either asleep or lying low in anticipation of what is coming, and it doesn’t wish to make any noise.
There is no one in the Inner City of Avendoom, either, not even the guards who watch over the peace of the rich men in this district and are always so eager for a gold coin or two. The blanket of snow looks absolutely untouched, as if no one has dared to walk across for an entire week.
I make a few turns and walk away from the central street, through two neighborhoods where the snow is banked up against the houses, and they are just as empty as the city streets and squares. Three hundred yards ahead of me the beautiful Tower of the Order rises up majestically into the air. In the winter, the tower looks as if it is carved out of a single massive block of light blue ice. Another one of the Order’s many tricks that make the stones of the tower look like ice, or wood, or fire, according to the season.
Standing between me and the tower is a figure wearing a gray cloak. The stranger pulls back his hood and I recognize him. I have had the pleasure of making this man’s acquaintance.
Man? No. Vampire.
A pale, bloodless face, thin lips blue with cold, chestnut hair. A gray cloak that’s torn, a coarse shirt of undyed wool. A thick chain on his chest, with a long, smoky-gray crystal hanging on it, sparkling in the sun as brightly as any diamond or dragon’s tear. The vampire is holding a krasta carelessly in his hands. He is not threatening me, there’s no need for that, and the tip of his bizarre weapon is pointing up at the sky.
I stop and look into the Gray One’s impassive eyes. We say nothing. I don’t know how much time goes by, but neither of us wants to speak first.
The face of the sun is suddenly hidden behind a thin veil of gray, and a few seconds later the blue sky has been replaced by low gray clouds. Something white and pitifully small falls to the ground between us.
A snowflake. Others follow the first down from the sky, falling through the completely still air in absolute silence. The world darkens and the winter twilight captures the city with the speed of light cavalry.
“You know why I’m here.” He isn’t asking, he’s telling me.
“I can guess,” I say reluctantly, and pull a wry face.
“You have all taken things too far. The chains restraining the Fallen Ones could snap at any moment, and the world will tremble. Give it to me, before the balance of the scales is finally overthrown.”
It’s not even worth thinking of trying to fight this warrior. I know what will happen if I refuse and don’t give him the treasure—the krasta will slice me in half in the twinkling of an eye, and the Gray One will take the Rainbow Horn anyway. This lad’s far too good for me. It’s painful to lose the prize I struggled to get for all those months when I’m only a few steps away from completing the Commission. Without saying a word, I take the canvas bag off my shoulder and hold it out to the vampire.
“Is it in here?”
“Yes.”
He takes one step, reaches out his hand, and takes the thing that is the goal of my life.
The sparse snowflakes have given way to a thick blizzard and a wind has sprung up, swirling powdery snow across the square. The snow turns the Gray One’s chestnut hair white, but he doesn’t seem to notice. The bright winter day that held the city in its power only a few seconds ago is replaced by a deep, impenetrable night that has crept up unseen.
One more heartbeat, and fiery stars are born in the night sky. They appear on the horizon, move closer, and fall onto the square. Almost all of them fall in the snow, hiss angrily, and go out. One almost hits me, just missing my foot.
It’s an arrow with red and green flights. The Gray One is less fortunate than me; four blazing arrows strike him in the chest at once, as if the bowmen know what their target is.
The warrior sways and goes down on his knees, but he doesn’t let go of the krasta and the bag with the Horn. The first volley of “stars” is followed by a second, far more numerous and in tighter formation. But this time the arrows don’t reach the square, they fall on the roofs of houses in the distance.
A third wave immediately descends on Avendoom, but this time instead of arrows there are huge balls of flame fired from catapults. They smash through the roofs of the houses and explode with a loud
Behind me a giant sighs, a soft hot hand pushes me in the back, and I realize that against all the laws of nature, I’ve learned how to fly. I fly … for a second … an instant … for one heartbeat I soar above the square like an eagle, then I crash at full speed into a snowdrift that has sprung up along the wall of one of the houses.
I crawl out of the snowdrift into islands of snow and fire. The wind rages, driving the herd of snowflakes this way and that, tossing the unfortunates into the fire, where they die in their thousands, but still can’t extinguish the rampant flames.
The Gray One is still on his knees, he isn’t even trying to get up, and I realize that no more than ten seconds has gone by since the first volley of arrows. The vampire and I are separated by flames, but I can see a way through, marked out in little white islands of snow. It’s now or never! I take out my crossbow, and by some miracle it is already loaded with two ice bolts. I have to risk it. I take my first step toward the vampire.
The silence bursts like a soap bubble, and from somewhere in the distance I hear the sound of battle horns calling the inhabitants of Avendoom to arms. The bell of the Cathedral sounds the alarm.
About thirty soldiers go running past. Holding spears, swords, halberds, and crossbows. Some have blue and gray bands on their arms—the royal guard; some have black and orange bands—the municipal guard. Taking no notice of me, the guards form up at the entrance to the square and block off the narrow street. The front row goes down on one knee and holds out its spears, the second row is made up of men with halberds and men with crossbows. The crossbowmen fire a volley from behind their comrades’ backs. Some of the soldiers start reloading their weapons, some fling the crossbows aside and take out swords. A flood of soldiers appears through the veil of snow with a roar. They have red and green plumes waving on their helmets. Darkness! The soldiers of the Crayfish Dukedom are in the city! How did that happen?
The battle starts. The crossbowmen fire another volley and several of the enemy fall. And then the hand-to- hand fighting starts. Red and green soldiers die on the spears and halberds, but Avendoom has too few defenders, and the enemies keep on pouring out from behind the curtain of snow in an endless torrent. In a minute or two the “crayfish” will break through into the square.
I have to take the Horn and carry it into the tower, before it’s too late. I spin round and run toward the Gray One. The vampire is leaning on his krasta, trying to get up. I run as hard as I can, but someone gets there before me.…
The figure emerges from the tower of the Order … is it a phantom? I can see the silhouette of a figure. I know it’s a living man, but I can only make out a blurred patch. He skims across the fire and the snow until he is beside the Gray One.… Despite his wounds, the vampire is quick, quicker than any man, his krasta explodes into a blur, howling like a scalded cat, but the man veers to one side, ends up behind the Gray One’s back, and attacks.
The crimson sphere tears the vampire warrior in two and the man, who has already completely forgotten about his enemy, leans down nimbly and picks my bag up off the ground.
The unruly wind blows snowflakes straight into my eyes. I can’t hear the bell, or the battle horns, or the battle. Everything has disappeared. He and I are the only ones left in all the world. The stranger looks at me. It’s only a fleeting glance, but I realize that the Gray One’s killer has given victory to one of the Masters. I blink to clear the detestable snowflakes off my eyelashes, and the man takes his chance to disappear. I pluck up my courage and approach the Gray One lying on the snow. As I expected, the vampire is still alive.
“The Master’s Player has gone over to the other side … and taken possession … of the chain.… You shouldn’t have … taken the Horn … now the balance … has been disrupted.…”
I look at him, puzzled, and can’t understand a thing. The Player has refused to serve the Master of Siala? Could the Gray Ones’ prophecy really have come true? Could the Dancer in the Shadows who created Siala really have lost? And then the world stops. The snowflakes stand still. The tongues of flame freeze in the square and in the skeletons of the blazing houses, the fiery arrows hang in the air, the warriors pause, with their swords and
