“How would I know, Harold? Perhaps that’s how it really was.”
“But it was too late. Djok was already dead.”
Ell shrugged.
“One human life wasn’t very important.”
“You’re wrong,” I said quietly. “You don’t know what happened because of that terrible mistake.”
“Oh?” He looked hard at me. “Then tell me, if I’m so stupid.”
“Forget it, it’s just idle talk now.”
The elf nodded and immediately forgot about our conversation.
But I didn’t. Now I knew who, what, and why.
Milord Alistan decided to send out scouts, and now Eel and Marmot moved off far to the right or the left, in search of possible danger. So far all was quiet, and I personally would have been perfectly happy for the peace and quiet to continue for a long, long time, all the way to Hrad Spein, but all good things come to an end. Marmot came back in the afternoon and reported that there was an armed detachment moving in our direction.
“Horsemen,” he reported to Milord Rat. “About a hundred or a hundred and twenty, maybe more. All wearing armor. About half a league from here.”
“Balistan Pargaid’s men!”
“They don’t look like his, but I could be wrong, it was too far to see.”
“Did they see you?”
“You offend me, milord.” Marmot chuckled. “If we hurry, we can still get away and avoid them.”
“I don’t think we’ll be able to do that,” said Ell, pointing to a horseman who had appeared in the distance. The man noticed us, swung his horse away, and galloped off in the opposite direction. They had their scouts, too.
“Then we’ll see who comes off best,” said Deler, picking up his poleax.
“You’ll have time enough for fighting,” Honeycomb rebuked the irascible dwarf. “Keep calm. And Hallas, that means you especially.”
“Right,” said the gnome, beating out his pipe and putting it away in his saddlebag. “I’m as silent as the grave.”
Then Eel joined our group, and he had seen a little more than Marmot.
“It’s definitely not Pargaid, unless he’s trying to confuse us. They have two banners—a green field with a black cloud and lightning, and a yellow field with a clenched mailed fist in a flame.”
“I can’t say anything about the first, it’s some petty landholder, but I do know the second banner. It belongs to Count Algert Dalli, Keeper of the Western Border,” Alistan Markauz replied.
“What is he doing on someone else’s lands, milord?” the jester asked.
“It’s not necessarily him, it could just be a detachment of men who serve him.”
“I can tell you who the first banner belongs to, milord,” I interrupted. “Unless I’m mistaken that is the crest of Baron Oro Gabsbarg. We saw him at Balistan Pargaid’s reception, Kli-Kli.”
“Ah, yes, the big shaggy one! Of course, of course, now I remember.”
The atmosphere became a little less tense. I didn’t really think that the warriors of the Borderland and the baron’s men would hack us all to pieces. They were not like the bloodthirsty Count Pargaid, whose men had been waiting for us at Upper Otters—Ell had caught a glimpse of the nightingales embroidered on their clothes. The count’s henchmen had turned the inhabitants of the village against us after someone had forwarded a message. I didn’t know how the message had overtaken us—perhaps with a pigeon, or a raven, or by magic, but they had certainly arranged a warm welcome for us.
The column of horsemen appeared up ahead. They were galloping straight toward us, and I can’t say I felt very happy about that. When that kind of force is moving straight at you, you can’t help wanting to be as far away as possible. The banners fluttered in the wind, the armor and lance points glittered in the rays of sunlight, the horses’ hooves hammered on the ground … The column was approaching rapidly.
“Steady, lads,” Honeycomb said through his teeth and, without even realizing it, he reached for his ogre hammer.
Two knights wearing heavy armor were riding at the front. One was wearing a closed helmet in the form of a cock’s head with green plumes. The other was not wearing any helmet and had a thick black bushy beard, which made him easily recognizable as my acquaintance Baron Oro Gabsbarg. These two were followed by their arms- bearers, then came the standard-bearers, and after them the warriors in chain mail and half-helmets with broad strips of metal protecting their noses. Many of them had lances and shields.
When the horsemen were only twenty yards away from our group, the man in the helmet raised his right hand with the open palm upward, and the column halted. The baron, the knight, arms-bearers, and standard- bearers rode toward us.
“Name yourselves,” the “cock” said as he approached. The helmet made his voice sound dull and lifeless.
“Bah!” cried the baron when he saw me. His expression was very astonished indeed. “May I be damned if I do not behold before me the Dralan Par in person!”
Oro screwed up his eyes, glanced at Eel, and asked uncertainly:
“Milord duke?”
Eel didn’t look like a duke at that moment, and the magic mask that Miralissa had applied to his face had faded long ago, so that Duke Ganet Shagor was now swarthy skinned and dark haired, and no longer concealed from the baron’s gaze.
“Not entirely,” said Alistan Markauz, riding forward. “Gentlemen…”
“I can’t believe my eyes. Count Alistan Markauz in person, may lightning strike me! You’re here, too! I am genuinely flattered! Have you decided to take up my invitation and visit Farahall after all? Lieutenant, allow me to introduce my guests. This is Count Alistan Markauz, our glorious King Stalkon’s right hand and captain of the royal guard, this—”
“Please allow me to introduce the others to your noble companion, baron,” Alistan said, politely interrupting Gabsbarg.
“I shall be honored,” the “cock” rumbled, and removed his helmet.
Marmot gasped, because the knight was a woman—a young girl with her head completely shaved in the fashion of warriors from the Border Kingdom.
“This is the Marchioness Alia Dalli, lieutenant of the guard, daughter of Count Algert Dalli,” the baron bellowed.
“Gentlemen,” the girl said, bowing her head in polite greeting.
“Milady, allow me to introduce my companions to you. Tresh Miralissa and Tresh Egrassa are from the House of the Black Moon. Ell is from the House of the Black Rose.”
“Ah…,” the baron rumbled in amazement, gaping at Eel and me, and wondering why Alistan had not given our names.
“Eel is a soldier, Harold is a thief,” Milord Rat explained with harsh simplicity.
“A thief?” Oro looked as if someone had smashed him over the head with a log. “A thief?”
“Now that’s a pleasant surprise, isn’t it?” Kli-Kli put in. “By the way, as usual, everyone’s forgotten about me. Allow me to introduce myself, the king’s jester Kli-Kli. I’m on leave at the moment.”
“A thief!” Oro repeated in an even more astonished voice, and then out of the blue he suddenly burst into thunderous laughter. “And does the dear Count Balistan Pargaid know about this? I wonder what all those high- society leeches would say if they knew they spent the evening in the company of an ordinary soldier and a criminal.”
“That’s just the beginning of it,” Kli-Kli declared modestly.
Baron Oro Gabsbarg was not at all upset at being told the truth. These Borderland nobles are certainly a strange breed.
“Gentlemen,” said Alia Dalli, “may I inquire what has brought you to the Borderland?”
“We’ll tell you gladly. We are on our way to Zagraba.”
“Zagraba? But the elves’ territory lies far to the west; you can only reach the orcs’ lands from here.”
“That is where we are headed,” Miralissa answered the girl.
