Shadow Prowler

“That’s enough!” the king roared furiously. He didn’t seem anything like a good-natured i

“About three hundred years ago,” Artsivus began, speaking in a dull voice and casting a hostile glance at the captain of the guard from under his thick gray eyebrows, “the Council of the Order decided to use the Horn to a

Alistan snorted loudly.

“We ought to send Your Magicship to Miranueh as a diplomat! Perhaps we would get the disputed lands then? Not quite . . .” The jester giggled, savoring those two words, but then his eyes met the magician’s stern gaze, and he shut up.

“Yes . . . Nothing came of our attempt. We tried to control the magic of the ogres, about which we knew absolutely nothing. A power flow was shorted out at the wrong point or an operon was shifted several degrees off the fifth astral position. . . . Mmm, yes . . .” Artsivus realized that he had wandered into tangled thickets that were absolutely impenetrable to anyone but himself. “It was all out of control, and the sudden surge of magic struck Avendoom. Or rather, part of it. The part that is now known as the Secret Territory.”

“So that’s how it appeared . . . ,” I drawled.

“Do you realize how grateful the inhabitants of the glorious capital of Valiostr would be if they only knew who was responsible for putting the Stain on the map?” The goblin opened his eyes wide, transforming them into two small blue lakes.

The archmagician sighed heavily—evidently I was not the only one already weary of the jester—and continued:

“The Order decided to put the Horn as far out of harm’s way as possible. They charged it, then took it to Grok’s sepulchre and left it there. And that, in effect, is the entire story.”

“And you want me to get the Horn out of the grave?” I asked in amazement. “But what do you need me for? Any gravedigger with a spade could manage a simple little job like that! And by the way, where is Grok buried?”

A tense, oppressive silence filled the little room. The elfess and Artsivus exchanged astonished glances. The Count of the Rat gave a crooked smile and looked at me disdainfully. I will pass over the jester and his drooping jaw in polite silence. The king was the only one who carried on as before, twirling my knife in his hands, sometimes glancing at me and trying to figure out if I was deliberately playing the fool.

“Hm-hmm. Young man, do you know any history at all?” the magician asked cautiously.

“It would be about as much use to me as a h’san’kor. I’m a thief, not a learned old maid.” I was getting seriously tired of this buffoonery.

These lads certainly know how to wind up a man’s nerves.

“Why, he probably doesn’t even know how to read,” the goblin declared with a pompous air.

I ignored that.

“The Horn is buried with Grok in the Palaces of Bone, Harold,” the elfess said in a quiet voice, and she shuddered as if her swarthy skin had been touched by a cold wind from beyond the Mountains of Despair.

That was when I burst into laughter, realizing that these five lunatics were hoaxing me.

“He’s gone crazy,” the jester said in response to my laughter, shaking his green head dismally so that the little bells on his cap jangled sadly.

“They’re joking, aren’t they, Your Majesty? They must be! Why Hrad Spein? Wouldn’t it be easier for me to draw up a new Vastar’s Bargain and invite dragons to protect our beloved homeland? Or tame a h’san’kor for you? Believe me, I could manage that far more easily and much more quickly than an excursion to Hrad Spein!”

“They are not joking,” the king said in a serious voice, and the next burst of laughter stuck in my throat.

Isn’t that just wonderful! All I have to do is go down into Hrad Spein to retrieve some stupid magical whistle. . . .

“We need that Horn, Master Harold,” said the elfess, speaking to me tenderly, as if I were a capricious little child. “And we need it urgently. Before the onset of winter.”

“But why me?”

“Because only a tricky and cu

“Does this mean others have already tried to get the Horn?”

“A hundred thousand demons! Yes!” Alistan clenched and unclenched his fists several times. “Do you really think we would have turned to a thief if there were any other way of getting into the damned catacombs? We sent the first expedition in winter. Of those who went down underground, none returned, and those who waited up above were cut down by orcs. The second party set out in early spring. In view of the failure of the first expedition, we sent an expedition of more than a hundred men. Experienced soldiers, eight magicians of the Order, plus support from the dark elves, who acted as our guides in the Forests of Zagraba. . . . And, may the demons take me, nothing came of it! Eighty men went down into the burial sites, and only one came back out, as white-haired as a snow owl and completely insane. The remnants of the second expedition arrived in Avendoom a week ago. All eight magicians were left behind, underground. With seventy-one other men, more than half of whom were my soldiers!”

“And now you’ve decided a thief will be able to do what a hundred men couldn’t,” I summed up.

Wonderful, the big shots have failed to do the impossible and now they want a lowly thief to do their bidding. I wonder which brilliant mind came up with this idea?

“Can I refuse?” This was a purely rhetorical question, as Brother For likes to say.

“Yes, Baron Lanten is still outside the door. You can take a ride to the Gray Stones with him,” Alistan laughed.

I get it. So that’s the way it is. Either take your chances in Hrad Spein or rot in the Gray Stones—and who knows which is better? If it was up to me, I’d choose the Gray Stones, but I can probably risk it and try to trick the whole Council of Lunatics.

“I accept,” I said, nodding, and got up out of my armchair. “Can I go now? To carry out my mission?”

At least it seemed like I had a real chance to cut and run before they really had me on the hook.

“Of course,” the king said with a feeble wave of his hand, and his immense ring glinted as it caught the light of a candle. “You accept the Commission?”

At that point I sat back down in the armchair. I’d thought I was going to trick them all, thought I was the most slippery eel there, but they were the ones who had tricked me.