“I don’t think so,” said Glo-Glo. “If they were, there would be a lot more prisoners. They probably came barging into the Golden Forest and ran into trouble, the same way you did.”
“I suppose that’s possible,” Mis sighed.
“Now it’ll start again.”
“What do you mean, Glo-Glo?”
“The usual thing, Harold. They’ll chop a few elves’ heads off!”
The goblin was right, but not completely. They only executed two elves, and not in the clearing, they took them off into the forest. The others were led to the obelisk under double guard and Shokren’s wary eye and left there with the men until their time came.
“Maybe they won’t cut their heads off,” Glo-Glo said thoughtfully. “Maybe this time they’ve decided to make an exception and put the dark ones into the Labyrinth.”
“Can you see what badges they’re wearing?” I asked the goblin.
“The same as the others—Walkers Along the Stream. A middling sort of clan, not very strong.”
“No, that’s not what I meant! I was asking about the elves!”
“A-a-ah … I think it’s the House of Black Water. They’re really vicious, the Dark House closest to the Golden Forest, they make the orcs weep tears of blood, but it looks as if it’s the elves’ turn to cry now.”
That inseparable pair, Olag and Fagred, were heading toward us.
“Get ready, monkeys, we’re moving out in five minutes. I hope you haven’t got any ideas about escaping? If you have, just let us know. Better to lose your head straightaway than end up dangling from a tree, gutted like a fish.”
Naturally, none of us was planning to escape, or if anybody was, he certainly wasn’t thinking of letting the Firstborn know about it. Olag nodded contentedly, adjusted his yataghan, and tramped off toward the obelisk. Fagred was about to follow him, but he stopped, bared his teeth in a grin, grabbed hold of my hair, and whispered in my ear, “Yesterday a raven arrived for Shokren, moth. You’re not needed anymore, so get ready to run ’round the Labyrinth.”
Then, feeling very pleased with himself, he went hurrying after Olag.
“I’m sorry, my boy,” said Glo-Glo, giving me a comforting pat on the back.
“I’m not really all that upset,” I answered quite sincerely. “Sooner or later…”
“Ah, we’re not done with this fight yet!” the goblin told me with a cunning wink.
Well, naturally, I hoped that if we really did start fighting, the orcs would remember us for centuries to come, because where could you possibly find any finer warriors than a slightly crazy old shaman and a thief stupid enough to come calling on the Firstborn?
“That Olag was telling the truth,” said Glo-Glo, plumping up a genuine straw mattress. “The orcs have gone. All the villages are empty—nothing but women, children, and the minimum number of warriors. The Firstborn have moved their forces to the north. Oho, now there’ll be fun and games.”
“Isn’t that stupid?” asked Mis, who was lying with his hands behind his head, staring up at the low ceiling. “While they’re busy with us, the dark elves will take their homes.…”
“No, I don’t think so.… I’m sure they’ve moved large forces to the west as well, and now there’s a band of orc garrisons between the Golden and Black forests.”
Maybe the goblin was right, who could tell? In any case, during the five days we’d spent tramping through Zagraba, all the orcs had talked about was the great march. We had swerved farther and farther to the south, moving into the very heartland of the orcs’ forests. Along the way, every now and then we came across little villages. In fact, I’m not even sure I would call them villages. They were well fortified and camouflaged settlements. The forest itself protected their inhabitants against attack by enemies. There were just enough warriors in these fortresses to hold out against a sudden attack. The houses of the civilians looked substantial and prosperous, built of stone and wood, and there were also little houses with two, or even three stories in the trees.
Light, airy bridges had been stretched between the trees, making it possible to move quite freely from one tree to another—provided, of course, that you didn’t have any fear of great heights. These bridges and houses were ideal sites for archers if the enemy managed to break through the lines of defense and flood into the settlement. While the adversary was running around down below, the archers would make him pay a heavy price, and enemy warriors who tried to scale the massively thick trunks of the majestic trees would have no cover against the arrows and be killed in droves.
We’d spent the last two nights in villages like this. The three of us were kept separately from the other prisoners—Glo-Glo said we were Bagard’s property, we were his racehorses for the mid-autumn festival. We were fed, treated well, and given a place to sleep in some shack that even had straw mattresses. But we were guarded in grand style, too—as well as Shokren’s circle, there was a sentry posted at the door.
The weather had hardly changed at all while we were traveling. Every day was bright and sunny, although it was rather cool. There wasn’t even a hint of rain, although autumn was already almost half over.
“Tomorrow afternoon we’ll reach the Labyrinth,” Glo-Glo informed us casually.
I felt a nasty stabbing sensation in my belly.
“And the day after tomorrow is the orcs’ lousy festival, so get ready.”
The goblin started muttering to himself again, as if we weren’t even there. May the Nameless One take me —did all goblins like to ruin other people’s mood at bedtime? Or was it just my luck to meet the feeble-minded representatives of the green tribe?
The old goblin was right again! The next day we reached a low, half-ruined cliff, overgrown with a forest of fiery-red maples, and the Labyrinth was only a stone’s throw away. At least, that was what the goblin said. Speaking for myself, I couldn’t see any sign of a labyrinth. We were surrounded by forest, low cliffs that looked more like hills, and the silence of autumn. And then there was a little orc village without any sign of walls or fortifications.
“Is this the Labyrinth?” I asked. I’d never felt so disappointed in my life.
“Of course not,” the goblin said with a shrug. “The Labyrinth is farther on, Harold.”
“Shut up there, you lousy beasts!” an orc growled, waving his spear at us threateningly.
We had to postpone the conversation for a while. They put the three of us in a deep pit at the very edge of the village. And just to be on the safe side, they closed it off with a steel grille.
“Great,” Mis grunted. “We can’t reach it, even if we jump. If it rains, we’ll get soaked.”
“As long as we don’t drown—getting soaked’s not so terrible,” Glo-Glo replied. “Now, what was I saying? Ah! The Labyrinth! Right … It’s just beyond that spinney that we passed on our right. Ten minutes’ walk from here.”
“You mean there’s a city only ten minutes away from the village?”
“Who said that?” he asked, gaping at me in amazement.
“You did.”
“I didn’t say anything about a city,” the old shaman objected. “I was talking about the Labyrinth.”
“Well, isn’t the Labyrinth a city—something like the elves’ Greenwood?”
The shaman gave me a very leery kind of look, but when he saw I wasn’t joking, he snorted disdainfully.
“Greenwood and the Labyrinth are nothing like each other! Greenwood is the city of the Black Flame, the biggest city on Zagraba and, as it happens, the former capital of the elves, before the light ones and the dark ones fell out with each other. But as for the Labyrinth … Your “experts” have got something confused there. It’s not a city, it’s a structure. Just a labyrinth, in fact. The orcs don’t live there; the Firstborn come here once a year for the mid-autumn festival, to enjoy themselves and watch a few goblins run.”
“Ah, so that’s it…,” Mis drawled.
“Only don’t expect packed grandstands. This won’t be a good year for applause. The orcs are going to war, so I don’t think there’ll be many Firstborn here.”
“Never mind that.… But I thought Shokren was going to meet the Hand here and give him the Horn.”
“Oh no, Harold. The Horn’s not that urgent, the Hand doesn’t need it yet. What would he do with it? Until the Firstborn come face-to-face with the Nameless One, who they’ve nominally acknowledged as their lord, they have no use for the Horn. And unless I’m mistaken, Shokren won’t be able to monkey about with it on his own; that will take a powerful group of sorcerers. So first Shokren will enjoy himself watching the runners in the Labyrinth, before moving north with all the detachments. At least, that’s what I think.”
