Shadow Chaser

8 Duke Ganet Shagor’s Dralan

It was already dark and the carriage drifted through the emptying streets and parks of Ranneng like a phantom ship from the old sea legends. Kli-Kli, the elves, Eel, and I were sitting on the soft benches, Lamplighter and Arnkh had taken on the job of driving our carriage, and Deler, Hallas, Honeycomb, and Uncle accompanied us on horseback.

Miralissa had strictly forbidden the Wild Hearts to bring any weapons with them except for daggers. The Nightingales were too afraid of spies and assassins from the Wild Boars and Oburs to allow strangers to enter their house with any large sharp objects hanging on their belts. Deler had immediately asked the Elfess in a peevish, discontented voice: “But couldn’t you avert their eyes, Tresh Miralissa, the way you did with the Ranneng guard, after we rescued Master Harold and Eel?”

On that occasion it had cost the elfess a serious effort to ensure that the guardsmen would not notice the weapons sticking out from under our group’s clothes while they were riding through the town. The dwarf received a polite and chilly refusal, and he had to leave his beloved poleax at the inn. I hardly need to say that Deler was not particularly happy about this.

We came closer to the Nightingales’ estate and I began feeling calmer as the nervous trembling that I usually suffer before starting any job passed off.

After all, I’d been in all sorts of risky situations before, hadn’t I? Being a dralan for a while is a lot less dangerous than stealing the reward for my own head from the house of Baron Frago Lanten, the leader of the Avendoom municipal guard. And it’s nowhere near as dangerous as taking a stroll through the Forbidden Territory or a going down into the burial chambers of Hrad Spein. Jumping into a pit swarming with vipers and then climbing back out—surely that’s the very test for a master thief?

“As soon as you sense the Key, let us know and make your way to the exit,” Egrassa warned me, checking the edge of his crooked dagger with his thumb.

“Got you.”

He’s right, there’s no point in taunting demons any longer than necessary. The longer we hung about in the house, the more chance there was that we’d run into some kind of trouble.

I prayed hard to Sagot that there wouldn’t be any bright spark at Balistan Pargaid’s house who knew the real Ganet Shagor in person, or we’d find ourselves in a real mess that not even Miralissa’s shamanism could get us out of. And we couldn’t afford to forget about my old friend Paleface, either. He might have left the city without trying to settle scores with me, but … That piece of scum could turn up at the most inappropriate moment just as suddenly as he had disappeared.

“What are you thinking about?” asked the fool, jangling his little bells.

“The vicissitudes of fate and various possible kinds of trouble,” I answered.

“Don’t you worry, Dancer in the Shadows, I’m here with you!”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“We’re losing days,” Miralissa said in a dull voice as she tidied away a lock of hair. “It’s August already, and we haven’t crossed the Iselina yet. If things carry on like this, it will be September before we reach Hrad Spein.”

“You are mistaken,” Egrassa disagreed. “The Black River is two days’ hard riding from Ranneng, then it’s two weeks to reach the Border Kingdom, and another three days from there to Zagraba. And then a week in Zagraba until we reach Hrad Spein. So we should be there in late August.”

“These are not our lands, cousin,” the elfess sighed. “The eastern gates of Hrad Spein lie in the territory of the orcs. We do not know how long it will take us to get through the Golden Forest.”

And we don’t know what we might run into on the way, either. Or how much time I’ll need in Hrad Spein. Or if I’ll be able to get the Doors open. Or if I’ll be able to find the Horn in the labyrinth of the Palaces of Bone. Or get back out with it.

“Time will tell,” the elf replied to Miralissa, and put his dagger back into its sheath.

Time! Accursed time. We lost too much of it in Hargan’s Wasteland, and now we’re losing more of it in Ranneng. If it goes on like this, we won’t get the Horn back to the capital before the start of winter.

Meanwhile our carriage was ascending the memorable incline that I had ridden down in the cart only a few days earlier.

“We’re almost there,” Kli-Kli murmured with a shudder.

Oho! So even the goblin is feeling nervous! And there he was trying to reassure me.

“Right, Harold, you know what to do. Put on a miserable face and pray to that Sagot of yours to help you find out where the Key is.”

Put on a miserable face?

“Will this do?” I asked, squinting sideways at the jester, and he gave me a thumbs-up.

“Whoa there!” we heard Arnkh say.

The carriage stopped. A man with a gold nightingale emblem on his formal uniform came up to the door.

“Name yourselves, my worshipful lords.”

“His Grace Duke Ganet Shagor, the honorable Milla and Erala of the House of the Black Moon, and Dralan Par!” the jester barked as crisply as a dozen royal heralds. “And, of course, the duke’s favorite jester. That’s me, in case you didn’t recognize me.”

Miralissa and Egrassa had changed their names for simpler ones, and that’s something quite unheard of. The pride of the race of the Secondborn does not, under any circumstance, allow an elf to use a name that is not his own. So today’s event must be very special indeed, if two elves from the highest families of the House of the Black Moon decided to change their names.

Members of a noble family could attract close attention of an unwelcome kind, so for the time being the elves had dropped their proud ssa. And in addition, although Pargaid had never seen us, he could have heard from informers in Avendoom about the elves called Egrassa and Miralissa who had visited the king, so we could hardly be too careful. The elves had changed their own names, but not the name of their house. For members of the elfin race, their house is absolutely sacrosanct.

“May I see your invitation, Your Grace?”

The jester insolently thrust an envelope under the guard’s nose. The light blue paper bore an embossed seal with a clear image of a nightingale.

“There! Any more questions? Or do you want to make His Grace angry?”

“I beg your pardon,” the soldier muttered in fright and started backing away, almost tripping over the scabbard of his own sword. “Proceed!”

Up on the coach box, Arnkh clicked his tongue to urge the horses on and the carriage set off, but then stopped again before it had even gone a yard.

Another guard came up to us. Unlike the first, he was dressed all in silk, not chain mail. His bald cranium could have been the envy of all the warriors of the Border Kingdom. He had a nose like a mountain eagle’s beak, thick bushy eyebrows, ears that stuck out, and a long beard. His eyes were the color of blue steel, and they slid over us with a piercing gleam, remembering our faces.

“I beg your pardon, Your Grace, but may I take a look at the invitation?” this man asked drily.

“We have just been checked! You forget yourself, guard! You see a duke before you!” Eel snapped in a cold voice.

“My most humble apologies yet again, milord, but this is Balistan Pargaid’s order, and this check is for your own safety.”

“Give him the paper, fool!” Eel hissed. “Bear in mind that your conduct will be reported to the count, and I shall personally give you a flogging!”

“As Your Lordship wishes,” the man said indifferently.

“Yes, the seal is genuine,” he said with a nod after examining the letter carefully. “My most sincere apologies for the inconvenience.”

There was not even a hint of regret in his voice.

“Take this for your pains,” Eel said acidly, and tossed the man a copper coin. He automatically caught it and his eyes glinted in fury.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” he said with a bow. “I shall remember your generosity.”

The carriage moved on and the gates of the estate were left behind. Now we were driving slowly through a small park.

“There was no need to humiliate him,” Miralissa said after a pause.

“In Garrak the nobility are not used to dealing politely with commoners. I do what my character requires,” Eel said with an indifferent shrug.

“This is not Garrak, and that man is dangerous.”

“I know, but even so I did what had to be done.”

“That man is called Meilo Trug,” the jester said in a quiet voice.

“You know him?”

“Yes, I saw him five years ago at a tournament held in honor of the birthday of Stalkon’s younger son. He won the section for open combat on foot. A master of the long sword.”

“He might have recognized you,” I muttered anxiously.

“I don’t think so. I was watching him from the grandstand, but it’s not very likely that he saw me.”

The carriage stopped in front of the mansion house, in which every window was brightly lit. The door of the house opened and servants with golden nightingale emblems on their clothes bowed low and respectfully to us.

Kli-Kli was the first to jump out of the carriage, and he immediately started making faces.

“Milord, noble gentlemen!” said a man clutching something like a massive, richly decorated mace or staff as he bowed to us. “In the name of Count Balistan Pargaid I am happy to greet you! Follow me, you are expected.”

Eel nodded, which seemed to be exactly what the lad was waiting for. He swung round and led us into the building along a carpet runner. Kli-Kli overtook our guide and skipped along in front of him, jingling his little bells merrily. The herald tried to take no notice of the goblin twirling about right under his feet.

The reception hall began immediately inside the door, and it was bursting at the seams with guests. I didn’t know there were so many nobles in Ranneng and the surrounding area! And this was just one of the warring parties! There were all the Oburs and Wild Boars, too, almost as many of them as the Nightingales!

The hall was crammed to the breaking point, groaning and screwing up its eyes at the bright colors of the guests’ rich costumes, swooning over the vast diversity of hairstyles, choking on the smell of perfume. I glanced round the hall with a practiced eye, trying to keep an expression of disdainful boredom on my face. Yes, the valuables on the ladies would have made up a dragon’s treasure hoard. There were plenty of spoils on display.

Thousands of candles were burning and it was as bright as day. Beside the fountain that had been set in the very center of the hall on somebody’s insane whim, musicians were playing to amuse the gathered guests. There were servants darting about, carrying trays with goblets of sparkling wine. I could hear voices and jolly laughter on all sides.

The lad who had showed us in struck his staff on the floor three times and yelled so loud that I almost jumped out of my skin.

“Duke Ganet Shagor of the House of Shagor! The honorable Milla and Eralla from the House of the Black Moon! Dralan Par!”

“And the jester Krya-Krya, you simpleton!” Kli-Kli shouted, bowing elegantly to the guests.

People turned to look at us and bowed respectfully. The goblin skipped over to me.

“Now what?” I asked him, barely even opening my lips.

“Drink some wine and put on a clever face, and that’s all that’s required of you. I’ll go and get to know the people.”

Before I could open my mouth, Kli-Kli had disappeared among the ladies and gentlemen. Miralissa quickly got talking with a pair of rather tipsy ladies, speaking with surprising expertise about male elves and the intricacies of elfin fashion. She batted her eyelids and twittered away as recklessly as if she was a total fool, and if I didn’t know her, I would never have guessed that this was all just pretense. The ladies listened to her, open-mouthed.

Egrassa walked along a wall hung with ancient weapons with the air of a connoisseur.

“Milord Shagor?”

A man dressed in a doublet of blue and black velvet approached Eel and me. Tall, with a neat black beard, a gleaming white smile, and quizzical brown eyes. His temples were already gray. His features were noble but perfectly agreeable. Lads like that are often used as models for heroes in temple frescoes.

There was something vaguely familiar about his face.

“Whom do I have the honor of addressing?” Eel inquired with just the slightest of bows. According to Kli-Kli, a duke doesn’t really have to bother bending his back at all. I bowed rather more deeply.

“Count Balistan Pargaid. I am delighted that you have accepted my invitation,” the man replied, bowing gently.

“Thank you for your kind invitation to this wonderful reception, count. Allow me to introduce my protégé, Dralan Par.”

A faint nod. Dralans may be nobles of a kind, but they’re not held in very high esteem.

“Do you always accompany the duke everywhere, dralan?” Balistan Pargaid asked, flashing his white smile.

“I like to travel, milord. And a journey with His Lordship is always full of adventures.”

“Is that so?” Another polite and meaningless smile. “I hope that I have not dragged you away from more important business with my untimely invitation, duke?”

“Indeed, no. I was in need of a little diversion.”

The gentle music drifted round the hall and the people on all sides glanced curiously in our direction, but merely bowed politely, without trying to join in the conversation.

“I was not in time to meet you in front of my house, but I have heard that you are traveling with elves. Forgive the indiscreet question, Your Grace, but what is your connection with that particular race?”

Before Eel had a chance to reply, the jester popped out from behind the wide skirts of a lady already well past her youth, who was languidly sipping wine. The goblin was holding a cream bun in each hand.

“Bed,” he said.

“What?” the count asked, blinking.

“My master, may his backside sit on the Sea Cliffs for another two hundred years, travels with elves because they’re good in bed. Pay no attention to the dralan. He just travels.”

For a moment I was dumbstruck at such an audacious, bold-faced lie. I think that if the elves had heard what the goblin said, they would have gutted him like a fish, even though he was wearing a jester’s cap. Eel received the news about his preferences with the calm composure of a genuine duke. Balistan Pargaid, on the other hand, chuckled and gave him a knowing look.

“One must have a little variety in one’s life,” said Eel, shrugging his shoulders casually. “Otherwise it simply becomes too boring.”

“Well, naturally. Is this your fool, milord?” the count asked, examining Kli-Kli with interest.

“Is this our master, milord?” the goblin asked Eel in the same tone of voice, and stuffed both cream buns into his mouth, which instantly made him look like a hamster. Kli-Kli thought for a moment, and then spat both tasty morsels out onto the Sultanate carpet.

“My fool is sharp-tongued, but not trained in good manners, please forgive him.”

Kli-Kli made a face and bowed very low to Balistan, almost burying his nose in the carpet.

“I could say that I am glad to be here, if only there weren’t so many stuffed dummies around, dear count,” the jester squeaked.

Count Balistan Pargaid laughed merrily. “Not every man would dare to call my guests stuffed dummies!”

“In case the count has failed to notice, then I must regretfully inform him that I am not a man, but a goblin,” said Kli-Kli, jingling his little bells.

“Duke, your fool is amusing! Let me have him!”

“Don’t sell me for anything less than a thousand gold pieces!” the jester exclaimed. “And don’t forget to give me my share after the deal!”

“I’m afraid, count, that if the duke lets you have his fool, then my lord will become your bitter enemy. Believe me, Krya-Krya is a walking disaster!” I said, deciding it was time for me to open my mouth.

The count laughed again.

Meanwhile the herald struck his staff on the floor and announced more guests.

“Ah, please excuse me, Your Grace, but, you understand, the obligations of a host. We will certainly find time to talk again, will we not?”

“Of course, count. Of course.”

“Duke. Dralan.”

Then all those idiotic bows again. If it goes on like this all evening, my head’s going to fall off for sure.

“I’ll take a stroll to the fountain. Let’s meet by the stairs,” Eel said, and walked away from us.

“Well, what do you make of him? I mean the count.”

“Not now,” the jester hissed out of the corner of his mouth, jumping up and down desperately and jingling his bells. “Can you sense the Key?”

Jingle-jangle! Ding-dong!

“No.”

Kli-Kli grunted, disappointed.

Ding-dong! Jingle-jangle!

“Take some wine. Take a stroll!” Kli-Kli whispered to me, and disappeared into the crowd of Nightingales.

I looked around, but I couldn’t see the elves or Eel. The longer this evening went on, the more wonderful it became.

With a casual gesture I halted a servant giving out drinks and took a glass of sparkling rosé wine from him, wishing that there was something else. I can’t stand that Filand piss-water. One glass is enough to set my insides on fire, as if it had been spiked with poison.

“Would the gentleman like some sweet fruits?” An entire dish of foreign garbage sprinkled with powdered sugar was thrust under my nose.

“The gentleman would like you to clear off,” I growled at the servant.

I started strolling round the hall with a bored expression on my face. People looked askance at me, as if I had brought a half-decomposed cat into the hall and dumped it in the main dish of the evening.

A woman passed me with her skirts rustling, almost rubbing up against me. Her face was hidden behind a veil.

“I beg your pardon, milord.”

“Yes, of course, there isn’t much room. I understand.”

Another couple of steps, and the whole thing was repeated all over again, only this lady dropped her fan at my feet.

“I beg your pardon, milord, I am so clumsy.”

I had to bend down, pick the fan up off the floor, and hand it to her. She smiled sweetly and dropped a curtsey, offering her plunging neckline to my delighted gaze. It cost me an almighty effort to leave milady alone. But if I hadn’t the goblin would have given me the sharp edge of his tongue.

A few steps farther on a third milady appeared beside me, flashing her eyes flirtatiously in my direction.

“What is your name, milord?”

“Take no notice, my dear dralan! I’ll rescue you!” A heavy hand fell on my shoulder and pulled me away. “Pardon my familiarity, but I am only a baron, my domains border on the Border Kingdom, and we are taught to use a sword much earlier than etiquette. Yes, and I think you are no great devotee of etiquette, either! However, allow me in any case to introduce myself. Baron Oro Gabsbarg at your service!”

I bowed reservedly.

He was a huge man, almost as big as Honeycomb, with a shaggy black beard, little black eyes, a red face, and a thunderous voice. What he resembled most was a bear. And like everyone else in this hall, beside his own crest (a black cloud belching out lightning on a green field) he had a brooch in the form of a nightingale pinned to his clothes.

“What do you think of this wine?” my new acquaintance asked me unexpectedly.

I told him the absolute truth.

“It’s swill.”

The baron laughed deafeningly and in his excessive enthusiasm he thumped me on the back, almost fracturing my spine.

“Ah, I like you! I’ve always said if only we had a lot more dralans in our kingdom, soon there wouldn’t be a single namby-pamby left in the nobility. The moment you appeared in the hall, everyone said you were stupid and ignorant. But I can see that’s not true!”

“Who said that?” I asked, trying to get my breath back after the baron’s bearlike blow.

“All of these carrion-eaters,” said the baron, gesturing round the hall without the slightest embarrassment. “What do you think they all do with their time, my dear fellow?” Oro Gabsbarg’s little black eyes glinted in fury. “Tittle-tattle! They don’t have anything better to do. These popinjays who dare to call themselves men pour scent on their handkerchiefs!”

I thought the baron was going to vomit on my doublet there and then.

“Can you imagine it? But I can see that you’re a different kind, better than these puppy dogs,” Oro Gabsbarg boomed contentedly and chuckled into his beard as he winked at me. “Well, didn’t I just save you from those cunning little serpents?”

“I beg your pardon?” I didn’t understand what he meant.

“From those demons in skirts! How did you like the way I shooed them off? The little widows. Their main pastime is dragging a new man into their bed. Well of course, bed is an essential and important business, but before you get round to doing your business, these ladies, who would be better called harlots, will stuff you with poison right up to your … What I was going to say is that all their husbands preferred to be stabbed to death by Wild Boars and Oburs. You must agree, it’s better than putting up with a rotten bitch.”

I nodded in agreement. The baron seemed to be in need of a grateful listener, and he had found one.

“The nobles are getting petty, really petty,” the giant sighed plaintively. “They’re not at all what they used to be. The nobility haven’t had real blood running through their veins for ages; it’s as thin as water. Of course, with the exception of you and me,” he added hastily.

“Of course.”

Despite his loud voice and not entirely elegant manners, I was beginning to like this man.

“How many swords has your duke got?”

Oro Gabsbarg’s question stumped me. How many swords did Duke Ganet Shagor really have? And what kind of swords? The kind you hang on your belt, or the kind you command in battle?

Seeing my confusion, the baron uttered the bearlike roar that was his normal laugh.

“That’s what sitting stuck at Sea Cliffs all the time gets you! Your lands are peaceful, Zagraba’s a long way away, and you can’t even remember how many warriors your lord has!”

“It can’t be helped, my friend,” I said with a shrug.

“Friend?” The baron gave me a curious look. “Yes, why not!”

He grabbed hold of my hand and crushed it in his palm. Thank Sagot, by some miracle my hand was still whole and undamaged after that handshake.

“And how do you feel about the Nightingales, dear fellow?”

“Er-er…,” I began warily.

“You don’t feel anything,” Shadow Harold’s new friend, Oro Gabsbarg, concluded impassively, reading the answer in my eyes. “I confess from the very bottom of my heart,” he whispered, leaning down to my ear, “I feel the same. But mum’s the word, all right? Sh-sh-sh-sh!”

“Then what’s that nightingale doing on your doublet?”

“Oh, you northerners,” the baron murmured wearily. “Times are hard, dear fellow. My ancestral castle of Farahall is not very far away from Zagraba. Of course, there are still the lands of Milord Algert Dalli, Buttress of the Throne and Keeper of the Western Border of the Border Kingdom, but the Firstborn still manage to get through even as far as me. This year alone we wiped out two detachments of orcs, but a third one completely massacred one of my villages and then disappeared into the woods. I have a hundred and fifty warriors at my castle, plus another hundred scattered about in patrols. There aren’t enough swords, the orcs find breaches in our defenses. There are rumors that the Hand of the Orcs is gathering an army. And so, my friend, I’d gladly be a butterfly, never mind a nightingale, if only Balistan Pargaid would give me fighting men!”

“I understand.”

“You don’t understand a thing, my dear dralan!” Oro Gabsbarg thundered with unexpected fury. “Pardon my harsh tone, but trying to tell you about our troubles is like trying to explain to a blind man what a catapult looks like! Your duke’s lands are too far away from the damned forest, you cannot feel or understand the threat that constantly hangs over those of us who live in the Borderland. Since the Spring War the orcs have stayed put in the Golden Forest, but nobody’s patience lasts forever, and any lesson is eventually forgotten.”

He frowned.

“I’ve written to His Majesty three times and asked him to send me men. I’m rich enough to feed three hundred additional soldiers, but the king hasn’t replied. I don’t think he’s to blame; the letters might not have reached him, or got lost. You know yourself how easy it is to lose a letter. My men were not admitted to the palace, they’re too unimportant to be allowed to tramp across all that marble! And I can’t get to the capital, I can’t leave the lands of my ancestors for long. Not in times like these … I only came away for this gathering because I was relying on getting the count’s help, but obviously I was wrong. The border is uneasy, and if anything happens, we won’t be able to hold out.… So, instead of experienced warriors, I have to make do with my own militia raised from the local villages and mercenaries. Ganet Shagor is a relative of the king, isn’t he?”

“A distant one.”

“Do something for me, will you? If you’re in the capital, have the duke tell Stalkon about this conversation of ours. The king’s an intelligent man, he must realize that our southern border is coming apart at the seams.”

“But there are the garrisons—”

“A bunch of idle, drunken guardsmen!” Oro Gabsbarg replied derisively. “Decades of peace have completely undermined discipline! A quarter of the fortresses are standing empty. And in another quarter of them the soldiers don’t even know how to hold a sword. Yes, I’m prejudiced, yes there are some garrisons where they still haven’t forgotten what orcs are, but the situation is de-plor-a-ble. Absolutely deplorable. If, Sagra forbid, anything should happen, they’ll push us back to the Iselina, or even further. Do you understand me?”

I nodded. I was sure that in Avendoom they didn’t know any of this. Or, at least, the king didn’t. Everybody thought that since the Spring War the border of the kingdom was unassailable and securely defended against incursions from the land of forests.

If the king found out how things really stood, heads would roll.

“Will you tell the duke what I said?”

“At the first opportunity,” I replied quite sincerely. “And not just the duke, but the king himself. Just give us time to get back to Avendoom.”

The baron’s dark eyes were still fixed on me.

“I swear it.”

“Wonderful! Thank you, my friend, I’ll never forget this! Er-er, excuse me, dralan, but my wife wants me. You can see the way she’s looking at me. She’s a handsome enough woman, but the trouble is that she’s too quick with her hands. Let me tell you a secret: She has a magnificent spiked mace. I swear by all the gods, I lose three duels out of five to her! So you can understand.… If you’re ever in my parts, you must come and visit. Farahall is at your service!”

The baron bowed awkwardly and left me.

Well, the things that are going on in our kingdom!

Just then one of the wanton ladies started taking an interest in Eel. I went dashing to help him out, but someone else got there ahead of me: An old woman holding a little shaggy dog in her arms came to the Wild Heart’s assistance. She brushed the latest little widow aside as if she simply wasn’t there.

The seductress hissed something scurrilous through her delightful teeth to express her dissatisfaction and went on her way, greatly offended. The reason she left was clear enough: Milady was only a marchioness, she had a little coat of arms on a chain, but granny had an entire duchess’s crown. The forces were unevenly matched.

“These young people nowadays! We used to have time for romance, time for courting, but nowadays? All they want is…”

And then the nice old lady pronounced a phrase that would have made a sailor blush. Eel’s new acquaintance was certainly colorful, I would even go so far as to say amusing. Her black dress hung on her as loosely as on a coat hanger and her purple wig looked like some kind of misunderstanding. Her wrinkled face was covered with a layer of white powder as thick as a finger, and this charming get-up was rounded off by a well-fed little doggy with a blue silk ribbon round its neck.

“Countess Ranter at your service.”

I wonder why everybody’s so keen to offer their services today?

“I…”

“Oh, don’t bother yourself, duke. I know perfectly well who you are. But then, so does everyone in this hall.”

“The gossipers?” I put in, remembering what the baron had said as I came to Eel’s assistance.

I earned a rather disdainful glance from the dear old lady.

“Is that what Oro the bear told you? What was he talking about with you for so long? But then, don’t bother to answer, dralan, even my shaggy little Tobiander knows, don’t you, my little one?” the countess cooed, addressing the lap dog, which was drooling in its sleep. “What can that beer-soaked barbarian possibly discuss? Nothing but swords, battles, and stupid orcs that don’t really exist. Isn’t that right, my little darling?”

“You don’t believe in orcs, countess?”

“I do. But Tobiander is so impressionable! By the way, you look a lot younger than I thought you were, duke!”

“Really! You flatter me.”

“Yes, when I saw you last, about forty years ago, you were marching around gravely under the table with a wooden sword in your hand. But now you don’t look a day over thirty. Do northerners posses the secret of eternal youth?”

I gave a forced laugh. Eel remained icily calm. This damned old woman had seen the real duke! Even if he was only an infant at the time!

Don’t worry, Harold! The duke has lived like a hermit, Harold! No one will recognize him, Harold! I’m with you, Harold!

May the demons gobble up Kli-Kli and his brilliant little ideas!

“My youthfulness must come from my ancestors, countess.”

“Yes, and by the way, about them! You’re not at all like your father. Not in the slightest! And I can’t see a single feature of my dear second cousin in you!”

Her second cousin? Ah, that would be Eel’s supposed mother. I quickly ran through the duke’s family tree on his mother’s side in my mind. Yes, that was it! There was an intersection with a branch of the Ranter family. A distant connection, but it was there.

“These are questions you had better put to my mother, dear countess.”

“And how, may I ask? She has been dead a long time!”

Oops! Time to close down the conversation.

“Yes, a great loss,” I put in, taking Eel by the elbow. “But allow us to take our leave, we have a lot of business to attend to.”

And before she could say another word, we set off toward the broad marble stairway at the opposite end of the hall. I could feel the old lady’s stare of amazement drilling into my back.

Never mind, she’ll survive. And anyway, what did she expect from a dralan so recently separated from his plow? Polite manners?

I heard laughter break out on my left. Of course, it was Kli-Kli amusing the noble gentlemen. The jester was taking his work seriously, and all those dolled-up peacocks were chortling just like any ordinary commoners. The goblin sang songs, juggled three full glasses of wine, and asked riddles. All the jokes were too stupid for my taste, but they were a resounding success with the nobility.

“Upstairs,” I said to Eel. “We’ll check what’s up there.”

We walked up the stairs to the second floor and found ourselves on a balcony that ran right round the hall and provided a magnificent view. Two corridors started from the same point, leading into the depths of the building. The one nearest to me contained a lot of paintings in huge gilded frames, an entire portrait gallery, in fact.

Out of curiosity I walked up to the first canvas. Staring out at me from the picture with a sardonic expression was Count Balistan Pargaid in person. The next painting showed a man who was a copy of Pargaid. No doubt it was his father. I took another step in order to see the count’s grandfather, and suddenly felt a strange tickling in my stomach. I started wondering what could have caused this nuisance, but then I remembered what Miralissa had said about the Key and the sensation I should feel.

The Key! I swear by Sagot, the Key was somewhere near!

“I felt something. Eel, cover me in case anything happens!”

I strolled on down the corridor, moving farther and farther away from the Nightingales’ festivities, and found myself alone with just pictures, from which Balistan Pargaid’s numerous ancestors gazed out at me.

The tickling in my stomach grew stronger. The Key was calling to me, luring me. I almost thought I could hear words.

“Here I am! Come quick! The bonds are calling you!”

There was not much farther left to go. The artifact was behind one of two doors on each side of the final portrait in the corridor. I walked up to them and stopped to examine the portrait, which had caught my attention. It cost me an effort of will not to gasp out loud.

The portrait was old. Very old. I could tell that from the way the paint had darkened, and the artist’s style. Assessing the picture with the strictly professional eye of a master thief who has not disdained the theft of a few works of art in his time, I can state with certainty that the canvas was at least five hundred years old and, to judge from his costume, the man depicted in it had lived at least fifteen hundred years ago.

The man in the picture was over fifty years old, thin, with gray hair at his temples and gray streaks in his neat little beard. He had no mustache. His brown eyes gazed at me in genial derision. And I knew this fellow or, rather, I had seen him, even though he lived at a time when Ranneng was no more than a small village and Avendoom did not even exist.

Where have I seen this gentleman! But of course, in a dream! The dream in which this man killed the dwarf master-craftsman and tried to take possession of the Key, but met his death from an elfin dagger. I recall that he had a golden nightingale embroidered on his doublet.

So this was who Balistan Pargaid reminded me of! The family likeness between the present-day servant of the Master and the man whose life ended in the Mountains of the Dwarves was striking! What was his name, now …

“Suovik Pargaid,” a quiet voice said behind my back.

I looked round. The master of the house was standing behind me. I hadn’t even heard him walk up to me, although the floor was made of slabs of marble and not covered with a Sultanate carpet.

“I beg your pardon, milord. I saw the picture and was unable to overcome my curiosity,” I said lamely.

“You have walked quite a long way, dralan,” Balistan Pargaid said with a rather unpleasant laugh. “A-ah, here is our good duke!”

Fortunately Eel had sensed that something was wrong and he appeared from round the corner of the corridor.

“I trust that Dralan Par has not offended your ancestors, count? He has an interest in antiquity…”

“Oh, indeed?” the count asked.

Since when does an uncouth lummox like him take any interest in antiquity? said his eyes.

“Tell me, count, who is the subject of this portrait?” Eel asked, hastily switching the conversation to a less contentious subject.

“You do honor to my ancestors, Your Lordship! This is Suovik Pargaid, as I have already said. The third of the Pargaid line. Unfortunately, one fine day he set out for the Mountains of the Dwarves and never returned.”

“How regrettable.”

“He did a great deal for our family. But why do I keep talking of nothing but my ancestors? Come, let me acquaint you with my collection!”

The count took out an elegant key and unlocked the door nearest to us. It was a good lock, too; I would have to sweat long and hard before I could get it open.

“Make yourself at home, duke. And you, too, dralan, go in. Well? What do you say?”

“Impressive.”

“My little passion.”

“Its value is not so very little, count,” I said, looking round at Balistan Pargaid’s collection.

“Oh! You know about such things?”

“A little. I am interested in antiques…”

“Well then, how would you assess the value of this set of trinkets, dralan?”

“About seventeen thousand gold pieces. But that is only an approximate figure.”

“Oh! You really do know something about antiques. Sixteen and a half thousand, to be precise. Your Lordship, did you happen by any chance to bring along the trinket that I mentioned in my letter?”

“The bracelet? Yes, Dralan Par has it. He is the one who is interested in such things.”

“Here it is, count.”

I handed the ogres’ piece of handiwork to Balistan Pargaid.

“By the way, how did you come to know that I had this little item?” Eel asked casually, as he examined a sword corroded with rust.

“Rumors.” The count laughed, examining the almost obliterated ancient inscription on the bracelet.

“One of my servants, no doubt…”

“Yes, servants are an unreliable breed. But take my advice, duke: Nothing brings a servant to his senses like a good flogging. By the way, will you be in Ranneng for long?”

“No, I am just passing through and intend to go back in the morning.”

“Simply traveling?”

“Yes,” the Garrakian replied curtly as the count carefully studied the fascinating article from the Age of Achievements.

Walking up to the window, I saw the park painted silver by the moonlight.

“You have taken the precaution of installing bars on the windows, count.”

“I’m sorry, what did you say, dralan?” asked Balistan Pargaid, interrupting his contemplation of the black bracelet for a moment. “Ah yes! To stop thieves. I have put bars in this wing. Here and in my bedroom. Although after my men skinned two thieves alive, the local guild of thieves decided not to risk any more of its members.”

“I think that will not last long. You have a fortune here…”

“Well, time will tell.”

It certainly will. I’m sure the bars are not the full story; the windows and, perhaps, even the doors are protected by a couple of magic surprises to give intruders a warm, or rather, hot welcome.

“How much do you want for it?” Balistan Pargaid asked, handing the bracelet back to me regretfully.

I weighed the bracelet in my hand, mentally taking leave of it forever. Ah! How I’d love to take its full value in gold from the count, but Miralissa said …

“Take it as a gift. It didn’t cost me anything.”

Balistan Pargaid made no attempt to refuse, which indicated quite clearly that he was a man of intelligence who took anything that happened to be there for the taking. But he was rather staggered.

“Dralan Par!” It was the first time he had called me by my full name. “I am in your debt.”

“Well then,” I said, forcing a smile. “Let’s get back to the hall quickly, or they’ll drink all the wine while we’re gone.”

Balistan Pargaid smiled, carefully placed his new acquisition beside a battle-ax from the Gray Age, and nodded.

“And what is behind this door? Another little collection worth sixteen thousand in gold?” I asked the count when we had left the room.

“Oh no! This is my bedroom. I deliberately sleep close to my treasures,” the count said with a laugh. “But let us go, or my guests really will think that I have forgotten about them.”

Perhaps that really is his bedroom. But the Key is in there, too. I felt its call very clearly now. For a moment there I wanted to hit Balistan Pargaid over the head while his back was turned, then take advantage of the commotion to sneak into the room and steal the Key.

But I couldn’t do that. Miralissa ordered me only to find out where the Key was, but not to touch it under any circumstances.… And if the dark elfess thinks that for the time being the artifact should not be touched, then that’s how it’s got to be.

In the hall the music was still playing, people were making idle chit-chat, and Kli-Kli had clambered up onto a table and was juggling four cream buns. By absurd coincidence a fifth landed on his pointed cap to general laughter and a storm of applause.

My attention was attracted by a woman in a bloodred dress, standing all alone beside the babbling fountain.

She was short, with light brown hair that just reached her bare shoulders, high cheekbones, a very slight crook in her nose, and pensive blue eyes. You couldn’t really call her a beauty, but I could hardly take my eyes off her. There was something about her … I can’t describe it in words. This woman literally radiated waves of power and attraction.

Power? I wonder if that’s what I’m sensing, or is Valder sensing it?

Balistan Pargaid noticed my glance and smiled knowingly:

“Come, gentlemen, let me introduce you to my guest.”

The female stranger smelled of fresh strawberries. She was not wearing any jewelery apart from earrings in the form of spiders with their legs tenderly embracing the lobes of her ears.

“Lady Iena! Allow me to introduce my dear guest. His Lordship Ganet Shagor. And this is Dralan Par.”

The plump, attractive lips smiled, and the young woman bowed her head as she bobbed down in a casual curtsey.

“My respects to you, gentlemen…”

Her voice sent a chilly shiver running down my spine and I shuddered. It had been dark in the Master’s prison, and I hadn’t been able to see the Messenger’s captive clearly. But I recognized her voice, even though she had not talked as much as the late lamented Leta.

Lady Iena and Lafresa were the same woman.

“What’s wrong, dralan?” she asked me with concern, apparently having noticed how dumbfounded I was.

“Don’t be concerned, milady. It’s nothing to worry about. I am not used to attending such impressive receptions, that’s all,” I said awkwardly.

I wanted very badly to get out of that house as quickly as possible. While I was busy trying to be a dralan, I had completely forgotten that Lafresa was also desperate to get hold of the Key. This was big trouble. We had really serious problems now!

“Is everything to your liking, milady?” the count asked.

“Yes, thank you. I am tired after the journey, please forgive me. Good night, gentlemen.”

She left us and started walking up the stairs.

All this time Kli-Kli, who was standing some distance away, had been making faces at me and pointing desperately by turns at the white tablecloth on a small table with drinks and at his own face.

I gave a faint nod.

I don’t understand.

Another jab of his finger in the direction of the white tablecloth, then at his face, and then a highly suggestive gesture, running the edge of his hand across his throat. What’s he trying to tell me?

Kli-Kli gave a despairing grin and hurried across to us.

“Milord, of course I understand that the evening has been a success, and your dralan has even turned pink from drinking, but unfortunately Milla and Eralla, to their own supreme regret, will have to leave the gathering. They have developed an itch in a certain place, if you take my meaning. They are wondering if you will go with them or join them later?”

The jester’s eyes simply screamed that it would be better for us to go with them. What could possibly have happened?

Eel yawned wearily, casually covering his mouth with his glove, and nodded.

“Unfortunately, count, I am obliged to leave your remarkable house. You know what these elves are like.”

“Well then, if you are ever in Ranneng you must pay me another visit.”

“Definitely. At the very first opportunity,” said Eel, taking his leave of our host.

I don’t think Balistan Pargaid has any idea of just how soon we’ll be paying our next visit to his estate.

Kli-Kli went galloping on ahead of us, jangling his little bells and waving a soft roll that he had grabbed off the table.

“Make way for the highly talented jester of Duke Ganet Shagor! Make way!”

He carried on shouting like that until we were out of the hall.

“What’s wrong, Kli-Kli?”

“Paleface is back.”

I forced myself to keep on walking without looking round.

“Are you sure?”

“Oh yes! He arrived half an hour ago with that lady you were drooling over.”

So that’s where Rolio went! He was meeting Lafresa.

“Then we’ve left the party just in time.”

“Did you find the Key?”

“Yes.”

“The gods be praised!”

Our carriage was standing at the entrance. Miralissa and Egrassa were already inside it. The Wild Hearts on horseback made up a guard of honor.

As usual, old woman weariness arrived unexpectedly. I only realized how dangerous what I had just done was after I got into the carriage.

“Harold, did you find the Key?” Miralissa asked.

“Yes,” Kli-Kli answered for me. “Can’t you see that he’s asleep?”

I sank down into the deep whirlpool of sleep before the carriage had even left the count’s estate.