Chasers of the Wind

22

“There, that’s better,” said Layen quietly as she finished bandaging the deep scrape on my side.

“Thank you.”

We’d already been stuck in this small, old graveyard, not far from the Pig’s Snout, for more than an hour. It was late evening, almost dark, and no one had bothered us. We were hidden by the ivy-covered graves.

“At one point I was scared for you.”

“I too almost lost hope, my sun. They were good.”

I smiled, but she remained serious.

“Believe it or not, I noticed.” Layen put her arm around my shoulders. “Where did they capture you?”

“At the vegetable market. Apparently, they came all the way from Corunna for our souls. Stump will be unhappy that I didn’t come.”

“I wonder who handed us over to them?”

I chuckled and kissed her on the cheek.

“Ask me something easier. It could have been anyone. One of the pissants surrounding Mols, for example. Hey, tell me, how did you end up behind us? As far as I recall, the stairway was empty.”

“Not one of you bothered to look up.” Her eyes gleamed triumphantly. “The innkeeper built something there, a pantry of sorts. I was able to hide myself there and shoot the one holding you.”

“You didn’t just get Freckles, you got the woman, too. You handled her nicely. I wasn’t expecting it.” I praised her work.

“I was so scared for you that I acted without thinking,” she said guiltily. “The truth is, now I’m completely empty. The strike took away everything I accumulated over the last few days. I have to start again.”

“It’s okay,” I comforted her. “The main thing is that your spark is flaring up. We’ll use steel to deal with Joch.”

“He knows we’re in the city. I’m sure of it.”

“Do you think it’s not worth the risk?”

She thought for a moment and then reluctantly shook her head. “No. He has to be removed or else our lives will go to the Abyss. Do you think there are more than these three today who want to make a grab for the money?”

“There were four of them.”

I told her about the Je’arre.

“Good riddance,” she said. “It’s already dark. How long until we move?”

“Another two hours,” I said hesitantly, and then I made a proposal. “We need to go back into town and get something to eat.”

We made it back to the Pig’s Snout just in time for the chiming of the bells that indicated it was three o’clock in the morning. The wine cellar was located in the basement of the old building.

As soon as we walked up to the door, a man stepped out from behind the corner.

“It’s the thief,” I said softly to my sun.

“And it’s the Giiyan,” said Harold in lieu of greeting. “I must say, you don’t waste any time.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked grimly, thinking I already knew the answer.

He smiled crookedly. “I’m talking about the four corpses, found about five blocks away from here. The whole underworld is seething. Some joker overwhelmed three masters and one petty winged crook.”

“What does that have to do with us?”

The thief shrugged. “I’m not a fool. And neither is Mols. I imagine the lady is on a rampage right about now. Goons from the capital trespassed onto her turf and almost twisted off your heads.”

“Are we going to wag our tongues or are we going to get down to business?” Layen was starting to get angry.

He laughed without malice. “We’ll get to business as soon as I get my money.”

I counted out five sorens and tossed them to him. He flashed his smile again and put the money away.

“Wonderful. I’m entirely at your disposal.”

Layen knocked briefly on the door. For a long moment nothing happened; then the bolt clanged, the hinges creaked briefly, and the light of a lantern struck our faces.

“Come in,” said Stump, stepping aside. “When you didn’t come to our meeting, I started to worry.”

He didn’t say a word about Greybeard and his friends. So much the better.

“Is everything ready?” I looked around.

Rough masonry on the walls, small windows right under the ceiling, and huge wine barrels along the walls. A small table in the corner, a cabinet with lopsided doors, and a cracked stool. Besides Stump, there were two of Mols’s ruffians in the room.

“We politely asked the landlord to leave the door open. He knows Mols, so he didn’t mind. Let’s go.”

He beckoned us to follow him. As it turned out, there was a narrow opening between two of the barrels. Stump barely squeezed himself through it; we followed after him and came out into a narrow closet. On the floor was a hatch, which opened up onto a surprisingly sturdy wooden staircase.

“Why are you standing there with your mouths open?” muttered Stump. “Go down.”

The basement was stuffed with racks of wine bottles and, just as above, barrels. Harold walked along an impressive row of wine racks, selected a bottle, and meticulously studied the label.

“Not a bad selection at all. It’s worth remembering this place.”

“To buy or to fleece?” sneered Layen.

“However it works out,” he replied, not offended at all.

“I would never have taken you as a lover of wine.”

“A connoisseur, actually. And only of good wine. It’s one of the few things that can still afford me joy.”

“Can we put a stop to the idle chitchat?” Stump said irately. “When you return, you can carry off as many bottles as your heart desires.”

“I’ll remember your words,” said the thief. “Where’s the rat hole?”

“In the corner.”

A lantern stood by a hole dug in the floor. Previously it had been covered with a wooden lid, which was now pushed to one side.

“The shopkeeper stumbled upon it accidentally. He wanted to dig another cellar for the colder wines, but it didn’t work out. He got this legacy of the Sculptor instead.”

“I don’t see a reason why he couldn’t have used it for his own needs.” I peered into the hole.

It was as dark as the Abyss. I wondered if the bottom was far away. Judging by the thickness of the floor beneath us, it was built soundly. And also, if magic and just a little bit of brains were applied to the construction, it was not surprising that after a thousand years these vaults still hadn’t collapsed.

“It’s not very high.” Stump seemed to read my thoughts. “A bit more than three yards. My lads and I will lower you down on a rope.”

“And who will lift us back up?” asked Layen suspiciously.

Indeed. What would prevent him from lowering the cover and forgetting about us for all eternity?

“We’ll wait until morning. After that don’t blame me.”

“Naïveté is a great virtue, Giiyan,” said the thief, laughing.

“Are you trying to say that you don’t trust my word?” Stump scowled.

“I don’t even always trust my own, to say nothing of others’. What do you think, Gray?”

“I don’t think Stump would do something so nasty,” I said slowly, looking into the eyes of Mols’s helper. “It’s… grotesque. Isn’t that right, Layen?”

“Oh yes! That’s not how you behave with friends,” she said. “But if you do decide to leave, I’ll have to smash in the ceiling.”

A bluff as clear as water. She couldn’t even squash a mouse right now, let alone smash through a thick layer of stone.

“That’s also an option,” I supported her, and turned back to Stump, who was still frowning. “Believe me, she’s capable of it. Especially when she’s angry.”

“You don’t scare me,” said the red-faced assassin, scowling, even though his eyes spoke to the fact that he was feeling quite uncomfortable. “We’ll wait as long as we can.”

Harold found the entire situation amusing, and he was smirking. I got the impression that the man really had agreed to participate in this adventure just for the sake of entertainment.

I was first to be let down by the rope, carrying the lantern; then came Layen and the thief. Finally, Stump’s shaggy head appeared in the hole above us.

“Go straight all the time. Don’t take any turns. This is the main tunnel, it will take you to Joch’s compound. Give my regards to Threefingers.”

“And where, in your opinion, is straight?” Harold asked sarcastically. “There?” He pointed in one direction, turned, and then pointed in another. “Or there?”

“There.” Stump pointed to the left. “Don’t get lost. Now be gone with you—my head is already starting to ache from looking at you.”

I walked in front with the lantern. Behind me came Layen, clutching her crossbow. The thief brought up the rear, humming an unfamiliar song under his breath. His behavior was really irritating, but I endured it stoically.

I hoped we weren’t taking him with us for nothing.

When the lantern light disappeared in the distance, Stump got up from his knees, brushed off his trousers, sighed, and walked to the exit. Halfway to the stairs he stopped and glanced at the racks where the dusty bottles were resting. He walked over, took one at random, and looked at the label. The wine wasn’t one he needed to stand on ceremony with, so Olna tugged his favorite Sdisian dagger from its sheath and with one blow cleaved the top off of the bottleneck. It was faster and easier than trying to tug out the cork without a bottle opener. Gulping it down, he walked up the stairs, came out into the closet, and nodded to one of his subordinates. The man jumped up immediately, as if he’d been waiting just for this, and darted out onto the street.

Stump sat on the pitifully creaking stool and occupied himself with the wine, getting grimmer by the minute. Olna didn’t like what Katrin had set in motion, but he knew she was right. If they didn’t do what they were told, there would be trouble. They’d simply be crushed.

The door opened and Mols walked into the wine cellar with six assistants. She looked at Stump inquiringly.

“They’ve gone,” he said succinctly.

“We’ll wait,” said Mols.

“Do you think they’ll get it done?”

“Joch won’t live through the night.”

Stump nodded grimly and brought his lips to the bottle once more. He needed some way to pass the time.

The tunnel was dry but the river that had flowed through in the past had left its mark on the walls. They were so smooth they looked polished. It was obvious the water level had never reached the ceiling, for that was rough. It smelled of cold stone and centuries of dust. I didn’t see any rats, nor any other small creatures. There were no echoes either.

The wound Freckles left on my side was aching contrarily, but I tried to cast it from my mind for the time being.

“Now we’re somewhere near the barracks,” said Layen when we had walked two hundred yards. “If Stump is to be trusted, there’ll be a turn soon.”

And indeed, the tunnel did take a sharp turn and begin to slope upward, climbing the hill under the cliff on which Hightown stood. We passed by four side tunnels. The thief couldn’t resist and stuck his head into one of the tunnels, but as expected, he didn’t see anything interesting.

“Just think of it! So many glorious things used to be made with the help of mages…” said Layen, coming up to walk next to me. In the lantern light her face was pensive and very beautiful.

“What?” I asked her gently.

She sighed. “None of the Walkers living now could dig underground aqueducts that not only led the river to the sea, but also brought water to the houses along its path. In Hightown and Second City it’s just below the ground.”

“Fairy tales.” I didn’t really believe in such stories.

“Judging from what I heard, no.”

“She’s right,” came the thief’s voice. “In one of the wealthy houses, not far from here, I saw a bath. It was old. Just the kind of thing that would have been filled by an underground river. Although I must say, I’m not all that impressed by this dungeon.”

“One would think you’d managed to get into a lot of them and that you’ve seen so much better,” murmured Layen.

Harold grinned but didn’t respond.

“Imagine all the frustration of the rich when the spring dried up,” I said, chuckling, and raised the lantern higher.

“The river began to dry up, and it was only then that they destroyed some of the arches.”

“To break is not to build,” concluded Harold philosophically.

“That’s not the point,” I disagreed. “Here’s the heart of the matter. If they hadn’t, parts of the houses would have collapsed into the ground.”

“Is it just me or is the ceiling getting lower?” said the thief thoughtfully.

Indeed, the farther we walked, the lower the ceiling became. After some time I could have touched it if I wished to do so. Finally, a brick wall blocked our way.

“We’ve arrived,” I said, and I put the lantern on the floor.

“The masonry is six years old, no more,” Harold estimated. “Compared with all of this”—he gestured around the tunnel—“it’s very fresh.”

“Old Joch took pains so that not a single rat would slip in to pay him a visit,” I said and, plying it with my dagger, teased out one of the lower bricks.

The mason who betrayed Threefingers did his work excellently. Without the mortar to bond the bricks together, they were easy to pry out, but to a person who was not in the know it would seem that there was a solid structure in front of him. The bricks were heavy, and Harold’s help came in very handy. Finally, we opened up the passage—a hole so small that you could only squeeze through it lying on your back.

“Lower the wick. We don’t need the extra light right now,” said the thief as he crawled through first. After a few seconds he called back, “It’s clear.”

We followed after him and once again found ourselves in the tunnel. The ceiling here was even lower, and we had to stand hunched over.

“Take a seat,” invited the thief. “This will take some time.”

Right above us was the hole closed by the grate.

The entrance to Joch’s lair.

The darkness of the Abyss reigned beyond the thick bars. The place we were supposed to enter was some kind of barn, according to Stump. I hoped that the servants were not in the habit of sleeping here, but Joch probably wouldn’t allow everyone to know about the grate that covered the entrance under the ground.

“And now would be a good time for light,” Harold suggested.

I raised the lantern and whistled softly. The lock was largish, black, constructed in the form of a snarling dog’s muzzle, and the keyhole was located down its throat. The work of Morassian masters. To any knowledgeable person such a trifle said, “Go away! I bite!”

And it really did bite! It would bite anyone who failed to open it. The cunning Morassians had crammed this thing with so many tricks and snares that only a true master could open it. And even then not always.

Stump hadn’t spoken a word about what awaited us. But he had to have known, the bastard!

“A charming little thing,” the thief said, chuckling.

“Joch didn’t spare any money for the trinket,” I agreed.

“Trinket!” Layen said, outraged. “Are all men such idiots, or is it only you two? It’s more dangerous than an irritated cobra! If you make even the slightest mistake it will kill you. Why else do you think the Morassian craftsmen ask so much money for the things?”

“I can handle it,” said Harold simply.

“And if you can’t?”

“Then for a start the jaws will snap shut, and these delightful, razor-sharp teeth will bite off my fingers. Or the lock will spit out a poisoned needle, but in that case I’m not too worried. I won’t be in front of it, but behind. But it’ll be worst of all if I make a mistake with the last pin. Most often they make it the toughest, and if it stops halfway or slips, the lock might spit out some poison that will turn our lungs into tattered rags after a few seconds. There’d be quite enough for all three of us.”

“You know how to explain it all superbly.” I coughed. “My sun, maybe you could turn back and wait for us behind the wall?”

She was immediately on her guard. “What for?”

“So that if he makes a mistake, all three of us don’t die.”

“Why me?”

“Because I have to hold up the lantern. And you’re just sitting there doing nothing. So shoo!”

She grumbled for show, but agreed with my arguments. “If you’re thinking of dying, warn me in advance, dear.”

“I love you, too.”

She snorted loudly and crawled under the wall.

“Get twenty paces away,” I called after her, lowering myself on all fours and sticking my head into the hole. “When we’re done, I’ll call you.”

She pecked me on the lips and, still grumbling in irritation, walked away into the darkness.

The thief was studying the lock, humming that same unfamiliar tune.

“What are you singing?”

“Oh, never you mind.” Harold grinned without taking his eyes off the Morassian Cur. “A silly old song. A good friend of mine sang it. One could say, in another life.”

Well, if he didn’t want to tell me, he didn’t have to.

“Have you ever worked with such things?” I asked, nodding toward the dog’s jaws.

“A couple of times,” he said in a bored tone of voice, and then he put on a pair of gloves with the fingers cut off. “Don’t worry, it’s not as difficult as people think. With the right amount of experience, this toothy little toy can be cracked like a nut.”

“I hope you have that experience.”

“I should also hope so.” A shadow of a smile passed over his lips. “Most fail by going too fast.”

I don’t know. Morassian Curs have killed a lot of good thieves. The things were too capricious and dangerous, and their masters made them too well. Most people who saw black canine jaws on a door or coffer preferred to get out of harm’s way and find themselves easier pickings.

“You’re going to have to work blindly. The lock is on the other side.”

“As if I didn’t notice,” he muttered. “By the way, I really don’t need the light. I’ll do it all by touch. So, before it’s too late, go take a stroll with your girlfriend. When I’ve opened it, I’ll give a shout.”

“I want to watch.”

“Well, have it your way.” Harold shrugged.

He took a bundle of finely crafted lock picks from his bag.

“Morassian made?”

“No. By far better craftsmen.” He grinned, and then he put his hands through the bars of the grate. “Well, let’s…”

“Let’s what?”

“Pray to Melot.” He snickered and on his first try got the pick in the keyhole. “I hope the god is on our side today.”

For some time he worked in concentrated silence, and only the gentle click of metal against metal could be heard. His face was tense, his lips tightly compressed, but his hands never trembled. Harold didn’t need to look at them to know what they were doing, so the thief studied the toes of his boots instead. I anxiously watched the dog’s jaws, which could turn into a trap at any moment and snap shut. Or even worse, spit out a poison cloud.

“There’s the first pin,” he said.

Personally, I hadn’t heard anything. The click must have been very quiet, but the keen ears of thieves are hard to deceive.

“How many more?”

“However many it takes to open it.”

“So that means you don’t know?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “One. Two. Ten. This is piecework. Every Morassian master creates a different number of pins, tricks, and traps. There are no identical Curs. That’s why they’re such a bother.”

While he was talking he didn’t stop working, and over the course of the next several minutes he disarmed three more pins. I was beginning to have respect for this strange man. Behind all his jokes, laughter, and carelessness, a genuine master was hidden—calm, experienced, and aware of his own value.

“Why did you stay with me?” he asked suddenly.

“I told you, I wanted to watch. Do you mind?”

“Not at all. Watch all you like. I’m flattered that you have such faith in me.”

“Faith?”

“Well, yes. If I made a mistake now, you wouldn’t hold out for very long.” He grinned crookedly. “Nothing I could do about it. So you’re really just moved by curiosity to see what I’m capable of?”

I pondered his question and then answered honestly, “I don’t know. I just hate sitting still. At least there’s something going on here.”

“Many of the present generation hate sitting still. They’re always rushing off somewhere, hurrying, striving to get something, trying to change, even though most of them have no idea what they want.”

“We’re simply moving.” I smiled.

“I call people like you ‘chasers of the wind.’ You chase after it blindly, but what will you do once you find it? Not one of you thinks about where that search will lead you. You may find something completely different than what you are looking for and, instead of catching the wind, you’ll get lost in the storm. Are you ready to meet it face-to-face?”

“You’re a philosopher, aren’t you?” I laughed quietly.

“I try to think.” He chuckled. “It keeps me from turning into an idiot. And you should meditate on what I said at your leisure. If you, like many others, chase the wind, without even knowing why, there is still time to stop. To avoid the storm.”

“I’m not afraid.”

“Being unafraid is stupid. And not fearing for the fate of your loved ones is doubly stupid. If you’re lucky, you might survive, but the storm will devour someone else. A person dear to you. Is that what you want?”

“No.”

“So don’t run. Stop and think about the consequences. Decide, do you need this?”

“Why are you saying all this?” I frowned.

“It makes it easier for me to work.” He shrugged. “If you don’t like it, I can shut up. However, more conversation isn’t really necessary.”

He abruptly twisted his left wrist and something clicked in the lock.

“Opa!” said Harold triumphantly.

“Did it work?” I exclaimed.

“As if you have to ask!” The thief pretended that he was offended and, pushing the grate upward, showed me how easily it opened. “It may be that this world came out a bit flawed, but I know all about locks. Harold’s more than a match for Morassian Curs. Call your wife; the path is clear.”

While Layen was returning, he pulled himself up with his arms, and then he helped us up. I opened the lantern window a bit, increasing the light so we could look around. We were in a large but completely empty barn. Joch wasn’t about to store anything here. The floor was made of earth, and the walls were constructed from thick logs. There were no signs of a window. There were transverse beams under the roof. On one of them hung a thick chain, which ended in a frightful butcher’s hook, the kind that serves quite well for stringing up undesirable people. By the ribs. As I heard it, Threefingers sometimes entertained himself thus with those who did not pay back their debts.

The first thing the thief did was dash over to the door. Then he returned to us, smiling happily. “I underestimated the master of this house. He’s not just cautious, he’s very cautious. I tip my cap to him. Go see for yourselves.”

“Damn. It. All,” hissed Layen through clenched teeth when we got to the door. Then she turned to me. “Do what you want, but I’m not crawling back. I’m staying with you.”

I nodded reluctantly. I hadn’t thought Joch would have enough brains to hang a second lock worked by Morassian masters on his barn. But that’s what he did! The dog’s jaws with the sharp teeth and the keyhole in its throat grinned warningly at us.

“I’ll have to work a bit longer.” Harold was not at all dejected by what he saw. “You still chasing the wind?”

“Yes.”

“As you will. They’re your lives,” he said indifferently, and once again took his picks from his bag.

“What are you talking about?” Layen half whispered to me. “What wind?”

“Later, okay?” Now there was neither time nor need to explain it to her. All my thoughts were occupied with the lock. “Harold, what if there’s a dead bolt on the other side of the door?”

“Is your Joch an idiot or a coward?”

“No,” I replied, not knowing what he was driving at.

“Then there won’t be any dead bolt. Only a complete fool would place something else on a door with a Morassian Cur. The dog’s jaws are reliable all by themselves. And here there are two of them—one on the inside and one on the outside. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

My heart beat painfully.

“How do you know that it’s double?” Layen asked, surprised. “Can you see through the wood?”

“No. I can just feel it.” He smiled thinly. “Also, sane people usually put a lock on the outside of such places, not on the inside.”

“Sane people don’t usually put Morassian playthings on barns,” my sun argued with him.

“It makes no difference to us right now, whether your friend is sane or insane. I just have to open the first one without knocking aside any pins, and then I’ll tackle the second, though they probably have some bits in common. It’s going to take some time.”

“I hope you’ll get it done before dawn.”

“Sure,” said the thief, and then he got to work.

He managed it in less than twenty minutes. When the lock clicked, there wasn’t a drop of sweat on Harold’s forehead.

“I’m impressed.”

“It’s cats who thrive on flattery.” Harold grinned. “Now it’s your turn to show what you can do.”

“You’re staying?”

He thought about it. Then he chuckled, and the miniature crossbow appeared in his hand.

“Are we going to tug the storm’s beard? Perhaps I’ll join your team, after all. It’s too hospitable a home to leave it so quickly.”

“All right.” Layen and I donned black half-masks. “Follow us and don’t get into any fights. Do you have something to cover your face?”

“No. I have no need for it. Just watch out for dogs. Right now dogs are our biggest threat.”

Well, if he didn’t want to cover his face, that was his right. I didn’t care.

I opened the door and looked around. I saw no one. We slipped through and, clinging to the wall, crept from the moonlight to thick shadow. Now I could really have a look around.

The barn from which we’d successfully escaped was neighbored by two identical structures. There were also mismatched sheds, a chicken coop, a pigsty, a small silo, and a few other buildings whose purpose I couldn’t guess. Twenty yards away there were some low, squat stables. Beyond it was a narrow strip of orchards, consisting of large shadowy apple, apricot, and mulberry trees.

We swung wide around the stables and plunged into the orchard. Harold plucked an apple from a nearby tree, rubbed it on his jacket, and sank his teeth into it. He immediately grimaced and tossed the unpleasant fruit aside. We approached the house from the rear.

The Viceroy himself could very well live in this four-storied palace. The large lancet windows were dark, and the only lights burning brightly were in the far wing of the ground and fourth floors.

“That’s the kitchen.” Layen pointed at the lighted windows on the ground floor. “Going through there would be faster, but more dangerous. There’s always someone there. And that’s Joch’s bedroom.” She pointed to the fourth floor.

“Not sleeping at such an hour. Obviously his conscience is not clear,” muttered Harold. “I suggest we go through that door there.”

“It’s lit by torches,” I objected.

“Does light frighten you? Never mind,” the thief dismissed me carelessly.

“We’d just need to get through the greenhouse, and we’d be in the right wing,” Layen supported him. “Otherwise we’ll have to walk through the entire house, and we’re bound to get an unwelcoming reception then and—”

“Look at the balcony,” I interrupted her softly.

A man with a crossbow on his knees was sitting there.

“He’s sleeping,” objected Harold. “Some guard.”

“He could wake up. Also, we don’t know how much security there is around the house.”

“Most of it should be at the gate and the front door. No one expects uninvited guests to crawl out of the barn.”

“Okay,” I decided. “We’ll do as you say. I’ll cover you.”

As two shadows they slipped out from under the cover of the trees. Trampling the flowerbeds, they broke out into the open and appeared near the door. Harold busied himself with the lock, and Layen peered intently at the corner of the house, from which someone could appear at any moment. The guard with the crossbow didn’t even move. Truly, the deep sleep of fools is our best ally. It came my turn to run. The thief had just finished with the door.

We were in a dimly lit gallery on the ground floor, where every fifth oil lamp on the walls was lit. Their flames wavered timidly, thickening the gloom. The floor was covered by a plush carpet. To the right were a series of closed doors, and to the left, tall windows.

I went first, behind me came the thief, listening intently and for once serious. No more jokes or strangeness. Cool and collected, just like us. Layen brought up the rear, glancing behind as she walked.

The gallery led us to the greenhouse.

Joch loved flowers, especially rare ones. It was one of his many passions, and he purchased rare plants from distant lands for astronomical sums.

I passed by some kind of mangy palm, suspiciously rustling vines, a miniature tree, and an enormous flower that reeked of rotten flesh; the leaves of one furry plant were burning with a dim light like fireflies. I really wanted to sneeze from all the unusual smells. Layen was staring at the glowing bush and almost overturned a pot holding some kind of thorny plant that bore a distorted resemblance to a rotten cucumber. Harold grabbed the tilting pot in time and put it back in place, looking at us reproachfully.

“Watch where you’re walking,” he whispered.

We left the greenhouse and came out into a small room with a fading fireplace and pictures on the walls. Right opposite the exit was a staircase lined with white marble, which led upward. Like all the floors in the house, it was covered with carpet.

“Beyond there is the kitchen. We need to go up,” said Layen quietly.

“I’ll go first. You two follow.”

Holding my bow at the ready, I left the room and began slowly walking up the stairs. I stopped on the second floor and looked around. I waited for my companions. I walked up to the third floor. Then the fourth. In all this time, we didn’t encounter a single soul. I’ve already mentioned sleep. It’s a great ally. It was the hour when it was too late not to sleep and too early to wake up. There was minimal risk.

“Joch’s bedroom is there.” Layen pointed in the direction we needed. “Down the hall, through two rooms and a parlor.”

“You still with us, thief?” I asked.

“It’s too hot.” He frowned. “With your permission, I’ll snoop around a bit. I might find something interesting.”

I shook my head doubtfully. “You’ll get caught.”

“Not likely. I just need a few minutes. I’ll catch up.”

“Leave him. We have our own concerns,” said Layen, and then she warned Harold, “Mind you, we won’t search or wait for you.”

He nodded and walked away from us. I followed him with my gaze and sighed. “We shouldn’t have let him go.”

“He might hinder us. Let him go.”

I frowned uncertainly. If he stumbled upon someone, it would definitely hinder us. But I didn’t argue. The next two rooms were empty, but there were three men in the parlor. One was standing idly by the door, and two were sitting by the fire at a small table laden with fruit. They were playing dice.

The lad at the door caught sight of me, opened his mouth in shock, and instantly got his throat slit. This guaranteed that he wouldn’t cry out and raise the alarm. Blood flowed in all directions from the ghastly wound in his neck that I’d made with the edge of my arrow. The guard fell to his knees and was dead a second later, laid out on the carpet that had muffled the fall of his heavy body. Layen’s crossbow snapped harshly and the man sitting with his back to us fell face-first into a bowl of Morassian grapes. For some reason, his companion threw his dice at us and then grabbed a short sword lying on the table. He jumped up—and died from a second arrow.

A few seconds and three corpses. None of the guards had a chance to make a sound. After seven years of retirement, we hadn’t lost our skills and we still worked seamlessly and quickly. Layen reloaded her crossbow and nodded toward the double doors made of oak with bronze handles, which led into Joch’s bedroom. Through the slits in her mask, her eyes shone with a hostile blue light.

I nodded in reply, took a new arrow from my quiver, rested it against the bowstring, and went to stand opposite the entrance. Layen walked over a corpse, trying not to step in the blood soaking into the carpet, and headed toward the bedroom. She took hold of the door handle and pushed the door open gently; then she gracefully slipped to the side, leaving the path free for me. After a moment I was in the room, which was fairly well lit with burning candles.

Joch was on an enormous bed with bloodred curtains and white sheets, too occupied by a red-haired girl to realize right away what was happening. The wench saw us first and squeaked in fear, shying away from us to the far corner of the bed, drawing a blanket up to her chin. Joch Threefingers, a tall, broad, middle-aged man with a handsome, refined face, a neat beard, and the yellow skin of a native of Urs, cursed filthily and then, catching sight of us, froze.

The masks didn’t fool him. He knew who had come to him and why. For several long seconds we looked at each other. Joch smiled crookedly with paled lips, sat down on the bed, and looked at me defiantly. He had decided to take revenge on me for severing two of his fingers; he took a risk, set his life against ours, and lost. I had nothing to say to him. No pompous, malevolent, or triumphant words. There was no need for it. He was a smart fellow and he read the verdict in my eyes.

I shot, hitting him in the heart. The arrow passed through his chest, and fine drops of blood fell onto the sheets and pillows. Threefingers fell onto his right side and died a moment later. The girl sniveled submissively.

“Don’t even think of screaming,” Layen told her sternly.

The girl squeezed her eyes tightly shut and whined softly, “Please don’t kill me. For Melot’s sake! I haven’t even seen your faces! I’d never recognize you. Please! Please! Have mercy on me!”

Layen went over to her and lightly struck her on the neck with the side of her palm. That was quite enough to make the red-haired girl lose consciousness for a long time and so we didn’t have to fear that she’d raise the entire house against us. I checked Joch’s body just in case. Convinced that he was really dead, I indicted to my sun that we should leave. We had nothing more to do here.

We found Harold in the parlor. The thief was leaning against the doorjamb, looking at the corpses lying in their own blood with gloomy interest.

“Not very clean work. It’ll never come out of the carpet. And you could easily get three hundred sorens for that one.”

“Enough yakking,” I said. “We can talk when we’re out of here.”

“As you wish. I just made a circuit of several of the deceased master’s rooms, may he rest in peace, so I can live without the carpet.”

We quickly made our way to the stairs and began to descend, but on the second floor luck turned her back on us. A door opened and two men ran right at us. The first, with a sword, was one of Joch’s thugs. The second looked very similar to Ga-Nor—a redheaded northerner.

Harold spun to the side and under the protection of our backs. Layen drove a bolt into the belly of the Son of the Snow Leopard, rightly considering him the more dangerous of the two. Despite the wound, he drew his sword, roared so loudly the ceiling rattled, and threw himself at us. Harold helped by shooting two bolts one after the other from behind our backs. Both men were on the floor, but they’d done their job, alerting the entire house.

With soft catlike steps another two redheads stepped out of their doors. A third northerner was coming up the stairs from the first floor.

Terrific!

The thief obviously didn’t plan on waiting for further developments and he took to his heels, choosing a somewhat unconventional path of retreat. Tossing the discharged crossbow, he dashed over to a window and leaped through it, and together with a hail of wooden framing and fragments of glass, fell somewhere outside. Given the fact that the second floor was fairly high up from the ground, Harold’s act could only be considered suicide. But he left this world beautifully, there’s no doubt about it. Even our opponents froze, completely stunned, for a moment.

I took advantage of that pause and shot down the one who was coming from below. One of the remaining warriors rushed at me with a roar. I raised my utak. Fortunately for me, the redhead slipped in the blood of his fallen comrade and fell to his knees, letting his guard down. My strike was glancing and not very strong, and the northerner, even though he was wounded, almost chopped off my legs with his sword. I had to dodge it and finish him off with a second blow.

When I was done with my opponent, I turned to Layen, but she was coping without my help. The redhead thought that a woman posed no threat to him. He grabbed her and lifted her up into the air.

Bad idea.

The dagger hidden in Layen’s left sleeve slipped into her hand, and she jammed her weapon right under her opponent’s chin. Then she pulled down sharply, ripping open his neck.

Somewhere on the floor above us alarmed cries rang out. Once we made it to the room on the ground floor, I threw a hefty little end table at the window. The glass burst with a resounding crash, and, slipping over the fragments underfoot, we leaped out.

The thief was not there. To be honest, I was expecting to see his body smashed to pieces, but all that remained on the ground was the twisted frame and broken glass. Our companion who’d fled in such a timely manner was a surprisingly resilient man.

We rushed through the flowerbeds, ruthlessly trampling the unfortunate tiger lilies and Groganian roses. The house was waking up more with each passing second, lights were flashing in the windows of the upper floors—people were running with torches up there. For now they thought that the assassins were in the house, but they’d soon start scouring the grounds.

We’d almost reached the orchard when I saw three men running toward us from around the corner of the house. Two of them had short bows in their hands. The archer closest to me shot but missed.

“Under the trees! Quickly!” I yelled at Layen.

The archers were no more than eighty paces away.

Twang!

I laid out one of the archers, but his companion was a nimble fellow. A shattering blow in my right thigh blinded me with pain, and I collapsed into the grass. The archer screamed triumphantly and rushed toward me. A guard armed with a club was running with him.

That bastard actually managed to hit me!

The arrow had pierced through my thigh, and the leg of my trousers was quickly soaked with blood. I had to rest on my left knee to take the shot, practically blind because of the pain.

Twang!

A repulsive rattle informed me that I had not missed. There was one opponent left, but Layen got there in time. She tore my axe from my belt.

The axe flew through the air with a zing, a dull thud, and a falling body.

“Oh, Melot!” she groaned, grabbing me under my armpits and dragging me under the cover of the trees. “Hold on! Everything will be all right, my love!”

The pain had receded a bit, and my vision gradually cleared. My throat was dry and I was terribly thirsty.

“It’s not fatal,” I croaked. “The arrow needs to be pulled out.”

“I’ll do it.”

“No. I’ll do it myself.”

Clenching my teeth, I broke the shaft sticking out of my leg. I groaned and swiftly yanked out the part that was sticking out of the other side of my thigh. Then I almost passed out.

“We need to stop the blood.” Layen had been squeezing my shoulders the entire time.

“Not now and not here.” Tears were rolling down my cheeks. “We need to clear out of here, before it gets any worse. Help me stand.”

Hopping on my uninjured leg and leaning against her shoulder, I hobbled away. I don’t know how long it took us to get to the barn; sometimes the pain took over and I was unable to keep track. Fortunately for us, no one was chasing after us anymore.

Layen picked up the lantern we’d left behind, lowered herself into the hole first, and supported me as I awkwardly dropped down.

“It seems the thief didn’t get away,” I said. “Or he was so kind as to leave us the light.”

My sun lowered the grate. I barely squeezed myself under the dismantled wall and lamely helped her put the bricks back where they should be. This gave us a bit of hope that we’d briefly confuse the pursuit. My ears were buzzing and my head was spinning. Before we dealt with the wound we had to get as far away as possible, but I knew that if we delayed treating it, I would lose consciousness very soon from blood loss.

Layen ripped open my bloody trouser leg with her dagger. She quickly retrieved clean cloths from her pack and a vial of strong-smelling antiseptic liquid.

She wiped away the blood.

“It went through cleanly,” she said, referring to the arrow, and suddenly poured half the vial on me. I howled from the burning pain and almost jumped out of my own skin.

She skillfully dressed the wound, tying the ends of the bandages together. Multicolored specks floated before my eyes, and the sound of bells was ringing in my ears. I passed out for a while. When I came to, I saw that my leg was already bandaged and that Layen was crying silently.

“Don’t,” I begged. “I promise not to die for the next hundred years.”

She dutifully wiped away her tears and smiled. “I’m okay. I just got scared.”

I’m not going to relate how I hobbled back along the underground tunnel. But I can congratulate myself on the fact that the walls, constructed so long ago by the Sculptor, heard so many curses and oaths from me that they’d easily be able to hold their own against an entire crew of sailors.

The only weapons we had left were my bow and our daggers. Layen had lost her crossbow while we were fighting the northerners, and my trusty utak remained in the skull of one of our opponents. Neither I nor my sun had bothered to pick it up at the time.

A pity. I’d had that thing with me since Sandon.

When we saw a dim light pouring in on us from the ceiling, I cried out, “Stump!”

“Well, finally!” he replied with evident relief. “Damn! What’s with you?”

“Perhaps you could pull us up first and then ask questions,” I retorted sluggishly.

He dropped the rope.

“Did you succeed?”

“Yes,” said Layen shortly.

“Thank Melot!” sighed the Giiyan with even more relief than before. “Let us pull you up. Where’s the thief?”

That meant that Harold hadn’t come back this way. Smart. He realized that Mols might get rid of him. Or maybe he just preferred another route. I hope he got out.

“You go first,” I said quietly to my wife. “They are afraid of your Gift, but still, be careful.”

“Can you manage on your own?” she asked just in case.

“Yes. Stump, pull!”

While she was going up, I extinguished the lantern and checked my dagger. It was unlikely they were planning to play some nasty trick on us, but Melot protects those who protect themselves.

“Come on!” called Stump.

I tied the rope around me securely and then walked my way up the wall, ignoring the pain in my leg. Two of the red-faced Giiyan’s assistants swiftly pulled me up.

“That’s unlucky,” Stump said, glancing quickly at my leg. “You need a healer.”

“I was just thinking that myself.”

“Lads, help him to the door.”

“There’s no need. I’ll do it myself.”

“You don’t trust me?” sneered Stump.

“Would you?” I returned his sneer.

“As you wish. Hobble along on your own. Follow me, boys.”

Huffing resentfully, he headed for the staircase, leaving Layen and me alone.

“He seems fairly peaceable,” she said uncertainly.

“But a dagger up the sleeve doesn’t hurt. Help me up there, please.”

I somehow managed to climb up, and when we got to the main room—that’s when it happened.

Layen cried out in warning, and in the same instant translucent lilac chains appeared on our wrists. The next instant we were on the floor, bound hand and foot by magic. All I could do was watch.

Besides Stump and his henchmen, there was Mols and six of her people, five of the Viceroy’s Guards and some Walkers—three women in long blue dresses with red circles sewn into their chests, and white veils over their hair.

I looked at Mols furiously. “This is foolish, Katrin!”

Her face remained impassive. “I didn’t have a choice. You understand.”

I did. But I wouldn’t forgive it. Sooner or later she would pay for her betrayal, I swore by the Abyss!

“Is this them?” asked the oldest of the Walkers.

“Yes,” said a familiar voice from somewhere to the right. I shifted my eyes and saw Shen. He was alive and well. “Yes,” he repeated. “That’s them.”

And then darkness came.