Shadow Prowler

The bottle was almost empty, with just a little wine left in the bottom. The old man was stretched out on the floor in a puddle of red wine. Just look at the state of him!

I walked toward the sleeping drunk, muttering something uncomplimentary under my breath about people who like to guzzle wine at the most inappropriate times, feverishly trying to work out the quickest way to bring him back to a state of awareness and question him.

“Bolt! Wake up now! Get up. You look like a pig. It’s disgusting!” I leaned down and shook him by the shoulder. “How long can you go on . . .”

I didn’t finish the phrase, because I noticed something rather upsetting—Bolt didn’t seem to be breathing. And he wasn’t lying in a puddle of wine, as I’d thought at first, but in a puddle of his own blood. I cautiously turned the old man over onto his back.

I was right. Some bastard had slit the poor old man’s throat from ear to ear. The body was still warm, and not very much blood had escaped yet. That meant the murderer or murderers had only finished Bolt off very recently. And that meant it was very likely they hadn’t got very far yet and I could easily catch up with them on a nearby street.

I almost gave way to this momentary impulse, but the voice of reason cooled my ardor. This time the Master had got here before me, and now I would never learn whose ring Rostgish and Shnyg had shown to Bolt. And it made no sense to go chasing after unknown killers who might well turn out not even to be human. There was no way I could help the poor fellow now.

It was a pity; I’d grown quite attached to the crazy, grouchy old-timer.

There was a trail of blood leading away from the body and winding between the tables into the depths of the hall. I took the lantern off the table to light the way and followed the traces of blood. Before I had even gone twenty paces I came across a second body.

I knew this overgrown lout. He was one of the characters who had gone ru

Three shadows sprang into the circle of light from somewhere behind the dark bookcases, preventing me from completing my thought. I noticed a glint of metal and leapt to one side.

Putrid Darkness! Why had I decided that the killers had already left? I jumped back, pressing up against a bookcase. The three figures were coming closer. As ill luck would have it, my crossbow wasn’t loaded, which made it useless. My only hope was my knife. I took the weapon out without speaking, held it out in front of me, and waited for them to attack, somehow certain that we wouldn’t part in peace. Lads like these would kill their own grandmother, and the rest of the family into the bargain. I could tell, because I’d seen two of the killers before, and not exactly in the best of circumstances.

The first one, the one who had jumped right at me, was the partner of the stiff that Bolt had killed. This thug was holding a knife in his left hand and smiling.

The second one was none other than the municipal guard Yargi, this time not in his orange and black uniform but wearing civilian clothes, so I hadn’t recognized him straightaway. That meant these lads were working for the unknown servant of the Master, if one of the bribed servants of the law was here with them.

I wondered where the rest of them were.

I didn’t know the third killer. He looked tough, ta

“Just look at the people you can meet in places like this,” Thug drawled slowly as he and his partners halted about ten paces away from me. “Now who’s this that’s taken a fancy to reading books?”

“Enough talk, we finish him and get out of here! The job’s already done!” hissed the third man, moving forward again.

“Calm down, Midge,” Thug said reassuringly. “We can kill two birds with one stone here. This is Harold.”

“That’s Harold?” said Yargi, delighted. “His head’s worth its weight in gold!”

“Yes, and now we’ll cut it off for him,” said Thug, moving toward me.

“You’re a bit braver than you used to be,” I said, curving my lips into an ugly grin. “I recall that only a few days ago you and the stiff over there took off with your heels twinkling.”

“Ah, but you don’t have the magician with you now,” Thug chuckled, tossing his knife from one hand to the other.

“Stop, let me finish him,” Yargi said, licking his thin lips and looking at me with a greedy gleam in his eyes. “Let me have a bit of fun.”

“Watch out he doesn’t finish you,” Midge chuckled, but he and Thug moved back, freeing the space for a fight. The lads had obviously decided they would like a bit of light entertainment, and they didn’t rate my humble personage’s chances at all. “Don’t drag it out, now. If anyone else comes, this place will be full of bodies.”

“Nobody’s interested in this dump. You already topped the old man, Midge. Now relax—”

“But the old man did for that friend of yours first,” Midge put in. “A real Wild Heart.”

“But you were one of them, too.”

“Shut up!” Midge barked.

A Wild Heart? Here? Could he really be a deserter? That meant the lad was even more dangerous than I’d imagined!

“Well then, thief? Shall we let the fun begin?” Yargi smiled with his jagged mouth of teeth and leapt toward me, aiming his knife at my stomach.

I dodged sideways and tried to reach him with my weapon, but failed. I had to jump toward the lantern standing on the floor and wave my knife through the air to drive Yargi well back.

“Where’s your crossbow, thief?” Thug asked in a mocking voice, but I ignored him.

Yargi moved into the attack again and we started circling round the lantern, waiting for someone to make the first inexcusable and fatal mistake.

Our knives clashed a couple of times with a repulsive clang, then they started weaving a cobweb pattern of feints and dodges, slowly but surely leading one of us to victory and the other to the grave. Steel sliced through the air and our shadows danced across the walls of bookcases and shelves.

I had to sweat a bit; the damned guard was holding his knife with the Nizin reverse grip. On the one hand that was bad—the skunk could easily shift his blade backward and forward between a cutting or a slashing blow. On the other hand, it was good, because the Nizin technique was intended for soldiers wearing armor that protected the free hand against being cut, but for anyone with just a shirt instead of chain mail and a chain-mail glove, this technique was a double-edged sword.