Shadow Chaser

10 The Black River

By my reckoning, it was only four in the morning, at the latest, but the Learned Owl was abuzz with preparations. We rode into the yard of the inn to find Hallas and Deler arguing furiously as they loaded up the packhorses for the road.

“Harold, I knew you could do it!” said Uncle, giving me a friendly slap on the shoulder.

Thanks to the elfin shamanism, the wound in the sergeant’s arm, where it had been hit by a crossbow bolt, was now completely healed.

“Well, I didn’t,” I said.

“Take it,” said Miralissa, handing me the Key. “It’s best if you have it.”

The last time she had tried to give me the artifact to keep, I had refused, but now … Maybe it really was best to carry it around with me.

Without saying a word, I hung the Key round my neck and tucked it under my clothes.

“Lafresa tried to break the bonds, but she couldn’t manage it,” I told the elfess.

“That was to be expected. It’s not that easy to break the bonds with the Dancer in the Shadows. The Master still does not know that the goblin prophecies have started coming true.”

“So you believe in all that nonsense our jester spouts?” I asked sourly.

“Why not?” asked the elfess, tossing her braid back over her shoulder. “So far his prophecies have not misled us.”

Uncle walked across to us.

“Milord Alistan, Tresh Miralissa … Everything’s ready, we can start.”

“Good. Master Quidd!”

“Yes, Lady Miralissa?” said the innkeeper, hurrying up.

“Have you done everything?”

“Yes, exactly as you told me.” Quidd started counting off his tasks on his fingers. “I’ve sent the servants home for two weeks, taken all my relatives out of the city, I’m closing down the inn, and will leave soon myself. I never saw you, or rather, I saw you, but I have no idea what you were doing, I’m too unimportant…”

“Precisely, Master Quidd. Don’t delay, leave as soon as possible; you could get caught in the backlash. Take this for your trouble.”

The innkeeper accepted the purse full of coins and thanked her effusively.

“Allow me to give you some advice, Lady Miralissa. Better leave by the Muddy Gates, they are never closed for the night, and for a coin the guards will forget that you were ever there.”

“Well then, we’ll do that, and now—good-bye!”

Quidd bowed once again, wished us a safe journey, and went back into the inn to conclude his final pieces of business.

“For a coin they’ll forget us, but for two they’ll remember us only too well,” I said, not talking to anyone in particular.

“Good thinking, thief. Let Master Quidd think that we will leave via the Muddy Gates. That won’t do any harm to him, or to us. But we’ll try to leave the city through the Festival Gates.”

Bass was sitting on the porch and watching our preparations curiously. The darkness take me, I’d completely forgotten about him.

“Your horse,” said Ell, holding out a bridle to Snoop.

“Thank you, but I place more faith in my own feet. I’ll walk home. Harold, can I see you for a moment? I need to have a word.”

Ell blocked his way.

“You’ll have plenty of time for talking. You’re going with us.”

“With you?”

“With us?” I gasped. “Why in the name of darkness should he go with us? That’s the last thing we need right now!”

“You and I are in complete agreement there, Harold. I also think your friend should be left here. Preferably buried under the pigsty. But Tresh Miralissa thinks otherwise.”

“Curses!” I exclaimed loudly. I didn’t really like the idea of traveling in the same group as Bass. But I definitely didn’t want him to be killed.

“It’s very simple, Master Bass,” said the elfess from the House of the Black Moon. “We simply cannot leave you here.”

“You’ll start gossiping,” Ell went on. “And we don’t want that.”

“I promise I’ll be as silent as the grave.”

“You men make lots of promises, but you don’t keep many of them. But you’re quite right; if you decide to stay, you’ll be exactly as silent as the grave.…”

No more explanations were required—the choice was a journey on horseback with us, or a crooked elfin blade in the throat.

“Harold! You say something to them!”

“I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do,” I said, shaking my head regretfully. “I think it will be best for everyone if you go with us.”

Miralissa was right, even if Snoop didn’t blurt out the truth on his own, the count’s men could find him. To the elfin way of thinking, it was simpler just to kill him, but since I put in a word for him and he’d helped us, the dark elves made an exception.

“This is insane! It must have been the Nameless One who prompted me to get involved with your gang!” Bass said, and spat angrily, realizing that he had no way out and now he would have to share our journey with us. “And where are we going?”

“You don’t need to know that, man. Get into the saddle and keep your mouth shut. And if you get any ideas about trying to escape, remember—I’ll be right there beside you.”

Ell had taken a very great “liking” to my friend from the first moment they met.

“This is what I get for giving someone a helping hand!” the cardsharp exclaimed, still furious as he climbed up onto the horse. I must say, he did that rather clumsily.

“Don’t take it to heart, it could have been worse,” I consoled him.

Little Bee reached her muzzle out to me, looking for a dainty tidbit, but I didn’t have anything in my pockets and just shrugged.

“Here,” said Marmot, handing me an apple.

The horse gobbled down the treat and gave me a good-natured sideways glance, looking for more.

“Harold!” said Kli-Kli as he rode up to me, looking like a little hummock on the back of his huge black steed. “Do you think you could give me back my medallion?”

“Ah, of course.” I’d forgotten about Kli-Kli’s little knickknack. “Here. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” The goblin hung the trinket round his neck. “Right then, ready for the road?”

“No.”

“I understand,” the jester said with a laugh. “Nights spent out in the open air and gruel brewed up by Hallas aren’t what you like best, then?”

I didn’t get a chance to answer, because just then Deler appeared, cursing the green goblin to the heavens: “Kli-Kli! Was it you who took the last bottle of wine?”

“Harold, I think I’ll get started now,” the jester said hastily. “No, I didn’t take anything! What would I want with your Asmina Valley?”

“Then how do you know what it’s called?” the dwarf asked, squinting at him suspiciously.

“Oh, it just came to me.”

“Kli-Kli, stop … stop, I tell you! Ah, you thieving little squirt!”

We rode through the Festival Gates without running into any kind of trouble. The sleepy guards swung the gates open for us as obligingly as they could manage and let us out of the city, without asking a single question about the reasons for our hasty departure in the night.

The gold handed to the corporal worked better than any official charters with the seal of the city council.

We covered the distance between Ranneng and the Iselina in the next two days, galloping at a furious pace all the way, in order to put as much distance as possible between us and any pursuit sent out by Count Balistan Pargaid.

The main road we rode along was very busy. There were travelers and artisans hurrying to Ranneng and away from Ranneng, and strings of carts carrying all sorts of things to be sold. We came across a village about every league, so our squad didn’t have to spend the night in an open field.

Bass was gloomy. He had either Ell or Uncle behind him all the way. Luckily, my old friend didn’t think of trying to escape—he realized what the risks were. When I asked if Snoop was really going to go all the way to Hrad Spein with us, Miralissa said she would find somewhere to put him.

“There are many guard posts and fortresses on the border. He can wait there until we come back, and then he can go anywhere he wants.”

I didn’t tell Bass about what the elfess had decided. I don’t think he would have been too delighted by the news.

At five in the evening of the second day we reached the Iselina.

I caught sight of the glittering ribbon of the river when we were still in the forest—the sun was glinting off the water, and the reflections shone straight into my eyes between the trees. And the sight when we emerged into open space simply took my breath away.

Our group was standing on a low elevation, with the broad band of the river laid out in front of us. During our journey I had seen plenty of streams and rivers, both great and small. But none of them bore any comparison to the Iselina.

I was looking at the mother of all the northern rivers. Huge, wide, and deep, it began somewhere far off, where the streams flowing from the Mountains of the Dwarves came together to form a mighty hissing torrent that flowed on through the Forests of Zagraba and emptied into the Sea of Storms, away to the southeast.

We could see a large village on the road ahead. Not far from it the mighty ramparts of a castle towered up into the air.

“Marmot,” I said to the Wild Heart. “What settlement is that?”

The warrior gave me a rather strange look and replied: “Boltnik.”

“That Boltnik?”

“Yes.”

Everyone remembers the bloodbath at Boltnik that swallowed up a quarter of our army during the Spring War. The men were standing on the bank of the Iselina, waiting for the orcs’ storm troopers to start crossing. At the time no one knew that fifty leagues farther upstream, the Firstborn had broken through the human rearguard and driven the men back to Ranneng. Then they attacked those who were waiting for them at Boltnik from the rear.

The enemy from Zagraba pinned the men back against the river, and the far bank was black with the teeming hordes of orcish bowmen. Almost no one managed to escape from this encirclement; only a tiny number got away by water or broke out of the ring. When this happened, men realized that the elves had chosen the name of this river well—Iselina means “Black River.” But during those terrible days, the river was not black, it was red with the blood of men and the Firstborn.

Alistan did not lead our group into the village; we avoided it, leaving the white houses with red tiled roofs on our right. Nobody really wanted to go into a place haunted by ghosts.

Eel and Arnkh were the only ones who went to the village, to find out about the ferry to the other side of the river, while we stayed in a small spinney right beside the water, slightly downstream from Boltnik.

The air by the river had a fresh smell of damp grass. The riverbank was overgrown with sedge and reeds, and weeping willows hung their silver-green leaves right down to the surface of the water.

A pair of gadflies, which Kli-Kli called “buzzers,” immediately began circling round the horses, and the goblin started hunting them.

From here the opposite bank looked very far away. I wouldn’t have bet that I could swim all the way across. The trees on that side looked tiny, only half the size of my little finger.

“What are you gazing at, Harold? Never seen a river before?” said Hallas, squatting down beside me and lighting up his pipe.

“Not one as big as this.”

“If you ask me, it’s best not to see any. A river means a boat. And I hate boats!”

“If you haven’t already realized, our gnome here is afraid of traveling on water,” explained Honeycomb, who was standing close by.

“Gnomes aren’t afraid of anything! It’s just that boats aren’t for gnomes!”

“Mattocks are for gnomes,” Deler snorted. “Don’t get nervous, Lucky! You’ll get across without suffering too much. In any case, it’s not a canoe, it’s a ferry.”

“In other words, just a big boat!” Hallas said morosely, blowing out a ring of smoke.

“He gets seasick,” Honeycomb chuckled.

Hallas started puffing away even harder, peering gloomily at the watery expanse.

“Seasickness isn’t the worst thing! I don’t know how to swim,” Kli-Kli informed us with insufferable pride.

“You mean not at all?” asked Hallas, looking at the jester.

“I mean I can swim like an ax! But I’m not at all afraid.”

“Piffling pokers, I told you, gnomes aren’t afraid of anything!” Hallas said, as Eel and Arnkh came back.

“We can’t leave yet, milord,” said Arnkh, his bald patch gleaming with sweat. “It’s some kind of town holiday today. Nobody’s working, both ferries are standing idle, everybody’s drunk. We won’t be able to move on from this bank until tomorrow morning.”

“Ah, darkness!” our commander swore.

We moved closer to the ferries, in order to be the first to cross to the far side in the morning. The two massive wooden structures with huge drums, onto which the thick chains were wound, stood about a quarter of a league from Boltnik. They were about a hundred yards apart from each other, and owned by completely different people.

We found one of the ferrymen. The old man was sitting in his house on the bank of the river, and he absolutely refused to take us across, even for all the gold in Siala.

“The workers are celebrating, who’s going to haul the chain? They’ll come back tonight, sleep it off, and then why wouldn’t they take fine gentlemen like yourselves across and first thing in the morning?” he croaked.

“Careful, granddad, or we’ll go to your competitor!”

“Off you go, gentlemen, I’m not keeping you here, am I? Only there’s no point, I swear by all the gods. It’s the same thing there. Nothing works until morning. It’s our holiday.”

But the stubborn old-timer was only too delighted to let Markauz, Miralissa, and Egrassa use his house. The ferryman narrowed his eyes contentedly at the sound of money jingling in his pockets as he tramped off to the town.

“This is plain stupid,” said Bass. “How do they feed their families? Apart from being so far from the town, he has a competitor right beside him.”

“Think again,” Uncle said with a chuckle. “The ferries constantly carry goods across for the Border Kingdom, and they move soldiers from one bank to the other. The army pays well.…”

“The nearest ford is forty leagues to the north of here, Boltnik is the last large settlement in these parts,” said Arnkh. “On the other bank there are only small scattered villages and noblemen’s castles.”

We didn’t get any soft beds, and we had to spend the night on the riverbank. The Wild Hearts took this calmly—they had spent nights in the snowy tundra of the Desolate Lands, where only a fire and a blanket keep a sleeping man from freezing to death, so what was wrong with a night out in the fresh air beside some river or other? But Bass moaned miserably: “Not only do you drag me off to some mysterious place, you make me feed the mosquitoes on the way! Ah, darkness!” He smacked himself on the forehead, flattening several of the little bloodsuckers at one go.

Snoop was right about that—the air was simply buzzing with them. The little monsters showed up just before evening and launched into a spectacular feast. Every now and then there were curses and deafening slaps. Mosquitoes were dispatched to the light by the dozen, but that evidently did nothing to deter their hungry comrades. And there was no wind to blow the tiny bloodsuckers away from the river.

Kli-Kli suggested a remarkable goblin shamanic spell that he said would wipe out every mosquito for ten leagues around, but, remembering his conjuring with the pieces of string that destroyed the house of the Nameless One’s followers, we told the fool what he could do with his wonderful idea.

The bloodsuckers carried on feasting. What made me most furious was they kept trying to get into my ears and my mouth, buzzing repulsively all the time. Finally, even Ell couldn’t stand it anymore and he went to Miralissa for help. When he came back, he tossed some powder into the fire we’d made with logs borrowed from the ferryman’s woodpile, and the air around us was filled with a spicy, herbal smell. The mosquitoes started dying by the hundreds, and our suffering was over in literally just a few minutes.

It was getting dark, and the water in the river began to look like a black mirror, with the clouds drifting across the sky reflected in it. A few moments later the setting sun cast its final rays on the smooth surface of the water, and it lit up like molten bronze.

There was a splashing sound in the reeds nearby.

“That’s the fish jumping, there must be a pike hunting small fry,” Uncle said with a sigh.

“I could just do with some fish soup,” said Arnkh, smacking his lips dreamily. “I’m sick of Hallas’s garbage.”

“Don’t eat it if you don’t want to!” the gnome snapped in reply.

“Don’t take offense, Lucky. You probably fancy a bite of fish yourself,” Arnkh replied good-naturedly, lowering his feet into the river water. “Ooh! As warm as milk fresh from the cow!”

“Never mind what I might fancy a bite of. Where do we get it from, that’s the question.”

“Let’s just catch a whole lot of fish!” said Kli-Kli, struck by a brilliant idea. “I’ve never gone fishing in my whole life!”

“And where will you get the tackle?”

“Ah, the tackle’s no problem. We’ll take some rope, a couple of nails, some bait, and throw it out as far as we can. Maybe some fool will bite,” said Uncle, stroking his beard.

“Let’s do it! Come on!” Kli-Kli said, and started jigging about on the spot.

“All right. But while I make the tackle, you can find the bait.”

“Straightaway! I’ll do that in a moment!” the delighted goblin shouted, running off to start searching.

“A perfect child,” Bass chuckled, sitting down beside me. “They won’t get anywhere, with tackle like that you can’t catch anything but frogs.”

“Don’t you be so hasty. When I was little I used to pull out bream like thi-i-is with this kind of tackle!” said Uncle, spreading his hands wide.

“That’s enough blathering, come over to the fire, the food’s ready,” Hallas called to us.

We had almost emptied the pot when His Majesty’s jester appeared beside the campfire.

“Get rid of that!” growled Marmot, moving as far away from the goblin as he could. “It stinks!”

“Of course it stinks,” Kli-Kli said gleefully, holding a dead cat out in front of him.

“Where did you find it?”

“In the ditch beside the road; a wagon ran over it. A long time ago. It’s even got worms in its eyes, look!”

“Don’t ruin our appetites,” said Mumr, pushing his plate away.

“So shall I just throw it away, then? You said yourselves, we need some bait,” the little green urchin said, blinking in confusion.

“But not a dead cat! Use your head, Kli-Kli!”

“Wait, Lamplighter,” said Uncle, licking his spoon. “Not risking anything, are we?”

“Only our stomachs,” put in Hallas, trying not to look at the poor creature’s mangy little corpse. “Tell him, Deler.”

“Hallas is right,” the dwarf confirmed.

“Don’t despair, Kli-Kli, we’ll have your bait on a hook in a moment.”

“Hooray! Thanks, Uncle!” Kli-Kli exclaimed, almost dropping the cat in our pot of gruel.

This sacrilegious treatment of Hallas’s cooking almost gave him a stroke, and the goblin hastily cleared off to the riverbank and waited for the sergeant there. I decided to take a look at how this strange kind of fishing would go and got up from the “table” to join the fishermen.

Without the slightest sign of squeamishness, Uncle took hold of the dead cat by the tail, attached it to his homemade tackle, twirled it round like a sling, and flung it into the river. There was a loud splash and circles ran out across the water.

“Now what? Now there’ll be a bite, right?” asked the goblin, jumping up and down in his impatience.

“Maybe now, maybe in a little while. Here, you take the rope, wind it round your hand, and when you feel a tug, you tug on it, too,” Uncle said gravely, handing Kli-Kli the tackle.

The goblin sat down on the bank and watched the calm, smooth surface of the water in which the first stars were already reflected.

“Listen, Uncle,” I whispered quietly to the sergeant as we walked back to the campfire, leaving Kli-Kli on his own. “I can understand Kli-Kli. But you ought to know how hard it is to catch anything with a half-rotten cat.”

Uncle chuckled. “Yes, I do know.”

“Then why…”

“Kli-Kli’s just like a child. Goblins mature a lot later than we people do. Let him relax and get a bit of rest. The gods only know what an effort it costs him to be a jester all the time. Over there on the other side of the river is the Borderland, and none of us will have any time for rest there.”

“Is it that bad?”

“Well, of course, the Borderland isn’t the Desolate Lands, but orcs can appear at the most unexpected moments. The Firstborn regularly send punitive squads into our lands, and we’ll have to keep our wits about us, otherwise we won’t stay alive for long. We’ve already lost two men.… Curses! What sort of sergeant am I, if I wasn’t able to keep them safe?”

“A good sergeant, Uncle. You’re not to blame for the deaths of Tomcat and Loudmouth.” That was the only answer I could give him.

“Forget it,” he sighed. “I’m too old for expeditions like this. I should have collected the money I’ve earned and settled down in my own little tavern ages ago. And when we get this job finished, that’s just what I’ll do.”

“You said the same thing when we got back from the last expedition,” chuckled Honeycomb, who had overheard us. “A leopard can never change his spots!”

“You hold your tongue, kid! I’m still the sergeant around here,” Uncle rebuked him good-naturedly. “How could I leave you thickheads all on your own?”

And that put an end to the conversation.

There was a fresh scent coming off the water and the stars were lighting up one by one in the sky. The Wild Hearts were laying their traveling blankets on the grass, getting ready to go to sleep.

“So where are we going, then?” Bass asked, stuffing his folded-up jacket under his head.

“You just sleep, man,” chuckled Ell. “When we get there, I’ll be the first to tell you.”

“If it’s the Borderland, I’d like a chance to leave a few offspring behind and draw up a will.”

“Your friend’s very droll, Harold. Maybe we should make him our second jester?” Marmot chuckled. “My dear man, you were told—sleep and don’t worry about a thing.”

“I’m sleeping,” Snoop muttered, and closed his eyes.

Ell took another close look at him and went off into the darkness—to stand the first watch.

“A bite! A bite! I swear by the great shaman Tre-Tre, I’ve got a bite,” the jester yelled.

The goblin’s shrill howls battered at my ears, driving away sleep. I unglued my eyes and swore violently. The stars were still shining in the heavens, and dawn was not yet kindling in the east. The grass, the blankets, and our clothes were all covered with a fine diamond dust of dew. I shuddered from the cold as I emerged from sleep—during the night my clothes had soaked up the moisture.

The willows were motionless shadows against the background of the sky and the fading stars. Beside one of the trees a very familiar little figure, dressed in a cloak and pointed cap, was jumping up and down.

“A bite! Word of honor, a bite!” he yelled. “Help me! I’ve got a bite!”

“Ah, drop dead!” I said, and dove back under the blanket.

The others who were woken up felt the same way. Hallas, who had propped himself up on one elbow and was watching the goblin perform his crazy dance, growled in fury.

“Shut up, Kli-Kli!” Mumr advised him, without opening his eyes. “It’s not morning yet.”

“Why can’t you understand? I’ve got a bite! Honest, I’m not lying! Come and look for yourselves! Come quick! I can’t pull it out!”

“Uncle,” Deler said from underneath the hat tilted forward across his face. “You started this whole business, you go and see what kind of bite our horse-shit merchant has got. And shut him up!”

“Quick, quick! The rope’s breaking!”

“Curse the moment when I decided to teach a goblin to catch fish!” the sergeant sighed. He got up off the ground, pulled on his leather jacket, and tramped off toward Kli-Kli, who was going wild.

“Uncle, look! I’ve caught a fish!”

No, this is just too much! I’ll never get back to sleep now!

“Harold, are you going over to Kli-Kli?” Bass growled.

“Why?”

“Give him a good kick for me,” Snoop said, and turned over onto his other side.

I gazed at him enviously—my old friend had always been hard to wake up.

“Let’s go and take a look,” growled Honeycomb, getting to his feet.

A tattered blanket of mist lay across the smooth, undisturbed surface of the river. The goblin’s yells and howls echoed far across the water.

“Harold! Harold! Look! I caught it! It almost pulled me into the water! Harold, I caught it!”

The rope, stretched as tight as a bowstring, was jerking convulsively. The quick-witted goblin had done the right thing by winding the free end of his tackle several times around the trunk of the nearest willow.

“Almost pulled you in, you say?” Uncle pulled on the line with the gesture of an experienced angler. “Oh, he’s well hooked! And big, too! Honeycomb, come and help!”

The sergeant and the big, beefy soldier grunted as they started hauling the line in. “He’s fighting, the swine!” Honeycomb grunted, when a sharp tug from under the water almost pulled him off his feet.

The hauling-in of the unknown prize went on for a full hour. By that time the excited howling of our would-be fisherman had woken even Bass, and everyone was standing behind Honeycomb and making suggestions about what the jester could have caught with a dead cat.

“He must have hooked a water sprite,” said Hallas, struggling to get his pipe to light. “Or a water nymph.”

“Or maybe the king of the krakens?” Deler laughed as he helped Honeycomb. “You’re a great one for making things up, Lucky.”

“You ignorant bonehead!” the gnome retorted. “What kind of fish is it that takes an hour to pull out of the water? Look, it’s not even thrashing its tail and it’s not giving up for a moment. It’s got to be a water nymph!”

“Well, the idea of a nymph is nonsense, of course, but it could be some kind of river monster,” Marmot said with a yawn.

“And what would you know, scholar? Have you ever seen one?” Hallas seemed to really like the idea of seeing a naked maiden.

“No, the old men told me about them.”

“Bah … Arnkh, take over from me,” Uncle said with a tired sigh. “It would be simpler to let it go than put ourselves through this agony.”

“Never!” Kli-Kli and Hallas howled in a single voice.

The battle with the water monster continued. By the time something long and black finally appeared on the surface of the water we were all fed up.

“A log!” said Deler, spitting in disappointment. “All that time tugging just wasted!”

“Ah!” said Arnkh. “And there was I thinking—”

“That’s no log! It can’t be a log! I couldn’t have caught a log!” Kli-Kli exclaimed indignantly.

“Better accept it, my friend,” Bass laughed. And just then the log opened a mouth that could have swallowed up a full-grown man.

“Oh, mother,” Kli-Kli cried, and fell over on his back in surprise.

“A catfish!” Uncle roared. “What a huge brute!”

At this point the catfish realized that the Wild Hearts weren’t going to be impressed just by a large pair of jaws—they’d seen worse things than that in the Desolate Lands—and it made an attempt to escape. The water seethed and Honeycomb went down on his knees, but he didn’t let go of the line. Arnkh gritted his teeth as he tried to hold on to the huge fish. Everyone on the bank, including me, went dashing to help them.

As a result of our joint efforts, the catfish ended up on the bank. The massive black body was covered with waterweed and shells; its long black whiskers twitched, its great white eyes gaped at us, and the fish opened its mouth greedily, threatening to gobble up anyone who dared to come close enough. The monster had an entire arsenal of different-sized hooks sticking out of its lips. It was about seven yards long and I didn’t even want to think about how much it must have weighed.

“What’s going on here?” asked Miralissa, who had come out to us.

“Miralissa, I caught a fish! Word of honor! Just look how big it is, they all helped me pull it out, but I caught it! Isn’t that fantastic?” Kli-Kli boasted.

“And what are you going to do with it?”

“I don’t know…” Kli-Kli pondered for a moment. “Let’s take it with us!”

“Eat this rubbish?” said Hallas, pulling a face. “It must be at least a hundred years old! Old meat, it’ll have the stench of the swamp! Damn the thing. Better just to let it go!”

“Let it go?” said Kli-Kli, pondering again, and then he decided to demonstrate the magnanimity of the victor to the defeated, and said with a solemn nod: “We can let it go. Off you swim, fish, and don’t forget that dead cats will be the ruin of you. Right, then … you know … push it into the water, won’t you.…”

Unable to believe its fishy luck, the catfish sent a column of water high up into the air as it plunged into the black depths of the river.

“Harold, did you see what a fish I caught? Tremendous, wasn’t it?”

“Well done, Kli-Kli, you’re a genuine fisherman,” I said.

“You really think so?”

“Yes, really,” I sighed. “Now go gnaw on a carrot and calm down.”

“I haven’t got any carrots,” Kli-Kli said with a shrug of disappointment. “I ran out the day before yesterday.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Hey, Kli-Kli! Help Marmot bring the firewood,” Uncle ordered the goblin.

“Straightaway! I’ll do that in a moment!” And the ever-cheerful goblin forgot about the fish and rushed off on his new assignment.

By the time they had got the fire going and Uncle, who took over kitchen duty from Hallas, had cooked breakfast, and we had packed away our things, it was early morning. The sky was already completely bright, the sunlight had driven away the stars, and there was only a slim crescent, the pale ghost of the moon, still hanging just above the horizon. The ferryman came back, accompanied by six hefty hulks, and said we could set out straightaway if we wanted.

“Only, my good gentlemen, you won’t all fit in at once. There are too many of you, and all the horses, too. I can take you across in two trips.”

“No need for that,” replied Alistan, counting out six silver pieces to the ferryman. “I see your neighbor’s back at work, too, so he can take the others across.”

“That won’t do, milord, pardon me for speaking so plainly. It’s a matter of professional pride. He won’t carry my clients, and I won’t take his, that’s the way things are. I humbly beg your pardon, but you’ll have to make the two trips.”

The other ferryman and his helpers were glowering hostilely at their rival.

“Two trips then, if it has to be two,” Alistan agreed. “Uncle, you divide up the men.”

“I hate boats,” Hallas muttered, glancing at the ferry apprehensively.

The gnome’s face was the color of tender young leaves in spring.

“Stop that,” Arnkh laughed, and his chain mail jangled. “Look, there aren’t any waves, the water’s smooth, you’ll get across and nothing will happen to you.”

“But as soon as the ferry starts swaying up and down, up and down, you’ll see what kind of stomach our mattockman has,” Deler laughed.

“Shut up, pumpkin-head!” Hallas snarled, gazing at the river fearfully. “I’m feeling sick enough without any help from you.”

“Then go into the bushes so you won’t upset anyone, and throw up there,” the kind-hearted dwarf suggested.

Hallas groaned and tightened his grip on the handle of his battle-mattock.

“Why don’t you sing a little song?” Kli-Kli suggested to the gnome. “It helps me.”

“Really?” An expression of disbelief mingled with hope appeared on the gnome’s bearded face. “But what should I sing?”

“Well, sing ‘The Hammer on the Axe.’ Or ‘The Song of the Crazy Miners,’” said Deler, slapping Hallas on the shoulder. “Welcome on board!”

The gnome gulped, turned even brighter green, told us all for the hundredth time that he hated boats, and stepped onto the ferry.

“Kli-Kli, you now,” said Uncle, nodding.

“Oh no, not on your life! I’ll go with Harold!”

“If that’s what you want. Then it’s you, Lamplighter. That’s it, cast off, we’ll follow on!”

“Put your backs into it, lads!” the ferryman called to his men.

His workers heaved on the drum, the chain clanged as it was wound up, and the ferry set off. Kli-Kli, Uncle, Arnkh, Eel, and I were left on the bank, together with the packhorses.

When the ferry had got a quarter of the way across, the peaceful silence of the early morning was shattered as Hallas started singing. I didn’t envy the others who were on the ferry right then—the gnome could sing about as well as I could fly.

Lucky Hallas roared away out of tune at the top of his voice, howling so loud that they could even hear his song in Boltnik. I doubted whether the inhabitants of the village would be grateful to the gnome for this wonderful awakening.

“Just listen to him howl,” Arnkh chuckled, hanging his sword’s scabbard behind his shoulder. His eternal chain mail had been joined by a leather jerkin with metal plates sewn onto it, arm and leg armor, and chain-mail gloves. Arnkh caught my puzzled glance.

“It’s not far to the Border Kingdom now; I have to return to my homeland fully armed.”

“We still have two weeks’ riding to reach the Border Kingdom…”

“Well?”

It would take a h’san’kor to understand these men from the Borderland. They’ll happily go hungry, just as long as they can hang iron all over themselves. Living close to the eastern Forests of Zagraba—the domain of the Firstborn—does pretty strange things to people.

Meanwhile Hallas was still belting out his song loud enough to frighten everyone for miles around.

Three times Hallas had to break off before he finished a couplet to lean over the side of the ferry and disgorge his breakfast into the water.

“Oh, he’s really going through it, poor soul!” said Uncle, with a sigh of sympathy.

In a while the ferry nudged against the bank and little figures that I could barely recognize as my traveling companions started leading off the horses. One of the figures dropped to the ground and just lay there. I think it was Hallas.

The ferry started moving back toward us.

“Get ready. Arnkh, lead up the horses.”

“Harold, hey, Harold! Will you hold my hand?”

“Kli-Kli, are you being silly again?”

“No, I’m serious! I can’t swim! What if I fall in?”

“Sit in the middle of the ferry, and nothing bad will happen,” I reassured him, still not sure whether the goblin had thought up yet another trick or he really didn’t know how to swim.

“I’m afraid,” Kli-Kli said quite sincerely, sniffing.

The ferry picked up speed moving toward us, and ten minutes later we were leading the remaining horses onto it. The animals were quite calm at the prospect of crossing the river and didn’t balk. They took their places in special stalls, and Uncle let the ferryman know that we were ready to go.

“Put your backs into it!”

The great hulking ferry hands heaved, the drum creaked, and we set off.

The water splashed gently against the sides of the ferry, the planks smelled of duckweed and fish. The willows on the bank gradually drifted away.

“Kli-Kli, what are you doing?” I asked the goblin, who had hung his legs over the edge and was dabbling his feet in the water.

“What am I doing? Trying to overcome my fear of water.”

“And what if you happen to plop in?”

“You’ll catch me,” he said with a carefree grin.

I sat down beside him and started watching the opposite bank approaching slowly but surely. In the middle of the river there was a wind, and the ferry started swaying gently on waves that sprang up out of nowhere.

One of the horses snorted and started whinnying and trying to kick out a wooden partition with its hind hooves.

“Hold her! I’ve got problems enough already!” shouted the ferryman.

Uncle dashed across to reassure the frightened animal. The horse was snorting, rolling its eyes, and trembling. The sergeant’s gentle whispers gradually calmed it down, but it still squinted warily at the water.

The chain clanged, the water splashed, and the riverbank slowly drifted closer.

“Why are they running about like that?” Kli-Kli’s shout of surprise interrupted my contemplation of the black water.

Our comrades were dashing about on the bank, waving their arms and shouting something. They were definitely shouting to us, but at that distance the wind carried their words away, and I couldn’t make anything out.

“I don’t know,” I said, concerned. “Has something happened?”

“It doesn’t look like it…,” Kli-Kli said slowly.

Just then one of the elves drew his bow and shot an arrow in a steep arc in our direction.

“Has he lost his mind?” the jester hissed, watching the flight of the arrow.

“Keep your head down!” I snapped at him, but the arrow sliced through the air above the ferry and fell into the water behind us.

“Hey, what are they up to over there? Have they gone crazy?” Arnkh roared.

“Look! On the other bank!” the jester shouted as he raised his eyes from the water where the arrow had landed to the riverbank that we had recently left.

There was certainly something to look at, and the elf had been right to use such an unusual method of pointing it out. Bustling about on the bank beside the second ferry were almost forty mounted men.

But that wasn’t the worst thing. Moving straight toward us, slowly, implacably, and absolutely silently, was a semitransparent sphere the color of scarlet flame. It hung just slightly above the water and was about the size of a decent barn. Standing on the bank from which our death was approaching I could just make out a female figure, standing motionless with her arms raised in the air.

Lafresa!

“What is that?” the ferryman gasped in amazement.

I knew what it was. Kronk-a-Mor. Exactly the same kind of sphere, only ten times smaller, had killed Valder. Neither Kli-Kli’s medallion nor Miralissa’s skills would save us from this magic.

“Off the ferry! Look lively!” I roared, then grabbed the goblin by the scruff of his neck and plunged into the water.

Kli-Kli squealed in surprise and kicked at the air with his legs. I fell awkwardly, with no time to gather myself together—I was in too much of a hurry to get as far away as possible from the doomed ferry.

The water was warm and black. I opened my eyes, but down in the depths I could hardly see a thing. The floundering goblin and I were surrounded by specks of drifting sediment and hundreds of little bubbles.

I struck out as hard as I could with my free arm and my legs, trying to get as deep under the water as possible. Kli-Kli struggled and panicked, like a rabbit in a noose. I saw his eyes, gaping wide in terror, and the bubbles escaping from his mouth, but I kept moving deeper and deeper, without worrying about the goblin. I just hoped he had enough air to last until we surfaced.

Boo-oo-oom!

The shock of the explosion struck my ears, for a moment everything went dark and I was completely disoriented, not knowing which way was up and which way was down … The glimmering ceiling of light above my head showed me that I was moving in the right direction.

A stroke with my free hand, a hard thrust with my legs, another stroke, another thrust. I seemed to be stuck in one spot, making no progress at all toward the blessed air. When the surface of the water finally parted above my head, Kli-Kli had almost stopped moving, but as soon as he took a breath in, he started coughing and thrashing about even more violently.

“I don’t know how to drown! I don’t know how to drown!” the goblin squeaked, getting his words confused.

“Stop struggling!” I shouted. “You’ll drown both of us! Stop it! Do you hear!”

That had no effect on the jester at all, and I ducked him under the water for a few moments. When I lifted his head back above the water, Kli-Kli coughed, spat, and spouted foul abuse.

“Stop struggling! Or I’ll let go of you! Do you hear me, you idiot?”

“Ghghabool! Yes! I hear you!”

“Relax! I’m holding you, you won’t drown! Just relax, lie on the water, and breathe!”

He gurgled to let me know he had understood.

I looked around. All that was left of the ferry was a memory and scraps of wood scattered across the river. A few especially large beams were still burning and the air was filled with the smell of smoke and soot. I could see the head of someone who was swimming about forty yards away from us, but I couldn’t tell who it was. One other person had survived, then.… But what about the others?

This isn’t the moment to mourn our losses, Harold! You have to get out of the water. It was a fair distance to the bank, but I had to make it if I didn’t want to feed the fishes on the bottom. I could see people swimming to help us, but it would take them a long time to cover the distance.

I set off. Stroking smoothly through the water, counting every stroke and trying to breathe as regularly as possible.

“One! Two! Three!”

I don’t know how many times I repeated that “One! Two! Three!” It was certainly a lot of times. All I could see was the splashing water, the pitiless sky, and the thin, distant line of the bank.

I’ll make it! No you won’t! Yes I will!

One! Two! Three!

Just a little farther! Just a little bit more!

One! Two! Three!

Kli-Kli was an impossible burden, weighing down my arm; and my boots, clothes, crossbow, knife, and bag were dragging me to the bottom, too. I ought to have dumped my weapon, but I’d rather have abandoned the jester than my equipment.

Of course, what I just said wasn’t true—I’m not the kind of swine who would drown a helpless goblin, but you can’t just abandon your only weapon.

My boots had filled with water and were pulling me down. There was no way I could get rid of them—they were laced on, and I’m no acrobat or conjurer, I couldn’t unfasten them with just one hand—it wasn’t even worth trying. It was a real stroke of luck that I’d taken off my cloak. It was lost forever now, but at least it wasn’t winding round my legs and dragging me down to the bottom.

After about fifty strokes, I realized that I wouldn’t get very far with a load like this. If help didn’t reach us, Kli-Kli and I would be glugging our final farewells as we sank under the water forever.

My arms and legs felt like they were made of lead, my strokes were getting weaker and weaker. It was hard to breathe. Often all I could see ahead was black water, with only an occasional glimpse of the edge of the blue sky above it.

I was hanging on, just to avoid sinking straightaway. I’d swallowed a lot of water and my mind was clouded.

But the riverbank—that vague, blurred line—was still a very long way off.…

“Kli-Kli,” I gasped hoarsely. “Try to get your boots off!”

“I’ve done that!”

Well done, goblin!

“Then … why … are you … so heavy?”

“The chain mail…”

Darkness! That’s what was pulling him down! The little shit had covered himself with chain mail!

“Kli … Kli … I’ll … kill … you.”

“Only … when we get … ashore! Please!”

Ashore! I’ll never reach that cursed shore!

One! Two! Three! And again! And just a few more!

My clothes were pulling me down more and more heavily, I was putting my last ounces of strength into my strokes, everything was dark in front of my eyes, there was a ringing sound in my ears, and the arm holding Kli-Kli felt like it would fall off at any moment. I sank under the water three times, and three times, with an absolutely immense effort, I struggled back to the surface for at least one more gulp of air.…

When I felt someone’s hands take hold of me, I was on the point of fainting.

“Harold, let go of Kli-Kli. Harold!” Marmot’s voice said somewhere close by.

I reluctantly released my grip on the goblin’s clothes.

“The bank’s not far, don’t struggle!” Ell was breathing heavily; the fast swim had tired him.

If I could have managed it, I would have giggled. Don’t struggle! Wasn’t that what I’d said to Kli-Kli?

When my feet touched the bottom and Ell and Honeycomb dragged me onto the bank, it was too miraculous to believe. I’d made it after all, Sagot be praised!

I sank down on all fours, exhausted, and puked up river water. I felt better for that. I spat out some sour saliva, and someone slapped me on the back:

“Are you alive, thief?”

“I thi-ink so, Milord Al-listan.” I was shuddering violently.

Somewhere nearby Kli-Kli was coughing hoarsely.

“Take a sip,” said Deler, sticking his flask under my nose.

I nodded gratefully and took a big swallow. A second later a gnomish powder barrel exploded in my stomach, searing my insides with raging flame.

A crazy thought passed through my mind: “Poison!”

Tears poured out of my eyes and I tried to take a breath, but I couldn’t, I just started coughing.

“That’s not beer, you know, it’s Fury of the Depths! Did you feel it? Come on, Harold, get up!” said Deler, taking back his flask.

I sat up with an effort and started pulling off my wet clothes.

“Those idiots have killed all the ferrymen,” Hallas hissed fiercely through his teeth, looking at the far bank through a small spyglass. “They’re pushing off, I swear by the mountains!”

The horsemen were dashing about on the far bank, and fifteen or twenty of them were just setting off on the ferry with the clear intention of getting to us. I couldn’t see Lafresa from where I was.

“Who are these lads? What do they want?” Hallas said, with his beard bristling fiercely.

“Balistan Pargaid’s men, no doubt,” Alistan Markauz replied, drawing his sword. “Ready yourselves for action. Lady Miralissa, can you do anything to help?”

“Only with my dagger and bow. That woman is blocking me.”

“Ell? Egrassa?”

“It’s too far, the arrows can’t reach that bank. Or the ferry, yet. We’ll be able to fire at four hundred paces.”

“And what if the witch tries blasting us with another one of those things!” Mumr asked warily, leaning both hands on the cross guard of his bidenhander, which was stuck into the ground.

“No, a spell like that takes five or six hours to prepare,” the elfess replied as she observed the approaching ferry. It had already covered a quarter of the distance between us.

“Honeycomb! Honeycomb, wake up! We’ll mourn for them later! Into battle, warrior!” Alistan ordered.

The young soldier roused himself and gave a gloomy nod as he picked up his ogre-hammer.

Mourn them? Who? I thought stupidly. My head wasn’t working at all, and I still had the taste of river water and slime in my mouth. “Darkness! Were we the only ones who escaped from the ferry?”

Uncle, Arnkh, Eel, the ferrymen … had they all been killed? It was impossible.… It simply couldn’t be true!

I looked round desperately, trying to count the men that we still had. The first one I saw was Eel in soaking wet clothes. He must have been swimming behind me. The Garrakian warrior’s chest was heaving rapidly; the swim had obviously taken its toll on him, too. He hadn’t abandoned his swords, and I could only imagine the effort it must have cost him to reach the bank alone.

The elves, holding their bows at the ready, waited in silence for the ferry to come within range. It was already in the middle of the river.

“Harold, let’s clear out,” said Bass, running up to me. “There’s going to be a bloodbath any minute!”

“He’s talking good sense, Harold,” said Hallas. “You’re not warriors. You’d better wait it out behind us. Ah, if I only had a cannon, I’d make short work of that boat.”

“A cannon!” Kli-Kli laughed crazily, and stopped wringing out his poor cloak. “Well done, Lucky! Why, of course, a cannon! Harold, wake up! Where’s your bag? Get the cannon out!”

“Has fear completely addled your brains?” I asked, afraid that the goblin really had gone insane after our dip in the river. “What cannon?”

“You know the one.” And without explaining anything, Kli-Kli bounded across to where I had dropped my bag, tipped everything out of it onto the ground, and started rummaging through the magic vials.

“There it is!”

Kli-Kli raised the vial, full of dark cherry-red liquid with golden sparks floating in it, above his head and then dashed it against the ground. And almost immediately an absolutely genuine gnomish cannon appeared out of thin air.

“Piffling pokers!” Deler exclaimed, gaping wide-eyed.

Hallas was struck speechless. He stood there like a statue, with his mouth wide open and his eyes staring out of his head. Someone standing behind me drew in a noisy breath through clenched teeth. And I must admit that I was pretty stunned as well.

After the hard journey and all the misfortunes we had suffered, I had completely forgotten about the minor spot of trouble I’d had at Stalkon’s palace, when Kli-Kli stole a vial just like this one from me and smashed it against a cannon belonging to some gnomes, which immediately disappeared, just as it was supposed to do. The furious gnomes had almost torn the jester into a thousand tiny little green pieces for using the carrying spell on their beloved treasure. Break a vial like that on any object, and it disappears; break another one, and it reappears.

I’d been planning to use that spell at Hrad Spein, in case we discovered incalculable riches, but fate had decreed otherwise, and instead of emeralds we had a weapon.

“Hallas, come on!” The goblin’s voice roused Lucky from his stupefied contemplation of one of the gnomes’ greatest secrets, and he dashed across to the gun: “Is it loaded?”

“It looks as if it is.”

“I’ll just check.… Yes, everything’s in order! Deler, Honeycomb! Give me a hand!”

The three of them started turning the cannon in the direction of the approaching ferry.

“Do you have many more surprises like that up your sleeve, my old friend?” Bass asked rather nervously.

I didn’t answer; my attention was focused entirely on Hallas. He was hastily lighting up his pipe and at the same time giving instructions to Deler and Honeycomb.

“We need a small aiming point offset! An offset! Do you know what an offset is, you dunderhead?”

“I’ll show you later who’s the dunderhead!” panted the dwarf, red-faced from the effort of trying to shift the cannon a few more inches.

“Stop! Everybody get back, let the master get to work.”

“Do you actually know how to work this thing?” Marmot asked anxiously.

“I’m a gnome, and gunpowder flows through our veins!” said Hallas, screwing up one eye as he peered at the ferry.

“Remember, you’ve only got one shot.”

“Don’t put me off, Kli-Kli!” the gnome growled. “Everybody plug your ears.”

I quickly followed his advice. Hallas raised his burning pipe to an opening in the cannon, ran back, stuck his index fingers into his ears, and watched.

A bluish gray haze rose from the barrel.

BOOM!

The cannon was shrouded in a pall of stinking bluish smoke and it jerked backward sharply. There was a whistling sound in the air, and then, at the spot where the ferry was, a column of fire and smoke hissed up into the air, mingled with water, men, horses, planks of wood …

We heard the sound: Cra-a-ash!

“Bull’s-eye!” the gnome exclaimed. “I hit them! I hit them!”

“Ye-e-es!” Kli-Kli yelled. “How about that?”

All that was left of the ferry and the people on it was rubbish floating on the water.

The count’s men on the opposite bank were also looking at the spot where their friends on the ferry had been just a few moments ago. Then several of the horsemen consulted, and the entire cavalcade turned and galloped rapidly away from the riverbank.

“If I just had another ball,” said Hallas, stroking the side of the cannon affectionately.

“Where are they off to?” asked Lamplighter.

“To look for a ford, where else?” Honeycomb said, and spat.

“There are twenty-eight of them,” said Ell, unstringing his bow.

“Right, so it’s time we were leaving.…”

“They won’t get across here,” said Miralissa, shaking her head as she gazed after the horsemen. “The Iselina is too broad and deep at this point. It’s more than forty leagues to the nearest ford.”

I started wringing out my shirt. The wet clothes clinging to my body felt cold and clammy.

“Honeycomb,” Alistan said with a glance at the smooth, settled surface of the river. “Take command.… You’re the sergeant now.”

How could he be a sergeant, with only six men of the Wild Hearts platoon left?

“Maybe they got out farther downstream?” Honeycomb asked wearily. Like everyone else, the warrior was looking at the water.

“They couldn’t have got out,” Eel said gloomily. “I leapt into the water straight after Harold. Uncle didn’t have enough time, he was right in the middle of the ferry, with the horses. And Arnkh … He was wearing chain mail, and plenty of other metal.… Even if he did jump, he sank like a stone.…”

There was a somber silence. How would we manage now without our staid, gray-haired Uncle and the man from the Borderland, with his gleaming bald patch? We couldn’t believe they were gone.

“May they dwell in the light,” Deler said in a dull voice, taking off his hat.

Kli-Kli was sniffing and rubbing his eyes, trying to hide his tears.

We left an hour later, after the Wild Hearts had held the rites for their fallen comrades and Hallas had buried the cannon. The gnome had insisted, saying that his people’s greatest secret must not fall into alien hands.

We were all feeling gloomy and depressed, which is hardly surprising. We set out, moving away from the Iselina, which would always be the Black River for us.