Fagred muttered discontentedly and walked away.
“Search him.”
They stood me on my feet again, took my bag, and rummaged adroitly through my clothes.
“I told you he didn’t look like a warrior,” one of the orcs muttered, and threw some fir-tree branches into the fire.
By this time the six warriors sent to reconnoiter by Bagard had come back. One of the Firstborn shook his head and put an arrow back in his quiver.
“If he doesn’t look like a warrior…” Bagard’s yellow eyes studied me intently. “Shokren, check this monkey!”
An orc walked out of the shadow, and I turned cold—the lad was wearing a strange headdress that looked far too much like a shaman’s cap. And a shaman was just what I needed to make my day complete! Shokren resembled Bagard in some elusive way; they must have been relatives. The shaman came over and ran his open palm over me without touching me.
“His neck,” Shokren murmured, and someone’s deft hands relieved me of Kli-Kli’s drop-shaped medallion. The shaman nodded contentedly. “The left arm.”
Egrassa’s bracelet joined Kli-Kli’s medallion on the ground.
Shokren took his hand down to the level of my boots and said, “That’s all, he’s clean.”
“What are these trinkets?” asked Olag, twirling the bracelet of red copper in his hands.
“That’s a long story,” said Shokren, putting the droplet medallion away in his bag. Then he took the bracelet out of Olag’s hands.
He held it for a while, studying it closely, then threw it on the grass and said, “Everybody get back!”
The orcs obediently stepped away and Olag took it on himself to take care of me and dragged me with him. Meanwhile the shaman muttered something, formed the fingers of his left hand into a complicated sign, and Egrassa’s bracelet melted, turning into a small puddle on the ground.
“They won’t find you now, little monkey,” the shaman sneered.
“A leash?” Bagard asked Shokren with a knowing air.
“Yes.”
“The inferior ones?
“Probably.”
The inferior ones? Unless I was mistaken, that was what the Firstborn called the elves. Anyway, now it would be rather difficult for Egrassa to find me.
“So our moth is mixed up with that bunch, is he?” Fagred said with an ominous leer.
“Give me his bag,” the shaman suddenly said.
One of the Firstborn immediately handed my bag to Shokren. Do I need to say what happened when the shaman took the Rainbow Horn out of it? Naturally, the ordinary orcs didn’t understand a thing, but Shokren, Bagard, and Olag exchanged pointed glances. And the shaman’s hands were actually shaking.
“What is it?” asked Fagred, craning his neck.
“It’s something that will help the Hand in his battle with the inferior ones,” Bagard said reverently. “Remember this day, warriors.”
“Well done, moth!” Olag said with a crooked sneer. “What other treasures have you brought for us?”
Shokren carefully set the Horn down on a cloak that one of the warriors had spread out, and turned his attention back to my bag. The handful of fruit was flung aside disdainfully, and then the Key emerged from the bag. The dragon’s tear glinted in the light of the campfire and the Firstborn all gasped as one in wonder and delight. They seemed to know what the shaman was clutching in his hand. He took the relic between his finger and thumb, as if he was afraid it might simply disappear.
“The Key to the Doors!” one of the warriors gasped.
“Correct. But how did a man come to have the inferior ones’ relic?” said Shokren, looking at me. “Have you been in Hrad Spein?”
“Yes.” I couldn’t see any point in lying.
“Is that from there?” the shaman asked, nodding at the Horn.
“Yes.”
“All right.” The shaman seemed to be quite satisfied with my monosyllabic answers.
“Has the moth brought us any more presents?” Fagred inquired.
The shaman turned my bag upside down without saying anything, and an emerald rain cascaded down onto the orcish cloak. One of the Firstborn cleared his throat quietly.
“What shall we do with him, Bagard?” Fagred asked.
The commander of the detachment shrugged indifferently.
“We don’t need any extra mouths.”
The huge orc gave a knowing chuckle and put his hand on his knife.
“Wait, Bagard,” said Shokren, unhurriedly putting all the treasures back into the bag. “This little monkey’s not as simple as he seems. When we have time, I’ll have a talk with him, and I think the Hand will, too.”
“The Hand is far away,” Bagard said with a frown.
For some reason the orcs didn’t seem to want to talk their own language.
“I’ll send him a message by raven, he can decide what to do with all these things. In any case, the moth will make a good wager at the mid-autumn festival. Put the little monkey with the others.”
“All right,” Bagard agreed, and started speaking in orcish.
The Firstborn seemed to have lost all interest in me; they talked excitedly, and started rearranging themselves round the fire. The shaman hung my bag over his shoulder, and I thought that now he wouldn’t part with it even if he was attacked by all the dark elves in the Black Forest.
Curses! Now the orcs had the Rainbow Horn and the Key! If Egrassa found out, he’d be devastated; he’d have an apoplectic fit. The orcs didn’t seem to be paying any attention to me, and I decided to risk it and take off. Running around Zagraba with my hands tied behind my back would be better than staying in the company of the Firstborn.
Well, of course, every stupid mistake has to be paid for, and I paid for mine. Fagred had kept his eye on me all the time, and I only got six yards. That lousy yellow-eyed skunk overtook me, knocked me off my feet, and smashed his fist into the back of my head so hard that five moons flared up in front of my eyes and I passed out.
“Leave him, none of us is going to live very long anyway.”
“That’s my business. Get me some water, man.”
I felt something cold and incredibly pleasant on my forehead. It seemed like a good idea to open my eyes.
“Welcome back.”
I stared at the speaker in amazement. I didn’t think I was dreaming, but I was still having visions. Or was it a dream after all?
“Kli-Kli, is that you?” I wheezed, trying to sit up.
I shouldn’t have done that. The ground and the trees started spinning around, and I collapsed on the bed of fir branches with a groan.
“You’re mistaken, son,” the goblin chuckled, and took the wet cloth off my forehead.
Yes, I could see for myself now that it wasn’t Kli-Kli. This goblin was much older than my royal jester. His green skin was duller and a lighter green, he had bushy eyebrows and a hooked nose, half his teeth were missing, and his eyes weren’t light blue but violet. In general he looked like a wrinkled little green monkey.
“I…”
“It was rather stupid of you to try to escape from the Firstborn. I’m absolutely amazed that huge brute didn’t kill you. How are you?”
“My head hurts,” I said, wincing, and made a second attempt to get up. This time I managed it, and the ground didn’t even spin.
“Don’t worry, they’ll lop your head off soon, and then nothing’ll hurt,” someone beside me said,
