Shadow Blizzard (37 page)

The Firstborn seemed to have lost all interest in me; they talked excitedly, and started rearranging themselves round the fire. The shaman hung my bag over his shoulder, and I thought that now he wouldn’t part with it even if he was attacked by all the dark elves in the Black Forest.

Curses! Now the orcs had the Rainbow Horn and the Key! If Egrassa found out, he’d be devastated; he’d have an apoplectic fit. The orcs didn’t seem to be paying any attention to me, and I decided to risk it and take off. Running around Zagraba with my hands tied behind my back would be better than staying in the company of the Firstborn.

Well, of course, every stupid mistake has to be paid for, and I paid for mine. Fagred had kept his eye on me all the time, and I only got six yards. That lousy yellow-eyed skunk overtook me, knocked me off my feet, and smashed his fist into the back of my head so hard that five moons flared up in front of my eyes and I passed out.

*   *   *

“Leave him, none of us is going to live very long anyway.”

“That’s my business. Get me some water, man.”

I felt something cold and incredibly pleasant on my forehead. It seemed like a good idea to open my eyes.

“Welcome back.”

I stared at the speaker in amazement. I didn’t think I was dreaming, but I was still having visions. Or was it a dream after all?

“Kli-Kli, is that you?” I wheezed, trying to sit up.

I shouldn’t have done that. The ground and the trees started spinning around, and I collapsed on the bed of fir branches with a groan.

“You’re mistaken, son,” the goblin chuckled, and took the wet cloth off my forehead.

Yes, I could see for myself now that it wasn’t Kli-Kli. This goblin was much older than my royal jester. His green skin was duller and a lighter green, he had bushy eyebrows and a hooked nose, half his teeth were missing, and his eyes weren’t light blue but violet. In general he looked like a wrinkled little green monkey.

“I…”

“It was rather stupid of you to try to escape from the Firstborn. I’m absolutely amazed that huge brute didn’t kill you. How are you?”

“My head hurts,” I said, wincing, and made a second attempt to get up. This time I managed it, and the ground didn’t even spin.

“Don’t worry, they’ll lop your head off soon, and then nothing’ll hurt,” someone beside me said, coughing.

I made the effort to squint sideways and saw the speaker. He was a huge man with a black beard growing right up to his eyes. He returned my gaze defiantly and started coughing again.

“That’s Kior,” the goblin explained, and I didn’t hear any love for this shaggy natural wonder in his voice. “And this is Mis.”

There was a skinny man about forty-five years old sitting beside Kior. Bald, with brown eyes and a mustache. His right shoulder was bandaged up in a slapdash fashion. He gave me a friendly nod.

“Welcome to our unfortunate little group, lad.”

“A warrior?” I asked, finding the strength from somewhere to nod back.

“Yes,” Mis replied, and closed his eyes.

How had a warrior from the Border Kingdom ended up out here in the wild?

“Do you have a name?” the goblin asked me.

“Harold.”

“And I’m Glo-Glo,” the goblin said with a grin. “Pleased to meet you.”

Morning was waking over Zagraba, but there wasn’t much light because the sky was blanketed with clouds, and it was about to start raining at any moment. How long had I been out, then? All night? That Fagred had a heavy hand, all right! There was a dull throbbing pain in the back of my head and I winced as I put my left hand to it. That was when I realized my hands weren’t tied anymore.

“There’s no need,” the goblin said as if he was reading my thoughts. “Where can you run to? Look over there.”

I looked in the direction the goblin had indicated. And saw a man suspended by the legs dangling from a branch of the nearest tree.

“That’s Kior’s partner,” Glo-Glo explained cheerily. “Yesterday he got it into his head to run off, so they hung him up there to teach the rest of us a lesson. And they slit his belly open for good measure.”

“Why don’t you shut up and keep quiet, greeny!” said Kior, and his eyes flashed angrily.

“I’ve kept quiet long enough, no more!” The goblin sat down beside me and started whispering in my ear.

“Take no notice of him, Harold. Kior’s a poacher, he hunts golden cats in the orcs’ territory, and the Firstborn caught him. Actually, they caught him yesterday, about three hours before you turned up.”

“I see,” I muttered.

“But how do you come to be in Zagraba?”

“I was just taking a stroll,” I chuckled.

Glo-Glo sighed. “You can tell Kior you were out for a stroll. Do you think I didn’t see what the Firstborn took out of your bag?”

“How do you know what those things were?” I asked curiously.

“I just happen to be a shaman.”

I cleared my throat doubtfully.

“Shamans don’t get caught by the orcs that easily.”

“As long as they stay alert, that is,” Glo-Glo sighed regretfully. “I really am a shaman, though.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

I figured that if the goblin was a shaman, he ought to have been able to find some way to do a vanishing act.

“The same as you. Look.” The goblin showed me his hands, and they were covered with mittens.

Strange mittens they were, too, I must say. At least, each one had a restraining chain and a lock, so they looked a bit like manacles. Taking them off would be pretty hard. Although they were rubbishy locks, and I thought I could have picked them if I really tried. The mittens had runes drawn on them, too.

“What are they for?”

“So I can’t work any spells,” the shaman groaned miserably. “The mittens restrict the movements of my fingers, and the runes prevent magic from working, so spells are out of the question. I can try, but the forest spirits only know what will actually happen.”

“And some people still claim that shamanism is better than wizardry!” I muttered.

“Just give me time. I’ll get my hands free, and then they’ll be dancing to my tune!” the goblin hissed, narrowing his eyes and peering at the orcs.

“If they don’t cut your hands off first,” Mis said encouragingly.

“They won’t do that,” the goblin said, waving one hand blithely in the air. “I don’t have anything to worry about until the mid-autumn festival.”

“And then what happens?” I asked.

“You’ll see,” snapped Glo-Glo.

Meanwhile it had started to rain, and that’s never the most pleasant start to a morning. The camp was gradually waking up. Despite the rain, the orcs relit the fire. The Firstborn went about their business, and we sat in the rain and got soaked. An idyllic scene. Two hours went by like that, and despite the continuous drizzle, I somehow managed to doze off. I was woken by Glo-Glo poking me violently in the ribs.

“It’s started,” said Mis, and added a foul oath.

“What’s started?” I asked, confused, but none of my comrades in misfortune saw fit to answer me.

They were all staring at the center of the clearing. Since I hadn’t been given any explanations, I started watching the orcs bustling about, too. Some were dousing the campfire, some were hastily packing up their things. Two of them dragged a huge tree stump out of the forest—what on earth was that for?

“How many of them are there?”

“How many of who?” Mis was kind enough to reply.

“The orcs.”

“Nineteen. They’re an advance detachment, they were pursuing dark ones.”

“Dark ones?” I asked.

“Dark elves. A detachment of elves was running riot in the orcs’ territory and Bagard’s unit set off in pursuit. In the end they caught the elves and all of us as well,” Glo-Glo said, and spat.

“They caught elves?” I was definitely very slow on the uptake today. But then that quite often happens when someone applies something heavy to my head.

“Well, not all of them…” Glo-Glo drawled, watching Fagred set the stump in the center of the clearing. “Only those who were unfortunate enough not to be killed in the fight. And there they are.”

Eight orcs pushed four elves out from behind the tree that one of the prisoners was hanging on. They were too far away for me to make out the prisoners’ faces and the crests of their houses, but one of them was definitely a woman. The elves weren’t a very pretty sight; they looked as if they’d spent the night in a room crammed full of deranged cats. The Secondborn were bruised and battered, they’d been worked over really well. One of the elves could hardly walk, and two of his comrades had to support him. The dark ones were led out into the middle of the clearing, where all the orcs were gathered together, and Bagard gave a brisk nod.

“What are they going to do with them?” I asked, although I already knew the answer.

The executions were bloody and swift. The orcs didn’t bother with subtle tortures. The Firstborn simply set each of the elves on the improvised block by turn and the huge Fagred chopped their dark heads off with his ax. The orcs watched the executions impassively, and when it was all over, they dragged the bodies across to the dead man hanging on the tree.

“Well, that’s over,” said the goblin, clearing his throat.

“Not quite, I think,” Mis hissed.

I followed his glance and my stomach turned to ice. Bagard was directing some of the Firstborn to our hushed little group. Three warriors separated off from the detachment.

“I won’t let them take me that easily,” the Border Kingdom warrior muttered. “They can find themselves another sheep to slaughter.”

Mis was clutching a short pointed stick in his hand. I had no idea where he’d got it from, but it could easily be used to strike at an eye or a neck. The question was, would the orcs give him a chance to do it?

Two of the warriors came over to us, and I pulled in my feet in case Mis decided to try something and I had to kick the nearest orc. But the Firstborn took no notice of me or Mis, they just grabbed Kior and dragged him off toward the block. The trapper kept yelling and trying to break free until the third orc smashed the shaft of his spear into his stomach.

“Why him?” I asked in a hoarse voice.

“He’s a poacher,” Glo-Glo said reluctantly. “When they caught him, they found several gold cat skins. And to the orcs a poacher is as bad as a woodcutter.”

They dragged Kior, howling, to the block, but they didn’t put him on it, just stretched him out on the grass as if they were going to quarter him, and Fagred raised his terrible ax. Two quick blows—and the poacher’s howls were reduced to a wheeze.

“Sagot save us,” I muttered, and turned away.

The orc had cut off both of the man’s arms at the shoulder.

“Sagot won’t be much help here,” said Mis. “What’s needed is twenty of our lads from the Forest Cats brigade, with their bows.…”

Kior had gone quiet. None of the orcs even thought about binding up the appalling wounds, and the poacher bled to death very quickly—and if the gods were merciful, he lost consciousness immediately. Meanwhile the orcs had hung the elves’ headless bodies up beside Kior’s friend, and now they were setting the dark ones’ heads on spears stuck into the ground.

Olag walked across, looked intently at all three of us, and said: “Take a look at the hanging meat and remember: The same thing will happen to you if even one of you tries to get away. Do you understand me, little monkeys?”

“Don’t think we’re more stupid than you are, orc,” Glo-Glo said, coughing. “We’re not stupid, we understand.”

The shaman didn’t seem to be at all worried that the Firstborn would hurt him. Olag chuckled and looked at the goblin as if he was seeing him for the first time.

“Well, since you understand everything, greeny, get the monkeys ready to leave, we’re moving on.”

And he walked away.

“Where are we moving on to?” I asked, shuddering in the cursed drizzle pouring down from the sky.

“Somewhere else,” the goblin muttered vaguely, and wrapped himself up in his cloak.

*   *   *

Any thought of escape was absolutely out of the question. The three of us were put in the center of the line, which made running off without being seen a pretty difficult proposition. And then, how could I forget that Olag was striding along behind us, crooning a little song to himself, and Fagred was there, too, with his ax. He made me feel distinctly nervous, because every time our eyes met, the orc smiled wistfully and stroked his terrible weapon.

It was clear enough what the lad had on his mind. He wouldn’t be happy until he could chop my head off. I had to try to put off the time when he could have that pleasure for as long as possible.

Fortunately, the rain stopped, but I still wasn’t warm and dry enough to feel comfortable. My teeth chattered and I shuddered and prayed to the gods to drive away the clouds and let us have some sunshine. I knew I had to keep going, keep myself alive—I wouldn’t have Miralissa’s sacrifice be in vain … I wouldn’t let that happen. Little Glo-Glo ambled along in front of me, coughing, grunting, and swearing quietly to himself. The orcs seemed to find this amusing.

“Hey, lad!” Mis called to me.

“What?” I asked without turning round—no point in attracting unnecessary attention from the Firstborn.

“You mentioned Sagot. Are you a thief, then?”

“Bull’s-eye,” I said, stepping over a thick branch lying on the animal track.

“How did you end up here?”

“No talking, monkeys!” Fagred roared. “You can talk as much as you like at the halt!”

I shut up—I already knew that Fagred had no sense of humor and Olag wasn’t the most patient orc in the world.

Bagard led the detachment to the south, into the heart of Zagraba. I couldn’t exactly say we strolled through the forest, but we certainly weren’t in any great hurry. Even Glo-Glo, with his short legs, was able to keep up with the pace set by the orcs.

But to give Bagard his due, he wasn’t careless at all, and there were always several orcs walking ahead of us, scouting out the territory for any possible problems like elfin bowmen or a h’san’kor taking a doze. Shokren tramped past, hurrying up to the head of our little column. The shaman had a huge raven perched on his shoulder. I gazed longingly at my bag dangling at the orc’s side. Shokren noticed my interest and frowned. I saw the shaman overtake Bagard and say something to him, pointing to me. Bagard nodded thoughtfully and stopped, waiting for me to hobble up to him.