Chasers of the Wind

20

The night was warm and full of stars. The moon was waxing, and it had grown brighter than a few days ago. It was yet another reminder that time was not standing still, and that we had to get a move on. We didn’t have many nights left (more precisely, we had two nights and one day) to finish our task.

A fresh wind was blowing in from the sea, and the waves were striking against the pier with a soft splash. Besides this sound, and the barely audible creaking of the rigging of a potbellied merchant vessel anchored about fifty yards from the shore, complete silence reigned. On this side of the port, where all there was nowadays were empty warehouses and little fishing boats, there was no one but me. Not a single person had passed by in the entire hour I’d spent in the dark between a warehouse with a sunken-in roof and an overturned cart without its left rear wheel. Not even the watch had honored this place with their vigilant presence. Who would they catch here anyway? People seldom came here at night, if only because the filth and stench that dominated in the old parts of the docks deterred even those who’d been accustomed to filth and stench since birth. There weren’t even any rats. What would a self-respecting rat do in a place like this? Gnaw on old salt-covered fishing nets? All the stocks had been transferred to a different part of the port about ten years ago.

We had met with Stump early that morning in a small shop that smelled of smoked meats, located on the very edge of Second City. The Giiyan arrived dressed as a wealthy artisan, cheerful and ruddy. He’d been able to arrange a meeting with the man we would need to wage a successful campaign against Joch. The thief hadn’t said yes or no, but he had agreed to hear us out, and to that effect he set up a meeting in the old part of the port. At night. Plus, he commanded that I come alone and, although Layen wasn’t very happy about it, I accepted his terms.

I arrived an hour earlier than the agreed-upon time and walked around the neighborhood just in case Mols or this unknown craftsman had got it into their heads not to play fair. And then, tucked in a secluded spot, I watched the pier.

A soft chime swept over the sleeping city—the bells of Melot’s temples. It was three in the morning.

I almost missed his arrival. The man came from the direction of the Crab District, passed by about thirty yards from me, walked down the pier, and stopped at the water’s edge. The stranger stood with his hood thrown over his head, his back to the shore, looking out at the sea.

The man was my height but a bit narrower in the shoulders. He was dressed in a short, well-fitted jacket, tight trousers, and soft boots. All in gray and black tones. On his right hip hung an impressively large knife, and a canvas bag was thrown over his shoulder. He didn’t even bother to turn around when I walked up to him. He just stood there, staring somewhere beyond the horizon, as if all the treasure of the world were hidden there.

I coughed.

“You’re late.” The man’s voice was unpleasantly dry.

“Does it bother you?”

A slight shrug. “No, I suppose it doesn’t. People who are late for a good reason do not deserve any special blame. I’m sure you had to make sure that everything was all right.”

He turned his head slightly.

“You’re a sharp-sighted fellow.”

“And you’re cautious and patient. Not everyone would spend an hour in such a pigsty.”

It seemed to me that he was smiling.

“Well, we’re standing here together, so apparently I’m not the only one spending time in such a place.”

“You have a way with words, Ness.”

“I didn’t think that Stump would have told you my name.”

“Stump? Ah… the red-faced assassin. No. He didn’t say who wanted to meet me.”

“Then how do you know my name?”

“I have my own ways of learning what intrigues me, Gray.”

I grabbed my hatchet but then froze, not daring to raise my hand to throw it.

My companion had moved very quickly. Before I even had time to blink, he’d already aimed a miniature crossbow at me. It looked like the thing was loaded with two bolts.

“Put it away.” His voice was just as dry, but his tone was also benevolent. “You didn’t come here for this, am I right?”

Slowly, without taking my eyes off the crossbow, I returned the utak to my belt.

“Don’t be nervous. I don’t care who’s looking for you or how much money you have on your head,” he said, lowering his crossbow, and he once again turned his back to me.

“Are you so rich?” I hadn’t been able to make out his face—it remained hidden in the shadows of his hood.

He laughed.

“I’m not as greedy as you might think.”

“But you’re rude. You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”

A pause.

“Call me Harold.”

“A strange name. I’ve never heard one like it.”

“It is what it is.”

“Do you know why I need your help?”

“Yes. Stump mentioned it.”

“What do you think?”

“It’s going to get too hot, Giiyan.”

“Is that a no, thief?” I spat in irritation, suspecting that I’d wasted time coming here for nothing.

“Far from it.” He turned around and threw back his hood. Finally, I could get a good look at him.

He was perhaps five years older than me. He had a lean, tanned face with extremely sharp cheekbones. A high forehead. A straight, slightly bony nose, bushy eyebrows, and two days’ worth of stubble on his chin. Short black hair that was surprisingly gray at the temples. The man had obviously been worn down by life. I would have said that the man standing before me was the dark and dangerous type, if not for his eyes. They were completely out of place in his face—lively and full of laughter. It seemed like the thief was having a wonderful time, though at the moment I didn’t see cause for celebration.

“Far from it,” he repeated. “It will be intriguing.”

“I’m afraid that first and foremost, it will be dangerous,” I said coldly.

“Sometimes danger and intrigue go hand in hand. When are you planning to send Joch into the Darkness?”

“Tomorrow night.”

He nodded.

“Well, then. That works for me.”

“I hope you can help.”

“When it comes to locks, you can count on me.”

“How much?” I wanted to finish this deal as soon as possible.

He thought for a moment and then grinned, his eyes glinting mischievously. “Like I already said, I’m not greedy. Five sorens should do it.”

I lost the power of speech. It seemed that fate had brought me a lunatic. Layen and I expected that the bargaining would begin at three hundred minimum, and we were prepared to pay good money for his services. And he says five measly coins!

“What’s the catch?” I had to ask.

Harold raised an eyebrow. “Seems to me you should be jumping for joy that I didn’t rip you off for five hundred.”

“Five hundred?”

“I place a very high value on my skills,” he said cheerfully. “But consider yourself lucky today. I’ve decided to play for charity.”

I didn’t really understand his last words, but I said, “All the same, I’d like to know why you’re so generous.”

He chuckled and began walking along the pier back to the shore. I had to walk next to him.

“I’m interested in this matter,” he said cautiously. “That’s all. It’s a challenge to my skills. And a chance to shake things up. You can’t imagine, man, how boring it is to live sometimes.” He paused and then suddenly added, “Especially if you live for a very long time.”

It’s not a problem for me if a person doesn’t need money and is tired of living when he’s barely thirty. I wasn’t about to insist that he raise his price.

“That’s your right. I have nothing against it. Especially if it entertains you.”

“Entertains?” The thief laughed wholeheartedly. “Yes. I suppose you chose the right word.”

He sniffed the air and remarked randomly, “I can just smell that the coming Game will be impossibly interesting.”

“When would you prefer to receive the deposit?”

“Tomorrow. Before the job. And not the deposit, but the whole sum.”

“Okay.”

“I have some conditions. First. I work with locks and I don’t hurt anyone. You’ll have to deal with Joch’s people yourself. When I’m handling my business, I’m the boss. You will not interfere. I’ll let you in, but I won’t go into the house. I’m not interested in that. Second. I’ve heard about your woman. Be so kind as to keep her on a short leash. We will carry out the commission and then disband. All the rest doesn’t interest me. Third. If it gets too hot, it’s every man for himself.”

“It’s a deal.”

“I’ll be waiting for you tomorrow. At the same time. At the entrance to the cellar.”

I nodded and hurried away without saying good-bye.

Tia snuck into Haven by hiring a fisherman. He was snoring away in his tub when the Damned woke him, and he doused Pork in the choicest language. Typhoid ignored this completely and asked him to carry her to the port of Al’sgara. The drunkard laughed in her face and called her crazy, but Typhoid thrust some gold under his nose. This sobered him up right away, and he plopped down at his oars hastily.

All her fears proved unfounded. No one stopped them or even hailed them. As Leprosy had implied, this way of getting into the city wasn’t guarded very vigilantly. For now, at any rate. So less than an hour later the faint lights of the port appeared. When the boat came alongside a wooden pier, Tia stabbed the man with her dagger and walked away, leaving the body in the boat.

Now she had to find the blond archer who would lead her to the Healer. She’d been wandering around the city since early morning. Typhoid walked at random, hoping she would be lucky and her spark would bring her to the archer. She didn’t dare go to Hightown or Second City—the chance that she would run into one of the Walkers, Embers, or Scarlets there was too great. And it wouldn’t do to forgo caution in the other neighborhoods either. A second encounter with a wizard might not end as well as the first.

Tia started with the lowest districts, the ones right by the sea. Of course, not an hour passed before she was lost—Al’sgara was completely different than it had been five hundred years ago. Many of the streets and alleys hadn’t existed in her time. As a result, the Damned was not an inch closer to her goal and, angry at herself and Pork, returned to the port, deciding to look for lodging in an old warehouse.

The next day also came to nothing. All that Tia knew was that the blond was in the city. Al’sgara was too big, and her inability to use her Gift openly was oppressive. Without her abilities she couldn’t do anything. Every minute she was tempted to call upon her power. And time after time she restrained herself, whispering that it was not yet time. She still had a few days left to her, and for the time being she just needed to search and not despair.

She should be lucky. All her life, Typhoid had walked hand in hand with luck. Suffice it to recall the day when Retar died saving her from Sorita’s jackals—it was a miracle she escaped. And she had left Ginora’s side the day before the woman was brought to bay in the Marshes of Erlika. Or… she didn’t want to recall how she had survived but lost her body.

Despite these internal arguments, the Damned fell into deeper despair with each passing hour. She was afraid that she wouldn’t succeed before Rovan arrived.

But she was lucky again. And as always, when she least expected it. That night something caused her to wake up and crawl from the warehouse toward the sea. Pork was whining quietly somewhere on the edge of her consciousness, begging her to leave him alone and to let him go home. She ordered him to shut up, and just at that moment she saw two people standing on the pier. Tia didn’t need any light to recognize the blond archer, whom she’d been vainly searching for these past few days. The mark hanging over his head spoke for itself.

Her first impulse was to grab the bastard and shake the information out of him. But Typhoid never made the same mistakes twice. She remembered what happened the last time she allowed her fury to prevail over her reason. There was no rush. He would not escape retribution. She just had to take her time.

The Damned began to scrutinize the archer’s companion. His back was toward her, but he didn’t seem to be the wizard who had dealt with her so deftly. Just in case, she inspected him using a small shred of her Gift.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Multicolored spots danced before her eyes. Her temples began aching with a throbbing pain. The stranger had the Gift. And what a Gift it was; it made Tia want to hide away and pray to the gods in whom she did not believe. The man was bursting with power inside; Tia had never seen anything like it. It wasn’t light, and it wasn’t dark. It was primal, incomprehensible, and so powerful that the magic of the Damned was like a raindrop in the ocean in comparison. He could casually crush them all with one finger as if without a care in the world. The thing that the mages of this world since time immemorial had called the spark, hot and bright, should in him be called a “tangle”—it was constantly changing shape, pulsating as if it were alive. It seemed to be woven from a multitude of dancing shadows. Typhoid watched this breathtaking dance, and the pain she was feeling intensified. It was like looking into the Abyss itself, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away.

Tia was torn in two. She wanted to wail and run away, if only not to see, not to feel this impossible, mighty, ancient, primordial force. But she couldn’t force herself to move. She was drawn to the majesty of the shadows, like a moth to a flame.

Then it all ended, as if someone had blown out a candle. The pain disappeared. The member of the Sextet could no longer see the tangle. She had stopped sensing the Gift that was as old as the world; it was as if someone had slammed the door leading to the Abyss in her face. The blond was walking away, in the opposite direction from where the Damned was hiding. She watched his retreating back in despair but remained where she was. The stranger stood between her and the archer. He blocked Typhoid’s path, and she didn’t dare walk past him.

A few more seconds and the man she’d so tenaciously pursued vanished into the night. A wave of hopeless despair swept over her. And then the terrifying man with the tangle of shadows in his chest turned his head in her direction.

She couldn’t see his face, hidden as it was by his hood, but she felt his gaze. It was burning, tormenting, painful and… mocking? The stranger looked at her, and Tia forgot how to breathe, terrified of what he would do next. He took a step toward her and Typhoid couldn’t stand it anymore. She ran away.