shaggy, prickly embrace. We spent the night there, safely concealed from prying eyes by the huge fir trees. Egrassa forbade us to make a fire—there were orcs nearby—and we had to spend the whole night without any warmth. Twilight fell in the forest suddenly—but then, it always does in autumn.
Halas and Deler went to sleep straightaway (they were on sentry duty for the second half of the night). I started settling down to sleep, too, but as soon as I lay down and snuggled up tight in my warm blanket, someone shook me by the shoulder. Mumr.
“Yes?”
“Show me it, eh?” he asked in a plaintive voice.
“What?” I asked, puzzled.
“The Horn. We never had a chance to get a decent look at it back at the Labyrinth. I’m really curious to see what we’ve done all this for.”
“But it’s dark! Egrassa said we can’t light a fire. The Firstborn might smell the smoke.”
“I’ve got a way out,” Egrassa said unexpectedly, and a small glow appeared between the palms of his hands. “I don’t know much shamanism, but I can give you three minutes of light.”
The magical light lasted just long enough for us to take a good look at each other’s faces. Apart from Deler and Hallas, nobody was even thinking of sleeping. Everybody was waiting for Harold to show them the Horn. I had to get up and open the bag that never left my side.
“So that’s it…,” Eel murmured, examining the artifact with an amazed expression.
“May I…,” Milord Alistan inquired timidly.
I gladly handed him the Rainbow Horn. As far as I was concerned, he could have it. He could keep the tin whistle safe for his beloved king.
The old shaman was standing closest to the captain of the guard, and the Horn ended up in his hands. He closed his eyes, held the artifact against his forehead, made a face as if he’d eaten a whole plateful of sour gooseberries, and delivered his verdict:
“It is weak. Very weak. The power has almost left it; it will only hold out for a few more weeks, and then…” Glo-Glo didn’t finish what he was saying, but everybody knew what would happen then.
“So we need to press on,” said Alistan Markauz.
“We still have masses of time, milord. In early November the S’u-dar is already snowbound, and it will be very difficult for the Nameless One to leave his lair. And then it’s a long journey from the Needles of Ice to the Lonely Giant. The sorcerer’s army won’t reach the fortress before mid-January,” Lamplighter reassured the count.
“Mumr’s right, milord. A winter campaign is too difficult. The Desolate Lands are completely snowbound. In winter the Slumbering Forest is a dangerous place, even for servants of the Nameless One. The Crayfish Dukedom will take another two months to start moving,” said Eel, shaking his head thoughtfully. “The enemy will wait until spring, when the passes will be free of snow.”
“And what if he doesn’t?” Egrassa asked.
“If he doesn’t wait, then this winter campaign will cost him a quarter of his army, Tresh Egrassa.”
The warriors argued and discussed the various possibilities for an attack by the enemy. Kli-Kli yawned frantically, covering her mouth with her hand, and to be honest, I must confess that I was struggling to stay awake, too. But the others seemed just fine. Were they made of iron, or what? Before going to sleep, I put the Rainbow Horn back in the bag and checked on the other things, too. The Key was there all right, but the emeralds I had carried so diligently halfway across the Palaces of Bone had disappeared without trace. I would have laughed, but I was far too sleepy. Those cursed orcs had stolen what was rightfully mine, may the darkness take them.
I was the last to wake up; all the others were already on their feet. Hallas was handing out the meager ration. When he noticed me, the gnome winked and thrust a piece of stale bread and a slice of dried meat into my hand. That was all there was for breakfast.
“What time is it?” I moaned.
“Darkness only knows, Harold,” Deler answered, sharpening the blade of his beloved poleax with a whetstone. “The mist’s incredibly thick, so I can’t really say, but dawn was no more than fifteen minutes ago.”
“We’re moving out, Harold, roll up your blanket,” said Alistan Markauz. He didn’t intend to wait until I was wide awake.
We walked slowly now. Who knew what might be hidden in the mist, and running into an orc outpost would be the easiest thing in the world. So we had to be on the lookout as we advanced. It was absolutely silent all around. The shroud of mist swallowed up all the sounds, and even the babbling of the stream sounded strangely subdued and ominous. Kli-Kli shuddered and kept turning her head warily this way and that. When she caught me looking at her, she said, “I hate the mist. It makes us all blind.”
“Don’t be afraid, Kli-Kli,” Hallas said to cheer her up. “If there was anything here, we’d have run into trouble a long time ago.”
“I know,” she muttered. “But even so, I’ve got a bad feeling. Something’s going to happen. I can smell it.”
“Please don’t start spreading panic, Jester,” Eel implored her. But despite his skeptical tone of voice, he still checked to make sure his “brother” and “sister” came out of their scabbards easily.
Forty minutes later we remembered her warning. It was already quite light, but the mist was showing no sign of disappearing, and so we couldn’t make the sound out clearly at first.
The mist swallowed up the sounds, and we felt the rumble of the drums more with our skin than with our ears.
“Orcs!” Deler hissed, grabbing his poleax.
“They caught up after all!”
Hallas uttered a long, florid curse combining human and gnomish. His brief oration included a mention of the orcs appearing in Siala through some misunderstanding, and that was followed by a listing of the kinds of intercourse orcs indulged in when they weren’t banging on their drums.
“Hallas, shut up!” Milord Alistan growled.
The gnome stopped in the middle of an especially florid turn of phrase, and Egrassa lay down on the ground, parted the leaves, said a few words in his guttural language, and started to listen. The drums carried on.
“They’re an hour and a half away. Moving very quickly.”
“How many of them are there, Tresh Egrassa?” the count asked, gripping the hilt of his sword and straining to see something through the wall of fog.
“I don’t know, milord. I’m no master at weaving these spells. I can only say that there are many of them.”
“Your little bees didn’t do us much good, shaman!” Hallas told Glo-Glo in a frankly spiteful tone. “Now what are you going to do?”
“Take you by the legs and give the orcs’ army a good hammering with your head!” Glo-Glo replied furiously. “If it wasn’t for my spell, they’d be roasting the soles of your feet already!”
“Can you help us, most venerable sir?” asked Milord Alistan, taking the bull by the horns.
“If milord has in mind delightful little bees or some kind of thunder and lightning, then my answer is no. I won’t be able to work any real impressive magic for a long time. Just a few small things.”
“What about Kli-Kli?” I blurted out.
“Not advanced enough, Harold,” said Glo-Glo, shaking his head. “He still has far too much to learn.”
“A jester working spells is all I need now! Is there anything you can do?”
“Yes, I can draw the pursuit away from you, at least for a while. And take this.” Glo-Glo handed Milord Alistan something that looked like a lump of soil.
“What’s that?” Lamplighter asked.
“Your salvation,” said Glo-Glo, wiping his hands on his cloak. “If you really have your backs against the wall, crush this lump in your fist, and those who are pursuing you will follow the one who crushes it.”
“How do you mean?” Eel asked.
“The idea is that the one who activates the spell runs away from the group, and the orcs will follow him, thinking that they are chasing all of you. The trouble is that the solitary individual will probably be killed, the orcs will not lose the trail, and sooner or later they will catch up again. So milord, decide for yourselves which of you will
