myself and looked back, too, but there was nothing behind us except a narrow path silvered by moonlight and dark walls of fir trees rising up on both sides of it.
“What’s happening?” asked Alistan Markauz.
“Nothing yet, milord, just don’t fall behind,” said the elf, almost switching into a run.
Miralissa was muttering something to herself and occasionally fluttering her hands. I realized with horror that she was preparing some spell as we walked along. May the darkness drink me—could they tell us what was going on or not?
Kli-Kli was skipping along ahead of me, with his sack bouncing up and down on his back—it wasn’t easy for the little goblin to keep up with the pace set for us by Egrassa.
The goblin was whining quietly. At first I thought he was just breathing like that from the effort, but then I realized: Kli-Kli was whining in fear. And that was when I got frightened.
Very frightened.
“Kli-Kli!” I growled at him. “Give me your sack, it won’t be so hard for you keep up!”
The jester looked at me. His blue eyes were full of primal animal terror. I had to repeat what I’d said before he understood what I wanted him to do. The goblin didn’t argue, and immediately handed me the little sack with his bits and pieces in it.
“What’s going on?” I said, repeating the question I’d already asked.
“A flute!” the jester squeaked.
“In the name of darkness, what flute?”
“Just keep moving quickly, all right?”
That was all I could get out of him.
And then I heard
“Move, Harold, if you want to stay alive! I don’t know what that thing behind us is, but I’m sure it doesn’t mean us any good.”
Egrassa broke into a run. There was another trill of the flute, much closer than before, and then I realized what it was that was gaining on us. Only one creature made sounds that resembled a trilling flute so closely. And the orcs had named this monster the terrible flute, or h’san’kor.
“Sagot save us all,” I blurted out.
“That’s not very likely! Just run, Harold!”
And we ran. Each time the trilling sounded closer and closer. And those flute sounds urged us on better than any bull whip could have done. Whatever this beast that was used to frighten us in our distant childhoods might be, it was running very fast, a lot faster than us.
“I … thought … they … all … died out … long … ago … or they … were … just … a … fairy … story,” Lamplighter gasped.
He threw away his sack; the weight of his bidenhander was enough for him now. But Alistan was the one having the hardest time. The captain of the guard eventually had to give up: He threw away his helmet, then his shield, and then came the turn for his small mace. The only weapons the count was left with were his sword and dagger.
“As you see … not all of them,” Kli-Kli wheezed. “This one’s definitely alive … and hungry. He’s no fairy story.…”
“Why are we running?” I panted. “Three more minutes of this and I’ll die.”
“So he … won’t eat us … you fool! We’re waiting … for Miralissa … to work a spell!”
I wish she’d get a move on, I thought. Sagot, if you can hear me, please hurry her on a bit.
The trees fused into a single flickering blur. The world shrank to a narrow path, Kli-Kli’s back, the wheezing in my chest, Miralissa’s muttering, and the howls of a h’san’kor on the hunt. The sweat smothered my eyes, my hair was glued to my forehead. I wanted to stop, fall to the ground, and die right there. But everyone was running, and I had no choice but to keep running with them.
“Drop … both … the sacks,” Kli-Kli advised me in a squeak.
I gratefully tossed his sack away and dropped my own off my shoulders; then it was a lot easier to run. If only I could have dumped the chain mail—but for that I would have had to stop, and stopping now was the shortest way into the belly of the beast.
A flute trilled … and a second later another replied.
“There are two of them!” Kli-Kli squealed.
At that very moment Miralissa finished muttering, and the bushes on the right of the path parted to form a passage.
“That way!” the elfess gasped.
We didn’t need to be told twice. As soon as we left the path, the bushes closed together behind us and the trampled grass sprang back up as if our feet had never touched it. Our group was in a grove of fir trees, surrounded by pitch blackness. There was a strange blink and a cold tremor ran over my body.
“We’re invisible now, but lie down just in case!” Miralissa ordered. “Kli-Kli, your people know defensive spells. The magic of the elves has almost no effect on a h’san’kor. You help!”
“I don’t know anything,” the frightened goblin whinged. “Only the little bit my granddad taught me!”
“Do what you can!” the elfess hissed furiously, sprinkling some powder through the air.
Kli-Kli nodded and started spinning like a top. After ten long seconds the goblin collapsed on the ground and for a brief instant the world around us flared pink. I didn’t know what it was, but Miralissa nodded approvingly.
“Good, now don’t move, don’t even breathe. Now you’re nothing but tree roots for the flute. For a minute at least…”
She murmured the last words very, very quietly.
We really were in the mother of all fixes.
Almost nothing was known about the h’san’kor, which was only natural, since those who had encountered one didn’t usually tell anyone about it, because of their sudden death. So all our knowledge of terrible flutes amounted to no more than terrible legends from the elves and goblins about these mysterious monsters of the forest and a few engravings of bodies of flutes (I personally had no idea at all of what the beast looked like).
Two bodies of h’san’kors that were found by particularly brave trappers who wandered into the Golden Forest were sold for huge amounts of money (one went to the Order of Magicians, the other was bought by some collector). And also, about three hundred years earlier, a certain very brave and stupid baron from the Borderland had organized a h’san’kor hunt. Half of his men lost their lives, but they did manage to capture one of the monsters alive. The magicians of the Order, drooling at the mouth, were hurrying to the baron’s castle, but the flute decided not to wait. It smashed apart the cage in which it had foolishly been detained and killed everyone in the castle and the neighboring village. Then it waited for the magicians and finished off almost all of them. It turned out that battle magic had no effect at all on the beast, and so three adepts and seven acolytes were lost. It was a stroke of luck that the members of the Order included an archmagician, who killed the monster by dropping a nearby windmill on its head.
But these were tales of times long past. We didn’t happen to have an inventive archmagician or spare windmill with us. We just lay there on the ground, not moving and barely breathing. The trill of a flute sounded again. O, so close, the darkness take me! The first flute was immediately answered by a second.
“I’m a log, I’m invisible,” I whispered quietly. The hair on my head stood up in terror.
Kli-Kli gave me a very painful kick and put one finger to his lips. I blinked at him to say: I understand, not a sound.
Our refuge had a magnificent view of the path. The silence of the night was broken occasionally by trilling flutes, and the only thing I could do was pray to Sagot that we wouldn’t be noticed.
“They’re chasing someone!” Mumr whispered, earning himself a painful dig from Eel.
What I saw a moment later is etched in my memory forever.
A man came running along the path. Not even running, but flying, putting all his strength into it. The stranger’s feet were barely even touching the ground, he was moving in immense leaps to get away from the monsters pursuing him. His boot touched the ground, pushed off, and the man flew a good three yards, another
