Shadow Prowler

I started wondering where Artsivus and the cavalry had disappeared to, and thinking that perhaps I ought to clear out while I still could—make a run for it while the going was good.

There was a deafening boom, and the magicians of the Order stared appearing out of thin air. Five, seven, ten, twelve of them! The entire Council of the Order was there, with Artsivus at its head, and the demonologists into the bargain.

The demonologists—magicians in black robes with gold trim on the sleeves—waved their hands, and a magic net woven of out pale gray rays began glimmering around the demon. Vukhdjaaz began howling even more furiously and tried to break through the magical restraints, but there was a flash and he was obviously burned. He flopped down and went quiet.

“Tighten the flows.” Artsivus coughed and gave a chilly shiver. The old man clearly felt a little uncomfortable away from a warm hearth. “The job is done.”

The net around the motionless Vukhdjaaz began drawing tighter. I was amazed to see the monster start to shrink. The gray mesh glowed brighter and brighter. And soon all that was left on the spot where a minute earlier a huge monster had been battling was a small, faintly glowing sphere, about the size of a fist. I hoped my demon friend wasn’t feeling too cramped and uncomfortable. The magicians had really bundled him up good and tight.

“Take him, Master Rodgan,” Artsivus said with a nod. “Put the beast in a secure cage and start studying him. The Council will help to the extent of its modest abilities.”

Positively glowing with delight, one of the demonologists quickly picked the little sphere up off the bloodstained floor and put it into a small bag. Well, now at last the magicians would have a chance to study a real live demon and not just descriptions of them in dusty old tomes.

Artsivus paid no attention to the dead, striding between the corpses as if they were rocks, not dead men and Doralissians, until he reached Markun’s headless body and picked up the Horse of Shadows.

“Don’t move! In the name of the king!” a voice cried, distracting my attention from Artsivus, and I saw a group of guardsmen led by Baron Lanten come bursting in at the door and start rounding up the bandits and goat-men who were still alive and trying to slip away from the scene.

“Ah, Baron,” Artsivus coughed. “Right on time, as always.”

“What shall we do with them, Your Magicship?” Frago asked, apparently not at all concerned about the ironic tone of the archmagician’s words.

“How should I know?” Artsivus said with a casual shrug. He couldn’t care less about what happened now to the participants in the brawl. “That’s your business, Baron. Interrogate them, and then act as you think best.”

The baron nodded and ordered his guards to take away everyone fortunate enough to have survived this night in the Knife and Axe. In this former i

Artsivus handed the Horse to one of the archmagicians, then looked up at the ceiling and asked irritably: “Harold, do you intend to sit up there, or will you condescend to come down?”

So much for the ceiling! For the master of the Order it was just as transparent as it was for me. I had to go down. On the way I got the idea of slipping out over the roof. But I didn’t think it was a good idea. Artsivus was in a grumpy mood, as always, and I had no desire to spend the rest of my life as a frog.

As I said once before, His Magicship’s glance boded no good to my own humble personage. But this time the archmagician didn’t seem inclined to skin me on the spot.

“There you are,” the old man harrumphed. “Come with me, I have a couple of questions for you.”

Good old Gozmo still hadn’t emerged from under the bar, and I became even more convinced that he was long gone and his tracks were already cold. Artsivus left the i

Outside it was dreadfully dark. No one had bothered to light the street lamps, and not a single window was lit up. But somehow I was certain that no one was sleeping on the Street of the Sleepy Dog. Deaf trolls couldn’t have fallen asleep with all the noise that had been coming from the i

“Shall I get into the carriage?” I asked, just to be sure.

“You can run alongside if you like.” Artsivus harrumphed and groaned as he climbed up onto the step. Two coachmen supported the archmagician and helped him climb inside. I couldn’t withstand the magician’s gaze, and started looking out of the window, since it wasn’t boarded up this time.

“I’m cold,” the magician muttered, picking up the woolen blanket lying beside him.

I personally didn’t feel at all cold; it was a warm summer night.

“All right, tell me everything.”

“What is there to tell?” I was about to ask, but I changed my mind. A dead goblin could have guessed what he wanted to know from me.

“Allow me to assist you,” the old man sneered. “Let’s start with how you discovered who had the Horse and how the demon, who you said had disappeared for all eternity, happened to reappear in Avendoom.”

I heaved a sigh, gathered my strength, and started telling my story. The truth and nothing but the truth. Artsivus had already heard the first part of my story, so I simply made a few corrections, adding in the conversations with the demons. After that I had to tell him about the Forbidden Territory, but I claimed that it would take too long to tell him everything, and limited myself to saying that I went there, got the papers, and came back. I left all the details for the next time, hoping that it would never come.

The spiteful magician simply cleared his throat and assured me that the king was not as kind as he was, and I would have to tell him absolutely everything. I heaved another sigh to let him know that when the king required it, I would do as he wished.

As I understood it, the carriage was simply driving us aimlessly through the city. The coachmen had been ordered to drive us around Avendoom until Artsivus had said everything he wanted to say and satisfied his curiosity. By my calculation, we had already been riding about for an hour, and the damned old man still wouldn’t calm down and leave poor, tired Harold in peace. From the demon the conversation moved on to the Horse, from the Horse to the Master, from the Master to Hrad Spein, from there back to the Horse again. . . . It just went on forever! But eventually the archmagician got fed up, too, or he simply got too cold and wanted to hurry to get back to his warm fireplace, but in any case the questions finally dried up.