Chasers of the Wind

15

The last time I beheld these legendary walls was seven years ago, after Layen and I assassinated the Walker and hastily fled from the southern capital. In the rays of the rising sun the strong fortifications, towers, and temple spires of Al’sgara seemed carved out of rose marble. It was a captivating sight, to say the least. Especially for those who were seeing the great thousand-year-old city for the very first time.

The Sculptor himself had once had a hand in the construction of the defensive walls and towers. He imbued these ancient stones with so much magic that no one in the entire history of the Empire had taken the city by storm or destroyed the great mage’s creation. Al’sgara had survived the Nabatorians and the navy of the Golden Mark, rebellious Viceroys, the Dark Revolt, and the War of the Necromancers.

The enormous city was surrounded by six fortified rings. The three outermost rings were built several centuries after the death of the Sculptor—Al’sgara had grown in prosperity with each passing year, and had long since passed beyond the first three rings. The growth continued and now the current Viceroy was not in much of a hurry to empty the coffers to defend the soft underbelly of the district that the locals call Dovetown, and visitors call Newtown. However, until this past year there had been no need to defend this part of Al’sgara—the Empire hadn’t been at war with anyone for a long time. Now there was fortification, but it was too late. They wouldn’t have time.

The Pearl of the South is spread out along the wide, green valley of the river Ors, which originates in the Boxwood Mountains. Narrow and fast near the peaks, here its banks stretch a quarter of a league across before it flows into the sea at a leisurely, dreamy pace. The city itself is located between the sea and the Ors. The western part abuts Moon Bay, where the port is, and the southern part stretches along the river.

I was riding along the river bank, now and then glancing at Al’sgara, which was located on the opposite shore. Despite the early hours, quite a few people had gathered at the ferry. The motley crowd was discussing that most important of topics—the war. They were speaking of the newly reassembled Second Army, which was stationed one march away from the city, and about whether the Nabatorians and the frightful necromancers would reach here or if they could be stopped at Gash-Shaku, the Isthmuses of Lina, or the Steps of the Hangman. Judging from the conversation, not much had changed since the moment we met Gis. He had told us the same news and it all boiled down to one thing—our forces were still standing and were not planning to retreat.

As I had expected, not a word was said about the Damned. I don’t know if it was because the Sextet were in no hurry to show themselves or if the Walkers were in no rush to announce to the common people who they had to face. In my view the latter was very wise. Fear defeats an army no less than swords and magic.

I was able to cross quickly; three sols to the ferry guard allowed me to skip the line.

“From the south?” he asked, checking one of the coins with his teeth.

“Yes.”

“And how’s it there?”

“Quiet as a swamp. And here?”

“The same. Get going. I don’t have time for chatter.”

I led a recalcitrant Stallion onto the gangway. The ferry smelled of damp wood, oil for the chains, horses, and fish. My neighbor was a thin man with a wart on his nose—a petty trader of cloth. During the leisurely ride, I questioned him well and heard much of what was going on in the city. The situation was not good. But I didn’t care. I just had to take care of business and then slip away, letting all of it go up in blue flames.

“Prices are three times as high as they were in the spring. The Viceroy increased taxes. The Guards are acting up.” The trader continued his complaints.

“And what about the port. Is it closed?” I asked, my heart freezing in my chest.

“The port? No, the ships are sailing. But not often. Very few foreigners are visiting right now. They don’t want to get stuck here. Only those who are greedy. They make a lot of profit on their goods. Mostly sailors from Sino and smugglers. The strait of the Golden Mark is blockaded by the Nabatorian fleet. They say they’re letting through all the ships except for ours.”

I had learned everything I cared to, so I listened to the rest of the unnamed trader’s complaints with half an ear. I could take a breath and relax a bit. Take a load off. The port was open; the sea lanes, for the most part, were not in danger. There are other places to sail besides the Golden Mark. At least the ships were sailing. And that meant I’d be able to convince some captain to take us onboard and get us far away from here. Just a trifling thing remained before our departure—to find Joch and convey Layen’s and my displeasure with his actions.

The ferry wheel dragged the thick chain out of the dark water with a thunderous clanging, and the shore came closer and closer. I could already make out the faces of those standing on the pier.

There were a lot of people there to greet us. Among them were those who wanted to go to the opposite shore, mainly merchants transporting goods. There were also porters, barkers for the city inns, and, of course, Guardsmen. Only a blind man could ignore the dozen lads in red-and-white uniforms. Four had crossbows, while the rest carried formidable glaives. The sun was shining at our backs and in their faces, so the Guardsmen could only make out our faces once the strong men on the ferry stopped rotating the lever that caused the wheel to gather the chain.

“Here we are then, people!” yelled the old ferryman rakishly. “Please step out onto the shore. Kuha, change the team!”

I waited for the pedestrians to leave the ferry, and then they opened the horse corrals and I took Stallion’s reins. He was clearly annoyed that I’d forced him to ride on such an unreliable vessel and he nearly took a bite out of me. I had to keep an eye on him.

One of the Guardsmen bestowed a serious gaze on me but, not noticing anything suspicious, lost all interest. I’m sure the Viceroy put men at all the entrances to the city just in case enemy spies tried to get into Al’sgara. Or a necromancer. One or the other would cause all sorts of trouble. And if they started a siege, life in Al’sgara would go down the drain.

Somehow I doubt that the Guards could detect even the worst spy, not to mention those wearing white robes. And if one of the Damned should deign to come here…

I shuddered at this last thought. The face of the beautiful Typhoid, disfigured by Shen’s magic, appeared before my eyes and then… the half-wit Pork. If he (or she) came to the city, I’d be almost afraid to imagine what might happen. To me. To Layen. I could feel it in my soul—we were far more interesting to her than the fall of all the cities in the Empire. I’d have to move fast to avoid such an unpleasant encounter.

Joch, Joch, right now you’re the biggest bone in my throat. You couldn’t conceive of leaving us alone, and thus the heads of Gray and Weasel will never be safe. If you offer up ten thousand sorens, you can always find people willing to kill a thousand people, let alone just two. And that means we’ll never be left in peace and we’ll have to be always on the alert, looking over our shoulders, waking up in the night and waiting, waiting, until that happy man comes who will catch us and pull in that most deserved jackpot. Personally, I would like to live to a ripe old age, and any three-fingered cretins standing in my path will just have to be dealt with.

Apart from the main road that leads to the Lettuce Gates of Al’sgara, Dovetown was an insane maze of alleys, lanes, side streets, and thoroughfares. If you were not a local, it was easy to get lost. The majority of this part of Newtown (the dirtiest, by the way, of all those that have grown up under the Outer wall) consisted of one-story buildings placed at random, with no sense of order. So any kind of reasonable route was out of the question. There were homes, stores, workshops, stables, cattle yards, and the Abyss knew what else. The Viceroy really was a fool for having drawn out the question of fortifying Dovetown for so long. After all, only a fool could hope that Nabator and Sdis would bypass Al’sgara altogether.

I wasn’t planning on taking a long stroll through the district. I had absolutely nothing to accomplish here; my goal was beyond the walls. So I kept to the main road, taking no turns, merely looking from side to side. Over the past seven years, this suburb had grown in breadth, taking over the entire right shore of the Ors, and it had become even more dirty, chaotic, and unpleasant. I held no love for this little neighborhood, even though I had to work in it a few times for the guild. Those who settle here don’t have enough money, experience, success, or luck to move beyond the Wall, as it was simply called here. I stuck to the main street so that I could get to the Lettuce Gates as soon as possible.

I noticed the man walking behind me accidentally.

By an ancient shop that sold all sorts of rubbish, I had to duck so as not to hit my head on the iron sign. It turned out brilliantly, even though the shopkeeper smothered me with abuse for stumbling into his wares. When I turned around to say something vile in reply, I saw the sneaker who was tailing me out of the corner of my eye. I’d had the honor of beholding this short lad when I exited the ferry. He’d been leaning against the wheel of a wagon sunk into the mud, blinking from the morning sun hitting his face. A man like any other. I didn’t notice anything unusual about him, so I ignored him. But I shouldn’t have.

I didn’t show that I’d observed my shadow and turned onto the next curving side street. I stretched until my back cracked, “accidentally” turned around—and my tracker had disappeared. Was it really as it seemed, and he was simply walking the same route as I? Odd. It had been a long time since my intuition failed me.

For the next several minutes I rode along the side street as it curved in front of a line of wooden houses on the right, until it led me back to the main street. My unknown friend was already here, hanging about a shop that sold sausages.

Gotcha!

We made brief eye contact. As soon as I rode a few dozen yards away, the lad once again trudged after me.

Not too smart!

I started whistling a dissolute tune, trying to figure out who had set a tail on me. Why was he following me and what did he want? Had he taken a liking to Stallion and decided to deprive a visitor of his superfluous livestock? Or was it something else? This is the first time I’d ever seen him, that’s for sure. Who would he be running to after he found out where I’d stopped? Joch? Mols? Bounty hunters? The Walkers? Or did he prefer to do it all on his own, without worrying about others’ greedy mouths? That’s what I would do. But that’s me, and that is him. After observing how the greenhorn followed me, I came to the conclusion that this was one bird who didn’t fly very high. In any case, he didn’t possess a talent for surveillance. Nor any brains either, if he had the brilliant idea to take me on alone. Even old Midge wasn’t prone to such idiotic behavior.

I’d have to ask this man a few questions. Just letting him go might be fraught with serious consequences, especially if the half-wit got it into his head to ask around about a certain man’s arrival in town.

It was less than two blocks to the gate, and I decided not to wait. I directed Stallion to the first more or less decent inn I knew. I liked the owner of the establishment—he wasn’t too much of a crook. So I quickly rented a room and a stall in the stables, paying a month in advance, and asked him to look after my horse and to give him the bag of oats I’d promised him. Then I told him I wouldn’t be back anytime soon and limped out onto the street.

My tail was waiting for me. I had to go in the opposite direction of the one I desired. By the Wall there was little chance of coming across a vacant passageway where no one would interrupt our conversation, but I’d find a likely place closer to the river. And there I’d get to ask some questions.

Knari, nicknamed Hamster, had a good memory for faces. So he almost jumped up when he saw the blond man who was arriving on the ferry take a black horse from its pen. The lad could barely force himself to sit in place as he tried not to look at the newcomer. Despite the fact that almost ten years had passed since the time when he, still a very young boy, had caught a glimpse of the man while he was talking to Stump, there was not the slightest doubt—it was Gray.

Knari had heard that a whole lot of money was being offered for the Giiyan’s head but until today he hadn’t believed he was alive. Seven years had passed since they found the burnt bodies of Gray and his girlfriend, and until last month no one had any doubt that the people who had ordered the hit on the Walker had done away with the assassins. Now though, upon catching sight of the Giiyan, Knari not only believed that the man was alive, but he believed in his own lucky star as well.

He waited until the horseman rode away from the river and then hastened after him, at first fearing that the Giiyan would notice him. But minute after minute passed, and the rider had no idea he had a tail. Knari sneered contemptuously—turns out Gray wasn’t such a dangerous man after all. As always, rumors were exaggerated far more than they should be. And it seemed like he didn’t have any weapons on him: no bow, no sword. True, he could be hiding a knife under the fabric of his dirty green jacket, but Hamster wasn’t all that worried. He’d heard over and over that the Giiyan was a great shot, but no one had ever given any indication that he could do his work with another weapon. Plus, Knari had two knives on him—a throwing knife up his sleeve and a straight Nabatorian knife under his shirt. He’d used the latter many times, and he rightly considered himself a consummate master of knife fighting.

At one point Gray left the main street, but Hamster didn’t bother to follow him. He knew that those side streets would lead the Giiyan out onto the main street and that it was better to wait than to take a risk. He didn’t have to wait long. From the side street the rider appeared, looked around in surprise, clearly not understanding how he got there, and after a short hesitation directed his horse toward the Lettuce Gates.

Hamster came to a decision. He wouldn’t tell anyone that he’d found the blond. Neither Mols nor Joch. The crumbs they’d pay him for the news were nothing compared to the five thousand sorens he’d get for the murder of this dolt. That Gray was a dolt, he had no doubt. Knari had no idea where the rumors that he was dangerous had come from. Judging from all he saw, he’d be easy to take care of. Then he could bring his head to Joch in exchange for the reward. The littlest thing was required for a cushy life—to wait for an opportune moment and cut the blond’s throat.

Who, by the way, was acting like a complete hayseed. He was looking around ceaselessly, as if he’d never been in a city before. Then he did something completely idiotic; he decided to stop at some rundown inn, as if he couldn’t just go through the Wall and find decent lodgings in Outer City. Apparently, he was really bad with money.

When Gray leaped from his horse, Knari was delighted to see something he hadn’t noticed at the ferry landing—the man was quite lame in his left leg. He wouldn’t be able to move very quickly at all. Knari had it in the bag.

He prepared himself for a long wait, but that’s not how it happened. The blond left the inn quite quickly and, still limping, headed toward the river. After a while he turned off the main street, and now Knari had to work so as not to lose sight of his victim, nor to be seen by him.

Gray wandered aimlessly through the streets for some time, getting deeper and deeper into Dovetown. There were fewer people around, and the stench of sewage and garbage thrown into the street became stronger. Then Hamster heard the cries of seagulls and realized that they had strayed into the fishing quarter, not far from where the Ors emptied into the sea.

Suddenly the assassin stopped (Knari had to cling to a wall) and then turned into a narrow alley between two houses. He had to wait a moment so that he wouldn’t come face-to-face with Gray if he decided to turn back.

He didn’t.

So without wasting any more time, Knari went after him. He passed into the alleyway and walked forward a few steps; then he stopped short. He was in a small channel that was enclosed on two sides by the walls of the stone houses. Fifteen steps in front of where Knari now stood, the river began. Gray wasn’t there.

It seemed that the blond had managed to dupe him. He’d jumped into the river and now he could be anywhere. The Abyss! He’s gone. Disappeared without a trace. Knari cursed.

“Hey,” came a soft voice from behind him. “Aren’t you looking for me?”

Hamster didn’t choke, and as soon as his throwing knife slid out of his sleeve into his palm, he whipped around and flicked the weapon with his wrist without raising his arm. The Giiyan turned out to be far more skilled than his unfortunate stalker thought. He was no longer in the same place and the throw was for nothing.

Knari swore a second time and grabbed his knife.

“Not smart,” said Gray.

A small axe appeared in his hands and then everything happened very quickly. The blond was no longer limping and he moved so fast that Hamster missed the moment when his enemy appeared next to him. The unlucky killer lunged at Gray’s stomach with his knife, but by some miracle he had already turned to the side, and at the same moment Knari felt a strong blow fall on his right wrist. The Nabatorian knife fell into the muck. The lad stared dully at his useless weapon and then turned his gaze to his hand. His wrist was disfigured. His little and ring fingers were missing.

Only now did the pain come.

He groaned, but even then he didn’t lose his self-control. He reached for the knife lying on the ground with his left hand and instantly felt a terrible pain in his right knee. His vision went dark; he howled and, without understanding how it came to be, he found himself on the ground.

“Are you from the guild?” The blond didn’t raise his voice.

Hamster had enough stubbornness to tell the Giiyan off in fairly colorful language. Another wave of pain pierced his hand.

“It seems like it’s your intent to do stupid things. Tell me who sent you and we’ll part as friends.”

Knari was gasping for breath, and a deluge of tears was rolling down his cheeks. He’d never experienced anything like this. Finally, through his coughing and tears he managed to gasp, “My friends will be here at any moment, and then you’ll be done for.”

He raised himself up on his elbows and a crushing blow came down on his nose. Something crunched ominously. His face instantly became hot and wet. Blood started dripping down his lips and into his beard. Knari had no strength left to scream, so he whimpered softly.

“You’re being stubborn for nothing, lad.” The Giiyan was standing right over him. “I’ll still find out what kind of beast you are and who feeds you.”

Again, the pain in his crippled hand.

“I don’t like doing this, but you leave me no choice. You still have one finger on your right hand and five on your left. I had to hone my skills in Sandon. Believe me, the Highborn screamed even louder than you. I promise you, it will be quite unpleasant. And don’t lie and tell me that you have help—I saw that you were working alone. No one will interfere with us. Sooner or later you’ll tell me everything.”

I was just concluding my conversation with the sheep when some conscientious person called a patrol of watchmen. I had to finish the hapless killer off quickly and get out of there. I missed the guardians of order literally by a minute. I heard the clatter, dove into a convenient doorway, and five watchmen ran past me. I waited for a moment and then walked away. I needed to leave the fishermen’s quarter as soon as I could.

Fairly swiftly but without drawing attention to myself, I made my way to the main street and then headed for the Wall at a leisurely pace. From here the Lettuce Gate was a stone’s throw away.

You could say that I was lucky. The lad had been working without support and had been too stupid and greedy to run for help. He decided to do it all by himself. A small fry, one of Mols’s hangers-on. Hopefully the head of the guild wouldn’t be too upset that I cut up one of his employees. Unlikely, as old Mols didn’t take too kindly to those who tried to conduct business behind his back.

The most important thing I learned from my chat with that stupid, stubborn ass was that it was nothing more than chance that he ran into me. No one was waiting for me in Al’sgara. And he’d heard nothing of Layen.

The Lettuce Gates were the last ones in the southern Wall and the closest to the sea and the river. Unlike the other five gates that led into the city, there was rarely a crowd near these and it was much quicker to pass through them. The Guardsmen there had never been known for their vigilance or zeal.

The sun was high in the sky and the outer Wall was no longer rose-colored, but had taken on its customary yellow-gray color. Though the Sculptor had not had a hand in its construction it looked sufficiently solemn and reliable. It rose high above me, built from massive stone blocks. It would not be easy to take such a wall by storm, and if you did, there were five more fortified walls beyond it, and three of them had been built by the strongest mage in the history of the Empire. The enemy would have a very difficult time getting into Al’sgara. Of course, that was unless someone decided to let them in. It’s well known that most towns and castles fall not by storm, but by hunger, disease, and the fools who rush to open the gates and throw themselves on the mercy of the victors. The capital of the south might be saved by the fact that even if the first walls fell or traitors allowed the enemy into the Outer City, the inhabitants could always take cover behind the next stage of defense. Hightown and Second City, where the main warehouses, the palace of the Viceroy, the Tower of the Walkers, and the Guards’ barracks were located, were practically impossible to take by force. Probably the only thing that could cause Al’sgara to fall was hunger. And that’s why a continuous stream of wagons full of provisions was flowing into the Gates. Apparently, the city elders were buying up all the food in the province.

During the time I was away, some changes had occurred. Six guards had been added. In addition, a few swordsmen in full armor were standing by the gate, and beyond them was a crowd of a dozen crossbowmen. No one was paying them any heed, and they were playing dice on a barrel of reska. If there was this much security at the entrance of the gatehouse, then I was willing to swear by my right hand that there was just as much on the other side of the Wall. If not more.

The Guardsmen, irritable from the heat, examined each approaching wagon critically. As they should. The Abyss knows what the Whites might bring into the city. The undead or one of those Fish. If it burst somewhere in Hightown, there would be hell to pay.

I stood in a barely moving line. I wasn’t too happy about that, of course, but in this case I preferred not to rush things. There was no reason to attract attention to myself.

Today, it seems, everyone was talking only about the war. Each rumor was more absurd than the next. While I was waiting my turn, I had more than enough time to get tired of these conversations.

When only five people remained in the line ahead of me, I noticed someone I should have taken note of from the very beginning. Behind the dice-playing crossbowmen, hidden in the dense shadows of one of the two massive gates, stood a middle-aged woman wearing a blue mantle with a red circle on her chest. She was talking unreservedly to the captain of the Guards and casting intent looks at the people walking by her.

A Walker!

Things were taking a bad turn. I had to keep as far away as possible from bearers of the spark despite the fact that seven years had gone by. Certain people have long memories. I’d learned that well enough this morning, when that filthy little toad got on my tail. He’d seen me only once, and he recognized me even though I’d acquired a beard during my travels from Dog Green.

Leaving the line would be too conspicuous; then they’d really notice me.

“State your name, where you’re from, your destination,” the exhausted Guardsman asked me.

It was too late to run.

“I’m a craftsman. Pars the carpenter. From Oglad. I’m here by invitation.”

I named one of the less important lords of the city council. As I expected, he didn’t bother to check.

“Do you know the way?”

“I’ve been here before.”

“Then get going.” The soldier lost all interest in me.

I thanked him and entered the coolness of the gatehouse. The Walker slid her eyes over me and continued her conversation with the captain. I breathed a sigh of relief. The first thing she checked for was the Gift, and only then did she examine faces. I was lucky.

There was a massive corridor running through the Wall. Footbridges trailed along under the ceiling, where archers could be placed if the enemy swept through the outer gates. There were arrow loops in the walls, and two raised steel portcullises. After fifty paces I got through the corridor, passed by the interior gates, which were in no way inferior in terms of strength to the exterior gates, and found myself in Outer City. As I’d assumed, there were just as many guards at the exit of the Lettuce Gates as at the entrance. If a commotion suddenly arose near where the Walker was standing, then the lads here would have time to either go help or lower the portcullises.

My beloved city can sleep peacefully. For the time being, at any rate.

My goal lay beyond the second wall, between the harbor and Birdtown. This part of Al’sgara was called Birdtown because a community of Je’arre had lived there for quite some time. Their neighborhood began at the top of a giant hill and slowly descended toward the sea.

The flyers had an unquenchable passion for construction. They erected a vast assortment of towers in the district. Thick, thin, tall, short, spired, steepled, stone, wood, finished, and under construction. There was one every thirty yards or so. As the more spiteful critics said, Birdtown had long since surpassed Hightown when it came to the number of towers. Perhaps that’s true. The Je’arre love to take off from high perches.

The quarter was surprisingly empty. I didn’t see a single representative of the race. Only the numerous inhabitants of other parts of the city and, of course, the sullen Guardsmen. Of the latter, however, there were a surprising number. What happened to have driven so many keepers of the peace here? In my memory there was never a time when the Je’arre sat in their homes and the skies over Al’sgara were empty.

According to legend, the flyers came to the lands of the Empire from somewhere beyond the Great Waste many centuries ago. I have no idea what forced this nation to flit from their ancestral roost and come visit us, but they were accepted, albeit without much enthusiasm. It had seemed like a good idea to the current ruler to use the winged folk as messengers and flying archers. The beggarly Sons of the Sky dealt with this, but they were often at one another’s throats and they liked to create minor havoc among the other peoples of the Empire. As a result, they were politely asked to leave Al’sgara, Gash-Shaku, and Okni, and were given a fairly large plot of uninhabited land between Sandon and Uloron. People mockingly called the place where the Je’arre had been sent to live the Promised Land. Everyone knew full well that the birds were caught between the rock of Uloron and the hard place of Sandon. The Highborn would undoubtedly chew up the Empire’s untrustworthy allies and spit out their feathers.

To universal surprise, the Sons of the Sky withstood the pointy-eared elves. More than that, they eventually helped our army drive them from the Country of Oaks (another name for Uloron) into Sandon. And when the Emperor finalized a perpetual peace with the Del’be (the King of the Highborn. Currently, the Del’be is Vaske of the House of Strawberry) twelve years ago, life in the Promised Land became completely calm and carefree. A few clever people even wanted to take the fertile territory back, but the Je’arre showed their teeth and were left in peace.

However, not all the Sons of the Sky went to live in the east of the country. A large community remained in Al’sgara. The City Council agreed to tolerate them because a quarter of the revenues in the city treasury came from the textiles the flyers wove. Just as splendid as eastern silk, they are worth a staggering amount of money and ships sail into port for their sake from all around the world. Part of the proceeds, of course, fall into the greedy hands of the City Council and the Viceroy. It would be foolish of the powerful, self-satisfied fellows to turn away such a remarkable cash cow.

Birdtown came to an end. I stopped and looked at the sloping pavement, the white homes of the harbor, the distant port, and the dark blue haze of the sea. To my right, wedged in between a tall tower with three spires and a ramshackle tavern, stood a two-story building. On the first story was a shop selling Je’arrean silk, and three of its four windows were shuttered.

Strange.

I walked to the end of the street and then paused. I waited a bit to check if someone was following me or not. After five minutes, sure that I was not being followed, I turned and pushed on a heavy door.

A brass bell over my head rang contrarily, and I found myself in a murky room. There was obviously not enough light from the street, and the owners were in no hurry to light all the torches they had. Only two were lit—the one hanging to the left of me and the one located at the far end of the shop, by the stairs leading to the second floor. I could not help but appreciate the beauty and elegance of this solution. On the one hand, all those who enter from the street fall into a circle of light and are visible at a glance; on the other hand, the distant light strikes the visitor in the eyes, and it takes a bit more than a second to become accustomed to it. That’s more than enough time for the owners hiding in the shadows to decide if the stranger is dangerous or not. And to take appropriate action.

I quickly stepped to the left, leaving the illuminated circle, and blinked several times as I’d been taught, chasing away the multicolored specks in front of my eyes.

A quiet laugh came out of the gloom.

“You haven’t lost your skills over the years, have you, Gray?”

“That would be an impermissible luxury for me, Jola.”

Another laugh.

“If you’d be so kind as to lower the latch. I don’t want us to be bothered by casual shoppers.”

“Nonsense.” There was a dry cough to the right. “After your kvinsmen played such a dirty trickva, you won’t entice anyone here for all the kvold in the Empire.”

“I swear by the wind!” Jola squealed. “No wingless leech is going to tell me anything!”

“Hey, I’m your partner, chickvadee.” The one who had so infuriated the Je’arre spoke the words strangely. Human speech was very difficult for him. “I’m tellinkva you akvain. The ones livinkva in the Promised Land have lost their minds.”

“I’ve never regretted that we are partners.” She calmed down quickly. “As for the clans, it’s their business. I’m not going to pay for others’ mistakes.”

“But you will, sister. The humans are very ankvary at those who have winkvas.”

“Has there ever been a day when they haven’t spat at the Sons of the Sky? This is not the first time, nor the last, I swear by the wind.”

“Now it’s all much more serious.”

Listening to the squabble of the old partners, I lowered the latch and, walking past the bales of scarlet and silver cloth, each worth at least eighty, if not a hundred sorens, I made my way to a massive table. One of the chairs was free, the other was taken.

A small woman was seated in it. I knew her height very well—if she stood up the crown of her head would barely reach the middle of my chest. Jola was a Je’arre, and like all members of her race she was fragile, thin boned, almost airy. A narrow, unattractive face, tapering to her chin, sharply defined cheekbones, an aquiline nose, and black eyes. Her shaved head was covered in complex and incomprehensible (to me) tattoos, which indicated that Jola belonged to the Fire Clan; it seemed absurdly large for such narrow shoulders in the dim light. The fingers of her thin hands were long and tipped with violet fingernails. Or claws. Depends on who you ask.

And of course, she had wings—massive wings, covered in red feathers. Right now they were folded behind her back, but I could well imagine how the Je’arre would use them to soar through the sky.

Jola was frowning so that the corners of her eyes wrinkled, observing me.

“Come closer. I swear by the wind, I don’t believe my old eyes. Have you really come here from the Abyss to annoy me again? Ktatak, do you see who’s come to our humble abode?”

“I do.” The voice again came from the gloom. “It seems the rumors were not false.”

“So it seems. Gray wound everyone round his fingers and disappeared for many years. Didn’t even warn his best friends. Ai-ai-ai. How mean, don’t you think?”

“Indeed.”

I remained silent, allowing them to have a bit of fun at my expense.

“And now, after I wept all those tears I harvested over my long life, you show up like a Mort out of the sand, grinning brazenly! That’s gratitude for you!”

“Indeed,” agreed Ktatak.

“I’m sure you were delighted at my death, you old crow.”

She clucked indignantly, shifted her wings, collected her cards from the table, and began to shuffle them briskly. Meanwhile, I sat down, spied a jug of wine and without asking permission, poured some for myself into an empty mug. Jola twitched her eyebrows in displeasure, but, uncharacteristically, said nothing. She handed me a deck. Following the usual ritual, I took the topmost card. I looked at it. The Key. I showed her. She nodded and took it.

“The past? The future?”

“The future.”

“Near? Distant?”

“Near.”

“Choose a deck.”

I picked the fourth to the right of the ten lying on the table. All the others were sent away. She began laying out the spread.

“It’s very arrogant to return to a place where you are considered dead,” said the Je’arre.

“And stupid!” Ktatak couldn’t resist adding.

“They’re looking for you, Gray. And not so that you will return the money. Mols, Joch, the witches from Hightown. Not to mention the throngs who want to earn a little cash at your expense.”

“A lot of kvash,” said her partner.

“So much that I’m tempted to fly up there and sing in someone’s ear.”

“Singkva!” There was a scuffling in the dark corner, and then a jarring laugh rang out. “Don’t flatter yourself, partner. You kvan only kvaroak.”

“May you be blind in both eyes, you miserable leech!” she muttered wickedly, waving her fist at Ktatak. “The spread isn’t very good, Gray.”

I looked at the table. The Key was striving toward the Knife, but was overpowered by the Fortress. The Tower loomed over them.

“There’s something to think about, huh?” muttered Jola.

“I don’t understand any of this.” I could only shrug.

“What a fool. You could have learned it a long time ago. Something”—she tapped a purple claw on the Fortress—“is preventing the implementation of your plans. The Tower stands over everything. Oo-oo-oo,” she whined in disappointment, realizing that I was in no hurry to gasp. “My dear, I’m beginning to wonder how you managed to survive after that debacle you arranged in this wretched town. Even a blockhead like Ktatak knows what the Tower signifies. What does the Tower signify, Ktatak?”

“The Walkvers, oh wise one!” said the Je’arre’s partner with obvious sarcasm, but she chose to ignore it.

“Oh,” I said profoundly.

She hissed angrily, thinking that I didn’t have a sufficiently respectful attitude toward the magical cards. And it’s true; I didn’t really believe in the bullshit on multicolored pieces of thick paper. It’s not magic, but charlatanism. However, among the Sons of the Sky the art of fortune telling is highly valued, and it wasn’t all that difficult for me to indulge the old winged witch.

“It’s all so much worse.” Jola clicked her tongue woefully. “Never in my life have I seen such a bad spread. One card is superimposed over another and bound to the third. You, no doubt, are the Key.”

“I’m flattered,” I muttered.

“And here are five new guests.” She flipped over more cards that were laying facedown. “The Fool and another four Knives. All very close to you.”

“I’ll be careful.”

“And another Tower! A white one!”

“You sure it’s not another Walker?” I frowned.

“You’re makving a muddle of your kvame, chickvadee,” said Ktatak. “You always insist that the Tower kvan only play one role.”

“I’m not muddling anything. It’s possible in this combination.”

“Stupid kvarows.” He couldn’t help himself.

“Be silent, you leech!”

“What about that kvard?”

“A white Tower may not signify a Walker. In this position it can be interpreted as life, virtue, health, or a priest, a healer, a virgin—”

“And yet another thousand thinkvas,” Ktatak interrupted.

Jola snorted in disdain, her fingers flashing with unimaginable speed. For several minutes the flyer placed out cards until a fanciful spread was laid out on the table. She inverted the cards, laid them one on top of the other, shifted them, piled them, and spread them out until the final product was worked out.

The path from the Key to the Knife was, as before, overlapped by the Fortress. Over all these hovered the Tower. Next to the Key, fit snugly against it, lay four Knives, the Fool, and the Tower the Je’arre called white. Nearby were two Swords, two Demons, and seven facedown cards. One of the facedown cards was located next to the Key (as far as I could recall, according to the rules it should cover the other), five surrounded the central part of the spread, and the last, alone, was on the very edge of the table.

“Well then, let’s see what the pattern will show us.”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw a movement in the gloom. Ktatak was also curious.

A lilac nail hooked the card lying next to the Key and turned it over.

“The Maid.” Ktatak laughed hollowly. “I don’t doubt that at all, partner.”

Jola chuckled knowingly and laid the new card on top of the Key.

“The Maid casts out the Fool. He’s too weak to resist her. Though now the little lady is dependent upon the Tower,” she said, and then she moved the Fool to the circle where the five facedown cards were still lying. Now there were six. “Well? Should we reveal them?”

“Don’t tease,” was the grumbled reply from the gloom.

The first of the five inverted cards was Death. The second, to my great surprise, was also Death. Ktatak cleared his throat quietly. Jola thoughtfully shook her head. The third card—Death. The fourth—Death. I had no doubt about the fifth. I knew what it would be.

“Death.”

Now the center of the spread created by the Je’arre was surrounded by five Deaths and one Fool.

“I swear by the wind! It cannot be! It. Can. Not. Be,” whispered the winged one.

“Do you really mean that?” her partner protested.

“Yes! I! You’re an idiot, you leech! In the Great Cards there are ten decks. In each deck there are a hundred cards. The spread involves no more than forty. Death is a high card. Like the Tower, it rarely comes into play. And to have two Towers and five Deaths all at once, and in the company of the Fool! Next to them he becomes very strong. Strange.”

“I guess you made a mistake,” I comforted her.

“I’m never mistaken in this, Gray!” she snapped, and then returned her gaze to the pattern. The Je’arre stretched out her thin hand and, holding her breath, turned over the last, solitary card that was lying beyond the boundaries of the spread.

“The Thief!” grunted Ktatak. He sounded shocked.

“The Dancer!” She gasped.

“Excuse me?” I asked for clarification.

None of the other cards had made such an impression on her as this one did. Jola was far too overwhelmed by what she saw, so Ktatak had to step in.

“It’s a kvomplicated kvard, my friend. One in a thousand. And if it kvomes out in the spread, it usually has no effeckvat. Actually, it never has any effeckvat. All previous times my partner kvast it aside. But apparently now the Thief is in the spread.”

“This time you’re right, leech. Death, the Fortress, three Knives, and the Tower with the Key in this position gives life to the Thief.”

“And why is it a Dancer?” I frowned.

Once again it was Ktatak who explained. “It’s the birds’ little idol. The Sons of the Skvay believe that he kvareated this world. The Thief symbolizes their kvod.”

“I see that you’ve become a true expert on the Great Cards,” I joked.

“If you’d lived side by side with her for as longkva as I have, you’d be full of it, too.”

We both thought this joke was funny enough to laugh. Jola did not join in. She was muttering under her breath, checking the position of the cards, trying to determine if some error had crept into them.

“Well, what should I expect in the near future?”

The Je’arre looked at me irritably and replied reluctantly, “I don’t know.”

“Ah! Ah!” Ktatak was simply bursting with joy. “Has Kvagun really kvandescended to hear my prayers and kvive me such a kvift in my old age? I kvan die happy now that you’ve finally kvanfessed your own inadekvacy!”

She jerked her wings in irritation, glanced at me and again, uncharacteristically, said nothing in reply.

“I was wrong. The spread can’t be true.” The Je’arre swept the cards from the table, in one motion destroying the complex pattern she’d created with such care. “Today is not the best day to learn your fate. Come back another time.”

“You know that I didn’t come here for this.”

She smiled bitterly.

“For a man you are terribly patient. I kept wondering when you were going to ask about your Maid.”

“Is she here?”

I waited for her answer with bated breath.

“Go up the stairs. The second door on the right.”

I stood and Jola roused herself.

“By the way! You owe me a hundred and fifty sorens. Since you and Weasel were so kind as to set fire to our place and put burned corpses in it, then you can pay.”

“I’m sure that as soon as Layen appeared in your doorway, you immediately gouged her for all you’re owed.”

Ktatak burst out into deafening laughter.

“I swear by Kvagun’s eyes! Today’s really not your day, partner!”

“Stop braying! You’d better go with him and make sure that he doesn’t filch anything along the way.”

“Okvay, okvay, don’t be ankvary, birdie. I’ll do it,” he replied, still laughing, and then he finally condescended to come out into the light.

Ktatak was a Blazog. He had ash-gray warty skin, fantastically long, muscular arms, and a stooped posture. On his massive, round head the first thing that caught one’s attention were his enormous hazel eyes and his wide, toadlike mouth. Blazogs weren’t the most pleasant things to look at. Especially for those who were seeing them for the first time. The inhabitants of the swamps located in the south of the Empire usually lived in isolation, in small floating villages, and very few of them ever ventured out into the wider world.

Blazogs are usually considered strange and stupid, mainly because human speech is difficult for them. And because of a few behaviors that would seem insane to the average human. However, rare was the man who would tell a swamp dweller to his face that he was stupid. Given the strength and agility of the Blazogs, for all their external absurdity, an idiotic comment like that would have dire consequences. I would never try to take on Ktatak, especially when he has two axes or swords in his grasp. I once saw Jola’s partner at work; he ripped three experienced robbers, greedy for free silk, into tiny pieces before they had time to put up any kind of resistance. Since that time, thieves have avoided this shop for three blocks.

“I’m kvalad to see you alive, Kvaray. I’ll tell you a sekvaret. We were a little upset when our shackva in the harbor was turned into a piece of kvoal. You and Weasel, even though you’re fishy kvids, you’re not so bad. Even old Jola mourned when we found your remains.”

“Don’t be a fool,” muttered the Je’arre. “I was mourning the loss of a decent house that we were stupid enough to lend to that pair.”

“I have no doubt about that,” I hastened to assure her. “You haven’t changed at all since our last meeting, Ktatak.”

“Still skvary and awful?” the Blazog said, chuckling. “It’s too soon for me to kvet old. I’m just in my seventh dekvade.”

“There you go. And still going strong. Are you still amusing yourself at the Fights?”

“Ockvasionally,” he replied humbly, and then his hazel eyes were momentarily covered by transparent lids. “Right now that business is in Jokva’s hands. I’m not too friendly with him.”

“So he’s alive and well?”

“Unfortunately for you, yes, he’s alive and well. Well enough to stand, anyway. Let’s kvo. I’ll lead you.”

He walked forward with a deliberately slow and awkward gait. The steps creaked mournfully under his weight. For a Blazog Ktatak was very sturdy. He was wider than me in the shoulders and in terms of weight I lost to him outright.

“Jola’s out of spirits today,” I said, when we were upstairs.

He chuckled, pushed open a door, and invited me in.

“She’s always out of spirits. As if you didn’t know her.”

“How is business going?”

“Kvarappy. Especially in the last two days.”

“Did something happen that I should know about?” I looked around the room.

It was large and cozy, with expensive furniture, a king-size bed, and bands of thick fabric curtaining the windows. Ktatak didn’t conceal his grin when I walked over to the window and looked out into the courtyard. What can you do? Old habits. All too often I’ve had to leave without saying good-bye.

“Possibly. Did you notice what was kvoinkva on in Birdtown?”

“The flyers didn’t seem to be seeking out fresh air.”

“Just so.” He yawned lingeringly, opening wide his enormous jaws and displaying a few yellow teeth. “The day before yesterday, we kvot the news that the Je’arre have flipped to the side of Nabator and Sdis.”

I whistled.

“They kvan’t stand it, you see, that the Empire wants to take their land from them and send them north. Jola’s kvinsmen don’t really find the prospeckvat of freezing their asses off all that tempting, and really, who kvould blame them? And what did they expeckvat would happen? That race is as fickvale as the wind that kvarries them.”

“It’d be better if it dropped them. I’m surprised the rest of the city hasn’t ripped their wings off yet.”

“It already happened. Yesterday eveninkva some avengers kvaught two of the Sons of the Skvay and kvut off their heads. They would have done even more nasty thinkvas, but the bloodthirsty kvarowd was dispersed by the Viceroy’s Kvuard. Everythinkva is quiet for now.”

“Not for long.”

“I know.” Ktatak frowned and his entire face was covered in comical folds. “Less than a weekva will pass before the Viceroy askvas all the Je’arre to leave the city. And that’s the best-kvase scenario. The worst kvase is that he’ll send them to the sckvaffold. As traitors.”

“Not even the fact that the city coffers are fattened year after year thanks to those like Jola will stop him?”

“When you’re talking about the fackvat that some birdie might open the kvates during a siege, money is forkvotten.”

“Oh really? Hightown has forgotten about money?”

“Well, let’s say so. They can akvaree to the lesser evil. If the city falls, they’ll lose all their money. And now, only a part.”

“A fairly reasonable approach, it seems to me. What about Jola?”

“Many of her relatives have already left Al’skvara. Only the most stubborn and most stupid remain. I don’t know which kvaroup to put our old lady in. She doesn’t want to leave her shop, so she’ll wait until her feathers have been pluckved.”

“I’m sure you’ll take care of her.”

Ktatak smiled. “I already am. The kvoods left today for the Kvolden Markva. I’ve hidden money away. There’s nothing to hold me here. If I kvatch a whiff of smoke, I’ll kvarab that silly chickven in my arms and we’ll sail far away to the horizon, even if she will kvaluck and resist me.”

“A ship can be found?” I seized on this immediately.

He frowned again. “For now, yes. But the prices have risen sharply. Are you planninkva a vanishinkva ackvat?”

“After a chat with Joch.”

The Blazog chuckled. “You never did kvet alonkva with him.”

“True. He’s a nuisance.”

“And Mols?”

“Mols never bothered me.”

“Unlike Jokva, he’s very kvautious and not very kvareedy. But I advise you to hurry. After seven or eight days, thinkvas are kvoinkva to tighten up around here.”

“How are you so sure?”

“First of all, when half the city sleeps it dreams of settlinkva skvores with the Je’arre. For the time beinkva the watch and the Kvuard are holdinkva them backva, but sooner or later they’ll pluckva up their nerve and riot. I don’t know if you heard or not, but Nabator is in talks with the Kvolden Markva so they’ll open the passage through the Straits to them. If the merchants kvomply, the city will be under siege from the sea and there’ll no lonkver be any way out of the Empire. Sooner or later Al’skvara will be encirkvaled.”

“Our troops are holding them back, aren’t they?”

“That’s old news,” he dismissed me. “Here’s somethinkva fresh for you. The Je’arre hit the Third Army from behind. Then it was attackved head on by a force of Nabatorian troops, nekvaromancers, and Sdisian soldiers. Not to mention the Highborn.”

“The Highborn?” I exclaimed.

“Just so. The pointy-eared elves also decided to makva use of this opportunity and pay us backva for all offenses. The Isthmuses of Lina have been takven. The remains of our troops fled to the Steps of the Hankvaman or to the west, toward Al’skvara. And at their heels…”

He didn’t finish. There was no need. Everything was clear. It would get hot here very soon.

“We fought the Highborn for three hundred years and eventually concluded that damned peace treaty! We should have finished them off right after Gem’s Arch, but instead of that we gave them a whole decade to recover. I hate that race!”

He nodded understandingly. He knew that I’d served in Sandon for a number of years. “I’m surprised you’re without your bow.”

“It was ruined,” I replied, and recalled Pork, thanks to whom my weapon was burnt.

“Buy a new one. Okvay, I’m kvoinkva downstairs or else some rioter’s kvoinkva to stumble in and butt heads with a very ankvary Jola. And another thinkva.” He stopped at the door and was no longer smiling. “You are of kvourse our friend and we have history, but it would be best for you if you didn’t stay here too lonkva. You understand.”

“I understand.” I nodded seriously. “You don’t have to worry. We won’t expose you and we’ll be out of here today.”

“Do you have a place to stay?”

“We’ll find one.” I avoided a direct answer.

“I’m sorry that it’s kvotten so—”

“Drop it. I’m not going to drag you in with Joch. We’ll leave. No offense taken.”

“That’s kvood, Kviiyan.” He obviously relaxed. “Rest well.”

“Can you do me one favor?”

“Anythinkva I kvan.”

“I need a bow. I’m sure you understand, it wouldn’t be the smartest thing for me to go around to the weapons shops myself.”

I couldn’t use the weapon of the Sdisian archer I’d killed in Psar’ki. It would draw the attention of people in the know. A far too remarkable bow.

Ktatak nodded and smiled.

“That’s not too diffikvult. I know your preferences. And your measurements. I know a kvood dealer. Do you have any wishes?”

“No. I have complete faith in you in this matter.”

The Blazog grinned one last time and tightly closed the door behind himself. I listened to his retreating footsteps.

By the bed stood a chair, on which I placed my throwing axe. My dagger went under the pillow. We had some time until evening. Then we should leave. Ktatak and Jola were old friends, and Layen and I had pulled them out of a sticky situation once, but it would not do to abuse their hospitality.

The door creaked quietly and I instantly jumped up and grabbed the knife I’d hidden under the pillow and concealed it behind my back. The woman who walked into the room had short blond hair and was wearing a colorful skirt. I was so startled that it took me a second to realize that it was Layen.