“The chances of meeting them in a maze like this are not very high.”
It took me an entire hour to persuade the captain of the guard that it was easier for me to go alone. He ground his teeth and frowned, but in the end, he gave up.
“All right, thief, have it your own way. But I’m not very happy with my own decision.”
“Do you have the maps of Hrad Spein?” Kli-Kli asked.
“Yes,” I sighed.
Since first thing in the morning the goblin had been getting on my nerves worse than a crowd of priests chanting their sacred rubbish.
“What about torches?”
“I’ve got two.”
“Are you joking?” the fool inquired acidly.
“Certainly not. Two torches will be more than enough to reach the first level.”
“And after that are you going to grope your way along?”
“You told me yourself that there’s plenty of light in the underground palaces.”
“If the magic’s still working, but what if it isn’t? And not all of Hrad Spein is palaces.…”
“I have my lights, too.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that straightaway? Instead of treating me like an idiot!” he said, genuinely furious. “All right. What about food?”
“Kli-Kli, are you deliberately to trying to get my goat? You’ve asked me that twice already!” I groaned. “I’ve got plenty of magic biscuits. I don’t have to worry about food for two weeks.”
“Warm clothes?”
“Uh-huh.”
Darkness only knew what it was like down in the depths. I’d taken Eel’s double-knitted wool sweater—it was the kind that Wild Hearts wear in winter on patrol in the Slumbering Forest. Wearing it was as good as sitting in front of a hot stove. And its greatest advantage was that it could be rolled up into a slim little bundle that fitted easily into the half-empty canvas sack hanging over my shoulder.
“And have you…”
“No more!” I implored him. “You and your questions will drive me into my grave! Take a break for half an hour at least.”
“In half an hour you’ll be beyond my reach,” Kli-Kli objected, and carried on mercilessly. “Do you remember the poem?”
“Which one?”
“He still has to ask!” the goblin exclaimed, appealing tragically to the heavens. “Have you forgotten the scroll you showed us at the meeting with the king?”
“Ah! You mean the verse riddle? I remember it perfectly.”
“Repeat it.”
“Kli-Kli, believe me, I remember it perfectly.”
“Then repeat it. Don’t you understand that it’s the key to everything? It mentions things that aren’t in the maps.”
“Darkness take you.” It was easier to recite it than to argue with the detestable little goblin. “From the very beginning?”
“You can leave out the flowery bits.”
“All right,” I growled. “But if you don’t leave me alone after this, I’ll strangle you with my bare hands.”
So I strained my memory and recited the verse riddle for Kli-Kli.
I came across the poem purely by chance. It was scratched on a small scrap of paper lost in among the maps and papers about Hrad Spein that I found in the abandoned Tower of the Order. The poem was written by a magician who took the Rainbow Horn to the Palaces of Bone. And it was thanks to this work of literature that I’d been able to see my future route as I looked through the maps of Hrad Spein during our group’s evening halts.
“That’ll do,” the pestiferous goblin said with a satisfied nod when I finished declaiming the final quatrain. “Don’t forget it. And, by the way, remember that one section has been changed, I already told you about it. In the
“I remember,” I interrupted him hastily. Believe it or not, but by this time I couldn’t wait to dash into Hrad Spein so I wouldn’t have to hear any more good advice.
“You’re rotten, Harold,” said Kli-Kli, offended. “I’m trying my best for you! All right, damn you, someday you’ll remember this goblin’s kindness, but it’ll be too late. Bend down.”
“What?” I asked, puzzled.
“Bend down toward me, I tell you! I can’t reach up to you, I’m too short!”
I had to do as the jester asked, although I was expecting some farewell trick from him. Kli-Kli stood on tiptoe and hung a drop-shaped medallion round my neck—the one he found on the sorceress’s grave in Hargan’s Wasteland. The medallion had one invaluable quality—it could neutralize shamanic battle spells directed specifically at the wearer.
“In olden times the elves and orcs filled the palaces with magical traps. And this bauble can keep you safe from at least some of them.”
“Thank you,” I said, genuinely moved by his unexpected generosity.
“You bring it back to me,” the goblin said peevishly. “And bring yourself along with it, preferably with that Horn.”
I gave a brief chuckle.
“Well then, thief, it’s time,” Milord Alistan said.
“Yes, milord.” I ran through my equipment in my mind for the tenth time to check that I hadn’t left anything out, and then slung the crossbow over my shoulder. “Expect me in two weeks.”
“We’ll wait for three.”
“All right. If I’m not back by then, leave.”
“If you’re not back by then, someone else will go in. I won’t go back to the king without the Horn.”
I nodded. Milord Rat was a stubborn man and he wouldn’t give up until he got what he wanted.
“Here, Harold,” said Egrassa, holding out a bracelet of red copper, “put this on your arm.”
It looked just like an ordinary bracelet, although it was very old, and it had badly worn orcic runes on it.
“What is it?”
“It will let me know that you’re alive and where you are. And it will get you past the Kaiyu guards safely.”
I gaped at the elf in amazement, but he just shrugged and smiled.
“They say that it protects against them, that’s what it was made for, but don’t rely on it too much. I haven’t tried it myself.”
I nodded gratefully and put the bracelet on my left arm. Sagot had obviously decided this was Harold’s day for collecting trinkets. Well, I didn’t mind, the verse riddle mentioned the Kaiyu guards, and if the elf believed this artifact could save me from the blind guardians of the elfin burial chambers, I should definitely accept his gift with gratitude.
“May the gods be with you,” the elf told me as we said good-bye.
“Don’t let your king and his kingdom down, Harold,” Milord Alistan declared pompously, calling me by my own name for once.
“Good luck!” said Eel, shaking me firmly by the hand.
Deler, Hallas, and Mumr did the same.
“Good luck, Dancer in the Shadows,” the jester said with a sniff.
“Expect me in two weeks,” I reminded them again, then swung round and walked toward the black hole that led to the heart of the ancient burial chambers.
4
