Chasers of the Wind (39 page)

A Walker!

Things were taking a bad turn. I had to keep as far away as possible from bearers of the spark despite the fact that seven years had gone by. Certain people have long memories. I’d learned that well enough this morning, when that filthy little toad got on my tail. He’d seen me only once, and he recognized me even though I’d acquired a beard during my travels from Dog Green.

Leaving the line would be too conspicuous; then they’d really notice me.

“State your name, where you’re from, your destination,” the exhausted Guardsman asked me.

It was too late to run.

“I’m a craftsman. Pars the carpenter. From Oglad. I’m here by invitation.”

I named one of the less important lords of the city council. As I expected, he didn’t bother to check.

“Do you know the way?”

“I’ve been here before.”

“Then get going.” The soldier lost all interest in me.

I thanked him and entered the coolness of the gatehouse. The Walker slid her eyes over me and continued her conversation with the captain. I breathed a sigh of relief. The first thing she checked for was the Gift, and only then did she examine faces. I was lucky.

There was a massive corridor running through the Wall. Footbridges trailed along under the ceiling, where archers could be placed if the enemy swept through the outer gates. There were arrow loops in the walls, and two raised steel portcullises. After fifty paces I got through the corridor, passed by the interior gates, which were in no way inferior in terms of strength to the exterior gates, and found myself in Outer City. As I’d assumed, there were just as many guards at the exit of the Lettuce Gates as at the entrance. If a commotion suddenly arose near where the Walker was standing, then the lads here would have time to either go help or lower the portcullises.

My beloved city can sleep peacefully. For the time being, at any rate.

*   *   *

My goal lay beyond the second wall, between the harbor and Birdtown. This part of Al’sgara was called Birdtown because a community of Je’arre had lived there for quite some time. Their neighborhood began at the top of a giant hill and slowly descended toward the sea.

The flyers had an unquenchable passion for construction. They erected a vast assortment of towers in the district. Thick, thin, tall, short, spired, steepled, stone, wood, finished, and under construction. There was one every thirty yards or so. As the more spiteful critics said, Birdtown had long since surpassed Hightown when it came to the number of towers. Perhaps that’s true. The Je’arre love to take off from high perches.

The quarter was surprisingly empty. I didn’t see a single representative of the race. Only the numerous inhabitants of other parts of the city and, of course, the sullen Guardsmen. Of the latter, however, there were a surprising number. What happened to have driven so many keepers of the peace here? In my memory there was never a time when the Je’arre sat in their homes and the skies over Al’sgara were empty.

According to legend, the flyers came to the lands of the Empire from somewhere beyond the Great Waste many centuries ago. I have no idea what forced this nation to flit from their ancestral roost and come visit us, but they were accepted, albeit without much enthusiasm. It had seemed like a good idea to the current ruler to use the winged folk as messengers and flying archers. The beggarly Sons of the Sky dealt with this, but they were often at one another’s throats and they liked to create minor havoc among the other peoples of the Empire. As a result, they were politely asked to leave Al’sgara, Gash-Shaku, and Okni, and were given a fairly large plot of uninhabited land between Sandon and Uloron. People mockingly called the place where the Je’arre had been sent to live the Promised Land. Everyone knew full well that the birds were caught between the rock of Uloron and the hard place of Sandon. The Highborn would undoubtedly chew up the Empire’s untrustworthy allies and spit out their feathers.

To universal surprise, the Sons of the Sky withstood the pointy-eared elves. More than that, they eventually helped our army drive them from the Country of Oaks
(another name for Uloron)
into Sandon. And when the Emperor finalized a perpetual peace with the Del’be
(the King of the Highborn. Currently, the Del’be is Vaske of the House of Strawberry)
twelve years ago, life in the Promised Land became completely calm and carefree. A few clever people even wanted to take the fertile territory back, but the Je’arre showed their teeth and were left in peace.

However, not all the Sons of the Sky went to live in the east of the country. A large community remained in Al’sgara. The City Council agreed to tolerate them because a quarter of the revenues in the city treasury came from the textiles the flyers wove. Just as splendid as eastern silk, they are worth a staggering amount of money and ships sail into port for their sake from all around the world. Part of the proceeds, of course, fall into the greedy hands of the City Council and the Viceroy. It would be foolish of the powerful, self-satisfied fellows to turn away such a remarkable cash cow.

Birdtown came to an end. I stopped and looked at the sloping pavement, the white homes of the harbor, the distant port, and the dark blue haze of the sea. To my right, wedged in between a tall tower with three spires and a ramshackle tavern, stood a two-story building. On the first story was a shop selling Je’arrean silk, and three of its four windows were shuttered.

Strange.

I walked to the end of the street and then paused. I waited a bit to check if someone was following me or not. After five minutes, sure that I was not being followed, I turned and pushed on a heavy door.

A brass bell over my head rang contrarily, and I found myself in a murky room. There was obviously not enough light from the street, and the owners were in no hurry to light all the torches they had. Only two were lit—the one hanging to the left of me and the one located at the far end of the shop, by the stairs leading to the second floor. I could not help but appreciate the beauty and elegance of this solution. On the one hand, all those who enter from the street fall into a circle of light and are visible at a glance; on the other hand, the distant light strikes the visitor in the eyes, and it takes a bit more than a second to become accustomed to it. That’s more than enough time for the owners hiding in the shadows to decide if the stranger is dangerous or not. And to take appropriate action.

I quickly stepped to the left, leaving the illuminated circle, and blinked several times as I’d been taught, chasing away the multicolored specks in front of my eyes.

A quiet laugh came out of the gloom.

“You haven’t lost your skills over the years, have you, Gray?”

“That would be an impermissible luxury for me, Jola.”

Another laugh.

“If you’d be so kind as to lower the latch. I don’t want us to be bothered by casual shoppers.”

“Nonsense.” There was a dry cough to the right. “After your kvinsmen played such a dirty trickva, you won’t entice anyone here for all the kvold in the Empire.”

“I swear by the wind!” Jola squealed. “No wingless leech is going to tell me anything!”

“Hey, I’m your partner, chickvadee.” The one who had so infuriated the Je’arre spoke the words strangely. Human speech was very difficult for him. “I’m tellinkva you akvain. The ones livinkva in the Promised Land have lost their minds.”

“I’ve never regretted that we are partners.” She calmed down quickly. “As for the clans, it’s their business. I’m not going to pay for others’ mistakes.”

“But you will, sister. The humans are very ankvary at those who have winkvas.”

“Has there ever been a day when they haven’t spat at the Sons of the Sky? This is not the first time, nor the last, I swear by the wind.”

“Now it’s all much more serious.”

Listening to the squabble of the old partners, I lowered the latch and, walking past the bales of scarlet and silver cloth, each worth at least eighty, if not a hundred sorens, I made my way to a massive table. One of the chairs was free, the other was taken.

A small woman was seated in it. I knew her height very well—if she stood up the crown of her head would barely reach the middle of my chest. Jola was a Je’arre, and like all members of her race she was fragile, thin boned, almost airy. A narrow, unattractive face, tapering to her chin, sharply defined cheekbones, an aquiline nose, and black eyes. Her shaved head was covered in complex and incomprehensible (to me) tattoos, which indicated that Jola belonged to the Fire Clan; it seemed absurdly large for such narrow shoulders in the dim light. The fingers of her thin hands were long and tipped with violet fingernails. Or claws. Depends on who you ask.

And of course, she had wings—massive wings, covered in red feathers. Right now they were folded behind her back, but I could well imagine how the Je’arre would use them to soar through the sky.

Jola was frowning so that the corners of her eyes wrinkled, observing me.

“Come closer. I swear by the wind, I don’t believe my old eyes. Have you really come here from the Abyss to annoy me again? Ktatak, do you see who’s come to our humble abode?”

“I do.” The voice again came from the gloom. “It seems the rumors were not false.”

“So it seems. Gray wound everyone round his fingers and disappeared for many years. Didn’t even warn his best friends. Ai-ai-ai. How mean, don’t you think?”

“Indeed.”

I remained silent, allowing them to have a bit of fun at my expense.

“And now, after I wept all those tears I harvested over my long life, you show up like a Mort out of the sand, grinning brazenly! That’s gratitude for you!”

“Indeed,” agreed Ktatak.

“I’m sure you were delighted at my death, you old crow.”

She clucked indignantly, shifted her wings, collected her cards from the table, and began to shuffle them briskly. Meanwhile, I sat down, spied a jug of wine and without asking permission, poured some for myself into an empty mug. Jola twitched her eyebrows in displeasure, but, uncharacteristically, said nothing. She handed me a deck. Following the usual ritual, I took the topmost card. I looked at it. The Key. I showed her. She nodded and took it.

“The past? The future?”

“The future.”

“Near? Distant?”

“Near.”

“Choose a deck.”

I picked the fourth to the right of the ten lying on the table. All the others were sent away. She began laying out the spread.

“It’s very arrogant to return to a place where you are considered dead,” said the Je’arre.

“And stupid!” Ktatak couldn’t resist adding.

“They’re looking for you, Gray. And not so that you will return the money. Mols, Joch, the witches from Hightown. Not to mention the throngs who want to earn a little cash at your expense.”

“A lot of kvash,” said her partner.

“So much that I’m tempted to fly up there and sing in someone’s ear.”

“Singkva!” There was a scuffling in the dark corner, and then a jarring laugh rang out. “Don’t flatter yourself, partner. You kvan only kvaroak.”

“May you be blind in both eyes, you miserable leech!” she muttered wickedly, waving her fist at Ktatak. “The spread isn’t very good, Gray.”

I looked at the table. The Key was striving toward the Knife, but was overpowered by the Fortress. The Tower loomed over them.

“There’s something to think about, huh?” muttered Jola.

“I don’t understand any of this.” I could only shrug.

“What a fool. You could have learned it a long time ago. Something”—she tapped a purple claw on the Fortress—“is preventing the implementation of your plans. The Tower stands over everything. Oo-oo-oo,” she whined in disappointment, realizing that I was in no hurry to gasp. “My dear, I’m beginning to wonder how you managed to survive after that debacle you arranged in this wretched town. Even a blockhead like Ktatak knows what the Tower signifies. What does the Tower signify, Ktatak?”

“The Walkvers, oh wise one!” said the Je’arre’s partner with obvious sarcasm, but she chose to ignore it.

“Oh,” I said profoundly.

She hissed angrily, thinking that I didn’t have a sufficiently respectful attitude toward the magical cards. And it’s true; I didn’t really believe in the bullshit on multicolored pieces of thick paper. It’s not magic, but charlatanism. However, among the Sons of the Sky the art of fortune telling is highly valued, and it wasn’t all that difficult for me to indulge the old winged witch.

“It’s all so much worse.” Jola clicked her tongue woefully. “Never in my life have I seen such a bad spread. One card is superimposed over another and bound to the third. You, no doubt, are the Key.”

“I’m flattered,” I muttered.

“And here are five new guests.” She flipped over more cards that were laying facedown. “The Fool and another four Knives. All very close to you.”

“I’ll be careful.”

“And another Tower! A white one!”

“You sure it’s not another Walker?” I frowned.

“You’re makving a muddle of your kvame, chickvadee,” said Ktatak. “You always insist that the Tower kvan only play one role.”

“I’m not muddling anything. It’s possible in this combination.”

“Stupid kvarows.” He couldn’t help himself.

“Be silent, you leech!”

“What about that kvard?”

“A white Tower may not signify a Walker. In this position it can be interpreted as life, virtue, health, or a priest, a healer, a virgin—”

“And yet another thousand thinkvas,” Ktatak interrupted.

Jola snorted in disdain, her fingers flashing with unimaginable speed. For several minutes the flyer placed out cards until a fanciful spread was laid out on the table. She inverted the cards, laid them one on top of the other, shifted them, piled them, and spread them out until the final product was worked out.

The path from the Key to the Knife was, as before, overlapped by the Fortress. Over all these hovered the Tower. Next to the Key, fit snugly against it, lay four Knives, the Fool, and the Tower the Je’arre called white. Nearby were two Swords, two Demons, and seven facedown cards. One of the facedown cards was located next to the Key (as far as I could recall, according to the rules it should cover the other), five surrounded the central part of the spread, and the last, alone, was on the very edge of the table.