Chasers of the Wind

5

Rek died quietly. Luk missed the moment when it happened. He had fallen into an uneasy slumber and when he woke up the wounded man was already in the Blessed Gardens. His friend’s dumb luck had finally come to an end, but before then he’d managed the impossible—he and Luk had escaped from the Gates. He’d had to carry Rek on his back for part of the way; the man had lost too much blood. Then the guard had gone into the forest—the road was dangerous and they needed to wait a couple of days until everything quieted down. A deserted silver mine was located in the foothills not far from the citadel. There were scores of them in the area. In former times, silver for Imperial sols had been extracted here, but the veins had run dry and so the place had fallen into disrepair. Luk doubted he could find a better place for a temporary shelter. It was unlikely that the Nabatorian soldiers would bother to check a mine that had been abandoned more than eighty years ago.

Now he needed to go up. He fumbled for his axe and picked up his lantern but didn’t light it. He made his way by touch until the low ceiling forced him to crawl on his knees. Only then did Luk decide to expend the oil. The light that came from the lantern was meager, and he couldn’t even make out what was one and a half piss-poor yards in front of him. He crawled on all fours along the damp ground, cursing his own caution. He shouldn’t have gone in so far. He could very well have stopped by the entrance. No one would search for them here. When he was finally able to stand up to his full height, the guard breathed a sigh of relief. Walking was easier now. After some time he felt a weak gust of wind on his face and he knew that the exit was only a stone’s throw away. Passing by the fork that led to the lower mines, he scrambled over a pile of processed material and saw a weak light in the distance.

Doubts began to torment him once again. Suddenly the world outside seemed dangerous. Hastily dampening down his lantern, he walked forward slowly, constantly stopping and straining his ears. At one point he seemed to hear footsteps, and he practically jumped out of his own trousers, but there wasn’t a single sound in the mines other than his own labored breathing.

When he was about twenty yards away from the exit, Luk heard a gentle rustle and once again became frightened. But then he realized that it was only the rain. The guard smiled in relief and hung the lantern on a brace, the one from which he’d taken it when he’d gone below.

The rain was unexpectedly intense. Night was falling. The world was enveloped in a web of gray shadows. The wet earth smelled strongly of leaves and something rotten. Opposite the mine shaft, no farther than ten yards away, a thin man dressed in rags was standing with his back to the former guard of the Gates. The rain, which had thoroughly drenched his tatters of clothing and sparse hair, did not seem to bother this strange person in the slightest.

Holding his breath, Luk examined the stranger. The famished-looking man held himself stiffly and didn’t have any weapons on him. He didn’t seem dangerous. Although, the Damned also seemed like peaceful little lambs until the time came. The memory of Rubeola made Luk tighten his grip on his axe. Melot only knew what to expect from the stranger.

“Screw a toad,” muttered the soldier, and then he spat angrily. “He’s standing right in my way. Why couldn’t he enjoy the rain in a different place?”

Luk was starting to get very angry. Both at the stranger and at himself. His own caution, or more precisely his cowardice, infuriated him beyond belief. He had an axe. He was at least twice as strong. But he was still standing in the same spot as three minutes ago. Spitting once more on the rocky ground, the guard came to a decision. He stepped out into the rain and, gathering a bit more air into his lungs, he shouted, “Hey, you!”

The man turned around and Luk’s mouth instantly went dry. He saw the pale, so pale it seemed blue, face of the stranger; he saw the sunken-in nose, the black lips caked with blood, and the eyes burning with an emerald fire.

After his frantic flight, Ga-Nor pulled in the reins and jumped from his horse. Sooner or later the horse would get tired. The road was dangerous, and pursuit would certainly be sent from the Gates. The tracker was under no illusion what would happen then. One against many—he wouldn’t be spared. So he had to leave the road as soon as possible and disappear in the forests of the foothills. And then afterward perhaps he would head home, to the north.

The horse, its ears lowered, stood meekly in the driving rain. He pitied the animal, but there was nothing he could do. Ga-Nor took out his dagger, pricked the horse in its rump, shouted loudly, and quickly jumped to the side. The animal whinnied from pain and galloped away at full speed. The Son of the Snow Leopard watched it leave and then began the arduous climb up the rain-washed slope of a small hill. Above him grew a thick spruce forest—an excellent place for someone who wanted to disappear. Clenching his teeth stubbornly, the northerner continued crawling up the slippery slope.

Finally he reached the trees. When he was hidden beneath their bristly boughs, he stopped to take a breath. The road lay below him, but despite the rain and the imminent twilight, he could see it quite well from his hiding place—a narrow ribbon that curled between the low hills not far from a swift river, which was now brown from the driving rain.

About five minutes later a group of pursuers shot out from around a bend—a score of angry Nabatorians, whipping their horses into a lather. They rushed past, not even glancing toward the spot where the tracker had hidden himself. Ga-Nor hoped that the sons of snow maggots would not find his horse anytime soon, but when they did, just let them try and guess where he decided to get off to go on foot.

After waiting several minutes, the Son of the Snow Leopard crawled away from the edge. He stood there, carefully examining the spot where he’d been lying. The thick carpet of soggy needles looked trampled. That was bad, but there was no help for it. He couldn’t wipe away all traces of himself even if he tried.

Ga-Nor flung the hood of his stolen cloak over his head and trotted along the route he’d chosen. He didn’t think that he should try to go very far into the mountains; it would slow his progress too much. It would be better to walk along the ridge under the cover of the forest. Very soon the foothills would turn into rolling hills and then into flatlands. There he could turn to the west and try to reach the frontier garrison if, of course, it had not yet fallen to the advance troops of the enemy. The tracker wanted to hope that the well-fed, idle southern army would be able to hold back the wave of dark blue (referring to Nabator’s colors) locusts that would soon come swarming over them.

It got dark quickly. The rain didn’t let up for a minute. As he passed through the branches of the drowsy trees, so heavy with water that they brushed against the ground, it seemed to the tracker that the forest was conducting an unhurried argument with the sky. Suddenly the experienced ear of the tracker caught the distinct sounds of a battle winding through the disarming murmuring of the trees.

Someone yelled, “Well, come at me, you bastard! Come on!” Someone else croaked brokenly in reply and then bellowed. Ga-Nor unsheathed his sword and resolutely headed toward the sounds. He would not leave danger at his back. Furthermore, someone needed help and that someone could very well turn out to be an ally.

The sounds of the scuffle were closer. The invective ceased, and in return the groans became more bloodthirsty. The Son of the Snow Leopard pushed aside a fir bough that was blocking his view and saw a rocky hillside with the dark square entrance of an abandoned mine carved into it. A bit farther on stood a barracks, ravaged by time, on whose roof a young tree had already managed to take root. The path along which the ore had been transported was overgrown with young spruce trees, so the only clearing was the one right in front of the mine itself. Mounds of rubble, extracted from the depths of the earth, rusted braces, water-filled carts, roof support beams rotted down to nothing. Amid all this desolation a fight was going on.

Ga-Nor instantly recognized the stout man regardless of the fact that his face was dirty from spending the last twenty-four hours in the mine. He had no doubt whatsoever—it was Luk, a guard from the garrison of the Towers. A lover of dice, and in his debt.

He was standing in the empty doorway to the barracks, clearly in jeopardy as he swung his axe at his lunging opponents. One of the walking dead had already been taken care of. It was resting right by the entrance to the mines with a fractured skull. But there were four others who were avidly trying to feast upon the meat they hungered for. Luckily, the soldier had chosen a good defensive position so the dead men kept getting in one another’s way—otherwise they would have long since reached him. As the northerner watched, Luk cut a chunk out of the shoulder of one of the corpses with his axe and kicked it in the stomach, pushing it away. He couldn’t continue like this for much longer. The guard was starting to get tired.

Ga-Nor slipped out from underneath the cover of the trees and rushed to help.

He couldn’t imagine a worse situation. The creature that Luk had originally taken for a living man had turned out to be a walking corpse. The soldier had never come across anything like this before. Sure, he’d heard all kinds of tales, but he’d never seen it for himself. Necromancy was banned in the Empire. This wasn’t Sdis, where sorcerers practiced black magic and controlled the dead.

It all seemed unreal. Luk didn’t want to believe his eyes but he had to. And quickly.

The creature lunged at him without any warning. Regardless of how frightened he was, Luk knew his business and killed the man-eater with the first strike, cutting off its head with a single well-placed blow. Before the soldier had time to come to his senses and curse as he always did, two more attacked him.

The first corpse had been hanging over the entrance to the mines the entire time. Melot knew what he was doing there, but he jumped and nearly landed on Luk’s back. The man was only saved by the fact that he’d decided to take a closer look at his kill and had stepped forward. A second corpse emerged from the darkness of the mine to help the first. The soldier had just heard his footsteps when he burst out of hiding. The former guardian of the Gates gave thanks that fate had so providently kept them apart in the mines. If he had encountered the monster in the darkness underground who knew how it would have ended.

Luk managed to hold back the first assault, but then two more unwelcome guests emerged from the barracks. They cornered him. He had to turn tail and stand in the doors so that the bastards would come at him one at a time. While he had so far managed to hold the charging creatures off, it was becoming harder and harder with every second. His arms felt like they were filled with lead, and the astonishingly nimble dead men were not tiring at all.

Moans, green eyes burning with fire, gnashing teeth, pale skin, caked blood.

He groaned in despair, hacked into the shoulder of one of his enemies, kicked him in the stomach, almost cut off the arm of another, and then sunk his axe into the face of a third.

“Cut off their heads! Their heads!” somebody shouted.

Two of the corpses immediately turned their attention to the new arrival. Luk was far from relieved. He could see that the man, his apparent savior, was wearing the cloak of the Nabatorian cavalry. But this was something he could try to understand later. Right now, the stranger was not coming after him. And he was also fighting for his life.

The two corpses who ran away allowed Luk to go on the counterattack. He sprang to the left and then forward, spun around, and with all his strength swung a blow at the skull of one of the corpses jumping at his heels. But his aim was off and he tore through the corpse’s collarbone and sternum, the momentum of his swing forcing the axe to hit the ground. He wrenched it up, twirled it around, and brought it down on the head of a corpse that was trying to sneak up behind him. He spun the axe again, raining down a hail of blows on the first zombie, which was already rising up from the ground. Its shattered skull burst apart repulsively and the corpse, enlivened by the magic of a necromancer, jerked, and then went limp.

“It worked! Screw a toad!” spat the winner victoriously.

Only now did the soldier recall his savior. The man had just finished dealing with his own troubles and was wiping off his blade.

Luk had not been mistaken. This man really did seem to be a Nabatorian. It was impossible to tell what he looked like because of the hood riding low over his face. The man finished wiping his sword, nudged the headless corpse with his foot, and began walking toward the soldier. Luk waved his axe threateningly.

“Have you gone mad?” asked the stranger.

“Listen,” said Luk, breathless from the battle. “I’m grateful to you for your help but our paths diverge here. You go that way, I go the other way, and we forget about meeting each other.”

“Did you lose the last of your brains from terror?” the stranger asked warmly, and then he took off his hood.

Luk stood stock-still and gaped. He recognized that visage. The lean face with high cheekbones, the hawkish nose, the red mustache, and the hair of the same color pulled back into short, thick braids. It was Ga-Nor, Son of the Snow Leopard, who had been lost in the mountains with Da-Tur’s squad. The very northerner to whom Luk lost money playing dice.

“I don’t believe it,” stammered the soldier.

“You mean that I returned from the other world and decided to get my debt from you?” said Ga-Nor, smiling wearily.

“If you’re a dead man, you’re a lot worse than these bastards. At least they didn’t ask me for money.”

“Indeed. Though they’d have been quite happy to suck out your heart.”

The soldier shuddered at the prospect.

“How did you get here?”

Ga-Nor didn’t reply; he turned his head back in the direction from which he’d come, listening intently to the patter of the rain. Luk did the same but unlike the northerner he didn’t hear anything suspicious and so he dared to ask a question. “What is it?”

“Shut up,” snapped the Son of the Snow Leopard.

In the twilight his face sharpened, heavy shadows gathered under his eyes, and he himself began to resemble a corpse. Luk shivered involuntarily. A minute went by, another began. The rain came down even harder, even though this seemed completely impossible. The tracker didn’t have any rain gear, and he’d been soaked through for a long time, but still he peered into the darkness and scented the air. Luk tried this as well, but he only smelled the stench emanating from the dead bodies.

“Come on, what’s the matter?”

“We’re leaving.”

“What?”

“We’re leaving. Quickly.”

“But…”

The Son of the Snow Leopard glared at him angrily.

“I’m not going to bargain with you. Either you come with me or you stay here to greet your guests.”

Luk only needed a second to realize what kind of guests he was talking about. The ones with the glowing green eyes.

“I’m coming with you,” he said quickly, and looked around in alarm, expecting dark figures to leap out of the dense forest at any moment.

“I’ll be walking quickly. We need to shake them. Watch your feet. Keep up.”

Luk nodded frantically and, glancing back one last time, hurried after the northerner.

Regardless of the wet firewood, they managed to make a fire without too much difficulty. The flames crackled and threw up sparks, and the thick smoke wafted up through a hole in the ceiling. And that, right now, was the most important thing. Luk was as frozen as a dog and this was the first opportunity he’d had to warm up and dry out his clothes.

They’d run through the forest for half the night. They walked down a slope, only to climb up the next, and then they walked along the ridge of the next hill and descended another slope. Then for a long time they plodded their way upstream against the current of an icy river. Luk slipped on the wet stones three times and fell, cursing, into the water, and three times the strong arms of the northerner pulled him out by the scruff of his neck and set him back on his feet.

The Son of the Snow Leopard surpassed even the unrivaled, now deceased captain of the Tower of Ice. Even that man had never driven his subordinates through an obstacle course like this one. Luk was exhausted, his legs hurt something fierce, his breathing was labored, his axe seemed unspeakably heavy, he wanted to collapse and shove it all up his toad’s ass, or better yet, up the ass of the northerner’s little god, but he didn’t. His fear urged him on. And so the exhausted soldier doggedly trotted behind Ga-Nor.

The man hardly spoke at all, constantly changing directions, slipping between tree trunks and streams, circling around copses, every now and then pausing to listen, smell the air, and then continue on. At one point it seemed to Luk that they were going in circles. Finally, just when the soldier had decided he couldn’t care less if a corpse wanted to suck his heart out or not, they arrived.

In a grove of old sycamores, in the midst of tall blackberry bushes, stood a hunter’s cabin. It was ancient, covered in moss and shelf fungus, with a partially fallen roof, broken windows, and an insecure door. Inside it smelled of rotten wood, humidity, and the droppings of wild animals. The floor creaked awfully and the tiny stove was being used as a nest by mice. It was obvious that no one had been here for a long time.

Luk did not know if Ga-Nor already knew about this refuge or if he stumbled upon it by accident. But, contrary to his habit, he wouldn’t ask any questions, because he thought that spending the night here was far better than out in the rain.

The tracker still wouldn’t say a single word. He silently kindled the fire using a pile of sodden wood that was lying in the corner. Then he closed his eyes and apparently went to sleep. The soldier considered doing the same, but with all his questions he couldn’t manage it. He stood up quietly and tried to push the door closed.

There was no latch. So the guard fashioned a makeshift one out of the trunk of a young tree. It was still unsound. The rotten planks of the door could not even withstand two good blows. Luk understood this but for some reason he felt much calmer with a closed door. At any rate, if they tried to break in here then he would at least be forewarned and not find out about it when their enemies were already standing over them.

All that remained were the windows. He studied them quickly. They were small. Luk wouldn’t be able to crawl through them, but for someone thin enough it would be easy. There were no decent boards, no nails, and no hammer here. The only thing he could do was hope that all their enemies were big and fat.

“What happened at the Gates?”

The sound of Ga-Nor’s voice ringing out caused Luk to flinch.

“Screw a toad! You’ll drive me to my death!”

“Then you’ll rest with Ug.”

“You can rest with Ug all you like, but I intend to live,” grumbled Luk as he checked his drying clothes and sat down by the fire. “Do you have anything to eat? I haven’t eaten in over twenty-four hours.”

The northerner rummaged in the bag that he’d taken from the saddle of the Nabatorian horse. He extracted sugar, an onion, a small hunk of cheese, and a quarter of rye bread from it.

“I trust you’re capable of eating and talking at the same time?” asked Ga-Nor as he sliced the onion with his dagger.

His companion nodded and told his story as he ate. The Son of the Snow Leopard listened attentively. Everything was far worse than he thought. The Damned were involved in this business! Rubeola’s name used to terrify him as a child. And it probably wasn’t just her. How many of them were there? Six or eight? The Damned would be far more trouble than all the others. If, of course, Luk wasn’t lying, as was his habit. But he was clearly not lying.

Nabator had been wanting to conquer the south of the Empire for centuries. And now that long-awaited event was coming to pass.

“Surely someone else must have escaped.”

“Maybe,” replied Luk listlessly. A blind man could see that he didn’t really believe it. “Rek and I managed to get out because we ran from the walls along the southern stairwell. It’s not far from there to the fifth portal. I just don’t think that anyone followed us. A swarm of Nabatorians fell on them. And Morts, too. We barely got through.”

“Did the Walker really die?”

“Yeah,” said the soldier mournfully. “The Damned hit the wall so hard that…”

He didn’t finish, and he didn’t really need to. A heavy silence fell. Both men watched the flames of the fire and thought their own thoughts.

Luk considered himself lucky. Ga-Nor was an excellent tracker and not a bad swordsman. The chances of living were far better with him than if he were alone. If the northerner hadn’t come to his rescue, he would already be dead.

“Ga-Nor? What now?”

The Son of the Snow Leopard answered reluctantly, “We will have to get through on our own. Going to El’nichi Ford makes no sense. I’m sure they’ve already taken it. I think that Nabator will head for Okni and Gash-Shaku. That would deprive Al’sgara of support. And it will give them the opportunity to gather up their forces to strike at the heart of the Empire. As soon as we leave the foothills, we need to head west.”

“I need to go to Al’sgara,” Luk declared suddenly. “The Walker begged me to report about the Damned.”

“I’m sure they already know.”

“And if not?”

“Then they’ll know in a day or two. At any rate, you’ll be too late.”

“I promised.”

Ga-Nor looked at the obstinately pursed lips of his companion with astonishment. He hadn’t expected it—that a gambler would keep his word.

“If you won’t go with me, I’ll go by myself.”

“There’s forest all around. And beyond that the Blazgian Swamp begins. You’ll die.”

“If we keep going west, we’ll get to Dog Green. There’s a road there that goes to Al’sgara.”

“Do you really think that the Nabatorians haven’t blocked it off?” scoffed the northerner.

“It’s worth the risk. Are you coming with me?”

“Let’s talk about it tomorrow. Right now I need to sleep. I’m very tired.”

“I’ll keep watch,” Luk offered at once, immensely cheered up. The northerner didn’t refuse him; he promised to think about it. That was a mercy. It would be much worse if he refused to budge and said no. It was as easy to change the minds of that stubborn tribe as it was to get a Je’arre to sell his silk cheaply.

The soldier picked up his axe and sat down by the door, laying his weapon next to him.

“Wake me up toward morning. I’ll relieve you.” The tracker pressed his back against the wall and closed his eyes.

“Sure. Ga-Nor?”

“Yes?”

“Where did those corpses come from? Shouldn’t they be with their necromancer?”

“They should. But they can run away.”

“How?”

“With their legs.”

“And what about the ones chasing us? They aren’t going to come here and surprise us in the early hours of the morning?”

The Son of the Snow Leopard snorted crossly, but he still answered, “Only if they know how to track. But they are far too stupid for that. They shouldn’t find us. If they do, wake me. And now shut up and let me sleep.”

Luk nodded but his companion didn’t see it. He was asleep.

The soldier shifted about, trying to get comfortable. He glanced at the door. He took a deep breath, yawning widely. Listening to the patter of the rain falling on the roof, he watched as the flames died down.

Ga-Nor awoke and heard peaceful snoring. Without opening his eyes, the northerner cursed. Luk had fallen asleep without waking him up, of course. An infuriating blunder that could have cost them their lives. But this time they had been spared. No one had tried to infiltrate their asylum during the night, and that meant that they had managed to get the creatures off their trail.

That was good.

Judging by the sun striking him in the eyes, the weather had changed. That, and it was probably late morning. He’d slept deeply. But that was not surprising—the strain of the last few days necessitated a proper rest. Maybe Luk was right not to wake him. He needed to gather his strength.

He recalled last night’s conversation. Luk’s proposition was sound. It was unlikely that the Nabatorians would be tempted by that little village. Beyond that, there was no point skulking about in the forest on an empty stomach. He had little food, and without a crossbow he couldn’t survive by hunting. That, and there wouldn’t be time for it. But in Dog Green he could stock up on food and at least one of his troubles would be lessened.

The sun was beating down on his eyes. He knew he should get up, but he didn’t feel like it. The warm light was an unexpectedly pleasant sensation. Suddenly a shadow of some kind ran across the sun; the rays stopped falling on his face for a second and then returned again. It was just for a moment, and it could have meant nothing at all, but the northerner’s complacent mood disappeared instantly. He quickly opened his eyes and squinted against the light.

Through the window opposite where he was lying, he could see the crowns of the sycamores and a swatch of clear blue sky. Which meant, as he had supposed, that the fleeting shadow had not been a cloud.

He kept perfectly still and did not take his tense gaze from the window. He cautiously dragged in air through his nostrils. The scent was so slight that even the keen nose of the northerner did not smell it immediately. But when he detected it, Ga-Nor’s blood ran cold. They were in a heap of trouble now. Ug take him if he was mistaken!

The air smelled of almonds.

He only knew of one creature that gave off such a smell. And right now it was not on the side of soldiers of the Empire. If it hadn’t been for the shadow, Ga-Nor never would have sensed the danger. The intelligent creature had placed itself downwind and the forest was not silent. The birds were chirping with all their might, not at all bothered by the presence of an intruder.

What now? Would the enemy wait until they left the hut? How long would its patience last? Could it see him right now?

The northerner glanced at Luk. He was sleeping with his mouth open. The soldier was lying opposite the second window and he didn’t even suspect that his scalp was at risk of becoming a trophy.

Ug, help me! What bad timing!

Trying to make as few movements as possible, Ga-Nor groped for the bread that remained after last night’s meal. He ripped off a piece with his fingers and rolled it up into a ball. He took careful aim and then flicked his makeshift projectile at Luk’s forehead. Luk opened his eyes.

When he saw the northerner’s troubled face, Luk clearly wanted to ask what was going on. Ga-Nor quickly held up his fingers in warning, begging him to keep silent. Thank Ug! He understood. Using his fingers, the Son of the Snow Leopard tried to explain that they were in danger. And that too was understood. Now for the most difficult part—they had to back away from the window so that they weren’t visible from outside. They needed to do it quickly, and if possible simultaneously. He didn’t know which window their adversary was watching from.

Unfortunately, the soldier did not understand the complicated clan sign language of the Children of the Snow Leopard, but he did know the customary army hand signals. The redhead tried his best to explain to him what he had to do.

“On the count of three,” mouthed the tracker. “One… two… three!”

Ga-Nor shot up into the air. There was a whistle, followed by a dull thud. The tracker crashed to the floor, went into a roll, and landed right underneath the window. He quickly looked around.

Luk was alive. Right then he was pressed against the door but his chubby, good-natured face had turned the color of sour milk. A yard-and-a-half-long shaft was sticking out of the wall right where the soldier had just been leaning. It was thick. With violet-red plumage.

“Damn it!” swore the northerner.

“What is it?” gasped Luk, who was scared nearly to death, vividly imagining how he would have been nailed to the wall by that thing.

“Away from the door! Move!”

If there was one thing Luk did not lack, it was quick wits. He didn’t bother asking stupid questions and did what he was ordered. Holding his axe fast in his hand, he rolled to the side and crawled on his stomach to a less dangerous spot between the wall and the stone stove. It was a blind spot for the bowman.

The next arrow punched right through the flimsy door panels, coming out of it two handbreadths. If the guard had stayed put, he’d already be dead.

“Luk? You alive?”

“Seems like,” said the soldier, touching himself with trembling hands. “What is it?”

“A Burnt Soul.”

“A real one?”

He instantly realized the stupidity of that question. This wasn’t one of his old sergeant’s boozy tales.

“Where did it come from?”

“Ask me something easier,” grumbled Ga-Nor. What had brought the creature to the forest was another question entirely. “Sit still, keep your head down.”

“No problem!”

Luk realized that they had been backed into a corner. It was keeping an eye on the hut so that they couldn’t get out. If they stuck their noses outside, they’d get hit by an arrow.

For the time being, Ga-Nor was out of the eye line of the Burnt Soul, but it could easily change its position. Trying not to raise his head and clinging to the wall, the northerner quickly crawled over to a corner where he couldn’t be reached.

Luk tensely watched the Son of the Snow Leopard from the opposite end of the hut. The tracker crouched down and, catching the troubled look of his companion, smiled joylessly. He understood what a mess they were in.

“How long do we have until he gets tired of waiting?” asked the guard.

Ga-Nor noted that the soldier was not panicking and that he had his weapon in hand.

Good for him.

“It all depends on how long he’s been here and what he wants.”

“Scalps. I don’t know about you, but my hair is dear to me.”

“You barely have any left.”

Luk smiled sourly.

“And yet. What do you plan to do?”

“I plan on thinking.”

How could he kill a Burnt Soul without a crossbow? If they tried to run past him, he’d pick them off like fattened hens. Going out the door was suicide, as was the window. And the roof.

Burnt Souls were excellent archers. It is possible that the humans and the Nirits of Bragun-Zan shot more accurately than the inhabitants of the Great Waste, but in terms of strength the Burnt Souls had no equal. The longbows of these creatures rivaled the most formidable crossbows. One of their arrows could easily pierce most of the armor made by the blacksmiths of this world.

The Imperial forces had come up against the warriors of the Burnt Souls a few times since the War of the Necromancers. Most often these confrontations did not end favorably for the humans. The dreaded bowmen had not been seen in the lands of the Empire for a long time, but they were well remembered. And if even the smallest parts of the stories about them were true, dispatching the archer would be far from easy.

“Will he come in here?”

“I don’t know,” replied Ga-Nor after a little thought. “If he’s an idiot then he might. Take a look at the roof. If he climbs up to the smoke hole, he’ll pick us off like rabbits.”

“You go take a look.” Luk picked up his axe with a decisive air. “Screw a toad, but I don’t plan to waste away here.”

Before the Son of the Snow Leopard had time to ask what the soldier was up to, he began to chop away at the floor. The axe rose and fell, breaking the old floorboards. After only a few minutes a hole appeared in the floor, which would be wide enough to crawl through without too much difficulty.

While he was working, the man was out of breath and sweating but his good-natured face looked utterly pleased.

“My father was a hunter. These log houses are always built on stilts. The floor is raised a yard, if not two, above the ground. When they spend the winter, they keep produce down there. We can’t get to the trapdoor; it’s under the window. That’s why I’m doing this.”

“And what then? Are you suggesting that we crawl under the floor?” The northerner’s expression was skeptical.

“No. I’m suggesting that you do that.” Seeing how the red eyebrows lifted upward, Luk rushed to explain. “It’s unlikely that I could kill off that beast, but you can.”

“How will I get out of the ground? Dig a tunnel?”

“I’m telling you, the hut is built on stilts. Planks are fastened between the floor and the ground. They’re all rotten. It won’t take much strength.”

“And while I’m crawling around down there you’re just going to sit it out up here?”

Luk shrugged. “I could crawl around with you down there. That’s not a problem for me. But sneaking up on a Burnt Soul—no way. You know he’d hear me coming a league off. I’ve never gone scouting through the Boxwood Mountains, you know.”

Ga-Nor pondered it. A way out was being offered to him. The risk, of course, was great, but they either had to risk something or wait here until they died of hunger. Or until help came for the Burnt Soul. Morts, for example. Then it would be far too late to do anything. And the soldier was right. There was no way he could do this. He walked through the forest like a wild boar, making so much noise that even a deaf man could hear him. He would do more harm than good. Ga-Nor would have to do this himself.

“All right, we’ll do it your way.”

He crept along the wall to the window and then to the stove. Then he had to pass through an area that was in the line of fire. Luk, realizing what was about to happen, moved over. Ga-Nor took a leap and again he anticipated the arrow that struck the floor by a fraction of a second.

“Persistent brute,” said the Son of the Snow Leopard through clenched teeth.

“Screw a toad, at least he missed you.”

The northerner snorted in agreement and, without further delay, slid down into the hole. The storage pit was not very deep; it came up to about waist-high.

“Wait here. In case I call out for you.”

“Can I do anything to help?”

“Pray for me if you have nothing else to do,” suggested Ga-Nor, and then he disappeared under the floor.

Twilight reigned here, and it smelled strongly of mold, dampness, and earth. He quickly oriented himself and chose a path to the wall that stood opposite the door. The Burnt Soul was unlikely to be keeping watch there. Why would he, when he assumed that the only exits were through the door or the windows?

With all the will in the world he couldn’t straighten up here, so he had to crawl on all fours. Fortunately, he didn’t have far to crawl. The Son of the Snow Leopard stopped at the boards that were fastened to the stilts. They extended down from the walls of the cabin and covered the gap between the ground and the floor. Just as Luk had suggested, parts of the boards were rotten and other parts were nailed haphazardly so that they fit loosely against each other.

Ga-Nor listened closely and didn’t hear anything suspicious. Birds were chirping, insects were buzzing, wind was sweeping through the crowns of the lofty sycamores. The tracker put his eye to a chink between the boards and carefully checked the area. Most of his view was obscured by the blackberry bushes that had grown into a living hedge weighed down by large, dark purple berries. All he could do was hope that his enemy was on the opposite side of the cabin.

Ga-Nor took out his knife, wedged the blade in between the boards, and, using the weapon like a lever, began to clear a path for himself. As he worked, the northerner tried not to put too much force into it; he moved smoothly so that, Ug grant it so, the lumber would not creak. He was successful. The wood gave way easily and after a few minutes of patient effort, the Son of the Snow Leopard climbed out from under the cabin.

Without raising his head, he crawled like a snake on his stomach toward the blackberry bushes. Ignoring the thorns, he struggled through the hedge and crawled through the moss to the nearest sycamore. It took him nearly fifteen minutes to cover a paltry ten yards. But Ga-Nor could rival even the Highborn when it came to the art of merging with a tree to make a single whole. Not a single twig snapped, not even the most fragile bush swayed at his passing, and the birds remained undisturbed.

Once he’d hidden himself in a hollow between the massive roots of the tree, the northerner breathed a sigh of relief. The hardest part was behind him. What came next should be easier. He had the advantage—his enemy did not know that someone had escaped from the cabin. He just had to use it.

True, his crawl through the blackberry bushes had taken its toll. His entire body, including his face, was covered in shallow, bleeding scratches. But he could deal with this aggravating trifle later. A Burnt Soul was not a Mort; its sense of smell was not as strong and so it wouldn’t catch the scent of his blood.

Keeping low to the ground, Ga-Nor ran from the bushes in brief dashes from tree to tree. He didn’t turn back until he’d run about eight hundred yards into the forest.

If not for Luk, he would have kept going. It would be quite a while before his disappearance was discovered. He could cover his tracks so well that not even one of the Damned could find him. But he had to return. Ug would not approve of a Son of the Snow Leopard abandoning his comrade. The reckoning after death would be terrible. Wallowing in the icy abyss of Oblivion was far more terrifying than any Burnt Soul.

Changing direction from the north to the east, he ran for another four hundred yards or so. To an outside observer it would seem that the northerner was meandering throughout the forest without rhyme or reason. But in reality, Ga-Nor was outflanking the ensconced archer in a steep arc, planning to come upon him from behind. It took over an hour of these meanderings for him to quietly draw near the front of the cabin unobserved by his adversary.

The cabin was no more than fifteen yards away. He could already see the closed door with the arrow sticking out of it. But the Burnt Soul was absent, even though all his suppositions led him to believe that it was somewhere nearby, judging by where the shot had come from.

Had it changed position?

This was bad. The creature was sitting under cover and there were many trees and bushes around the cabin. Where could it be hiding? The northerner had hoped to calculate the places from which the Burnt Soul could have taken an easy shot through the window. The first spot was the very place where the Son of the Snow Leopard was lying; the second was thirty paces from him behind a sycamore. But it seemed that there was no one there. Obviously he couldn’t be hiding in the first spot either, or else Ga-Nor would already have departed for Ug’s judgment.

“Where have you gotten to, you filthy little toad?” he whispered through clenched teeth.

Time passed but he still couldn’t find his adversary. There was every indication that for some reason he’d up and left. Ga-Nor did not even begin to pay attention to that idiotic thought. He was far too cautious for that. He was going to wait for as long as he needed to.

A large spotted woodpecker flew over the bushes and caught his attention. The bird alighted on the trunk of a nearby sycamore and then instantly took wing, as if something had frightened it. The tracker peered avidly into the thick brush growing beneath the tree. He’d examined it earlier but he hadn’t noticed any signs of danger and had been content to ignore it in his search for other hiding places where the Burnt Soul could have secreted itself.

There was nothing suspicious. Just the bushes. Very little to frighten a bird.

Again, endless minutes of waiting passed by. Ga-Nor did not take his eyes off the bushes. Then the wind changed. His nose was immediately assaulted by the scent of almonds.

The northerner nearly cursed. The beast was hiding all of twenty paces from him. He was so blind that if it were not for the bird, he would never have noticed his enemy. Thank Ug that when his eyes betrayed him, he still had his nose.

He began to crawl backward and to the side. When the distance was shortened to ten paces he saw the Burnt Soul. A head, an upper body, and two arms. Instead of hips and legs these creatures had a short, scaly serpent’s tail. It wasn’t clear what purpose it served, since the brutes moved through the air as if by magic, hovering over the ground. But not very high. It was rumored that they could rise up to the height of a grown man.

The creature’s skull seemed misshapen. A too high and heavy brow, a sunken face, delicate cheekbones. Sparse hair, into which the red-and-purple feathers of some unknown bird were braided. Yellow, shriveled skin, a small lower jaw; the face of an old man. It had no nose or ears. In their place were black holes. Its long arms, as thin as a skeleton’s, looked deceptively weak but they could easily bend a horseshoe. A dirty gray-green tunic was thrown over the desiccated, angular body. A quiver with a bundle of arrows was on its back. Another three arrows were planted in the ground. The bow grasped in the creature’s hands was so large that Ga-Nor began to have some misgivings. You’d use a bow like that to hunt Snow Trolls, not humans.

The archer was completely focused on the cabin. The Burnt Soul didn’t bother to look around and had no clue that a human had been hiding near it all this time. Ga-Nor unsheathed his sword. He took a step toward his enemy. He froze. Another step. He froze again. Now more than ever he resembled a large, redheaded snow leopard. A cat stalking its unwitting prey.

The Burnt Soul shifted and the northerner stopped stalking him and rushed forward. The beast heard him, yelped, turned, and raised its bow. It was far more nimble than he had thought it would be.

At the last moment, Ga-Nor leaped aside and the arrow flew past his ear with an aggravated buzz. He brandished his sword and swept downward, driving it into the creature’s face. The sword sheared through skin, flesh, bone, and brain, destroying the head of his opponent. Its back arched and it flew upward a good two yards; then it fell back to the ground, crashing into the bushes. Ga-Nor did not stop at this and struck the already dead Burnt Soul with three more tremendous blows. In the tracker’s opinion, the creature deserved it.

The Son of the Snow Leopard returned to the cabin and drummed on the door.

“Luk, get out here!”

The door creaked open and the soldier gingerly stepped out of the cabin.

“Screw a toad! I was thinking he’d done you.”

“It was I who ‘did’ him.”

“You’re covered in blood.”

“It’s from the blackberry bushes. The beast almost shot me.”

“Was it alone?”

“Yes. Let’s get out of here.”

“I want to see it.”

“Why?”

“I’ve never seen a Burnt Soul.”

Ga-Nor shrugged his shoulders indifferently and indicated the spot where the body lay. He went into the cabin and quickly packed his things into his bag. When he got outside, he could see Luk circling the carcass. The redhead walked over to the guard and also looked at the corpse. The tracker couldn’t really see why it was so interesting.

“You got to kill several of ours, you viper,” spat Luk, pointing to three human scalps attached to the Burnt Soul’s quiver.

“Good riddance,” Ga-Nor responded gloomily.

The soldier pulled a red-and-purple feather from the hair of the slain creature. The feather had miraculously escaped being covered in blood.

“I’ll take this to remember. Do you know the legend of how the Burnt Souls came to be?”

“No,” said the northerner as he tried to draw the captured bow. It was useless. You needed to be a real leviathan to do that. The northerner wistfully dropped the useless weapon to the ground.

“In ancient times, the race of the Burnt Souls was exactly the same as the Je’arre. They lived together in the south, beyond the Great Waste. It was only afterward that the winged (one of the names given to the Je’arre in the Empire) flew to the north. According to the legends of our feathered friends, the tribe of the Burnt Souls, which was called something else before, violated the covenants of their god and he punished the heretics. He took their wings away, cast them from the sky, and burned their souls. The beasts grow up, live, die, and then nothing awaits them. They have no chance at all of finding themselves in either the Blessed Gardens or in the Abyss. Only the void and oblivion. And that’s who these Burnt Souls are.”

“Even without wings they fly perfectly well. Get yourself together, storyteller. We need to leave.”

“Where are we going now?”

“Where you wanted to go. To Dog Green. And then we’ll see.”

Without responding, Luk smoothed out the feather and tucked it into the inside pocket of his old jacket.