“What the Gray One said is just words, that’s all. My old granny, may she dwell in the light, always used to say that prophecies never come true if we don’t want them to.”
“That’s very reassuring,” I said with a bitter grin, but I don’t think the warrior could make out my pitiful grimace in the dark. “Why don’t we go and join the others? Maybe they’ll leave some wine for us?”
“I doubt if the lieutenant will allow the soldiers to drink much. And they’re no fools, anyway: There’s not much pleasure in going into battle with a hangover. So you and I can’t count on anything more than a mug of beer. But let’s hurry, or Hallas will guzzle our share.”
The cavalry detachment left the village when the horizon in the east was marked out by a pearly-crimson thread of dawn.
“It’s going to be a clear day,” Lamplighter said, and a cloud of steam billowed out of his mouth.
“And very, very cold,” croaked Kli-Kli, who had managed to get a sore throat. “Which of you two bright sparks was it that prophesied snow? A-agh…”
The first snow of the year wasn’t very plentiful, and it only turned the ground into a brown and white patchwork blanket. Kli-Kli was wrong; it was cold now, but by midday the sun would be strong enough to melt the snow and transform the road into a muddy quagmire.
The detachment had been traveling at a gallop or a trot since first thing in the morning. Several times we had stopped or made the horses walk, in order to give them at least some kind of rest. On our right the Iselina glinted with bright patches of light as the sun climbed higher into the sky.
According to Kli-Kli, we were in Margend County. The gobliness’s assumption was soon confirmed when we came across burned houses. The war had certainly reached this village—unlike the one where we had spent the night.
We watched the slaughter of the orcs at the Margend Horseshoe—to our great surprise the army of humans and elves was commanded by none other than my old friend Oro Gabsbarg, who was now a duke—and a week after the battle, we were in Ranneng. Duke Gabsbarg had given us forty mounted men before his army started crossing the Iselina. The precaution proved to be unnecessary—on the way to the southern capital we didn’t encounter the slightest sign of danger. At almost every crossroads and in every village that hadn’t suffered from the war we saw soldiers wearing white and crimson tunics over their armor, and warm jackets. The Heartless Chasseurs were standing vigilant guard over public order.
Several times we came across bodies hanging beside the roadside. The Heartless Chasseurs
While we were on our way to Ranneng, the real winter set in, even though it was only the middle of November. A lot of snow fell, and the weather was so cold I could happily have worn a second pair of gloves. Sitting on a horse in weather like that wasn’t very enjoyable—after a few hours you couldn’t feel your own hands and feet anymore. Following Lamplighter’s example, I wrapped a scarf round my face, and that at least gave me some protection from the cold wind. I promised myself that if I ever went traveling again, it would only be in summer. I’d rather feel the sun baking my head and neck than the frost burning my hands and feet.
Gabsbarg’s horsemen escorted us as far as Ranneng and went rushing back without halting, in order to rejoin the Second Army of the South. There are crazy people like that in Siala—they just couldn’t wait to go dashing into battle of their own free will.
To be quite honest, after our adventures in the summer, I didn’t really feel any great affection for Ranneng. And what I saw now only confirmed my belief that the southern pearl of Valiostr had nothing to offer us.
The city was choking on an influx of refugees driven out of their habitual haunts. For some reason, everyone had decided that the city walls offered reliable protection against the orcs and it would be easier to survive here than in some remote little village. More people had come pouring in than you could squeeze into the most terrible nightmare. Naturally, the municipal guard had stopped allowing all comers in through the gates, and tents large and small, dugouts, and anything else that could pass for a home had appeared under the city walls with catastrophic speed. There were fires everywhere, and the fuel was not just timber from the local forest, which was looking significantly sparser, but anything at all that came to hand. There was filth all around, and I started worrying that despite the cold weather some particularly repulsive plague was likely to break out in Ranneng in the near future. And the Copper Plague was all we needed to make our happiness complete.
“What now, Egrassa?” Kli-Kli inquired in a skeptical voice. “Surely you aren’t desperate to stay in a rubbish heap like this?”
“No, let’s try to get inside the city walls.”
“They won’t let us in, I wager my beard on it! We won’t get anywhere! The place is so crowded, it’s not even worth trying. Maybe we could find an inn outside the city walls? There used to be a lot of them.”
“I’m not sure they’ll have any free places, Hallas. But let’s try anyway.”
The horses squeezed through the filthy crowd thronging the road. There was a stench of smoke from all the fires and of rotting refuse. Someone was cooking supper beside the nearest dugout. I couldn’t see properly, but I thought they were roasting a rat.
As Egrassa had suspected, all the places in the inns were taken. But at the sixth one we were offered a night’s lodging in the stable for only three gold pieces. Hallas almost swallowed his own beard, but Egrassa paid without thinking twice. This was no time for economy. We had to lay out the same sum for a sparse and miserable supper.
I dreamed there was a sword slowly coming down on my head. I tried to break out of this vague, hazy dream and run away, but I couldn’t, and death was getting closer and closer all the time. Then the sword blade fell and I woke up. It turned out to be Eel, shaking me frantically by the shoulder. It looked like the middle of the night to me, but the others were all wide awake. Lamplighter and Egrassa were hastily saddling the horses by the meager light of the oil lamp. Kli-Kli and Hallas were packing up our things.
“Harold, get up!” said Eel, shaking me again.
“What’s happened?” I asked, confused. “What’s all the hurry about?”
The Garrakian’s cheek twitched.
“The Lonely Giant has fallen!”
19
The Field Of Fairies
It seemed like absolute insanity. A continuation of my nightmare that had suddenly become reality.
Even two days after we had galloped out of Ranneng and set off along the New Highway to Avendoom, my comrades and I still couldn’t believe that the Lonely Giant, the most famous and impregnable fortress in all the Northern Lands, had fallen. Destroyed. Annihilated. Wiped off the face of the earth by the army of the Nameless One.
Everybody had thought that until the Horn lost its final ounce of power, the Nameless One wouldn’t dare to stick his nose out from behind the Needles of Ice. They were hoping that we didn’t have to give the sorcerer a serious thought until the middle of spring. Who would risk forcing his way through the Desolate Lands in winter? It was absolute insanity!
The Nameless One had taken the risk and he had struck a terrible blow. The Order had failed to foresee his attack—everyone had been too preoccupied with the orcs in the south of the country—and the sorcerer’s army had reached the fortress with no difficulty. The Wild Hearts had not been expecting an attack, but they had held the enemy under the walls of the citadel for four whole days and fought to the death. Rumors had spread round the country, each one worse than the last. Some said that all the Wild Hearts had been killed. Some, that certain units had managed to escape from the fortress and retreat. Some insisted that the walls of the bastion had been destroyed by Kronk-a-Mor, others that there had been supporters of the Nameless One among the Wild Hearts, and they had opened the gates for him.
We rode full tilt for Avendoom without sparing the horses. Everything could still be put right, all we had to do
