Part 37 (1/2)

”A gnome doesn't need to see. We work with fire from when we're kids, and you only get smoke like that if you burn a heap of earth's bones in the furnaces. That's magical fire! I can smell it. That's why they brought the cha.s.seurs here, so they could detain everybody until the magicians finish what they're doing!”

”All right,” said Loudmouth, interrupting Hallas's accusations. ”Whether there was plague there or something else, we'll never know now, but in any case, we have to get as far away as possible. We can't be too careful.”

”But did you see that beast they'd lured in?” Deler asked thoughtfully. ”Maybe there are as many hands like that in the village as there are gnomes in the mountain caves!”

”That beast wasn't theirs; Tresh Miralissa created it!” said Kli-Kli. ”By the way, milady, how did you know that we'd need a hand like that?”

”I did not know, inestimable Kli-Kli.” The elfess's black lips stretched into a venomous smile. ”I actually prepared a sleeping spell. They should all have fallen asleep.”

”But then where did that beast come from, Tresh Miralissa?” asked Ell, genuinely surprised.

”Ask our green companion that, my faithful k'lissang. He was the one who drew beside my spell! The credit for the appearance of such a creature must go entirely to Kli-Kli.”

”How was I to know?” the goblin said with a guilty sniff. ”I didn't think you'd written anything special there.”

”You ought to be isolated from society, Kli-Kli.” Deler chuckled good-naturedly.

”Why, you ought to thank me!” the goblin declared indignantly. ”If not for that hand, who knows how the whole business would have turned out? I told you my grandfather was a shaman. It's hereditary!”

”Playing rotten tricks?” asked Marmot. ”If you're a shaman, I'm the leader of the Doralissians!”

”I tell you, I have the blood of the finest goblin shamans running in my veins, including the great Tre-Tre! He's an ancestor of mine through my mother's grandmother.”

”That's enough. Loudmouth is right. We need to get as far away as possible,” said Miralissa, interrupting Kli-Kli.

”Shall we try the forest?” Honeycomb suggested.

”Go round the village? I don't think that's a very good idea,” Uncle said. ”The cha.s.seurs could have traps under every tree, and if we run into them again, they won't let us go so easily.”

”Do you suggest going back?” asked the elfess, clearly not pleased with this idea. ”The ride to the highway is a lot farther than to Ranneng. We would lose a huge amount of time.”

”There is another road,” said Honeycomb. Like me, he had already removed his chain mail, and now he started drawing a simple map in the sand. ”This is the highway.” A straight line ran across the sand, looping in its middle like a horseshoe and then straightening out again. ”This is Ranneng.”

The line ran straight into the blob that represented the city. From the point at which the highway looped, another line ran down and to the right. It crept farther and farther away from the highway until at one point it started running parallel with it, and then converged with the highway again, meeting it right beside the city.

”There's an abandoned track here. Or at least, there used to be.”

”You suggest that we ought to take it?”

”Yes, Lady Miralissa. At least it offers us a way out of our situation. The road through Vishki is closed and it is too far to go back.”

”It is decided then,” the elfess agreed. ”We will go back to the place where the track starts and await the return of Milord Alistan, otherwise he will ride on and fall into the hands of the magicians.”

”Won't we lose more time, making our way over the hills?” Lamplighter asked doubtfully.

”No,” said Honeycomb with a shake of his head. ”We'll leave the hills on our left. The area is known as Hargan's Wasteland. Thin forest, ravines, clumps of heather, and not a single person for twenty leagues in all directions. A desolate area. If our enemies are trying to find us, they'll have to look very hard.”

”Then what are we waiting for?” Loudmouth growled, putting one foot in a stirrup.

It was already late evening; the July sky was gradually turning paler and the sun had almost set. We set out along the road back with the twilight treading on our heels. All of us were in a subdued mood. The men didn't speak. Hallas puffed on his pipe and swore quietly to himself and Kli-Kli tied knots in a piece of string, threatening to show us all the famous shamanism of the goblins.

24

HARGAN'S WASTELAND

It took us a long time to find that almost invisible track in the total darkness. Several times Honeycomb stopped the group, dismounted, and walked along the wall of bushes, thoughtfully scratching the back of his head. Then he climbed back into the saddle and we galloped on, moving farther and farther away from the hills and the unfortunate village of Vishki. The point came when we had to light torches-the moonlight was simply not enough-and Loudmouth immediately started grumbling that now even a blind man could see us.

When Honeycomb dismounted for the tenth time, even the imperturbable Marmot started groaning: ”So where is this track of yours? How long can we carry on prowling about in the dark? Let's put it off until tomorrow! We're all tired, and the ling needs to be fed.”

”Just wait a bit with that mouse of yours,” the huge man retorted. ”It's somewhere near here. I think we need to turn round and ride back a bit.”

”You said that half an hour ago,” muttered Hallas.

”Let's look for it in the morning,” said Kli-Kli, supporting Marmot.

The goblin had been tying knots in his string almost without a break. Now he had hundreds of them, and he claimed that very soon they would produce some terrible goblin magic.

No one took any notice of his blather, except for Deler, who asked to be warned when everything was ready so that he could hide as far away as possible from the place where the failed shaman planned to demonstrate his abilities.

”Are you sure this track is here? Have you walked along it yourself?” Eel asked.

”No. I was still a little kid then. My grandfather showed me it. The shepherds used it to take their sheep out to graze all summer in the wasteland. The gra.s.s there was really something.”

”That's hardly surprising,” Kli-Kli commented dryly.

”Do you know something about this place?” Miralissa asked.

”I'll tell you all an interesting story at the halt, if you don't fall asleep.”

”I remember!” Honeycomb suddenly howled and slapped himself on the forehead. ”I remember! It began beside two trees that leaned toward each other like a pair of drunks!”

”There was something like that,” said Ell, brus.h.i.+ng aside a lock of hair that had fallen over his eyes. ”About fifty yards back.”

Everyone heaved a sigh of relief, realizing that the halt they had been antic.i.p.ating for so long would soon arrive. I myself was barely able to stay in the saddle and my dearest wish was to get down from Little Bee.

”That's it! There they are, the darlings!” Honeycomb exclaimed when the silhouettes of two aspens emerged from the darkness, looming up in isolation above the bushes. ”The track starts right between them.”

”Right then, a halt.” Hallas climbed gratefully out of his saddle and I followed his example. ”Uncle! Are we going to eat anything today or do we bed down on an empty stomach?”

”You never think of anything but filling your belly, longbeard.” Deler laughed.

Do I need to tell you what the gnome said to that? Everything had come full circle.