“By steel, fire, blood, and by the will of the gods I confirm that judgment has been given and the guilty party punished! So be it!”
“What do you mean, punished?” howled Balistan Pargaid, beside himself with fury.
“Do you doubt the judgment of the goddess, milord?” asked Algert Dalli, raising one eyebrow in an expression of surprise.
“No. I do not doubt it,” the count said, forcing the words out.
Whatever else he might be, Balistan Pargaid was certainly no fool.
“Good, then I invite you to a festive dinner to celebrate the passing of judgment.”
“Thank you,” said Count Pargaid. “But I have business to attend to. My men and I will leave immediately.”
“As you wish.” Algert Dalli had no intention of trying to detain him. “A safe journey to you.”
Count Balistan Pargaid replied to these words with an irritated nod and left the arena without even glancing back at the body of Meilo Trug.
The Wild Hearts crowded round Mumr, fussing over him. Hallas was as pleased as if he had won the victory over the adversary all on his own.
“You know what, Harold-Barold,” said Kli-Kli, chewing thoughtfully on a piece of carrot, “I’m a bit worried about our mutual friend, Balistan Pargaid, withdrawing like that after he just spent two weeks chasing us. He gave up a bit too easily, don’t you think? And then Lafresa has disappeared somewhere.… Oh, I have the feeling they’re preparing some dirty trick for us!”
“Just chew on your carrot and shut up, Kli-Kli. Let Alistan and Miralissa do the worrying,” I told him.
But I had a feeling Kli-Kli was right.
13
Crossroads
That day Lamplighter was the hero of the castle. It’s no secret that what the inhabitants of the Border Kingdom value most in a man is his mastery of a weapon, and that morning Mumr had demonstrated that he certainly knew how to use a sword. All day long the soldiers of the castle garrison treated our hero with respectful deference, as if he were made out of the finest Nizin porcelain.
In the evening Milord Algert Dalli held a feast at which all the warriors of the castle were present. Mumr was seated in the place of honor and enough food for an entire regiment was heaped up around him.
Some of Lamplighter’s glory was even reflected onto me and the Wild Hearts. We sat beside him, at the same table as all the noble-born. Frankly, I’d rather hide away in the darkest corner of a hall, at the very farthest table, otherwise I feel too exposed. I think that pair of gluttons, Hallas and Deler, took the whole thing more simply than anyone else—they just gobbled up and swilled down everything that they could lay their hands on without the slightest embarrassment, belching deafeningly and constantly striking up new arguments with each other.
All the endless toasts raised to Milord Algert Dalli, his lovely daughter, Milord Alistan Markauz, the glorious elves, Master Lamplighter, the death of the orcs, the Border Kingdom, and so on and so forth had already set my head spinning.
Deler was red-faced from so much drinking, Hallas was feeling drowsy, Marmot’s tongue seemed to be tied in knots and, to Kli-Kli’s intense delight, he roused squeals from the lovely ladies by trying to stuff Invincible into a jug of wine. The goblin was really enjoying life, and he shared his joy with everyone else around him. The only ones displeased with his performance were Algert Dalli’s own personal fools, who watched the little jester with poorly concealed envy and hatred. It looked as if they could well end up giving Kli-Kli a good drubbing by the end of the evening’s festivities.
One dish followed another, one song followed another, and when it became absolutely unbearable to sit at the table any longer, Honeycomb nudged me with his elbow:
“Did you hear? Tomorrow we set out bright and early; if the gods are kind to us, we’ll be in Zagraba in two days’ time.”
“I can’t say the idea pleases me all that much. I reckon it’s a lot safer sitting between stone walls than wandering through some gloomy old forest.”
“There are no safe places, Harold,” Honeycomb chuckled. “Death will creep in even through stone walls, it just depends what fate was written down for you when you were born. I remember there was a witch who predicted that Arnkh would drown. Arnkh just laughed at her, but now you see the way things have turned out.… If you’re afraid of wolves, don’t go to Zagraba.”
“If there were only wolves there…”
“True enough,” the giant agreed, taking a mouthful from his mug of beer. “Like I said—it’s fate.”
“I’ll go and get some sleep,” I said, getting up from the table. “I can’t sit here any longer.”
“Stay there, Harold-Barold, swig your wine,” said Kli-Kli, jumping to his feet. “No point in tempting fate!”
“Meaning what?” I asked, puzzled.
“There’s a rumor going round the guards at the gates that Balistan Pargaid has left.”
“So what?”
“When he arrived here with his men, there were twenty of them, but when he left, somehow there were only eighteen. One was run through by Mumr, and that leaves nineteen. Where’s the other one got to?”
“Paleface!” I felt my mouth turn dry instantly. “Maybe I’ll stay and drink a little more after all.”
“That’s right,” the goblin said with an approving nod, “wandering around the castle on your own would not be good for you.”
“Have they tried to find him?”
“Are you joking? They’ve crept into all the nooks and crannies.… But in a humungous place like this, you could hide a mammoth and no one would find it until it died and started to stink. So imagine how hard it is to find a man.”
“And you didn’t tell me this before?”
“I didn’t want to upset you and spoil your appetite,” Kli-Kli said, giving me an innocent look.
“Scat, get out of my sight. You’re worse than the plague.”
“Don’t take it so badly, Dancer, after all, we’re with you. I think I’ll take a drink as well, to keep you company. Do you think they’ll bring me some milk if I ask?”
“Maybe…” The only thought in my head right now was of Paleface.
For some reason I never doubted for a second that he had stayed behind after the count’s detachment left in order to dispatch your humble servant into the light. Thoughts like that did nothing to improve my mood, and I could barely wait for the end of this dreary rigmarole of pompous speechifying and singing to the health of all the warriors. When I did finally get back to my room, to settle my nerves I checked the windows, the doors, and the chimney. The chimney was too narrow; there wasn’t much chance Paleface would be able to get in that way. The bar on the door was a hefty oak beam, and the windows were fifty yards above the ground; there was no way Paleface could climb up that way—not unless he could fly, that is.
Kli-Kli, Hallas, and Deler had fallen asleep long ago, but I still couldn’t nod off. I just lay there on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, until eventually sleep overcame me, too.
I was woken by a fiendish howl of pain that made me tumble out of bed, grab my crossbow, and squat down. I swung my head around drowsily, trying not to make myself a target and wondering what exactly was going on.
“What happened?” yelled Deler.
“Hey! Is everything all right in there?” someone shouted outside the door.
“Who screamed like that?” Deler asked again.
“Let’s have some light!”
“Open the door!” Honeycomb shouted, pounding on it with his fists.
There was a scraping sound and a shower of sparks, and a candle lit up in Hallas’s hand.
“Why are you yelling like fishwives at the market, it’s all over,” the gnome grumbled, lifting the candle to light
