Shadow Blizzard

15 The Shaman And The Jester

Fortunately, no one bombarded me with questions and I hung about beside the stream for about ten minutes completely on my own. I needed to settle my nerves a bit and have a think. A touch of gray at the temples was nothing to worry about; the important thing was that my head was still on my shoulders. Then, when the idea that had been eluding me all this time finally took shape, I walked away from the stream, straight toward Glo-Glo, who was sitting under a tree. Hallas watched me go, but he didn’t say anything; neither did any of the others. I walked up to the goblin and squatted down beside him. The old shaman didn’t even open his eyes. Was he asleep?

“Was there something you wanted to ask, my boy?” Glo-Glo said suddenly.

“Yes.”

“I’m listening.”

“I was wondering how, with spells as powerful as that, the goblins perished under the swords of men and the yataghans of the orcs.”

“Surely you do not think your historians would tell you the truth?” the goblin asked with a crooked smile. “We are not sheep, Harold. We died, but we took many of our enemies with us.”

“You mean…”

“I mean, do not believe all those tales about the goblins being a defenseless race. Yes, we are short in stature, but our shamanism is much closer to the Kronk-a-Mor, and we sold our lives for a high price. Do you know why men started hunting us all of a sudden?”

“Well…,” I started, and hesitated.

“No, not because we have ugly faces—I won’t even mention what kind of faces you have. And not because you thought we were allies of the orcs. We possess a magic that is almost primordial, and from early times your Order was obsessed with our magic, or to be more precise, our battle magic, and so they went to any lengths to get their hands on our shamanism and our books. Naturally, we did not wish to share—this knowledge is not for men—but the Order pursued us until it almost exterminated us. Or, to be more precise, until more than a hundred thousand men were lost in our forests. Do not be surprised that you have never heard about any of this. Nobody has. It happened in times long past, and the Order will never speak of its defeats.”

The goblin chuckled again and opened his eyes.

“But…”

“But this is no secret to the goblins. We are always glad of a chance to remind you of how we gave your magicians and soldiers a bloody nose. No one bothers us any longer, and we have no great wish to leave our forests. We have our work to do, and you have yours. Have I answered your question?”

“Arising out of what you just told me, I have another one.”

“Ask.”

“I’ll never believe that a shaman with such great power as you have could have fallen into Bagard’s hands so easily.”

“You’re a smart one, Dancer,” the goblin chuckled, and I started in surprise.

“How do you—”

“I just know. Didn’t I just tell you that the goblins have their purpose in this world? I won’t bore you with a long lecture on the balance and the Great Houses, I think you know quite a lot about that already. In recent times my greatest concern has been, just as it was my father’s and my father’s father’s—”

“I understand,” I said, interrupting the goblin hastily. I suspected the listing of all the old shaman’s ancestors could go on for so long that I’d forget what my question was.

“He understands…,” Glo-Glo said, peering at me in annoyance. “Did no one ever tell you that it’s rude to interrupt your elders? Now, where was I? Ah, yes … The primary concern of my ancestors, who trace their line back to great insane shaman Tre-Tre, has always been waiting for the Dancer in the Shadows. That is, for you.”

“Nice to meet you,” I chuckled skeptically.

“Don’t try to be clever. We had to wait until a Dancer came to our world, as Tre-Tre foretold in his great book, the Bruk-Gruk. And when the Dancer arrived, we were supposed to teach him how to reach the Primordial World and give it life once again.”

“Oh!” That was all I could think of to say.

“But I can see you’ve managed all that without any help from me,” the goblin declared in a disappointed voice. “Don’t try to deny it, I can see the glitter of the primordial flame in your eyes, and that hoarfrost on your temples.… It speaks volumes to one who knows.”

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

“Haven’t I?” Glo-Glo asked, putting on a surprised face. “I have been unlucky. I am the last of the male line in Tre-Tre’s clan, and you appeared too late. When the stars pointed to you, I was already too old, and the responsibilities I bore were too great for me to leave Zagraba. I had to find other ways to act, hoping that others would be able to do what I could not. You bear a mark, my boy, a mark that any goblin of my line can see. Not even see, but sense a hundred leagues away. So I knew when you escaped from Hrad Spein, I knew what was going to happen next, and I didn’t like it one little bit. I had to improvise, and after that all I could do was wait until you fell into their hands and play the role of a half-witted shaman. So that is what I did.”

“But things didn’t turn out the way you wanted, did they?”

“No, indeed. I hadn’t anticipated that there would be a shaman in the detachment, that I would be identified and deprived of my powers. If I hadn’t been wearing those mittens, we would have escaped the first night we met.”

“Wouldn’t it have been easier not to get yourself captured by the orcs, but simply to warn me not to go near the orcs?”

“No, it wouldn’t!” the old shaman snapped. “I knew what was going to happen, but I didn’t know where to find you. You Dancers are tricky lads. Hard to locate using search magic. I had to make use of the orcs.”

“And were you really in the Labyrinth before?”

“Yes. Everything I said about the Labyrinth is absolutely true. But I hadn’t been counting on going back there again after thirty years.”

“You took a risk.”

“The risk was entirely justified. If your friends hadn’t come, I would have used the aces I had up my sleeve.”

“And what are they?”

“That’s not important now. Well then, it’s time to be going, before the Firstborn can gather their wits.”

“One more question.”

“Ah! You really are quite excessively curious. What else?”

“What makes a Dancer so important to you?”

“The balance! I want my descendants to carry on living in Siala for thousands of thousands of years, and a fellow like you can send the balance way off kilter with a snap of your fingers.”

“And the Horn?”

“Forget about that silly tin whistle! The Horn is just the Horn. You and the Horn are like a candle flame and a moth. That’s enough, no more questions!”

“You said that others would do what you weren’t able to do. Who did you mean by that?”

I asked the question and immediately found the answer, standing quite nearby and gazing at us apprehensively from under his hood with his bright blue eyes.

“If you understand everything, why do you ask?” the shaman laughed. “I couldn’t go myself, I had to send … my apprentice. Kli-Kli, come here!”

The royal jester approached us warily.

“Apprentice?” I echoed stupidly.

“What’s so surprising about that?” Glo-Glo chuckled. “There wasn’t anybody else I could send. The Bruk-Gruk said you would meet the king of Valiostr, so to make sure of running into you, my apprentice had to become a jester.”

“Kli-Kli?” I said, turning to the sullen, silent goblin for an explanation.

“Yes?” he squeaked from under his hood. “It’s all true, Harold. I’m terribly sorry if I caused you any inconvenience, but it had to be done.”

“Why don’t you tell him where I told you to stay all the time?” Glo-Glo suggested, knitting his brows menacingly.

“With Harold,” the jester muttered.

“Louder! I can’t hear you!”

“With Harold!”

“Then why did he go into the Palaces of Bone alone, and why did I have to abandon all the affairs of the tribe and come dashing to his rescue, while you were busy—”

“But grandfather!” Kli-Kli interrupted.

“Grandfather?” I said, gaping at him wide-eyed.

“Why are you so surprised, Harold? It’s only natural for me to take my own flesh and blood as an apprentice.”

“Granddad!” Kli-Kli squeaked, and gave me a frightened look.

“It’s just that Kli-Kli mentioned several times that his grandfather used to be a shaman, and I thought that meant you were dead.”

“So you buried me as well?” said Glo-Glo, rolling his eyes furiously. “Well, thank you!”

“But I—”

“Who on earth do you take after? You’ve shamed your ancestors again!”

Kli-Kli tried to make excuses, and Glo-Glo gave him the tongue-lashing of all time, saying a granddaughter like that must have been a gift from the forest spirits. I listened, and I was puzzled. The intensity of the shaman’s feelings seemed to be confusing his tongue.

“Kli-Kli!” I put in, when Glo-Glo decided to take a break to catch his breath. “Why is he talking to you as if you were a girl?”

The goblin looked as if he wanted the ground to open up and swallow him. At least, that was my impression.

“The man’s a fool!” said Glo-Glo, throwing his hands up in the air. “I told you in plain human language that I’m the last in the male line of the great shaman Tre-Tre! Kli-Kli is my granddaughter.”

“Kli-Kli! You’re … you’re a SHE? You’re a girl?”

The goblin (gobliness?) had the good grace not to look me in the eye, and she muttered something under her breath. All I made out was “yes.”

I stood there open-mouthed, and then sat down. I must say, this was quite a blow! Life had never treated me to such an unexpected surprise before! It was inconceivable. Kli-Kli was she. A female goblin! A girl! The jester’s little oddities suddenly made sense to me and didn’t seem so odd anymore.

I must have been a fine sight. Glo-Glo chuckled sympathetically, while Kli-Kli didn’t know where to put herself. When I more or less recovered, I thought the best thing to do was laugh.

“You’re … you’re not angry?” she asked me fearfully.

“No, Kli-Kli!” I exclaimed, shaking my head. “If I’m angry, it’s only with myself, for not realizing straightaway.”

“You couldn’t have,” she told me with a superior note in her voice. “All goblins look the same to men.”

“But why, in the name of a h’san’kor, why?”

“It was simpler that way, Harold,” she said with a faint shrug. “It opened lots of doors to me, including the door of the royal palace. And things were much simpler with all of you, too. If Milord Alistan had known who I really was, he probably wouldn’t have let me go on the journey. And if that had happened, I couldn’t have taken care of you.”

“I don’t think he would have done anything. After all, you brought a letter from the king, giving you permission to take part in the expedition.”

“The letter was a forgery,” Kli-Kli chuckled. “Do you really think the king would have sent his jester on business like this?”

“Was it hard playing a male part, apprentice?” Glo-Glo put in.

“I got used to it, Granddad. It was harder being a jester and a fool. Although … when you’re a jester and you’re out in open view, nobody notices you, nobody takes you seriously or thinks of you as a threat, and you can do things that others aren’t allowed to do.”

“Did nobody guess who you really were, Kli-Kli?”

“I told you, Harold, we all look the same to people.”

Ah, darkness! I just couldn’t get used to it! She was right! How often did we see goblins in Valiostr? Not very. How often did we see female goblins? Even less often than male ones. Or, rather, we’d never seen any. It was rumored that the goblin women never left Zagraba. I’d never trust rumors again.

“Aaaaah…,” I said, shaking my head, still unable to believe what had happened.

“Well, it is true…”—she wrinkled up her forehead—“it is true that Miralissa knew. I had to tell her. She helped me guide you and save you.”

“Guide? Save?”

“How many times did I save your life? And there were so many times you’ll never even know about!”

I didn’t say anything.

“That’s gratitude for you! Do you think it was easy to squeeze you through into the Primordial World the first time? Miralissa and I almost made ourselves sick doing it. And as for guiding you … Hah! There were so many times I can’t remember them all,” she said, gesturing with her hand.

There was nothing I could do but listen to her revelations and feel amazed. Good going, Kli-Kli!

“So, apart from Miralissa—may she dwell in the light—and you, no one knows. Oh, and I told Honeycomb before we left.”

The goblin girl chuckled. So that was why Honeycomb had laughed so loud and long when Kli-Kli whispered in his ear!

“So what now?” I asked.

“What now, my boy?” Glo-Glo replied. “If we’re talking about long-term plans, then you need to get to Avendoom as quickly as possible and hand the Horn over to that Order of yours. You turned out to be a lot stronger than I expected.… In a good sense, of course. So there’s no need to be too worried about the balance just yet. No, don’t tell me about the Horn, the Fallen Ones, and the Great Game of the Masters. I know all about that. Compared with what you could have got up to, what might be coming—and that, please note, is a possible shift in the balance—is no more than a minor inconvenience.”

“And what could I have got up to?”

“There’s no point in talking about that now,” said Glo-Glo. “You’ve been through the Mirror of Choice and chosen your path. My mind is easy, so there’s no need for you to worry. You don’t have to know the entire background of the prophecy at this stage. You’ll find out in good time, you virtually have an eternity in your hands—in the literal and the figurative sense. The only important thing at this moment is the Horn; everything else is secondary.”

“Master Goblin!” Egrassa called to Glo-Glo. “Have you rested?”

“I’m coming!” the shaman replied. “Resting’s all very well, but now I won’t be able to work any magic more complicated than a fireball for a week. Harold, do I need to tell you there’s no need to spread the word about our conversation?”

“No, you don’t.”

“Well then, that’s just wonderful. Now help an old man get up. Creating that damned spell of mine has swallowed up all my strength.”

I gave the goblin my hand and helped him get to his feet.

“Thank you, my boy. I’ll go and have a word with the elf and your marshal with the mustache.”

Glo-Glo plodded off toward the warriors, who were waiting for him impatiently. I was about to follow him, but Kli-Kli called to me.

“Hey, Harold!”

“Yes?”

“Are you really not angry with me? You know, for … You know what I mean.”

I paused for a moment, trying to find the right words, and she kept her cautious glance fixed on me all the time.

“I’m really not angry, Kli-Kli,” I said eventually. “It’s impossible to stay angry with you for long.”

Did I imagine it, or did I catch a glimpse of relief in her eyes?

“Wordofonner?”

“On the noble word of honor of a master thief, Kli-Kli.”

“Okie-dokie!” she said, more cheerful now. “Only don’t tell anyone, or they’ll all start worrying about me. Trying to take care of me, make sure nothing happens to me. Deler’s worse than a broody hen, if he found out the truth.…”

My lips curved into an impish smile as I imagined Deler’s face when he learned that Kli-Kli was not he, but she. And Hallas would probably be so surprised, he’d swallow his own beard. Kli-Kli obviously read my thoughts, and she gave me a good-natured poke in the ribs. Life is never boring when there’s a goblin around—boy or girl.

The rain didn’t stop until the next morning. In that time we’d tramped darkness only knows how far and built up a pretty good lead over any possible pursuit. At least we hadn’t heard the rumbling of the orcs’ drums again. We stopped to rest for the night beside some huge boulders that gave us some protection against the rain. The halt was appallingly brief. I felt as if I’d only just closed my eyes, and there was Lamplighter shaking me awake.

Milord Alistan finally deigned to notice that I had no more weapons than a nun of Silna. Mumr immediately presented me with his dagger, and Deler attempted to give me the small ax that always hung behind his back, with his shield, but I refused. That’s not my weapon.

“Can you handle a battle staff, Harold?” Egrassa asked unexpectedly.

“No,” I said, rather surprised by the question. “A walking staff, maybe, but only a little bit.”

“It’s all the same. In that case, you’ll be able to manage the spear.” The elf handed me the Gray One’s krasta. “The s’kash and the bow are enough for me, but this will suit you better. At least you can hold your enemies off for a while.”

“Thank you,” I said, taking the weapon.

“Only, if you’re going to swing it, don’t forget that one end’s weighted. I wouldn’t like to see it go flying out of your hands at just the wrong moment,” Egrassa warned me, and after that the question of the weapon never came up again.

With the gray vampire’s legacy in my hands, I felt more confident. And the chain mail that had been left in Mumr’s safekeeping while I took my trip round Hrad Spein inspired me with some hope, too. We had to eat on the march, whatever the gods provided. And that day the gods weren’t very well disposed toward us, or you could say my stomach was never anywhere near full. Kli-Kli ambled along up at the front, behind Glo-Glo, and I kept catching myself thinking I couldn’t get used to the idea that the goblin was really a gobliness.

The group was in fairly high spirits, which was understandable enough—the orcs didn’t seem to be planning to chase us. In his joy, Hallas even started crooning “The Song of the Crazy Miners.”

“Well, well,” Deler muttered good-naturedly after listening to the song all the way through. “Lucky’s started his crowing again.”

“You’re just envious because your race doesn’t have any songs like that, even in the Zam-da-Mort,” Hallas chuckled in anticipation of an old familiar quarrel.

“You can find all sorts of things in the Castle of Death, and you know that perfectly well,” the dwarf said, avoiding an argument with the gnome.

“So I’ve heard,” said Hallas, suddenly serious, and he didn’t sing any more songs.

By lunchtime the sun peeped out, which made the walking much more pleasant. Glo-Glo suddenly started veering farther and farther left, and the stream that had been our companion for so long was left behind among the trees. Now we were not walking south, but west. Milord Alistan seemed rather unhappy with this circumstance, and Glo-Glo had to explain that there was an orc city nearby, and we had to make a detour. Unless, of course, we wanted to enjoy the hospitality of the Firstborn.

After trudging a fair distance through the forest undergrowth, by evening we were back beside our old friend, the stream, and while it was still light, we reached a dense grove of fir trees that held the stream tight in its shaggy, prickly embrace. We spent the night there, safely concealed from prying eyes by the huge fir trees. Egrassa forbade us to make a fire—there were orcs nearby—and we had to spend the whole night without any warmth. Twilight fell in the forest suddenly—but then, it always does in autumn.

Halas and Deler went to sleep straightaway (they were on sentry duty for the second half of the night). I started settling down to sleep, too, but as soon as I lay down and snuggled up tight in my warm blanket, someone shook me by the shoulder. Mumr.

“Yes?”

“Show me it, eh?” he asked in a plaintive voice.

“What?” I asked, puzzled.

“The Horn. We never had a chance to get a decent look at it back at the Labyrinth. I’m really curious to see what we’ve done all this for.”

“But it’s dark! Egrassa said we can’t light a fire. The Firstborn might smell the smoke.”

“I’ve got a way out,” Egrassa said unexpectedly, and a small glow appeared between the palms of his hands. “I don’t know much shamanism, but I can give you three minutes of light.”

The magical light lasted just long enough for us to take a good look at each other’s faces. Apart from Deler and Hallas, nobody was even thinking of sleeping. Everybody was waiting for Harold to show them the Horn. I had to get up and open the bag that never left my side.

“So that’s it…,” Eel murmured, examining the artifact with an amazed expression.

“May I…,” Milord Alistan inquired timidly.

I gladly handed him the Rainbow Horn. As far as I was concerned, he could have it. He could keep the tin whistle safe for his beloved king.

The old shaman was standing closest to the captain of the guard, and the Horn ended up in his hands. He closed his eyes, held the artifact against his forehead, made a face as if he’d eaten a whole plateful of sour gooseberries, and delivered his verdict:

“It is weak. Very weak. The power has almost left it; it will only hold out for a few more weeks, and then…” Glo-Glo didn’t finish what he was saying, but everybody knew what would happen then.

“So we need to press on,” said Alistan Markauz.

“We still have masses of time, milord. In early November the S’u-dar is already snowbound, and it will be very difficult for the Nameless One to leave his lair. And then it’s a long journey from the Needles of Ice to the Lonely Giant. The sorcerer’s army won’t reach the fortress before mid-January,” Lamplighter reassured the count.

“Mumr’s right, milord. A winter campaign is too difficult. The Desolate Lands are completely snowbound. In winter the Slumbering Forest is a dangerous place, even for servants of the Nameless One. The Crayfish Dukedom will take another two months to start moving,” said Eel, shaking his head thoughtfully. “The enemy will wait until spring, when the passes will be free of snow.”

“And what if he doesn’t?” Egrassa asked.

“If he doesn’t wait, then this winter campaign will cost him a quarter of his army, Tresh Egrassa.”

The warriors argued and discussed the various possibilities for an attack by the enemy. Kli-Kli yawned frantically, covering her mouth with her hand, and to be honest, I must confess that I was struggling to stay awake, too. But the others seemed just fine. Were they made of iron, or what? Before going to sleep, I put the Rainbow Horn back in the bag and checked on the other things, too. The Key was there all right, but the emeralds I had carried so diligently halfway across the Palaces of Bone had disappeared without trace. I would have laughed, but I was far too sleepy. Those cursed orcs had stolen what was rightfully mine, may the darkness take them.

I was the last to wake up; all the others were already on their feet. Hallas was handing out the meager ration. When he noticed me, the gnome winked and thrust a piece of stale bread and a slice of dried meat into my hand. That was all there was for breakfast.

“What time is it?” I moaned.

“Darkness only knows, Harold,” Deler answered, sharpening the blade of his beloved poleax with a whetstone. “The mist’s incredibly thick, so I can’t really say, but dawn was no more than fifteen minutes ago.”

“We’re moving out, Harold, roll up your blanket,” said Alistan Markauz. He didn’t intend to wait until I was wide awake.

We walked slowly now. Who knew what might be hidden in the mist, and running into an orc outpost would be the easiest thing in the world. So we had to be on the lookout as we advanced. It was absolutely silent all around. The shroud of mist swallowed up all the sounds, and even the babbling of the stream sounded strangely subdued and ominous. Kli-Kli shuddered and kept turning her head warily this way and that. When she caught me looking at her, she said, “I hate the mist. It makes us all blind.”

“Don’t be afraid, Kli-Kli,” Hallas said to cheer her up. “If there was anything here, we’d have run into trouble a long time ago.”

“I know,” she muttered. “But even so, I’ve got a bad feeling. Something’s going to happen. I can smell it.”

“Please don’t start spreading panic, Jester,” Eel implored her. But despite his skeptical tone of voice, he still checked to make sure his “brother” and “sister” came out of their scabbards easily.

Forty minutes later we remembered her warning. It was already quite light, but the mist was showing no sign of disappearing, and so we couldn’t make the sound out clearly at first.

Boo-oom! Boo-oom! Boo-oom!

The mist swallowed up the sounds, and we felt the rumble of the drums more with our skin than with our ears.

“Orcs!” Deler hissed, grabbing his poleax.

“They caught up after all!”

Hallas uttered a long, florid curse combining human and gnomish. His brief oration included a mention of the orcs appearing in Siala through some misunderstanding, and that was followed by a listing of the kinds of intercourse orcs indulged in when they weren’t banging on their drums.

“Hallas, shut up!” Milord Alistan growled.

The gnome stopped in the middle of an especially florid turn of phrase, and Egrassa lay down on the ground, parted the leaves, said a few words in his guttural language, and started to listen. The drums carried on.

“They’re an hour and a half away. Moving very quickly.”

“How many of them are there, Tresh Egrassa?” the count asked, gripping the hilt of his sword and straining to see something through the wall of fog.

“I don’t know, milord. I’m no master at weaving these spells. I can only say that there are many of them.”

“Your little bees didn’t do us much good, shaman!” Hallas told Glo-Glo in a frankly spiteful tone. “Now what are you going to do?”

“Take you by the legs and give the orcs’ army a good hammering with your head!” Glo-Glo replied furiously. “If it wasn’t for my spell, they’d be roasting the soles of your feet already!”

“Can you help us, most venerable sir?” asked Milord Alistan, taking the bull by the horns.

“If milord has in mind delightful little bees or some kind of thunder and lightning, then my answer is no. I won’t be able to work any real impressive magic for a long time. Just a few small things.”

“What about Kli-Kli?” I blurted out.

“Not advanced enough, Harold,” said Glo-Glo, shaking his head. “He still has far too much to learn.”

“A jester working spells is all I need now! Is there anything you can do?”

“Yes, I can draw the pursuit away from you, at least for a while. And take this.” Glo-Glo handed Milord Alistan something that looked like a lump of soil.

“What’s that?” Lamplighter asked.

“Your salvation,” said Glo-Glo, wiping his hands on his cloak. “If you really have your backs against the wall, crush this lump in your fist, and those who are pursuing you will follow the one who crushes it.”

“How do you mean?” Eel asked.

“The idea is that the one who activates the spell runs away from the group, and the orcs will follow him, thinking that they are chasing all of you. The trouble is that the solitary individual will probably be killed, the orcs will not lose the trail, and sooner or later they will catch up again. So milord, decide for yourselves which of you will run if it should come to that. I can lead away those who are following us now, and lead them a long way off—the forest spirits be praised, I have enough strength for that—so beware, not of those who are behind, but those who are ahead. Since they have survived, our pursuers have probably informed their kinsmen about the fugitives, and there are two large orc settlements ahead. The forest is full of orcs, so keep your eyes open. Follow the stream to the lake and turn northwest. Perhaps you will break through. Tresh Egrassa, may fortune smile on you.”

The elf nodded.

“That’s all I have to say. Move quickly and try not to stop, but don’t get careless. Kli-Kli, one moment.”

Glo-Glo took his granddaughter to one side and the others set about checking their weapons.

Kli-Kli came running up, and Glo-Glo addressed all of us: “May the forest spirits preserve you.”

And then he added, just for me: “Take good care of yourself, Dancer, and do what must be done.”

I didn’t know what he meant by that “do,” but I nodded, just to be on the safe side.

“Thank you for getting me out of the Labyrinth, Glo-Glo.”

The old shaman just chuckled, then he nodded in farewell and disappeared into the trees.

“Forward,” said Egrassa, and started running alongside the stream.