Part 9 (1/2)
”Bring the Horse in three days, or I'll suck the marrow out of your bones!”
”But how will I find you?”
”Call me by name when you have the Horse, and I will appear.”
Vukhdjaaz shot me another piercing glance and dissolved into the wall.
I leaned back against the rough surface of the stone, catching my breath. Oo-ooph! That sort of thing could give you a heart attack. I never expected the cursed monster to appear again so soon, and during the day, too. Something had to be done about Vukhdjaaz.
I already had a rough idea of where to start looking for the Horse. Whoever it was that set the Doralissians on me had it. No doubt about that. Now I needed to find these persons unknown and filch the Stone before nightfall the day after tomorrow, or I'd have my marrow sucked out. ...
I walked up a ma.s.sive stairway with chipped and battered steps, and then along the corridor leading to the quarters of the priests of Sagot. Two priests standing beside a marble tub from which protruded a feeble scruffy bunch of leaves that was supposed to be a palm tree stopped discussing the affairs of the G.o.d of thieves and began staring at me. I nodded and formed my fingers into the sign of our guild. They relaxed, lowered their heads to greet me in reply, and went back to their philosophical dispute. I was no longer an outsider to them.
It's no secret that only former thieves and swindlers become priests of Sagot-this is a centuries-old tradition that no one has any intention of abandoning.
When the corridor came to an end, I walked up another stairway to the second floor, where the priests had their quarters. The door I was interested in was the second on the right. It was a rather ordinary-looking door, with its old, dark wooden surface scarred with the deep furrows left by the swords of unfriendly visitors.
But the former thieves were well able to stand up for themselves, and they always carried a knife concealed under their placid gray robes. And so, my friend had told me, those who had invaded the calm sanctuary of this shrine had been buried in the garden, and their swords hung in the prayer hall of the cathedral to discourage anyone else from entering this peaceful and G.o.dly place with naked weapons. Sagot might be the least of the G.o.ds, less menacing and mighty than his brothers and sisters, but he and his votaries would always defend themselves.
I knocked on the door. On entering without waiting to be invited, I found myself in a large, well-lit room-a hall, in fact. The walls were painted in cheerful colors, a contrast to the dreary, gray corridors that was a delight to the eye. I glanced round this rather wealthy interior, a.s.sessing the value of the contents (well, I can't help it, it's a habit). Expensive paintings by well-known masters of the past, ill.u.s.trating scenes from divine mythology; a yellow Sultanate carpet on the floor; wonderful furniture; a miniature gold pedestal of Sagot. My friend certainly held a high position in the hierarchy of servants of the G.o.d of thieves.
”Harold! My boy!” A huge, fat man in the grayish-white ca.s.sock of a priest got up from the table and came toward me, throwing his arms wide. ”What brings you here? It must be a hundred years since you last came to see this old man!”
”h.e.l.lo, For. Glad to see you alive, well, and fat!” I laughed as I embraced the old priest.
”Can't be helped, it's the job,” he laughed in reply.
”Hey! Hey! Hey! I saw that, you old rogue! Come on, give back my purse!” I exclaimed. ”So you haven't lost your touch, you old thief?”
”How can we old men possibly compare with you youngsters?” For replied jokingly, and tossed me the purse he had just removed from my belt. ”Come to the table, I was just about to dine.”
”You're always dining, whatever time of day I arrive. Serving Sagot has made you three times the size you used to be.”
”Sagot's will must be done,” For said with a doleful shrug. ”You sit here, I'll bring your favorite wine.”
He laughed, winked at me, and went through into the next room, puffing and panting. I sat on a ma.s.sive chair, solid and strong enough to support For, and put my cloak with the crossbow wrapped in it on the table.
Old For-”Sticky Hands For.” One of the most famous master thieves of former times, who in years gone by had carried out such daring robberies on the most influential houses that his feats of thievery were still talked about in our professional guild to this very day.
For was the man who had first noticed that skinny, constantly hungry youth, Harold the Flea, taken him under his wing, and started to teach him the art of the Supreme Mastery instead of petty pickpocketing.
For ten years he struggled and strained with me, until finally Shadow Harold emerged, with a skill equal to his teacher's. But it was a long time now since For had retired and entered the service of Sagot.
The good priest, Brother For, ”Protector of the Hands.”
That t.i.tle still set me laughing; I simply couldn't believe that the most successful and talented thief of all had actually retired. Of all the living creatures in this insane and dangerous world, the only one I trusted was my teacher and friend.
”Here I am.” For's red face beamed a triumphant smile. He was holding a pair of dust-covered bottles in each hand.
”Amber Tears!” I exclaimed.
”Precisely! Old stock, the finest wine of the bright elves from beyond the Mountains of the Dwarves. You'd better appreciate it.”
”I already am.”
”I was scarcely hoping to see you for the next few years, kid. There are all sorts of rumors creeping round the city.”
”Rumors!” I snorted. ”What sort of rumors?”
”Well, they say you're at daggers drawn with Markun and sooner or later things will end badly. It's not yet clear exactly for which one of you, but bets are being placed.”
”Oh, really?”
”Really.”
”I hope you've put your money on the right side?” I chuckled.
”But of course! According to other gossips, Frago Lanten shut you away in the Gray Stones. And then some claimed the Doralissians were searching very hard for a certain Harold. So tell me, kid, are these mere rumors, or have you got yourself into some kind of fix?” For gave me a quizzical look as he gnawed on a pork rib.
”Not exactly rumors,” I began cautiously. ”The entire world seems to have gone crazy, For.”
”May Sagot save your wayward soul,” the priest sighed, and set the gnawed bone down to one side. ”The world is poised on the brink of a great war, Harold, and you're still wasting time on your idiotic subterfuges. If everything I've heard is right, it's time for you to disappear. To somewhere in the Lowland. Although I don't think everything's calm there, either. The Nameless One is only the beginning, my old bones can feel it. He'll provide the initial impetus, be the fuse, as the gnomes say, that ignites the powder keg. Then it will choose for itself exactly how to blow up our fragile world. The orcs will get a taste of freedom. Miranueh will break out and run wild, Garrak will go for the twin Empires' jugular, then they'll go for each other, the dwarves will go for the gnomes, the gnomes for the dwarves. We'll be drowning in blood, mark my words.”
”You think so?”
”Harold, my little one. You're an intelligent man. I knew what I was doing when I spent the best years of my life on you. The learning you received is easily a match for any n.o.bleman's. How many of the books in my library have you read? All of them? But you still think like a five-year-old child. There'll be war, mark my words, there will. It's inevitable. Unless some little miracle happens.”
”Sagot's will be done,” I muttered gloomily, twirling the gla.s.s of wine in my hands.
”His will be done,” For repeated mechanically, and took a huge bite out of a crusty bun. ”So what was it that brought you to me?” he asked when he finished chewing.
”What, can't I even visit an old friend now?” I asked, genuinely offended, and knitted my brows in a frown.
”Not when it would be wiser to lie low. But then, you always were stubborn and took unnecessary risks,” said the priest, gesturing forlornly. ”So there's nothing you need from me, then?”
”Yes, there is,” I sighed.
”Aha!” For declared triumphantly. ”Quod erat demonstrandum! I haven't lost my grip on logic yet. So what do you want from a fat old man?” I haven't lost my grip on logic yet. So what do you want from a fat old man?”
”Refuge for a couple of nights until I set out on a Commission.”
”We have some free cells. Perhaps you might even turn into a priest?” chuckled the former thief, filling the gla.s.ses again. ”Wait! What Commission? Are your brains completely addled, Harold? You could lose your head here, and yet you're still chasing after money. That's the absolute acme of greed!”
”It's not what I wanted, just the way things have turned out.”