wasted no time in selecting suits for Hallas, Deler, Alistan Markauz, Lamplighter, and Marmot. So now our entire group felt more or less well protected, although the replacements were far from comparable to the armor that had gone to the bottom of the Black River with the ferry. Lamplighter received a personal gift from the count—the dagger with the precious handle.
Fer’s men were supposed to take us as far as a castle where a powerful garrison was quartered, ready to repulse any sudden attack from Zagraba. This castle was the final human stronghold; beyond it lay dense thickets into which no right-minded Border Kingdom warrior would wander without good reason.
Our road lay through coniferous forests with murmuring rivers and reinforced villages. The detachment was challenged from watch towers three times, and we came across five armed patrols.
The Borderland was seething with anticipation; the soldiers told us that the orcs were on the move in the Golden Forest.
“They’ve attacked two villages in the last month, Master Lamplighter,” one of the men told Mumr respectfully. “And they gave a detachment from the Foresty Hills a good hiding, too. Until recently, we only saw orcs once in every six months, and then in the distance, but now they’re testing our strength right along the border of the kingdom, searching out the weak spots. They say the Hand is gathering an army and dreaming of finally doing what they failed to do in the Spring War.”
“Could they really break through?” Mumr asked, frowning and squirming in his saddle. He had taken too much to drink the evening before, and today he had a splitting headache.
“Break through?” The soldier thought for a moment. “I don’t know, Master Lamplighter. If real trouble starts, then they’ll certainly try, only not in our lands. They’ll move past farther to the west, where there’s unbroken forest, with not many garrisons and, pardon me for saying so, the soldiers of Valiostr haven’t really been doing their job recently. Anyone could slip by the fortresses there, even an orc, even a crowd of Terrible Flutes—if they exist, that is.”
“Sagra forbid, if there is any serious trouble, we’ll be the only ones here trying to fight it,” said another soldier. “Before the main forces get here, and your regulars are assembled in Valiostr … How long is all that going to take? I’ve already moved my family closer to Shamar. It’s safer there; after all it is the capital.”
“What about the elves? Surely the elves will support you?” Eel asked.
“Elves?” The soldier glanced warily at the dark elves riding at the head of the column. “You know what Lord Algert says about elves? He says he’s sick of them and their promises.”
“Hold your tongue, Servin,” one of the sergeants said gloomily. “Fer doesn’t like any loose talk.”
“But I’m right, Khruch. I’m right, and you know it.”
“Maybe you are, but I still don’t like the idea of a s’kash across my head.”
“The dark elves make lots of promises, but who can understand them? They’re not like us.”
“The House of the Black Flame promised to send six hundred warriors to our borders, but not one has arrived yet,” said the soldier, spitting on the ground under his horse’s hooves.
The detachment halted for lunch at a village with no name. The horses were allowed to rest and we were greeted amiably and fed without any complaints, even though there was such a great horde of us. The short break did everyone good and the detachment moved on refreshed and invigorated.
“Fir trees, fir trees, everywhere,” Kli-Kli sighed, looking round gloomily at the landscape.
“What’s wrong with you? Is Zagraba supposed to be some kind of flower garden?”
Kli-Kli snorted contemptuously.
“Harold, you don’t know what you’re talking about. Yes, fir trees grow in Zagraba, but there are other trees, too. Pines, oaks, larches, maples, golden-leafs, birches, rowans, too many kinds to mention…”
“So what harm have fir trees ever done to you?”
“I don’t like them. They’re bad trees. Dark.”
“And there’s some-one hi-ding in them,” said Honeycomb, opening his eyes in mock terror.
“That’s right, for instance Balistan Pargaid and that witch of his! She’ll jump out and shout ‘Whoo-oo-oo,’” Deler added.
“It’s such hard work talking to fools like you,” the jester muttered miserably, and he didn’t speak to us again until that night.
Although it was already the second half of August, and according to all the laws of nature the morning should have been just as hot as the previous day, the weather turned bad again, and if I hadn’t known it was August, I would have thought it was late October.
Hazy and cool—those are probably the two words that best describe the day. The sky was completely covered with swollen, grayish purple clouds, and I began to feel afraid that I would have to travel in the rain again, as I had done on the journey to the Borderland. The cool wind did nothing to improve my spirits, either. Deler grumbled about the ache in his bones, Hallas grumbled about Deler, Kli-Kli grumbled about both of them. I’m sure I don’t need to explain what kind of a din all that created.
“Look, now we’re entering the Land of Streams, as we call this area,” said Servin, the same lad who had started the conversation about orcs the day before. “We’re right on the edge of the inhabited region. In about four hours we’ll be in Cuckoo.”
“Cuckoo?” Marmot asked. “What’s cuckoo?”
“That’s the castle where the garrison is.”
“A-ah. How many men do you have there?”
“Four hundred, not counting the servants and magicians.”
“Magicians?” Hallas asked in a very suspicious tone of voice. For some reason the gnome couldn’t stand magicians of the Order.
“Yes, master gnome, magicians. We have a magician in every fortress. In case the orcs’ shamans show up.”
“If the orcs’ shamans show up, it’s simpler to just climb into your coffin than hope for any help from the Order’s cheap conjurers!” Hallas snorted contemptuously.
“Come now, master gnome, the magicians are really a great help! I remember I was in Milord Fer’s detachment when we were defending Drunken Springs, and a shaman did show up—he almost dispatched all hundred of us to the light. If we hadn’t had a magician there, I swear by Sagra I wouldn’t be talking with you now.”
Hallas muttered something to himself and changed the subject.
Ell came galloping up and said that Miralissa wanted to see me, so I had to follow the k’lissang to the front of the column. The elfess was chatting politely with Fer. But when she spotted me, she reined back her horse and asked:
“Harold, can you sense anything?”
“N-no,” I answered after thinking for a moment. “What should I sense, Lady Miralissa?”
“I don’t know,” she sighed. “Is the Key silent?”
“Yes.” The dwarves’ handiwork had not given any sign since that night at Balistan Pargaid’s house.
“I’m worried by Lafresa’s sudden disappearance. She wasn’t at Mole Castle with Balistan Pargaid, but she must be somewhere, and the count wasn’t too upset when the judgment went against his man.”
“I also got the impression that he had the ace of trumps hidden up his sleeve.”
“Ace of trumps?” She thought for a moment. “Ah, yes! Cards. Yes, you’re right, he must have some contingency plan, or he would not have given up so easily. I suspect the hand of that maidservant of the Master in this, and I thought that you ought to sense her, since you’re attuned to the Key.”
“No, I don’t sense anything, Lady Miralissa.”
“A pity,” she said sincerely. “Although, on the other hand, if you can’t sense her, then she must be somewhere far away.”
“Or close by, but the artifact cannot sense her power,” said Egrassa.
I preferred Miralissa’s explanation; it made me feel a lot safer.
“Lady Miralissa, may I ask a question?”
“Please do.”
“Balistan Pargaid is our enemy, he serves the Master, and yet you let him leave Algert Dalli’s castle without hindrance. Why?”
“Have you still not realized that the laws in the Border Kingdom are different from the laws of Valiostr?
