Part 43 (1/2)
The phantoms fired a third time and the cloud flared up as bright as the sun, flooding the surrounding region with purple light. In less than a minute I had collapsed from exhaustion and been deafened and blinded. There was nothing left to do except to curl up in a ball and try to emerge from this appalling nightmare.
When I came round, it was all over. There were no more purple storm clouds in the sky, the phantoms had disappeared as if I had simply dreamed them, and even the rain had stopped. The clouds had disappeared, giving way once again to a clear blue sky. The sun was s.h.i.+ning straight into my eyes, but the former suffocating heat had been replaced by warm summer weather.
I tried moving first one arm, then the other, and then tried my legs. I seemed to be alive. Squinting downward, I saw that I was lying on a blanket and someone's considerate hand had covered me with another one.
”Welcome back,” a voice said above my head, and then Uncle's bearded, smiling face appeared in my field of view. ”So you're awake now? We were thinking of singing you the funeral song of forgiveness.”
I cleared my throat and tried to sit up. I managed it without any difficulty, which meant that I was already back to normal after the piece of magic that Valder had worked. Once again I tried mentally summoning the archmagician who had swapped the Forbidden Territory for a life inside my head. But as always, it didn't work. The magician had either hidden himself away and didn't want to answer or he had simply disappeared.
”How long have I been lying here?” It was evening when those purple flyers attacked us and now, if the G.o.ds hadn't changed all the rules while I was out of it, it was early morning.
”A little while,” said Alistan, walking up to me.
”How long exactly?” I persisted.
”A little over a day.”
Not bad going.
”How are you feeling?” Miralissa had come over with the count and now she put her hand on my forehead. Her skin was dry and her palm was hot.
”I seem to be in good shape. What happened?”
”We should ask you that,” said Alistan. ”What happened at the edge of the ravine, thief?”
”I don't know.” I frowned. ”I can't remember.”
”Well try, Harold.” Markauz's voice had an ingratiating tone to it and he even forgot to call me thief. ”It's very important.”
The entire group looked at me expectantly.
”First those creatures were flying at us, then Tomcat did something, but it didn't help, then I saw one of them getting close to me, and then something happened.”
”Something?” Miralissa echoed, raising one eyebrow in surprise. ”Do you really not know what happened?”
”I really don't,” I said without the slightest twinge of conscience.
I genuinely didn't know what the archmagician had done to kill the flyer and toss me out of its path. So I hardly had to lie at all.
”In the hundredth part of a second someone created an attack spell of such great power that I thought my hair would burst into flames! Only a very experienced magician is capable of doing that.”
Uh-huh. Someone like my friend Valder.
”Well, it definitely wasn't me who did it.”
”Naturally,” Alistan said coolly. ”But we'd like to know who did.”
I shrugged.
”And the phantoms? Who, I mean, what were they?”
”They're the spirits of the men whose bones lie on this side of the ravine,” I said. ”The soldiers of the Dog Swallows Brigade returned to our world when they sensed the shamanic magic at work.”
Miralissa kept her pensive gaze fixed on me. I think she knew perfectly well that I wasn't telling her everything, but for some reason she didn't try to shake the truth out of me right there and then.
”What the Nameless One's shamans created could have awoken the spirits of the fallen.”
”And what happened to that cloud?” I asked.
”It disappeared.”
”And Tomcat?”
Everyone turned their eyes away.
”He's dead, Harold,” Uncle answered eventually.
”What happened?” Somehow I couldn't believe in the death of the platoon's tracker.
”That creature, whatever it was, pa.s.sed through him and killed him. That's all we know. Are you fit to sit in the saddle, thief?” asked Alistan.
”Yes.”
”Good. We've lost a day and we need to get out onto the highway. Is everything ready, Uncle?”
”Of course, captain,” the sergeant of the Wild Hearts said with a nod.
”Get up, Harold, we need to see a soldier off on his last journey.”
They had buried Tomcat before I came round. He had found his final resting place under a young rowan tree with silvery bark and branches that spread out above the large gravestone. On the stone someone had traced the words TOMCAT. BROTHER OF THE WILD HEARTS.?1123 E.D.
”Good-bye,” Uncle said for all of us.
”Sleep well,” Miralissa whispered, pa.s.sing her hand above the grave.
Kli-Kli was blinking rapidly, trying to hold back the tears. Arnkh was clenching and unclenching his fists helplessly. Deler and Hallas looked like twins now-both small, sullen, and somber.
And then Lamplighter launched into the song ”Forgiveness.” The song that the Wild Hearts sing over the bodies of their brothers, no matter whether they fell in battle or died of old age. It's a strange song, not really suitable for warriors. After all, how can warriors forgive their enemies?
But this song was as old as the Wild Hearts and the Lonely Giant, and it had been sung since such h.o.a.ry old times that now no one knew who first sang it to see warriors off on their final journey.
Kli-Kli and Alistan and Miralissa and the elves and I listened to this strange song that semed so incongruous for soldiers, and yet wrung the heart in such bitter enchantment. After the first couplet all the Wild Hearts joined in.