storm clouds were closer now; they had licked away a quarter of the blue sky. A distant rumble of thunder was carried to us on a light wind.
“What’s disaster?” asked Loudmouth, who also had his eyes fixed on the horizon. He had been infected by the tracker’s alarm.
“Shut up, will you!” Tomcat growled irritably, sniffing at the air.
Speaking for myself, I couldn’t smell anything at all. So what if it did rain a bit and we got wet? What was there to get all alarmed and excited about?
“And the day started so well,” Kli-Kli said dejectedly.
“Those bastard children of lowdown skunks did it after all!” Tomcat whispered. He dug his heels into the sides of his horse and hurried to catch up with the elves and Alistan, leaving us behind, bewildered, at the back of the group.
“Who was that he was swearing about?” Hallas asked, staring in amazement at Tomcat’s wild gesticulations as he spoke to Miralissa.
Whatever it was that Tomcat had sensed, Miralissa and Markauz both looked alarmed. And Ell kept glancing at the advancing clouds.
“What did I tell you, Harold,” Kli-Kli whispered.
“What?” I asked mechanically, trying like everyone else to see what Tomcat had spotted in the sky.
“Do you ever listen? I said the shamans would never stop until they managed to work their magic.”
Meanwhile the tracker had finished explaining something to Miralissa. She looked at Alistan, and he nodded decisively.
“What’s happened?” asked Uncle, barely able to contain himself.
“Let’s go and ask,” Arnkh suggested wisely.
During our journey a certain order of travel had been established. Alistan and the elves always rode at the front. They spoke about subjects that only interested them and made decisions for us about matters of importance for the group. The Wild Hearts kept company with each other, trying not to butt into the conversations between the elves and Markauz. There could be no question of simply talking to them on the road, without any special reason. The only exceptions were Eel’s long conversations with Ell.
It wasn’t that the men were shy or they avoided the leaders of our group, it was simply that they felt, clearly on the basis of many years as soldiers, that everyone should do his own job and there was no point in bothering the commanders with petty details. They’d call you if necessary.
And while we were on the road the Wild Hearts themselves were divided up into little groups. Either according to their interests, or simply on the basis of a natural liking for each other. But that’s perfectly normal—on a journey it’s very hard to travel as one big pack. Honeycomb and Uncle. Eel, Tomcat, and Arnkh. Hallas, Deler, Marmot, me, and Kli-Kli. Loudmouth and Lamplighter. Although Kli-Kli was also the only one who dashed from the head of the group to the tail and back on Featherlight, managing to talk to everyone at least a hundred times a day.
I personally couldn’t give a damn for all these rules, but it just turned out that I found myself in a small party that included Marmot, as well as the gnome and the dwarf, with whom I had close connections from the fight in Stalkon’s palace, so I stuck to their company.
Arnkh’s suggestion that we should go and find out what was going on was not destined to be acted on. Miralissa rode back to us herself.
“Tomcat says that the advancing storm is artificial in origin.”
“Can you put that more simply?” Loudmouth asked plaintively.
“What’s so hard to understand?” Tomcat asked in amazement. “Someone conjured up these clouds, you thickhead!”
“Shamans?” Lamplighter asked with a reproachful glance at Egrassa.
Of course, Mumr felt that Egrassa hadn’t done enough work with his bow in the forest where the servants of the Nameless One were trying to work their magic. If the soldier had been in the elf’s place, he wouldn’t have let slip the opportunity to swing his bidenhander a couple of times.
“Maybe shamans and maybe not,” Tomcat said with a shrug. “But it’s magic, that much I can guarantee.”
“It has to be shamans, it couldn’t be anyone else!” Kli-Kli sighed.
“Can we avoid it?” asked Markauz, tugging on his mustache.
“I can’t do anything,” said Miralissa, spreading her hands helplessly. “My skill’s not great enough. I can’t feel anything.”
“It’s weather sorcery. The element of rain is pretty unstable,” Tomcat muttered.
“What’s that?” Hallas said impatiently.
“We were taught . . .” Tomcat hesitated for a moment. “We were taught that the rain magic created by shamanism is unstable. It lasts for no more than four or perhaps five hours and is heavily dependent not only on the skill of the shamans, but also on natural phenomena. The wind, for instance.”
“You want to try to get away from these clouds?” asked Ell, one of the first to grasp what Tomcat was thinking.
“Uh-huh. The wind now is blowing directly to the southwest, so we can gallop southeast. If we’re lucky we’ll part company with the storm.”
“Oh, sure,” Honeycomb snorted. “It looks like someone’s driving it along. Just look how fast it’s moving!”
