Shadow Blizzard

20 The Player

My laughter woke everyone up, but I just couldn’t stop. All that effort wasted, all those lives lost, and it had all been in vain! We were too late.

Kli-Kli seemed to be more frightened for me than the others. I think you’d probably be frightened, too, if some idiot suddenly started laughing in the middle of the night for no reason at all. Eel was the one who found the remedy for my laughter. He gave me a couple of hefty slaps to the face, and I calmed down.

“I’m all right,” I said, catching my breath. “You can stop pummeling me now. Sorry, lads.”

“What happened, Dancer? Not ill, are you?” Kli-Kli asked in concern.

“Everything’s all right,” I said. “It was just another bad dream.”

“Somehow I don’t recall bad dreams ever making you laugh before,” Hallas growled. “Mostly you just yelled blue murder. Come on, let’s hear what you dreamed about this time.”

So I had to tell them about the battle. Not everything, naturally, but certainly the fact that we lost.

“If the king’s dead, that’s bad. It won’t exactly inspire the army,” Mumr said pensively. He believed in my dream straightaway.

Apart from not inspiring the army, it would also cancel out my Commission. If the client was dead, the deal was dissolved. So I didn’t have to take the Rainbow Horn to Avendoom, where bloody war was just about to break out under the city walls. And I could forget about my pardon and the fifty thousand gold pieces that His Deceased Majesty had promised me.

“If the battle happened yesterday, then we still have a little time. It’s not very far to the capital now. We can try to make it.”

“We’ll make it, gnome! I swear on my house, we’ll make it! Eel, Mumr, saddle up the horses. Hallas, pay the innkeeper!” said Egrassa.

The Wild Hearts dashed to carry out his instructions.

“Listen, Harold, could you let me have the Horn just for a moment?”

“What do you want it for, Kli-Kli?” I asked, but I took the artifact out of my bag and handed it to her anyway.

She took hold of it, turned it this way and that, sniffed at it, muttered some gibberish over it, took some kind of powder out of her pocket and sprinkled some on it.

“Egrassa? What do you see?”

“I am not skilled in shamanism. I don’t see anything.”

“I didn’t see anything, either,” she sighed. “Take it, Harold. Now I understand your dream.”

“And?”

“You said there was a sound like a string breaking. That was the Rainbow Horn losing its power.”

“Do you mean to say…?”

“Exactly what I said. This is just a horn now. Nothing special about it. At least, not until the Order gets to work. The artifact has lost its power and the balance has been shaken. The Nameless One is now free to use magic here in Valiostr.”

“That means we have to hurry. Get your things, we’re moving on!” the elf said brusquely.

“Valder!” I called. “Valder! Is this true?”

“Yes,” the dead archmagician condescended to reply about a minute later. “The Rainbow Horn has lost its power.”

“But that means the Fallen Ones have escaped from the Palaces of Bone!”

“It’s not that simple, my friend. Yes, the Horn is useless, and the Fallen Ones are able to move up to the top levels of Hrad Spein, but not to leave it. The Horn is a Key. Until the Key is turned and the scales of the balance are destroyed, the Fallen Ones will not come pouring out into Siala. And only the Master can turn the Key. Or another Master, or … the Player.”

“Do you know the name of the Player?”

No reply.

All I remember of the days that followed is the wild galloping and the cold that crept in under my clothes. On the road to Avendoom we exhausted three pairs of horses each. We had to buy new ones. The terrible catastrophe had sent prices for all sorts of goods, and especially means of transport, soaring sky-high, but Egrassa doled out the gold without any complaints.

The news got worse and worse. Unfortunately, my dream hadn’t lied—the army had been defeated on the Field of Fairies. But it hadn’t been routed—most of the soldiers who survived the Nameless One’s attacks managed to retreat to Avendoom. The king had been killed—may he dwell in the light. Almost the entire headquarters staff of the army and at least two archmagicians had been killed along with him. The country had a new king now, the younger son of Stalkon the Ninth, Stalkon of the Spring Jasmine.

The Order was doing everything it possibly could to stop the Nameless One, but our magicians obviously weren’t having much success.

Part of the population had left the capital and the surrounding area in great haste. Anyone who didn’t intend to defend the walls of the capital and could run, ran. Personally speaking, I didn’t blame them; as far as I was concerned, trying to fight against magic was absolute madness. If not for the Rainbow Horn, I would probably have been halfway to Isilia or the Lowlands myself. I couldn’t say what it was that stopped me doing the intelligent thing and running.

“There’ll be another almighty blast in a moment! Listen, Egrassa! I understand everything, but it’s like an ant trying to run across a meadow where the royal cavalry’s galloping up and down! They won’t even notice when they flatten us!”

“Shut up, Hallas! We’re thinking!” Eel said in a most impolite manner.

We’d reached Avendoom early that morning, just in time for the start of the battle. The forces of the Nameless One were preparing to storm the walls. But for the time being the magicians and the shamans were still fighting a duel. Every now and then the air was sundered by the ear-splitting whistle of flying stones, the crackle of lightning, the roar of flames, and the howls of one kind of magical beast or another. All this accompanied by the booming of the cannon installed on the city walls. So far the Nameless One hadn’t joined in this game of flexing muscles. Either he hadn’t got to Avendoom yet, or he’d decided to see what his army was capable of.

We did the sensible thing and crept into a small copse of trees standing between Avendoom and the road to the south. The view was wonderful. But any fool could see that we couldn’t simply stroll across to those city towers that were so close and yet so impossibly far away. The Nameless One’s lads were all around and they would spot us right away.

Our army was formed up along the city walls. Quite a large crowd, really, but compared with the Nameless One’s forces, it was a mere drop in the ocean. The Suburb had been totally destroyed. All that was left of it was dark patch on the snow-covered ground.

As bad luck would have it, there were several hundred barbarians hanging about right in front of the copse of trees, and we had to wait until they moved on to attack our side before we could get past without being noticed.

“We’re not likely to get into the city through the gates, Egrassa,” the gnome objected irritably. “I can’t stand magicians! Look! Another spell! May they all rot in the darkness!”

Thousands of icicles suddenly descended on the detachment of barbarians that was inconveniencing us, and in just a few seconds the men were transformed into a bloody pulp. Immediately a huge flower of flame blossomed above the city walls. The enemy’s shamans hadn’t wasted any time in striking back. The two sides were systematically annihilating each other’s infantry. If it kept on like this, soon there wouldn’t be anybody but magicians and shamans left. The commanding officers of both sides were apparently of the same opinion. Horns sounded, drums started pounding, and the dark masses shuddered and started moving toward each other.

“Right, it’s time!”

“Hang on, will you, Mumr!” said Hallas, still lying on the snow and surveying the battlefield. “Let them start fighting first!”

“Harold, you used to live in the city,” Egrassa said to me. “Is there any other way to get into Avendoom apart from the city gates?”

“There is,” I replied after a moment’s thought. “But it’s no help to us.”

“Why?”

“They probably won’t let us climb up the walls on a rope. And anyway, we don’t have a rope that long.”

“Is that the only way?”

“Well, we could try going through the municipal drains, but that—”

I was forced to break off when a fiery meteorite went crashing into the next copse and incinerated a detachment of the enemy’s cavalry.

“—But that’s all closed off with metal grilles. And we’d still have to get to the walls somehow. But I do have one little idea. The city walls run into the Cold Sea. I expect the fishermen who live in the villages nearby have all run off ages ago or moved into the city. We could try to find a boat.”

“That won’t get you anywhere! There are gnomes with cannons in the Bastion that defend the entrance to the harbor. They’ll smash any boat to splinters! And we’ll end up as fish food!”

“No they won’t, Hallas!” Kli-Kli reassured the gnome. “We’ll stand you in the boat so they can see you from the Bastion and they won’t fire!”

“Me? Get in a boat? I won’t do it!”

“Oh, yes you will! If you want the Nameless One to go back home, you’ll get in a boat! And you’ll yell loud and clear in that language of yours, so your kinsmen can hear you,” said Egrassa, completely ignoring the gnome’s whinging. “Here, take your mattock and smash this.”

The elf handed the gnome a crystal.

“What is it?” Kli-Kli asked.

“Markauz gave it to me in Zagraba. He got it from Artsivus. He said as soon as we got close, we should smash it—and the Order would know we were here.”

“Well, just how much closer could we be?” Hallas muttered, swinging his mattock.

It took the gnome two attempts to break the crystal. The stone smashed like any ordinary piece of glass and … and nothing happened.

“Now what?” I asked obtusely.

“How should I know?” asked Egrassa, already in the saddle. “I was told to smash it when the time came. We’ve done that, now it’s up to the Order. Is it far from here to the Cold Sea, Harold?”

“A fair distance. We have to cross the field and go through that wood over there, then it’s about fifteen hundred yards to the shoreline.”

“We’ll get through! Everybody stick together and don’t fall back! If anyone loses their horse or just falls, yell!”

The elf was right there, the battle was raging and thundering all around, and anyone who was at the back might very easily not be heard.

We went flying out of the copse and headed toward the dark wood. Sagot save us! It looked so far away!

The space ahead of us was empty, but that wouldn’t last long. I dug my heels into the sides of my horse and concentrated on trying not to fall off. We rushed up a hill and down again, and found ourselves in the (relatively) empty camp of the Nameless One’s army. The Crayfish seemed very surprised to see us there. But only one of them tried to block our way. Eel ran the brave man down with his horse and we went flying out like a whirlwind into the rear of the enemy’s pikemen.

The lads didn’t notice us, they were too busy trying to dodge the emerald-green sparks showering down on them from out of the sky. When they hit the ground, the sparks turned into massive great serpents that spat green spheres. We had to veer to the left, and we’d almost reached the city walls when Hallas’s horse caught an arrow in the crupper. At full gallop, Mumr grabbed the gnome off the animal that was going insane with the pain (how did he manage to do that?) and dumped him across his own horse.

“Our own side’s firing at us! Out into the field,” Eel shouted to the elf.

To the right of us a battalion smashed into the tattered ranks of the barbarians and northern tribesmen. We had to rein in our horses again and go dashing back in the opposite direction. Eventually we reached the wood, but that didn’t bring us any relief. We immediately found ourselves surrounded by horsemen. At first I was afraid they were the Nameless One’s lads, but then I noticed they were wearing the gray and blue uniform of the royal guard.

“Who are you?” one of the horsemen barked.

The other soldiers sensibly kept their hands on their spears.

“We’re on your side!” Hallas panted, climbing down off Eel’s horse.

Naturally, they didn’t believe us. But, fortunately, they weren’t in any great hurry to kill us, either. The presence of an elf and a gnome in this bunch of deserters or vagabonds or spies of the Nameless One prevented them from jumping to any hasty conclusions. Without making any fuss, Egrassa took out the paper with the royal seal, which was badly crumpled after our long journey. At least that produced some effect.

“What are you doing here?” the guardsman asked.

“We need to get into the city, milord. Can you help us?”

“I doubt it. Only the gates in the northern wall can be opened. All the others are blocked off. And fighting your way right across the battlefield to the other side of the city is far too difficult.”

“Look!” someone gasped.

There was certainly something to look at. Two immense purple spheres were flying slowly above the men engaged in furious battle, heading toward the city. These spheres were much larger than the one that Lafresa had thrown at our ferry when we were crossing the Iselina. The first one touched the wall and exploded with a tremendous rumbling blast that almost knocked me off my feet. Flames, smoke, stones, and men were sent flying up to the heavens, and a breach about fifty yards across appeared in the wall. Then a little cloud of blue light appeared beside the second sphere and lashed out at the Nameless One’s creation. The purple sphere went flying back in the direction it had come from and exploded when it crashed into a crowd of giants.

“Those magic-mongers can do it when they want to,” the gnome chuckled in delight, rubbing his hands together.

“Bugler! It’s time! Sound the attack!” the commander of the guards shouted. “I don’t know who you are, gentlemen, but I wish you luck.”

“One question, milord! Are there any boats on the seashore?”

“I don’t know, elf!”

The hundred-strong unit of horsemen went tearing out of the wood and into battle to the sound of the bugle.

The wood—which wasn’t really a wood, just a big copse—was quiet. We didn’t run into any more surprises. But when we came out of the wood and were almost at the sea (I could already smell the salt in the air), we had the absolutely outrageous bad luck to run into two giants. Darkness only knew what these blue-skinned brutes were doing so far away from the battle, but when they saw us, they grabbed their clubs and started moving in our direction at a brisk trot.

“Get back!” Eel barked. “We can’t handle them! Into the trees! Into the trees!”

I swear by Sagot that the lads who were running at us were a good eight yards tall. Their blue, hairy skin did nothing to render these wonders of nature any more charming. And a glance at their clubs was enough to dispel even the slightest desire to make these creatures’ acquaintance. So our group promptly swung its horses round and went hurtling back to the wood. When I reached the trees, I looked back and saw that Kli-Kli wasn’t trying to run. The gobliness’s mare was fleeing in panic, but the girl was down on her knees almost under the very feet of the giants, drawing a picture in the snow. Ah, may the demons have me! What a time to take up drawing!

I swore and pulled hard on the bridle. The little green fool had to be saved! I rode my horse straight toward the gobliness, ignoring the warning shouts that rang out behind my back.

The giants had already reached Kli-Kli, and one of them raised his huge club above her head. Beside them, Glo-Glo’s granddaughter looked especially small. I shouted for her to get out of there. Kli-Kli finished her picture, looked up, and pointed a finger at the giants.

Something that looked like a hammer made out of smoke appeared in the air and struck the monsters mighty blows in the chest. The blue-skinned giants were flung back more than a hundred yards, as if they weighed nothing at all. Whatever it was the gobliness had conjured up, it seemed to have knocked the life out of them.

“Have you completely lost your wits?” I yelled at her as I reined in my horse.

She gave me one of her most stupid smiles.

“There, that’s the Hammer of Dust, not some silly little cheap trick!” she said in a trembling voice, and flopped over in a dead faint.

I cursed all the gods and got down off my horse.

Egrassa and company had already ridden up.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“He’s all right! It must be the effect of the spell.”

Hallas jumped down off Lamplighter’s horse and started briskly rubbing the gobliness’s face with snow. She immediately came round and asked the gnome to save the sloppy stuff for some other time.

“Are you able to stay in the saddle?” Eel asked her.

“If you’re willing to share your horse. Those giants frightened my nag, we’ll never catch her now.”

There was a bang and rumble on the other side of the wood. The magicians were up to their tricks again.

“It’s not far to the sea. If we want to get into the city, we need to hurry.”

The sea was very close. Like the Suburb, the fishing village had been burnt, in case the enemy tried to use the building materials to make siege engines. But there was a perfectly good fishing boat lying on the shore. The moment Hallas saw the sea and the waves, his face turned sour and he declared that this tub, which was the only thing any intelligent person could call it, would sink as soon as it put to sea.

But we never got closer than ten yards to the boat. Three figures in gray cloaks blocked our way. One was an orc, but the other two were men. They were all armed, and all wearing smoky gray crystals on silver chains round their necks. The Gray Ones had managed to turn up at just the wrong moment.

There was a rustling sound as Eel’s “brother” and “sister” were drawn out of their scabbards. Egrassa gestured to the Garrakian to stop, and shook his head in warning. There was no way we could handle three Gray Ones, no matter how hard we tried. We looked at them. They looked at us. The leaden waves of the gray sea boomed beside us.

“Give us the Horn,” said one of the men. “It doesn’t belong to you.”

“Or to you. It doesn’t belong to anyone,” Kli-Kli replied. “But we need it right now.”

“If the artifact stays with you, the balance may be disrupted.”

“What balance are we talking about here?” Eel asked furiously. “Have you seen what’s happening over by the city?”

“We ask you one last time to give us the Horn.”

“And what if we don’t? What then, orc?” Egrassa said with a dark laugh, tightening his grip on the krasta.

“I also advise you to return our brother’s crystal and weapon,” the Gray One continued as imperturbably as ever.

And then it happened. There was a deafening boom and four men carrying the staffs of archmagicians of the Order appeared out of thin air. One of the Gray Ones was killed instantly. The other two leapt nimbly to one side. The orc threw himself at the nearest magician and the man who was still alive drew a pair of twin swords. The orc took the magician with him when he died.

Two of the magicians went to work on the surviving Gray One. He dashed at the nearest archmagician, waving his sword, but a staff barred his way. There was a brief flash, and the Gray One went flying back to the very edge of the sea. Egrassa fired with his bow and hit the man in the back as he was getting up off the gravel. As the Gray One turned to face this new danger, the archmagicians cast a magical net, burning with emerald green fire, over him. The spell cut him into ten separate pieces. I looked away.

“We were lucky they were soldiers, and not magicians,” Kli-Kli muttered. “If the Gray Ones had known any magic, the magicians wouldn’t have had it so easy.”

One of the archmagicians, who was quite young and looked a bit like Valder, came running over to us.

“Did you get the Horn?”

“Yes, Your Magicship,” Egrassa said, bowing.

“This is no time for etiquette, elf!” the magician snapped brusquely. “We received your message, and the entire Council is already assembled! Where is the artifact?”

I reached into my bag. We heard a series of explosions from the direction of the city.

“Another hour, and there will be nothing left to save. Quickly!”

The archmagician grabbed the Horn out of my hands. There was another boom, and the three magicians disappeared, without even bothering to take their dead comrade’s body with them. Naturally, they didn’t invite us along.

“And now what do we do?” Hallas asked acidly.

“Now?” said Egrassa, peering thoughtfully at the sea. “Now we wait.”

We stayed there on the cold and windy seashore.

To wait.

The war against the Nameless One ended as suddenly as it had begun. The surviving members of the Council of the Order did the job right and pumped the Horn full of power right up to the brim. The sorcerer immediately lost all his ability to work magic, and without sorcery the Nameless One’s army was just an army, but we had the Order on our side.

The giants sensed that their master had lost his power and fled in fear. The ogres who had come to Valiostr had been killed much earlier by the magicians’ spell, so most of our enemies were men—barbarians, warriors of the northern tribes, the remains of the army of the Crayfish Dukedom, and a whole heap of other rabble. They still outnumbered our soldiers by a long way, but despite the breach in the wall, the bombardment of the city from catapults, and the terrible attacks by the sorcerer’s shamans, who had not lost their powers, Avendoom stood firm.

The battle continued for another five days, quieting down and then flaring up again. On the second day the young king withdrew all his forces into the city, after deciding not to take the field for a general engagement. The gnomes took all the cannons out of the Bastion and put them on the city walls, and the defensive action began.

There were days when one section or another of the wall changed hands six or seven times. We were thrown back, we forced the attackers back outside the wall, then they came at us again. And it went on and on like that forever. We came close to losing everything when the Nameless One’s supporters among the inhabitants of the city almost got their hands on the Rainbow Horn. But Artsivus was guarding the artifact like the apple of his eye, and the traitors were met with magic and stern steel. The supporters of the Nameless One who were stupid enough to surrender were quartered or hanged on the city wall as a lesson to the aggressors.

We suffered losses, but we stood firm. On one absolutely beautiful December day we heard the roar of battle horns, and the Second Army of the South arrived, together with the First Army of the West and the Third Assault Army, reinforced by the lads from Miranueh and volunteers from Isilia. Together they struck the unsuspecting enemy a mighty blow in the rear.

Stalkon gathered all his forces together and led them out from behind the walls, hitting the enemy smack between the eyes. Our opponents still had a numerical advantage but they faltered and ran. And the Nameless One didn’t hang about for a little chat with the Order, either, he took off with his heels twinkling. The army drove the retreating enemy to the north and out past the Lonely Giant.

Everybody agreed about one thing: It would be a long time before the Nameless One recovered from a blow like this, and he wouldn’t try to attack the kingdom again for another five or six hundred years at least. We would have to hope that if the sorcerer did get it into his head to come back and snap at Valiostr’s heels again, the Order wouldn’t waste any time getting the Rainbow Horn out of its old cobweb-covered trunk.

While the army was busy with the war in the north and polishing off everyone who still needed to be polished off, the capital gradually returned to normal. Every citizen walked around with a happy and contented look, as if he personally had stuffed the Rainbow Horn up that cursed sorcerer’s backside.

Well, we had our victory, but life had to go on somehow. And the army had to be fed and maintained. Surprisingly enough, now when the people gave their hard-earned money to the king’s tax collectors, they hardly even complained. Somehow everybody seemed to have grasped that it was better to have a strong, well-fed army than have the Nameless One on their back. I remember that For once uttered the memorable phrase: “A kingdom sometimes needs a war to buck its ideas up and dust it off.” My old teacher, now living in distant Garrak, was probably right. War is a terrible thing, but afterward you see many things through different eyes.

People gradually came back to the city; they listened to the town criers in the squares telling everyone about the army’s victories in the north, and the victories of the united forces of Valiostr, the Border Kingdom, and the dark elves over the orcs in the south; restored the houses that had been ruined in the war; and put their lives back together. Everything was gradually going back to the way it used to be.

But for our little group, everything went topsy-turvy. As soon as the magicians had dealt with their business (i.e., the Nameless One), they turned their attention to me. They detailed my old friend Roderick to stay with me, and he followed good old Harold around like a tail. But, to be quite serious, they stuck every member of our group in the royal palace for a month. I don’t know what they did with the others, but I personally was questioned three times a day by one of the archmagicians. They were mostly interested in Hrad Spein. The archmagicians asked their questions, I gave them answers, and Roderick wrote it all down. And on and on like that forever. I was fortunate enough to see Artsivus twice.

The old man’s health had deteriorated while I was on my journey. He had lost weight and his cough was even worse; he was always huddling under a warm rug and shivering. Roderick brought his teacher medicine all the time. I felt sorry for the Master of the Order, and a blind man could have seen what an effort those conversations cost him. The archmagician asked me questions, too, but they were far more ticklish than the others, and I had to prevaricate and lie a bit. I didn’t want to tell the Order about the Master, the World of Chaos, and other stuff like that.

It seemed to me that I’d told the Order everything I could, but the magicians just kept on and on asking questions. I had to tell them everything a second time, then a third time, and even a fourth. They dragged everything out of me, every last little detail, and there was no end in sight.

I hardly ever saw my friends. Only Kli-Kli, who had taken the young king under her wing (that was what she told me) sometimes dropped in to see me and share the news. Hallas, Eel, and Lamplighter were with the Wild Hearts who had survived the Lonely Giant and the Field of Fairies. Sagot be praised, Honeycomb and Invincible had survived the battle of Avendoom and now they were also with their friends. For the time being the king was keeping the Wild Hearts near him.

As for Egrassa, he had unexpectedly become the head of the House of the Black Rose. Tresh Epilorssa had been killed in the battle of the Field of the Fairies, so the leafy crown had passed to Miralissa’s cousin. And now Egrassa was with the dark elves who had come to fight for Valiostr but, according to Kli-Kli, he was going to return to Zagraba in a couple of weeks.

Eventually, after I’d told the magicians my story darkness only knows how many times, they gave up and said I could push off.

“Hot pies here! Get your hot pies here!”

“The valiant army of Valiostr!”

“Have you heard? Yesterday in the Port City they knocked off a carriage full of gold!”

“What would a carriage full of gold be doing in the Port City?”

“They say the ships from Isilia are going to come three times as often.”

“Praise be to the king, if he hadn’t—”

“Long live the king!”

“Is it true the dark elves have killed all the orcs and now they’ve gone to war with the dwarves?”

“You must be a real fool, brother, to go around spreading nonsense like that!”

“Hot pies here!”

Nothing changes in our world. It was only a month and a half since the end of the war, but the people were already enjoying their favorite pastime—gossiping.

Mid-January was incredibly cold and snowy, but that didn’t bother the citizens at all, and the streets were full of people having a good time. They were celebrating the latest victory: The army had pushed the last of our enemies back beyond the Lonely Giant.

I had a meeting with our entire group planned for late that evening in one of the taverns of the Inner City. At last we would have a chance to get together again. But that was in the evening, and right now I had absolutely nothing to do. My little trip to distant parts had left me completely out of touch with what was going on in the city, and now I needed to catch up with things. And I had to look for a new lair, too.

When I checked to satisfy my curiosity, I found the Knife and Ax still standing in the same old place. Despite the battering it had taken during that famous fight the previous summer, the tavern looked as good as new. The holes made in the walls by the demon had been skillfully patched up, and the entire building looked as if Vukhdjaaz had never come within a hundred yards of it. Even the sign was still the same. I pushed the door of the establishment open and walked in.

I didn’t know the thugs standing at the entrance, but they obviously knew me very well, and let me in without any questions, as good as saluted me, in fact. The large hall had been repaired and now it was as noisy and crowded as ever. All the tables and benches were occupied by the brotherhood of thieves and rogues of various shades and hues. Serving wenches scurried about between them, carrying food and beer.

Of course everyone pretended they didn’t recognize me, although I saw surprise and even fright in some faces. I nodded to two or three of my acquaintances and headed straight for the bar.

Old Gozmo was there at his usual battle station. When the old rogue saw me, he almost had a stroke. The expression on his long face became even more miserable and the former thief turned white and crimson by turns. Finally he managed to mumble, “Harold?”

“Glad you haven’t forgotten me, Gozmo.”

“How the … Where did you come from?”

“Meaning?” It looked as if not everyone was very pleased to see me.

“Well,” said Gozmo, confused, “they said you’d left Avendoom forever. Like For.”

“Who said?”

“Everybody said so. I’m glad to see it’s not true.…”

I believed that, of course.

“I see business is still the same as usual.”

“No thanks to you,” the innkeeper muttered. He seemed to have recovered from his surprise. “I believe you saw what Markun’s lads and the Doralissians and that monster did to the place? Do you know how much money it cost me to fix everything? Aren’t you afraid I might send you the bill?”

“No, I’m not,” I said with a smile.

That smile made Gozmo hold his tongue.

“Surely you agree, Gozmo, that a bit of damage to the tavern is better than having your reputation ruined, Markun chasing you, or maybe even losing your life?”

“You’re a plague, Harold.”

“I do my best. Is my table free?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Beer. Black.”

I laughed as I set out for my table. To be quite honest, Gozmo had only got what he deserved that night. But I was still glad to know the sly old dog and his establishment were alive and well.

The beer was brought to me, and for the next few minutes I did nothing but enjoy it. Then suddenly someone sat down in the empty chair beside me. I looked up from my beer mug and glanced at the face of my uninvited guest. Small, with dark hair, bushy eyebrows that ran together above his nose and a stony face.

Oho! What an important personage had decided to honor me with his presence! Urgez, the head of the Guild of Hired Assassins in person!

“Beer?” I asked him.

“Thank you, some other time,” he said.

I wondered what he wanted.

“The word was out that you were back in town—I decided to check.”

“Rumors certainly spread fast.” It was less than ten minutes since I appeared in the Knife and Ax, and the entire underworld of the city already knew about it.

“Yes, rumors, that’s what I wanted to have a word with you about. If you have no objections, master thief?”

“None at all, master assassin.” It’s always best to be polite with people like Urgez.

“There was a rumor going round that a certain hired assassin was trying to get your head. They also say that the shrine of Sagot was attacked. A few brave young fellows tried to get to old man For. I want to tell you that those men have nothing at all to do with the guild. My lads have no reason to get on the wrong side of the thieves, and certainly not the servants of Sagra.”

“I know they weren’t your lads.”

“Well, that’s just grand. I also want to say, from myself, that the guild has a couple of questions to ask this vagrant. They say he made use of my name, and I don’t like that. So we’re looking for him.”

“Don’t bother. He won’t cause you any more trouble.”

“All the better.” The head of the guild was not surprised in the slightest. “Keep well, Harold.”

“And you, Urgez.”

The head of the assassins had done what he came for, and he left. To be honest, I was glad that Urgez’s lads had nothing to do with the attempts on my life that had almost dispatched me to the light last summer. Fighting with Urgez was bad for the health.

“Mind if I take a seat?”

It looked like this was my day for unexpected visitors. This time it was Sheloz standing beside the table. With six beefy young bodyguards hovering behind him.

“Please, sit down.”

Sheloz sat down, the bodyguards remained standing.

“The word was out that you were back in town—I decided to check.”

Were they in this together, or what? For those who don’t know, Sheloz was the lad who was fighting Markun for the right to run the Guild of Thieves.

“I’m back.”

“I’ve always respected you, Harold.…”

“Likewise.”

Sheloz was a pretty decent man and thief. I thought the guild would be a lot better off under his management than with Markun.

“I know you’ve had difficulties with the guild in the past, but then, haven’t we all? That fat swine Markun just stole all the money for himself. But everything’s different now. So I want to tell you that if you should feel the desire to return to the bosom of the old hearth and home, we’ll be glad to see you. Naturally, we’ll take you without any membership fees or levies on your Commissions.”

“An honorary member?” I laughed.

“Why not? Respected masters of the trade shouldn’t have to pay to work. It’s enough for them to be members of the guild and make its reputation.”

“Why so generous all of a sudden, Sheloz?”

“Well…” He hesitated. “To lay my cards on the table, Harold, I’m personally obliged to you for getting rid of Markun. And so are lots of the lads, believe me. With that fat leech gone, everything’s taken a turn for the better. Consider it a little token of my gratitude. I don’t like being in anyone’s debt. So you think about coming back.”

“All right. I’ll think about it.”

“Excellent. See you around, master thief.”

“See you around.”

It was dark and there weren’t so many people around now. It had started snowing. There was no wind and the snowflakes glided smoothly down onto the pavement in absolute silence. Ah, darkness! I must have sat in Gozmo’s establishment a bit longer than I meant to. I had to hurry.

I set off through the side streets to take a shortcut. Although, in a rather large percentage of cases, strolling through the alleys of the Port City could lead to the loss of your purse, or even your life, if you were inexperienced. So as I threaded my way through the dark and empty spaces, I kept my wits about me and one hand on my crossbow. There’s always some greedy idiot desperate to get his hands on other people’s money.

But Sagot was good and I didn’t meet anyone on the way. Although at one point I had the great pleasure of running into a unit of guards. The lads watched me go by with extremely uncharitable expressions on their faces, but they didn’t ask any questions this time. I turned into Stinking Bedbug Street, came out onto the Street of the Apples, cut across Little Sour Street, turned into a dark archway, and …

And then someone very deft took a very strong grip on my shoulders from behind. I gave a jerk and reached for my weapon, and the stranger immediately blocked my movement with one hand and squeezed my neck so tight with the other that I could hardly even breathe, let alone struggle. The lad behind me was monstrously strong.

“Your weapon probably wouldn’t be any use to you, Harold,” a mocking voice said, and I shuddered and stopped trying to resist.

The Messenger! May the darkness devour him!

“Mmmm? I see you’ve recognized me, thief. Well, that’s all to the good. I’ll let you go now, but don’t think of doing anything stupid. You’re an intelligent man, aren’t you?”

I didn’t answer.

“All right then,” the Master’s chief servant chuckled. “I see you got the Horn.”

“Believe it or not,” I said, desperately trying to figure out what he could want from me. “You and your lord didn’t think I could manage it, did you?”

Another quiet chuckle.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Harold. Do you think the Master doesn’t know which way the Game is going to go? You only had the Horn because he wanted it that way.”

The powerful brute released his grip and I took a step away from him and turned round. He was standing in the shade again, and all I could see was a dark shadow and two golden eyes.

“Why did you come here?”

“Aren’t you glad to see me?”

I didn’t answer.

“All right, Harold,” the Messenger sighed, and his eyes glinted. “Time to pay your dues.”

“What dues?”

“Surely you haven’t forgotten our agreement?”

“I remember our agreement, Djok,” I said, calling the Messenger by his real name without thinking.

“That’s good.” He didn’t seem to have noticed my slip of the tongue. “The Master wants you to carry out his Commission.”

I sighed. I really didn’t want to do anything for any master, but a deal is a deal. And it wasn’t that easy to get away from the Messenger; he could turn up anywhere at any time. As bad luck would have it, there was no one else in the alley but us.

“What are the conditions of the Commission?”

“Oh, it’s all very simple, thief. Before midnight today you have to steal the Rainbow Horn from the Tower of the Order.”

“What? Your lord has to be joking! I won’t do it!”

“Why not?”

“Why not? It’s impossible. Not only does he want me to break into the Tower of the Order, he wants me to steal the Rainbow Horn! There’s a magician every yard in there!”

“Now you listen to me, Harold. You’re going to get that artifact. And get it today, before midnight. And not just because you accepted a deal. You’ll want to help us as soon as possible when I tell you what’s happened.”

“And what has happened?” As far as I was concerned, the moon could fall from the sky, and I still wouldn’t go and get that Horn of my own free will.

“The Player has betrayed the Master.”

“I don’t get the connection.”

“The Player has betrayed my Master and now he serves another. It’s a great night tonight, Harold. You can’t even imagine just how great. This round of the Game is being decided. If the Player follows the instructions of our opponent, the balance will collapse and a certain someone will escape from the Palaces of Bone. If that happens, Siala will go back to the start of the Dark Era. My Master really doesn’t want to have to create everything all over again. The Rainbow Horn is the thing that can disrupt the balance.”

“All right, all right. Start from the beginning. What have the Horn and this Player got to do with everything?”

“If the Player uses the Horn, then the Game will be lost.”

“Then don’t let him get hold of the Horn.”

“He already has.”

“Oh!” I said, trying to think. “Then kill the Player.”

“Because he is the Player, the Masters have no right to kill him.”

“I thought I heard you say the Master knew how the Game would go? Surely he could have foreseen that the Horn would fall into the wrong hands? Stop. Just who is the Player?”

“Good thinking, Harold. Good thinking. The Master figured everything out, but everybody makes mistakes, especially when they have to rely on people. People are weak, and the Player has proved to be no exception to the rule. The Master knew that the Horn would end up with the Player, but he didn’t expect the old fox to go running off to another den. I’m talking about Artsivus.”

“No. It can’t be!”

“Why not? The Master knew you would definitely give the Rainbow Horn to the Order, which means to Artsivus.”

“But why him?” I could believe anything at all, but not that the fine old man Artsivus was the influential figure who wanted to kill me.…

“Why are you so surprised? The Player has to be a magician. The Master offered him knowledge and power for his services.”

“And what did the other Master offer him?”

“Youth and immortality.”

“Then it all makes sense.”

And the Messenger started telling me things. It was Artsivus who had suggested I should go on the expedition to get the Horn. He thought I wouldn’t manage it, and the artifact would stay in Hrad Spein.

Then, when the stars told a different story, he decided to kill me. Only at this point the Master intervened and personally forbade the magician to touch me. But then Artsivus found Paleface—it was the archmagician’s ring that the two master thieves showed at the Royal Library, and that was why they killed poor old Bolt.

It was Artsivus’s people who stole the Shadow Horse. The archmagician needed the magical object that could control the demons for his own purposes (by this time he had already been recruited by a Master from another world), and he didn’t want to share it with the Order. But then the ubiquitous Harold put in an appearance, and old Artsivus had to save the Shadow Horse in order not to arouse the suspicions of the Dancer of Siala.

When I went for a ride in the carriage of the Master of the Order after that free-for-all over the Shadow Horse, my life was hanging by a thread. Old Artsivus had no intention of taking me to the king, he was listening to my story to see if I’d guessed that the Master of the Order was mixed up in the shady business with maps of Hrad Spein and the Shadow Horse, and taking me for delivery into the caring hands of a gang of killers. What saved me was that I said I didn’t have the papers with me. Artsivus let me go and set the killers on For, quite reasonably assuming that he might have the papers.

“I could go on, thief, but time is short. You have to steal the Horn.”

“Even so, there are too many things in your story that don’t fit,” I said. “The Horn has already been in Artsivus’s hands for more than a month. Why does it have to be tonight? He could have done everything as soon as he got it. While the city was under attack, when everybody was busy with other things and no one would have bothered him?”

“Yes, he could have used the Horn at the very beginning, but he wouldn’t have got the result that his new Master is expecting. It is only tonight that the Shadow Horse and the Rainbow Horn can be combined together.”

“I bet that your Master has known the Player was a traitor for ages. And he definitely foresaw what was going to happen tonight. Right?”

“That could be so.”

“Then, in the name of Sagot, why couldn’t I have stolen the artifact sooner? Why today? Why didn’t you tell me about this a week ago? A month ago?”

I thought I heard him chuckle.

“Then there wouldn’t have been any risk. No edge to the Game. No interest. You are the Master’s trump card. He wanted to see how well you could deal with things at the very last moment.”

The world was teetering on the edge of a precipice, and the Master was still playing his silly little games!

“Then why did Artsivus let me go? Take the leash off?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Harold. Yes, he knows you’re a Dancer in the Shadows, but he doesn’t know a thing about your deal with the Master, and he thinks you have no idea who he is. So will you get the Horn?”

“I don’t really have much choice, do I?” I said with a bitter laugh.

“I’m afraid not. Either the Rainbow Horn has to be removed from the hands of the Player or … you simply have no idea what that magical item is capable of if it’s combined with something like the Shadow Horse! The scales of the balance will collapse, the Houses of Siala will fall, and there won’t be much left of your … that is, our world. The Game will be lost. You don’t want that to happen, do you?”

“I’m not interested in your Game. But I will try to get the Horn. What’s the deposit on the deal?”

“Your life. How does that suit you?”

“Just fine. And the payment?”

“Get the Horn, and you’ll never see me again.”

Well, nothing could have suited me better than that arrangement.

“I request Shadow Harold to accept my Commission.”

“I accept the Commission.”

“I have heard you, thief. Now, in conclusion, let me advise you to get it done before midnight. At midnight the Player will commence the ritual, and then you probably won’t be able to steal the artifact from right under his nose.”

“I doubt that I’ll even be able to get into the Tower of the Order. I can hardly expect the magicians not to ask any questions when they notice me.”

“None of the magicians are in the Tower. Artsivus has sent them all away.”

“That doesn’t change things much. I still have to get in.”

“I can’t help you there. I cannot enter the Tower of the Order.”

“Listen, what’s the point in him doing all this? Doesn’t the Master of the Order realize that after he does this, it will be the end of everything?”

“Why wouldn’t he understand? Of course he does. But there are many worlds, he’ll have somewhere to go.”

“If the Game ends, what then?”

“What then? Oh, the winner gets a prize and Game starts all over again.”

“A prize? What prize?”

“You’ve been in the World of Chaos and the shadows, haven’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Whoever wins the Game will be rewarded with one of the shadows from the Primordial World. Just imagine—with that he can create an entirely new, ideal world. And put right the mistakes committed in other universes. Victory brings the chance to create perfection and enter it in the next Game.”

As he said that, the Messenger finally stepped out of the shade into the moonlight. I started. He hadn’t really changed much since the time of my waking dream. That is, if you disregarded the fact that now the lad was as black as tar, had a pair of wings behind his back, and his eyes were golden; to look at he was still Djok Imargo.

May the darkness take all these Masters and their idiotic Games! Worlds are no more than playing cards to them. They play, and I suffer the consequences!

“What do I do once I get the Horn?” I asked with a sigh.

“Just get it. By doing that you will disrupt the ritual, and this round of the Game will end. The Player will become vulnerable, the Master will kill him, the Horn will stay with the Order, and everything will be over.”

And so saying, he flapped his wings and was gone, as if he had never been there.

It was more than an hour since the Messenger and I had parted. I had absolutely no idea of how to get into the Order’s citadel. And I didn’t know the layout of the tower. It wasn’t all that big to look at, but, remembering the abandoned tower in the Forbidden Territory, I knew I could expect absolutely anything. Tricks with space and dimensions, for instance. It could easily be much bigger on the inside than from the outside.

And then—just my luck—the gods made me remember that Kli-Kli once boasted to me about how she’d been in the new Tower of the Order and she could find any room in it with her eyes closed. She was lying! I would have sworn by the eyes of the Messenger that she was lying! But right now I didn’t have any other option.

I managed to grab the gobliness just as she was walking into the tavern where we were all supposed to meet. I had to take her to one side and ask her a few questions. Of course, she immediately smelled a rat and dug her claws into me, so I couldn’t help telling her everything. When she learned about Artsivus, she just nodded, and when she heard what the Master wanted, she decided she had to go along with me.

I tried to change her mind. I tried to reason. I argued, I threatened. I appealed to her conscience, asked her to listen to reason—but none of it did any good. Kli-Kli declared that if she wasn’t going with me, then I’d have to find my own way out of this tricky situation. What finally finished me was the claim that she knew how to get into the tower without attracting any attention. So I agreed. And really, if she wasn’t concerned about my head, why should I be worried about her? We didn’t bother our friends, just left them in ignorance in the tavern. There wasn’t any point in risking their lives in this undertaking, and swords weren’t likely to be much help anyway.

The square where the Order’s massive pale blue building stood was completely deserted and covered in snow. I shivered at the memory of the dream in which I had spoken to the Gray One.

A prophetic dream. The balance really could be destroyed. By the light of the moon and the magical lanterns, the tower seemed to be carved out of blocks of ice. The only lights inside were up on the top floor.

“Well then, how do we get in without attracting any attention?” I asked the gobliness.

“I’ll show you.”

She strolled up to the door covered with its fancy design of whirls and volutes and stopped.

“Like that.”

“Just what am I supposed to make of that?” I hissed sarcastically.

“You asked me to show you the way into the tower, and I showed you,” Kli-Kli told me without batting an eyelid.

“Kli-Kli,” I said, trying to control myself. “You’re trying to be funny, aren’t you?”

“No, I’m not being funny at all. The only way into the Tower of the Order is through that door, or did you think the magicians wouldn’t bother to close off all the other entrances?”

I should have realized sooner! I’d been taken for a ride!

“Have you ever really been inside?”

“Yes. With the king. Only for some reason they wouldn’t let me go any farther than the first floor.”

“Then what good are you to me?”

“I can help save your neck. And I can work a bit of magic, too.”

“Kli-Kli! Don’t pretend to be more stupid than you really are! You know perfectly well you’re no match for a magician of the Order.”

“Listen, Harold, here we are hanging about like two fools outside the door into the Order’s holy of holies. Get those lock picks to work before anyone notices us.”

“I’m afraid the magicians didn’t bother to put a lock on the door. There’s probably something else instead.”

“Then check it out! Are you a thief or not?”

She was right—hanging about in open view really was stupid. I could have a word with the gobliness later (if there was any later).

I reached out my hand to the metal ring of the door and pulled it cautiously toward me. The door didn’t budge. I pulled harder. The same result.

“Open,” Valder whispered, and the door of the tower suddenly yielded.

“Oho!” Kli-Kli gasped in delight. “How did you do that?”

“Just lucky,” I muttered, thanking fate yet again for bringing me together with the dead archmagician. “Wait for me on the edge of the square. If I’m not back out in an hour, go to the king.”

“Uh-huh,” the gobliness said, and darted in through the door. “You don’t think I’m going to leave all the honor and the glory to you, do you?”

“Kli-Kli…”

“Drop that tone of voice. I’m going with you.”

“What if I tie you up?”

“I’m warning you! I’ll bite!”

“All right! But just don’t go getting under my feet!”

“When did I ever get under your feet?” she asked, and then bit her tongue.

We were in the brightly lit entrance hall on the first floor of the tower. On the far side of it there were three corridors and a stairway.

“Don’t make any noise,” I warned my companion, just to be on the safe side.

“The tower’s a lot bigger than it looks,” said Kli-Kli.

“I know,” I answered, and called: “Valder?”

“Yes?”

“Do you know which way we should go?”

“I’ve never been here before, but they build all these towers to the same design. I think you should go up the stairs.”

“And then?”

“If the Master of the Order intends to perform a ritual, then it will take place in the Council Hall. The magical mirror will intensify his spells.”

“I understand.”

“You know, this business with the Horn reminds me of something. I see Zemmel isn’t the only one who has ever tried to play the Game of the great ones. Be careful.” And then there was silence.

“How long are you going to stand there just staring into space?” Kli-Kli inquired. Naturally, she couldn’t hear my conversation with the archmagician.

“We should go that way.”

The stairway of dark purple marble wound its way up the tower. At first we moved cautiously, in case there was someone else here as well as Artsivus, but after the third floor we started walking more confidently.

“How long now to midnight?”

“Still more than an hour,” she panted. “We’re in good time. The important thing is not to run into Artsivus.”

The fifth floor. The sixth. On the seventh I cast a quick glance into a brightly lit corridor and saw someone sitting slumped against the wall in the distance. My blood ran cold for a moment because I thought it was Artsivus. But no, Sagot spared us. And the way the man was sitting there was kind of strange, too.

“Kli-Kli,” I said to the gobliness, who was already creeping on up the stairs.

“Yes?”

Without saying anything, I indicated the man in the corridor with my eyes.

“We have to check!”

“Have you got nothing better to do?”

“We have to check, Dancer. We can’t leave any strangers in our rear.”

“All right, but be careful,” I said, taking out my crossbow.

As we walked along the corridor the man didn’t move. Then I saw who it was and went dashing to him.

Someone had split Roderick’s head open. The floor and the wall he was slumped against were covered in blood.

“Ah, darkness!” I cursed. “Who did this to him?”

“You know who. Don’t make a fuss, Harold. The lad’s dead. He must have guessed something and his old teacher decided to get rid of him.”

“He saved my life once. I feel sorry for the lad.”

“We’ll all be in need of pity soon, if we don’t get a move on. Come on, Harold. We can’t do anything to help him now. Listen, what’s that door doing open, eh?”

It was only then I realized that the door closest to us was slightly ajar. Kli-Kli immediately stuck her curious nose through it.

“Ooh! Just look what’s in here, Harold!”

I looked in. The vast hall was crammed full of boxes and all sorts of weird things. I supposed it was probably a storeroom for magical doodads.

“The artifacts depository!” Kli-Kli had had the same idea as me. “Maybe the Horn’s still here?”

“Let’s check then,” I agreed. “But quickly!”

The storeroom was full of absolutely everything, from shelves with spell scrolls on them to mysterious and incomprehensible objects that glowed. The only things missing were the Rainbow Horn and the Shadow Horse.

“Looks like we’re wasting our time wandering around in here,” said Kli-Kli, giving up even before I did.

“Looks like it,” I sighed, gazing at a set of shelves stacked with various shining globes and spheres.

One of them caught my eye. It was gray, and I could make out a familiar silhouette inside. I took a step toward the shelves, and the tower immediately trembled slightly.

“What’s that?” Kli-Kli asked, gazing around in fright.

“I don’t know,” I said, puzzled.

“It’s begun,” Valder told me. “The ritual has begun!”

“How can it have begun!” I yelled out loud. “It’s not midnight yet!”

“Harold, what are you talking about?” Kli-Kli asked in amazement.

“Bad news, Kli-Kli. Artsivus is impatient!”

“So what do we do?”

Before I could answer, Valder spoke again.

“The goblin girl should leave!”

“What?”

“She should leave, Harold. She’s too powerful as a shaman, and I’m already weak. When she’s here, it’s hard for me to do anything at all. And today I’ll need all my strength.”

“Harold, what’s wrong with you?”

“Let me speak to her myself.”

I relaxed, leaving Valder free to do whatever he wanted.

“What on earth’s happen— Oh!”

She gaped at me with amazement in her eyes, obviously listening to what Valder was saying. I couldn’t hear what he told her, but Kli-Kli nodded rapidly.

“Hang in there, Dancer!” the gobliness said to me at the end. “I’ll bring help.”

She rushed off and the tower trembled again.

“Why did she do that?”

“It’s for the best. You and I have to stop the Master of the Order.”

“And how do we do that?”

“I don’t know yet. Take it.”

“What?”

“That sphere. It will be useful.”

“What if he breaks out?”

“That will distract the Player for a while.”

I grabbed the sphere with the demon inside. It was cold. Well now, perhaps the Messenger was right when he said demons had a part to play in this story.

“Leave the crossbow. And the bag, too. We won’t need all that,” said Valder. “Good. And now forward, my friend!”

I darted out into the corridor, clutching the sphere in my hands, and ran toward the stairs.

“How do we set him free?” I asked Valder as I ran.

“It’s a magical prison. I sense that the power swirling about up there is so great, we only have to take the sphere close, and it will fall to pieces! Trust me.”

I did trust him. There was nothing else I could do.

The tower was trembling continually now. Fine tremors shook the stairs and the walls, and I was beginning to feel afraid that—Sagot forbid—the whole building might collapse.

The door into the Council Chamber was standing wide open, so it only took me a moment to understand what was going on. I think I was watching everything through Valder’s eyes.

The mirror floor reflected constellations never seen in Siala, and there were flaming purple auroras in its depths. The Rainbow Horn and the Shadow Horse were lying five yards apart.

The Horn was already surrounded by a glow that constantly changed color. Every now and then a shower of purple sparks came flying out of the Horse, soared up toward the transparent ceiling, and faded away in the air. Thick tentacles of Power were reaching out toward the artifacts and there was a black cloud expanding inexorably between the two magical objects. Artsivus was standing absolutely still, with his hands raised toward the ceiling. The puny archmagician had his back to us, and I immediately regretted that I’d left the crossbow downstairs.

“Don’t worry about that,” Valder told me. “Ordinary weapons are absolutely useless now.”

“And now what do we do?”

“Wait. It’s not time yet.”

Artsivus chanted his spells in a harsh-sounding language, and from time to time the tower shuddered. The purple flame in the mirror blazed brighter and brighter. The black cloud directly in front of the Player was already the size of a decent carriage. But it was only black round the edge; its center was transparent. And through it I could see a strange world, a completely different world.

The world of a different Master.

It looked as if Artsivus was opening up a passage for his new lord. The Rainbow Horn was shining with a brilliance that was too painful to look at, and the sparks were streaming up toward the glass dome from the Shadow Horse.

Surely the archmagicians and ordinary magicians of the capital ought to sense what was going on?

The archmagician’s chanting soared even higher and I felt the Scales of the Balance tremble. Just a little longer, and Artsivus’s magic would annihilate everything for tens of leagues around, not to mention the fact that the Scales of the Balance would be overturned completely.

Ah darkness! That was Valder thinking for me again!

“It’s time,” the dead archmagician suddenly said. “Throw it!”

I flung the gray sphere as hard as I could. It flew almost the entire length of the hall and landed behind Artsivus. The Master of the Order was too busy with his spell to notice anything.

The sphere burst without a sound and disappeared.

“Forward! Grab the Horn!” Valder ordered. “Free me!”

I hesitated before running into the hall, and the archmagician immediately took control of my body. I dashed toward the brightly glowing artifact, hoping that Artsivus wouldn’t see me too soon! He mustn’t see me!

Meanwhile a new character had joined the scene in the hall—a hefty demon. There was no way the Master of the Order could fail to see this lad. Artsivus broke off his incantation in mid-word, and one of his palms started glowing with a turquoise blue light.

“Vukhdjaaz is clever,” the gray demon announced, and made a dash for the magician.

The turquoise flame went darting from the magician’s palm and struck Vukhdjaaz in the chest.

Nothing happened. Battle magic doesn’t work on demons.

Artsivus shouted out a few hasty words. The Shadow Horse flared up and the monstrous demon howled as it was flung aside. When it came to battling the denizens of the darkness, the Doralissians’ artifact was obviously much more effective than any hocus-pocus.

Vukhdjaaz cursed and reached his clawed hand out toward the Shadow Horse, clearly intending to grab the bauble that he desired so badly. My sheep-headed friend must have forgotten that a demon could only take the Shadow Horse if a human being or a Doralissian put it in his hands of their own free will. The Shadow Horse spat sparks at the impertinent demon and Vukhdjaaz howled like a thousand sinners and staggered back, shaking his burnt hand, which was charred black in places.

All of the above took no longer than three seconds, just long enough for me to cover most of the distance to the Horn. I think Artsivus had noticed me, but he didn’t allow himself to be distracted, and he pointed one finger at Vukhdjaaz and started reciting a spell.

The demon didn’t seem at all keen on the idea. He cursed again, dodged to one side, smashed his head through the glass of one of the tall pointed windows, and left in a hurry.

Artsivus turned all his attention to me. The Rainbow Horn was close enough now for me to reach out and touch it. So I reached out.

The glow scorched my skin even through my gloves, and when I touched the Horn I felt like I’d been struck by lightning.

“I’m free!” Valder gasped.

Artsivus babbled something, and I was tossed away. I tried to get up, but I was too dizzy, and I had to lie there on the floor and watch as the entirely real Valder fought a duel of magic with the Player.

My friend showered down magical blows on the Master of the Order, giving Artsivus no time to wonder how this stranger who was so skilled in the art of magic could have appeared in the Council Chamber.

The Player struck, Valder parried, and then the old magician had to defend himself. The tower shuddered and I spat out the blood in my mouth, thinking that this was the end. It was going to collapse.

But the duel continued. Valder just barely managed to fend off a crimson sphere, sending it soaring up toward the ceiling, and the glass dome of the Tower of the Order burst with a deafening crash. Myriads of sharp fragments came showering down on us. Both magicians immediately protected themselves against the deadly rain with glowing canopies. And Valder had to protect me, too.

The duel was renewed and the magicians whirled round the Council Chamber, exchanging magical blows. Every one of them set the tower shaking like an earthquake. The very air seemed to be wailing with magic, but neither opponent could get the upper hand.

With an immense effort, I got up on my hands and knees and started gently creeping toward the Rainbow Horn. I wondered what it was that Artsivus had hit me with, and how I’d managed to survive. They didn’t seem to be taking any notice of me. I spat blood yet again and starting crawling a bit faster.

At that moment Valder shouted out some phrase and pushed Artsivus away from him as hard as he could. The old magician staggered backward, his back touched the black cloud, and he disappeared with a scream.

“Close the portal, Harold!” Valder yelled. “Take the Horn and close the portal! Close it before it’s too late!”

He flung himself after Artsivus.

I kept crawling.

The tower was shuddering. The Scales of the Balance were swaying. The world held its breath in anticipation.

I kept crawling.

The tower was shaking violently now. I even thought the magical mirror had cracked. The Horn was very close.

This time the effect of the rainbow radiance was pain. I screamed out loud and tears spurted from my eyes, but I grabbed hold of the artifact and flung it as far away as I could. The Rainbow Horn flew beyond the edge of the magical mirror and its glow instantly disappeared. The portal snapped shut with a deafening crash.

There was a rumble and a flash. Cold flooded through my entire body. I opened my mouth in a silent scream and the night swallowed me up.