course, every tavern has its own bright spark who has met one of these mysterious warriors in person, and if you pour this bright spark a brimming glass, then he’ll tell you a colorful tale of how the Gray One killed a hundred knights and then defeated a dragon into the bargain.
I don’t know just how much truth there is in all these rumors. But even the most stupid rumor and the most fantastic story are based on at least a tiny grain of truth.
They also say that the Gray Ones are the guardians of equilibrium—the balance—in Siala. They only leave their island when the world is threatened by some really serious danger that could tip the balance in one direction or the other. To put it in simple terms (although this is not quite right), it doesn’t matter to the Gray Ones which way the world is tilting—into good or evil, toward the white side or the dark side.
They maintain the balance and in any particular situation they join the weaker side. When good is winning, they’re on the side of evil; when evil is winning, they’re on the side of good. It’s a matter of indifference to them what goals or ideals you pursue and what it is you want—peace throughout the world or evil throughout the Universe. If you threaten the balance, they will try to persuade you to stop. If persuasion doesn’t work, then … The Gray Ones have a reputation as dangerous warriors and superb magicians, and they will find other ways of changing your mind. The order of mysterious warriors has no ambitions of its own and stands above all sides. It is not white, it is not black.
It is Gray.
“Are you sure this is an absolutely genuine Gray One?” Hallas asked in amazement.
Hallas got up off his knees and tossed the crystal to the gnome.
“Look for yourself. The Order of the Gray Ones gives a chain like that to all its warriors. At least, that is what it says in our chronicles. I’ve never met one of this brotherhood before in my entire life.”
“So the Gray Ones are vampires?” Kli-Kli squeaked, giving the motionless body a wary sideways glance.
“Probably not. Their order is said to include men, and elves, and even orcs. So why not a vampire?” Egrassa said with a shrug. “But what concerns me is what this young lad was doing here in the forest.”
“The flinny told us about him,” Eel said again. “The vampire was following us.”
“I know, but that doesn’t answer the question. What did he want from us? The last time these warriors left their island was during the Spring War.”
“He said something to Harold,” Kli-Kli blurted out.
Everyone turned to look at me.
“What did he say, thief?”
“That we mustn’t take the Horn, or the balance could be disrupted,” I answered quite candidly, remembering the stranger’s whisper.
Silence fell in the clearing.
“Mmm, yes,” Kli-Kli murmured thoughtfully, and scratched his hooked nose.
“How did he find us? How does the Order of the Gray Ones know that we’re trying to retrieve the Rainbow Horn?” Deler asked.
The dark elf laughed. “They have their own ways of discovering secrets.”
“We were fortunate that he was alone,” Alistan Markauz murmured.
“What if he isn’t?”
“He was alone, Harold,” Lamplighter reassured me. “The flinny said so.”
Hallas snorted loudly to indicate his opinion of anything Aarroo might have said.
“The Gray Ones must have known that we want to take the Horn out of the burial chambers in order to stop the Nameless One,” Kli-Kli insisted. “Why do they think that if Harold gets it, the balance will be disrupted?”
“Perhaps they know something that we don’t, Kli-Kli?” I said, remembering the living dream I’d had about how the Forbidden Territory appeared in Avendoom because of the Rainbow. “After all, the magicians of the Order must have had some reason for hiding the Horn in the Palaces of Bone.”
“But if the Gray Ones are so afraid of the Horn’s return to the world … if it’s that dangerous … maybe we shouldn’t try to retrieve it,” Lamplighter said uncertainly, forcing out the words.
“We’ve come too far to stop now,” Milord Alistan objected. “And the Order of the Gray Ones might be mistaken. It’s just half a day’s journey to Hrad Spein, surely we’re not going to stop when we’re at the very gates?”
“Milord, don’t think that I’m a coward, it’s just that if that’s the way things are and they really did send this mysterious killer after us —”
“Nobody thinks you’re a coward, Lamplighter,” the captain of the royal guard interrupted him. “You know as well as I do how badly we need that Horn. Egrassa, it’s been a hard night and everyone’s tired. It’s time to make a halt and get some sleep.”
The little campfire lit by the elf crackled cheerfully and threw sparks up into the sky. I couldn’t get to sleep and just lay there, watching the cold twinkling of the stars. The Archer, the Crayfish Tail, the Swineherd, Sagra’s Dogs … dozens of constellations gazed down on me through the branches of the trees. The Crown of the North, stretching halfway across the sky, glimmered on the horizon like the coals in the fire.
When an elf dies, a new star lights up in the sky. Perhaps Egrassa was right and it was a foolish superstition, but I strained my eyes until they ached, gazing up at the night sky and trying to make out the star that should have appeared when Miralissa died.
Hopeless.
Even if a star had appeared, I couldn’t see with all these trees around us.
A falling star whooshed silently across the night sky. It hurtled past above my head, blinking one last time as it disappeared behind the trees. Usually, when people see a falling star, they make a wish.
What did I want to wish for?
Those who had died on the journey could never be brought back again. Tomcat had been left behind forever in Hargan’s Wasteland, beside the old ravine. Loudmouth, who had turned out to be a traitor, never left that cellar near Ranneng. Arnkh and Uncle were at the bottom of the Iselina, thanks to Lafresa’s magic. Marmot was buried in the ground of the Border Kingdom, Ell’s ashes had become part of the river, and Miralissa had found her resting place under the shade of the fir trees. They had all been left behind us. They had done everything they could to get to Zagraba, they had faced deadly danger, caring nothing for their own lives … So I had to get my hands on that cursed Horn so the Order could stop the Nameless One. And … let no more of those sleeping round this fire be killed on our journey.
Another cold flash in the sky—and another fiery trail streaked between the stars. The orcs called September Por Za’rallo—the Month of Falling Stars.
One more star.
If you looked at the sky for a long, long time, you could see dozens of falling stars that could become our wishes, even if those wishes will probably never come true.
I turned my head and saw Deler. The dwarf couldn’t sleep, either. He was sitting huddled up by the fire, staring intently at the flames. Hallas was snoring quietly beside him.
I got up, carefully stepped over Lamplighter, and walked across to Deler.
“Can’t sleep?”
He broke off from contemplating the dancing flames and looked at me. “You should sleep while you have the chance; I’ve got to stand watch for another hour until beard-face gets up.”
“I can’t get to sleep,” I said, sitting down beside him.
“I can understand that. After all this…”
He paused for a moment and then said reluctantly, “It’s so stupid … an absurd way to die … killed by your own magic…”
I didn’t say anything, and no words were needed anyway. Everyone was mourning for Miralissa, although they tried not to show it. It was just … just that that was the way things were with the Wild Hearts: When a friend dies, don’t give way to your tears; find the enemy and take revenge.
Deler grunted as he turned round, picked up a small log off the ground, and threw it into the fire. The flames recoiled and then cautiously licked at the offering, getting the taste of it, and finally fed themselves on the fresh food voraciously.
“You know, a Gray One came to the Mountains of the Dwarves once,” Deler said unexpectedly. “It was a
