, tell me what it was like in there. We ought to record it for the chronicles and future generations.”

“So you’ve become a chronicler as well now? The things you discover about your old teacher!” I said, going back to the table.

“The old knowledge is slipping out from our world very rapidly. A lot has already been lost.” For sighed. “You must agree that your story could help a lot of people, especially as this is primarily for the chronicle of the shrine of Sagot.”

“I have no objections,” I said with a shrug. “Why not? You don’t mind if I talk and eat at the same time, do you?”

“Of course not, kid, of course not. Carry on, and after your story, I’ll tell you a bit about the papers you retrieved.”

“Is there anything important in them? I just grabbed what was there at hand.”

“There is, but we’ll get to that later, there’s no hurry. Come on then, don’t keep me on tenterhooks.”

He didn’t have to persuade me, especially since I had plenty to talk about and a lot of impressions to share. And I needed to get it all out, otherwise my adventures that night could easily drive me mad.

I started my story from the moment I first arrived at Stark’s Stables. For listened without speaking—my teacher had always been a good listener. To judge from his face, what bothered him most were the thieves who had been hired by some unknown individual. He didn’t seem particularly impressed by the Jolly Weeper or the long-dead archmagician.

“Someone’s following the same road as you are, kid. True, he’s always too late, but how long can that go on for? How long can you go on making a fool of the Master by keeping one step ahead of him? I made inquiries, looked through our archives. Not a thing. Not a single mention. As if he didn’t even exist and all this was just a fantasy of yours.”

“Oh yeah?”

“You just eat that roll. I believe you. But what amazes me is that such secrecy is possible. Something always has to surface somewhere.”

“But not this time.”

“Right. It’s not the Nameless One, but I think you’ve already realized that. The wizard from the Desolate Lands doesn’t have the power to release all the demons. So who is this Master, if he possesses such great might, long life, and extensive knowledge?”

“A god?” I chuckled.

“Don’t talk nonsense. Although . . . he is worshiped and served by all different sorts of people. Let’s try pulling on that chain. The Duke Patin, no mean figure in Valiostr, served the Master. So does Markun and, consequently, at least half his henchmen in the guild as well. Who else? Magicians? Royal officials? Courtiers? And this . . . emissary of yours. What worries me is that it’s not at all clear what this Master wants. And he has as many worshipers as you could wish for. The servants of the
Nameless One are caught pretty regularly, but so far they haven’t caught a single one of the Master’s minions.”

“They’ve never even heard of them.”

“Exactly. And that indicates highly organized contacts, a secret conspiracy, and other such arrangements that make it possible for sects to survive when they’re not welcome in this respectable kingdom of ours. Things look bad, kid.” For shook his head. “I’ll keep on thinking and searching, and maybe I’ll dig something up in the archives. And in the meantime I’ll give you a piece of good advice.”

“For free?” I asked, chuckling mischievously with my mouth full.

“Well, I’m not Sagot, am I, to go taking gold pieces from you! You are my pupil after all.”

“Well, thanks for that, at least.”

“You’re welcome. Especially since you’re not the only one who’s been left out of pocket for receiving our god’s advice,” For said with a sudden chuckle.

“I don’t believe it,” I said, leaning back in my chair and looking hard at him. “Are you really hinting that . . .”

“That I’ve talked to him, too? Yes, it happened. And I had to pay out a gold piece, too.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Well . . . ,” For began reluctantly, chuckling. “I had a talk with him just before I met you and Bass.”

“Oh!” I said, beginning to realize what he was about to say.

“Yes, ‘oh’ indeed! Sagot advised me to take you both on as pupils! It wasn’t even advice. Once he had his gold piece, he told me who he was and simply ordered me to do it. So that was how it happened. Although it seems like he was a bit off target with Bass.” He frowned. “Anyway, I shouldn’t have brought it up. What were we talking about?”

“Advice.”

“Well then, this is my piece of free advice for you: Don’t leave matters to the mercy of the gods, go and see this Bolt. If the old man recognized the ring that the thieves showed him we’ll find out who this influential figure serving the Master is.”

“It’s too late now,” I said, glancing out of the window at the darkening sky. “The library’s closed, I’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”

“Better not. I doubt if the old man ever leaves. He probably sleeps
there. Better call round to Grok Square before you get on with your business. I think he’ll open the door for you. No point in putting it off. The Master is playing his own game, and all we know about it is that he wants to kill you, which makes him too dangerous by half. And it seems to me that the last thing he wants is for Harold to go after that Horn.”

“You’re thinking about him ordering the papers to be destroyed and telling the duke to influence the king?”

“Uh-huh. I think the order to influence Stalkon was to try to persuade him that it’s pointless going into Hrad Spein. Or simply to get rid of His Majesty.”

The clearer the situation became, the less I liked it. “All right, I’ll think about it,” I said as I watched For suddenly get up from the table and go into the next room.

Events had woven themselves into a tight tangle of snakes. Now they were winding themselves tight around me and turning my skin cold. I just hoped that none of these snakes would bite!

For came back a few minutes later, carrying two massive bronze candlesticks in his hands, each with five lighted candles in it. The timing was just right; the sun had almost set and twilight had already begun creeping into the room with lazy impudence. The bright light of ten candles forced the gloom to move back, and it huddled into the very darkest corner of the room.

“Well then, I’ve heard your story. Now let’s deal with what you brought back from the Forbidden Territory.” For showed me the papers I’d taken from the Tower of the Order. “While you were sleeping, I took a look through these documents. There’s a lot that’s interesting. . . . But you know, kid, none of it’s any good to you. Yes, there’s a map of Hrad Spein, and even a plan of how to get to the Horn, but it’s . . . it’s suicide. It’s practically impossible to make it along the route that you have to follow. You study the old maps yourself when you have the time, and you’ll realize how unrealistic it is. Hundreds of halls, passages, shafts. And that’s only down to the eighth level. These papers don’t even show what’s lower down. Here, take them.”

For pushed the maps toward me.

“Let them stay here for the time being, you hide them somewhere safe, I’ll pick them up before I leave,” I said to him.

“That’s up to you,” said For, raking the papers back across the table. “Ah, by the way. I found an amusing little page among these notes, look.”

I took the old, yellowed piece of paper.

“What is it?”

“It’s ancient orcish. I had to sweat over the dictionary a bit to translate it. There’s a lot I still don’t understand—the orcs’ language is a bit of a tangle—but I managed it, even though it’s probably not quite as fluent as it ought to be. It was in verse. Something like a series of clues. A total riddle. Read it.”

For handed me a piece of paper with the translation.

First born of an ogre on the wide snowy plains,

It dwelt for centuries with elves in the Greenwood,

And was given to Grok in token of the peace

Concluded between races during the Long Winter.

It was laid to rest by the might of the Order

At the time of Avendoom’s survival in battle.

Sharing the grave of one of the glorious dead,

It lies in the dark caverns upon ancient bones.

As the years pass it lies there in Hrad Spein

Calling the wind of the tombs to its resting place

The hour will come when it bares its secrets, consuming

The magic of the cursed with the fire of truth.

If you are artful and brave, bold and quick,

If your step is light and your thought is keen.

You will avoid the tricks we have set there,

But be wary of earth and water and fire.

And then, carry on! The twin doors stand open

To the peace of the halls of the Slumbering Whisper,

Where the brains of man and elf and orc alike

Dissolve in unreason. . . . And so shall yours.

Through the halls of the Slumbering Echo and Darkness

Past the blind, unseeing Kaiyu guards,

’Neath the gaze of Giants who burn all to ash.

To the graves of the Great Ones who died in battle.

In serried ranks, embracing the shadows,

The long-deceased knights stand in silence,

And only one man will not die ’neath their swords,

He who is the shadows’ own twin brother.

The cold frozen body of pallid Selena

Will raise you up to the sacred bed.

No sun has warmed stone here for thousands of years,

For centuries here the cold wind has howled.

Remember, intruder, in the Horn dwells a soul

That will give you strength in the name of men.

But the greed of the thief it will punish severely

And you will rot in the terrible darkness forever.

“Mmm, yes. I can hardly understand a thing.”

“Which bits do you think you did understand, my pupil?” For asked in surprise.

It had turned dark outside, and even the candles could not dispel the persistent darkness. It would soon be time to go about my business.

I drummed my fingers on the table thoughtfully.

“I think I began to understand the point of Sagot’s advice. This poem mentions some Selena who bears you up, and Sagot warned me I’d better not just stand on her, but keep my feet moving fast.”

“Hmmm . . . ,” For muttered, and scratched his chin.

Then he grunted and poured himself some wine from a dusty old potbellied bottle. He offered me some, but I refused—today my head had to be crystal clear.

“Yes, well, I noticed the reference to Selena, too. This all requires a bit of serious thought. And by the way, don’t forget to show it to the
elfess; she should know the ancient language of the orcs. She might be able to translate this page better than I have.”

“All right.”

“There’s absolutely no doubt that it’s about the Rainbow Horn. Look here: ‘First born of an ogre on the wide snowy plains’—that’s a reference to the shamans of the ogres creating the Horn, the final artifact of their race, before they all turned into animals. ‘It dwelt for centuries with elves in the Greenwood’—I’m sure you remember the old story about the head of the House of the Black Rose trying to invade the Desolate Lands. It was on that campaign that the elves took the Horn from the ogres. What comes next is clear enough, too: ‘And was given to Grok in token of the peace concluded between races during the Long Winter.’ The dark elves gave the Horn to Grok as an assurance of the peace between elves and men that came into force after the great invasion of the orcs that became known as the Spring War.”