Shadow Prowler

The plague usually appears on the borders of the kingdom, brought in by refugees from another state, and then spreads like wildfire into the central areas of the country. But on the other hand, it has to appear somewhere first. For instance, if some clever dick digs up the old burial sites. . . .

“Everything is written here,” said Miralissa, holding up the royal charter.

The corporal didn’t even reach out to take the document.

“There is pestilence in the village, milady. We have been forbidden to touch other people’s things in order not to spread the infection through the district. We have also been forbidden to allow anyone either in or out, no matter who they might be. Anyone who disobeys will be executed immediately as a traitor to the king and a propagator of pestilence. I ask you once again: Who are you and what are you doing here?”

“None of your business, you damn chasseur,” Hallas muttered to himself, but fortunately the corporal didn’t hear him.

“We are on a mission for the king,” said Miralissa, with a hint of anger in her voice. “We are on our way to Ra

“There is nothing I can do,” the corporal muttered, caught on the horns of a dilemma.

The problem was clear enough: on one side an order not to allow anyone through and on the other the royal seal. So try to figure out what to do: Let them through and you’ll lose your head; don’t let them through, and you’re in for big trouble anyway.

“I have my commander’s orders,” said the corporal, clutching at his last straw.

“What can supersede a command from the king?” Miralissa insisted, sensing that her opponent’s defenses were cracking.

“A threat to the life and prosperity of the kingdom,” said a voice behind the barrier.

The ranks of soldiers parted and two figures came out to join the corporal. Their faces were concealed by bandages, but they were still easily recognizable as members of the Order. A magician and an enchantress.

“The plague sets all of us on the same level. If the disease escapes from this localized pocket, the country will face catastrophe, Tresh Miralissa.”

“I don’t believe I have had the pleasure,” the elfess said coldly.

“Magicians of the Order of Valiostr, Balshin and Klena,” said the man. “Of course, you did not recognize me in this protective mask, but we have met, Tresh Miralissa, at one of the receptions in his majesty’s palace.”

“Anything is possible,” Miralissa said with an indifferent nod. “What has happened here? Can you tell me, magicians?”

“Do you mind if I take a look?” the enchantress asked, holding out her hand.

As Miralissa coolly handed the document to the woman, I saw her nostrils flaring in fury. The elfin princess was not accustomed to having obstacles put in her way.

“You are free to go, corporal,” Balshin said in a low voice. The chasseur gave a sigh of relief and withdrew to join his men, leaving the magicians of the Order to deal with us.

“Genuine,” said the woman, after making a few passes over the paper.

For a split second the royal document flared up with a pink glow.

“That ought to eliminate any possible infection,” said the enchantress, handing the paper back to Miralissa.

“What is going on here is as follows,” said the magician, not disconcerted in the least by having to throw his head back to look up at the riders on their horses. “Enchantress Klena and I were riding past the village when the first case of infection appeared. That was three days ago—”

“How did the illness come to be here?” Ell interrupted.

Ah, so I wasn’t the only one who was confused about the strange way the pestilence had appeared so dangerously close to Ra

“We do not know. That still has to be investigated,” said Klena. “But the symptoms are authentic. We were able to summon a regiment of Heartless Chasseurs quartered in the city. They closed off all the roads and paths to make sure that not a single inhabitant was able to leave the center of infection and spread the plague across the country.”

“And have there been any attempts?” Arnkh boomed from under his helmet.

“There have,” the magician said with a perfunctory nod.

A very perfunctory nod. Nobody asked any more questions, although it was clear to all of us what must have happened to the desperate people who found themselves caught in the trap with the victims of the infection. They had been shot with arrows from a distance, that was what. And it made no damn difference who was trying to break through the chasseurs’ blockade—healthy peasants with pitchforks or women with children. No one blamed the Heartless Chasseurs, though—it was a matter of kill a few dozen now or expose thousands more to danger.

“And what of the chasseurs themselves?” Miralissa asked.

“Securely protected by magic.”

“And since when has magic protected against the Copper Killer?”

“Magic is constantly developing,” Klena declared pompously. “The Order has learned how to prevent the illness from infecting people, but there is no way to help those who have been infected before we can protect them.”

The longer this conversation went on, the less I liked it. There were just too many things in the story the magicians had told us that didn’t fit. And apart from that, they weren’t even telling us half the story. If that kind of protective magic did exist, it was clear enough why the chasseurs were still here, and not ru

“How many people in the village are not yet infected?” Miralissa inquired.

“Not a single one,” the magician said dispassionately, turning away from her.

Not one? How could that be? Everyone knew that people died on the seventh day, and it had only started three or four days ago.

“Some new form of the disease?” asked Ell. He still had his helmet on.

“Precisely,” Balshin replied in the same dispassionate tone.

Miralissa didn’t say anything. She was thinking and twirling a small charred stick between the fingers of her left hand. The stick she had used to draw spells in the ash.