《The Shadowy Path》


 Chapter 1

    "Although Paidos is the seat of its provincial governor and has at least the average population of Andiol''s towns, it has sometimes been criticised for being a little sleepy. It is not a commercial centre on a par with Ipalos and, like Nissos, it does not attract attention with its distinctive food culture.


    Of all the towns in the region, Paidos is still the most appealing to a peace-loving traveller. Who would not want to spend a day browsing the stalls in the Central Square, then take a trolley to the sports ground to watch the youngsters compete, and at the end of a memorable day, sit down to the famous dinner at the Saramanda¡¯s Inn.


    There is something seductive about the ordinariness of Paidos!¡±


    - Every Home Travel Directory, printed in Dimalos in 1590


    * * *


    Josel


    Paidos, Andiol Empire, in 1592, New Era, during the 22nd year of the reign of Emperor Saveir I Negos


    The warm spring sun peeked through the clouds and managed to dazzle the crowd watching the sky. The empty hills north of the town of Paidos were only this crowded once a year, when a traditional kite fight concludes the seven-day Spring Youth Competition.


    The ten finalists stood ready on the platform. Many of them had been practising patiently since the first days of spring. And with good reason. Fighting on kites required a great deal of skill and ingenuity. As they swooped across the sky at almost harpoon speed, the spectators were easily blinded by more than just the bright sunlight.


    The audience swarmed into the background. There were arguments about the air pressure and whether the wind had become too strong. The competitors turned a deaf ear to such things, just waiting for the umpire''s signal to send the kites into the sky.


    Kite fighting was quite different from other sports in the Spring Competition, which were mainly based on physical endurance or strength. The decent quality kites were expensive to buy, so the youth from poor families were left out from this portion of the competition. While running did not require family wealth to participate, kite fighting had a certain reputation as a sport for the better off. However, this did not diminish the importance of winning in the eyes of competitors nor the public.


    Victory, only victory will do, thought 16-year-old Josel Sandkan on his platform. He wanted to make his father proud, his opponents jealous, his friends respect him and the girls in his class admire him. The joy of competition came along for the ride.


    He had managed to get a handmade glider from the most renowned kite maker in Paidos. He hadn''t had much practice, but Josel was confident in his talents and his kite. After all, he had come third in the kite fight a year ago. Now he had to make up for it, especially as he had made a complete mess of the swim and only finished sixth in the run. Today he would show the others.


    The umpire took a significant step forward. The crowd had fallen silent in anticipation. Josel raised the green-tailed kite on his straight arms in front of him and looked at his best friend Franz, whom he had hired to help him observe the movements of the other competitors.


    The umpire''s whistle blew the kites away. Victory. Only victory, Josel repeated in his mind as the Greentail swung into the wind. Soon the excitement of the race carried his mind into the sky as well. The kite''s wings flapped in the wind, his fingers alternately turning the reel and pulling the string. Josel was one with his kite.


    There was a roar in the stands as the flyers took each other on. There was applause when their favourite flew out of the opponent''s reach. And when someone''s race ended with a broken string, there was a gasp of disappointment.


    In the Andiol Empire, the sports meetings were seen as educational and training events for children and young people. Training, winning, and losing taught mental control and personal growth, but for adults, competitive sport was not considered a suitable pastime in most parts of the country. For this reason, the youth''s contest in the spring was the most important sporting event that took place in Paidos every year.


    "Josi, your kite is lower than everyone else''s!"Franz shrieked and waved his hand in the direction of the Greentail, which had sunk dangerously close to the ground.


    The young kite flyer tried not to be disturbed by his friend''s shouting and concentrated on carefully adding the string to his kite. Josel never took his eyes off his kite, but he could hear through the torrent of curses in his ears that another competitor had broken his kite''s string and was out of the game.


    The gusty wind in the hills ruffled Josel''s blond hair and rattled the kites mercilessly. Once again, someone broke a kite string and Josel was one step closer to victory. Let the rivals finish each other off, he thought, deciding to dodge rather than attack.


    "There''s only five of you left," Franz announced, wrinkling his big nose.


    Josel saw the same, glancing at the board held by the assistant to the tournament director. "Who else?" he asked through clenched teeth.


    "Bartos, two girls from the Eastgate school and Zdain Monteilon."


    "Zdain Monteilon!" Josel pronounced the name, lowering his voice and cursing immediately as his kite lost altitude. It glided dangerously close to the kites of the other competitors.


    Soon Josel had to dodge a rather clever attempt by the girl with braids to wrap her own string around Josel''s left kite pin and break it. In kite fighting, twisting was the surest way to cut your opponent''sstring, but you could easily ruin your own competition.


    The girl''s attempt was her undoing. With a sidelong glance, Josel saw Zdain Monteilon''s lion-shaped kite swoop down and cut the second string of her kite with a single, precise stroke of its wing. It crippled the competition equipment beyond use.


    "Monteilon is right behind you. Push downwind! Quickly!" Franz advised.


    The rules did not forbid the use of an assistant, but Josel felt that Franz''s shouting would do more harm than good. However, he deftly altered the Greentail''s course, taking it away from the lion kite, which was making dangerous dives. Bartos snapped both strings from the remaining girl, sending her rose-patterned glider wobbling sadly to the ground. There were only three of them left in the race.


    Josel tried to stay calm, but it was almost impossible. He had to be number one today. He would be hailed as a hero and the arrogant Monteilon would get a well-earned thrashing.


    Out of the corner of his eye he saw the string of Bartos'' kite snap, and the boy threw the reel to the ground in frustration. Poor Bartos was stocky and rather clumsy and did not excelin the other disciplines of the Spring Competition. That''s why he had been training hard all spring to succeed in kite fighting.


    Third place was not a bad result at all, Josel thought. As much as Josel liked Bartos, he was secretly glad that he had lost the game. Now there were only two of them left: Josel Sandkan and Zdain Monteilon.


    It was not the first time they had faced each other in a Spring Competition. It had been two years since Josel had come second and Zdain had won. But that was on a track, not the kite field. This year, neither of them had been successful in the other events, so only a win in the kite-fighting event could save either of them.


    Zdain also seemed to have noticed that the other competitors had dropped out of the game. His lion-shaped kite made a sudden, menacing dive towards Josel¡¯s Greentail. The attempt was not clever enough, however, as Josel was able to dodge effortlessly by jerking the reel in his left hand.


    Franz said something encouraging, but Josel could not hear exactly what. At the start of the race, Franz''s keen eyes and witty advice had been a great help, but now he had to focus all his senses on the sky and the kite if he wanted to come out of the duel on top.


    Josel released a little more string from each reel and hoped for the best. A gust of wind caught the kite and he had to fight hard not to break the string from the sheer force of the blower. That shouldn''t happen, the shame of it would be too much for him to bear. Second place would be worth nothing, for it would mean a bitter defeat to Zdain Monteilon. It was time to put everything on the line and go on the offensive.


    He turned his glider to dive and saw his opponent about to do the same. Zdain was too clever to let Josel to simply cut his kite''s strings. The rattling wind did not help his attacks. Turning around seemed to be the only option.


    So be it, all on one card, Josel decided, letting his kite rise and fall with the airflow. With flapping wings, the kite arched up, down and in all directions. To the onlooker, the sequence of movements may have looked like aimless darting, but in fact each dive had a purpose. Josel was simultaneously dodging Zdain''s attack and looking for an opportunity to circle around the lion kite.


    They were equally fast, and the kites reached each other without either gaining a decisive advantage. The fluttery-tailed kites swarmed around each other like peacocks on a courtship display. Then their strings would twist in a death race, to be lost by the first flyer to cut their strings. The crowd, and even Franz, had fallen silent. Everyone waited.


    The gliders were snatching at each other and soon they were together on countless bends. Even if both kite fighters wanted to, the tangle could no longer be untangled. Josel pulled as hard as he dared, plunging down again from the heights, hoping for the best. It was now as much a matter of luck as skill.


    And then, quite unexpectedly, the kite with the lion decoration broke off both strings and fluttered to the ground, flapping in the wind for a moment. The umpire blew his whistle. Josel raised his hands in the air and let his own kite go. He was the winner!


    Franz squeezed his friend in a fierce hug, soon joined by Josel''s other friends who rushed to the scene, including Bartos, who was regretting his own defeat. The flurry of congratulations did not prevent Josel from meeting the gaze of Zdain, who stood in the distance. He exuded angry disappointment.


    Josel grinned deliberately at the brown-haired boy, who turned briskly and strode down the hill, accompanied by a servant. The sight made Josel doubly pleased. Zdain failed to win any event in the Spring Competition, although he had been the favourite in fencing and the long jump. Josel himself had been the best kite fighter in his age group. Could a 16-year-old have hoped for anything better?


    * * *


    Josel had celebrated the victory with his friends in the classroom at school until late in the evening. Bartos, Franz and everyone else had treated him like a hero. Franz had commented ad nauseam on Josel''s performance and laughed at Zdain''s defeat. Even magister Hamus, the esteemed head of the Portwell School, had come to personally congratulate Josel.


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    The celebrations went on for a long time, and one by one the youngsters left the scene. When Josel finally went home after the party, the rail-carriages had stopped running. At that moment, instead of choosing a driver, as his father had suggested, he decided to walk home and savour his victory. It was a short journey, and the air was mild.


    It was a starry night and the thousands of twinkling dots in the sky lit up the sleeping town. The biggest light in the night sky was the moon, rounded almost to its full size. Casting a bluish glow on the earth''s crust, it guarded the journey home of Paidos'' best kite fighter.


    As he walked, Josel recounted the moment he won the race. The green-tailed kite soared into the sky, the crowd cheered, and Josel Sandkan was the winner. Nothing would stop him now. He would beat the others at the next sports championships in the summer and autumn. And in a year''s time, of course, in the new spring races - Josel''s last. School would end and he''d have to find something else to do.


    More specifically, Josel had not bothered to plan for the future. Working long hours as a shop assistant or in a manufactory were not appealing. His father had made a half-covered wish for university. That would mean moving far away to Dimalos or Nao-Kartheon. Besides, Josel was not interested anyway. He would rather go to the mechanics'' college in Paidos, for example. It was said that there would always be work for technicians.


    A buzzing in his ears woke Josel from his musings. He searched for the source of the sound but found nothing. The street was empty and dark - or rather, almost dark.


    For some reason, the two nearest streetlights had gone out. They had probably run out of gas. Josel had not remembered noticing it before, but now the darkness was closing in from all sides and refused to disperse. There was no light in the windows of any of the houses, and the clouds had suddenly obscured the clear night sky.


    It was not an atmospheric darkness, not like, witnessing a stormy night from your own bed. Josel was in a hurry to get home. He quickened his pace and thought about running. Just then the third streetlight went out.


    A cold shiver ran from the back of his neck to the top of his head, but Josel shook it off. After all, he had nothing to fear in his own hometown. Still, just to be sure, he looked around and tried to listen. There was nothing or no one. People were asleep in their houses and even the stray cats had scurried off to chase mice. Josel was alone on a dark street.


    He took a few unsteady steps before something came into view. Josel flinched. Someone was standing further ahead, under the lit streetlamp.


    There was no reason to be scared. The night watchman had just arrived to light the streetlamps.


    Josel forced himself to slow down as he walked towards the only light bulb on the street and the figure standing by it. The closer he got, the more he began to feel that it was not the night watchman after all.


    The figure standing under the streetlight was wrapped in a dark robe with a hood covering his face. Josel''s mind flashed back to the newspaper reports of robbers and murderers outskirts of the province. There shouldn''t be any of that in safe Paidos.


    As he came to a street corner, a dark figure suddenly stepped forward. Josel tried to scream, but no sound came from his throat. Even his feet were bound, unable to move. At the same time, a hand grabbed his forearm and would not let go.


    Josel tried to break free, but the striker held firm.


    "Don''t move!" a man''s voice cooed from the hood.


    Frantic Josel looked around: the street was still deserted, and no one would come to help.


    Then the assailant''s hood fell. The light from the streetlamp fell just in time to reveal the most horrible face Josel had ever seen in his life.


    The man''s lips were badly bruised, as if torn off by some kind of tool. The lipless mouth was stuck in a grimace, revealing teeth and gums that made Josel sick. So did the raised scars that criss-crossed the man''s face. Even the stranger''s gaze was disgusting to meet, for whites of his eyes yellowed morbidly.


    "Congratulations on your victory, Josel Sandkan," an unfamiliar old man¡¯s voice croaked, though it was hard to tell his age from the mutilated face.


    "How do you know my name?" Josel asked, unable to hide the fear in his voice.


    "I''ve been watching you. I¡¯m Kal¡¯ditha, give your father my regards. Don''t forget, Kal''ditha," the stranger rasped, looking at Josel with devilish, burning eyes.


    Then the grip on his arm loosened and Josel found himself free. Without a moment''s hesitation, he darted away, but stumbled and fell to his knees in pain. The barking laughter of the scarface came from behind him.


    Josel winced and pushed himself to his feet. When he turned to look, all the streetlights were lit up again, but the scar-faced stranger was nowhere to be seen. It was as if he had vanished into the darkness of the night.


    The stranger''s eerie laughter still echoed in Josel''s head as he stood alone in the street, trying to catch his breath. His hand tingled where the scarface had held it, and the pounding heart refused to calm down.


    Could the lipless horror return? Or summon something even more terrifying? A shiver ran through Josel¡¯s body and a voice in his head told to hurry home.


    * * *


    Only in the hallway of his home could Josel really catch his breath. What had happened in the street now seemed distant, a kind of nightmare that had passed and would be forgotten with the dawn.


    He looked around and noticed a light shining from the living room. From that direction came the sound of soft footsteps and then Josel''s father entered the hallway.


    "Well done, Josel! I received the news of your victory this afternoon. I''m sorry I couldn''t come to the hills to watch," Andreuz Sandkan said with a smile on his face and gave a clumsy pat on Josel''s shoulder. "You must be tired, but perhaps you could tell me about the race," he added.


    The suggestion sent a warm feeling through Josel''s chest. Usually, Dad didn''t have time to talk because he was constantly interrupted by work or something more important.


    Josel followed his father into the living room, determined not to spoil a rare moment by telling him about the frightening stranger. Maybe what had happened was just a coincidence; after all, the lipless man didn''t have to mean anything.


    Despite the late hour, Josel, sitting at the lounge table, told his father about the race from the beginning to the last whistle. He would probably never tire of explaining his victory.


    Andreuz nodded his head in agreement and asked a few clarifying questions. When Josel mentioned the congratulations from magister Hamus, his father''s smile widened. Usually, Andreuz Sandkan''s ears only heard reprimands from teachers about how his son should concentrate more on his schoolwork.


    Almost half an hour passed during this conversation. As his father began to prepare to go to bed, Josel began to feel that he could not remain silent about the strange encounter after all. "Dad, I met someone on the street who sent you a message. There was something strange about it...the man said ''greetings from Kal''ditha''."


    "What did you say? Repeat!" Andreuz Sandkan''s eyes flashed with sudden uncertainty and fright. "What did the messenger look like?" he demanded in a voice so frantic that Josel became a little worried.


    Josel described the disfigured man as accurately as he could.


    His father rose from his chair and muttered to himself, "Strange, very strange.¡± Then Andreuz made up his mind and said firmly, "I must go out. You stay inside."


    "Why? Who is this Kal''ditha?"


    "Don''t ask questions, it''s safer not to know."


    "But I want to know!"


    "Josel, enough. Listen to me. If I''m not back by eight in the morning, go straight to the imperial governor of Paidos and tell him something has happened to me. Only the governor can help you then.¡±


    "Curtus!" Andreuz shouted, pulling on the wire leading to the attic, causing the bell upstairs to ring. Curtus Jerovann was an old man who lived in the attic of the Sandkan house, acting as Josel''s father''s personal assistant and looking after their home. This had been the case since Josel was a very small child. Since his mother''s death, most of the Sandkan family''s chores had been left to Curtus.


    Before long, Curtus was stumbling down the stairs with a knife hanging from his belt. He could tell from Andreuz''s tense expression that something was wrong. Curtus brushed his grey hair and waited for an explanation.


    Curtus did not have the habit of talking too much, which often led guests to think he was just a servant. In reality, the relationship between Josel''s father and Curtus was an equal friendship, and the old man was not an indiscriminate executor of Andreuz Sandkan''s orders.


    "Josel was accosted in the street by someone who said his name was Kal''ditha. Do you understand?" Andreuz explained, giving a brief description of the man''s appearance.


    The words made Curtus shudder and rake his hair twice as hard. "Damn it! There''s something ominous about this..." he stated but did not go any further.


    "I agree. We need to find out why this Kal''ditha is approaching us," Andreuz said and continued towards the front door, nodding, "Come on, let''s go."


    "What about the lad?" Curtus asked, glancing at Josel with a hint of concern on his face.


    "He''s safer here."


    Josel had followed the conversation in silence, but his father''s concern had begun to catch up with him. Something very serious was clearly at stake, for Dad was still saying, "You''d better lock the door and not open it for anyone but me and Curtus."


    "What if someone else comes to the door?" Josel asked.


    "For your own safety, pretend you''re not home."


    The men began to leave. In the corridor, the father repeated what he had just said, "Josel, remember the governor if we are not back by morning."


    Josel nodded, although he did not understand. What would an important person like Dareis Monteilon, the imperial governor of Paidos, care about the one-night absence of a family man?


    He did not have time to wonder aloud, because his father and Curtus were already on their way to the stairwell. Josel stood in the middle of the floor for a moment, then hurried to place the iron latch on the front door.


    Would a light latch be enough to stop the lipless stalker? The thought of the man rattling the door set Josel''s hair on end. He rushed into the kitchen and rummaged through the drawers until he found what he was looking for. The knife looked sharp, but how did they fight with it?


    A knife in his hand, Josel sank into a soft armchair in the lounge. Thoughts raced through his mind. The situation was too difficult to comprehend.


    His father had also been acting strangely for a long time, always on guard, watching Josel''s movements with almost paranoid attention. The father was clearly weighed down by some worry or burden he could not speak of. It had been like this since the death of his mother.


    A wave of sadness hit Josel every time he thought of his mother. It was almost two years ago. It was almost two years ago. She had been on her way home from the market when a cart loaded with vegetables broke loose and rolled downhill at full speed. Idalae Sandkan was crushed under it and died instantly.


    After Josel¡¯s mother''s death, there was no joy in the Sandkan home. Dad was buried in his work, even if it was not work in the true sense of the word. While the fathers and mothers of Josel''s schoolmates worked as craftsmen, merchants or imperial officials, his own parents'' career choices were rather unusual.


    Idalae Sandkan was essentially a housewife but had achieved moderate success in the cultural circles of Paidos with her landscape paintings. Andreuz Sandkan, on the other hand, was a writer whose adventure novels sold poorly.


    Despite modest book sales, the Sandkans'' home was never short of anything. There was often a selection of whole meats on the dining table, the furniture was custom carved, and Josel''s wardrobe was full of stylish clothes.


    Otherwise, life was unadorned and backward. Andreuz and Idalae were not seen in the social circles of Paidos, and the parents had no close friends to invite to their home. They had not answered their son''s inquiries about the reasons for their reticence.


    The unusual blondness of the Sandkan family was also curious. Unlike the darkish-featured Dimali people of Andiol Empire, Josel had blue eyes and wavy golden hair. His mother had been very fair-haired and fair-skinned, and his father had sandy hair.


    By the age of ten, Josel had made the connection between his own whiteness and the traders who had come to Paidos from far to the west. His parents, however, had evaded his barrage of questions, merely acknowledging that the family came from a vaguely distant place. Of course, the other children had noticed Josel''s unusual appearance and he had been nicknamed Goldy from an early age.


    * * *


    Andreuz and Curtus did not return within an hour or two. All the while, Josel had been pondering the strange encounter, trying to weigh it up from every angle. He had been unable to make sense of the situation. Finally, he had fallen asleep on an armchair in the lounge, with the knife for protection.


    It was early morning when he was awakened by the sound of voices echoing from the staircase. Without daring to turn on the lamp, Josel crept into the hallway. The handle of the knife clung to his sweaty palm.


    Suddenly the latch clanged on the doorframe. Someone was trying to get in! Josel''s heart jumped into his throat. He did not know what to do.


    He took a few steps back, thinking about hiding. Then, from behind the door, came the familiar, firm voice of his father, telling him to lift the latch. Josel calmed down and hurriedly opened the door to the stairwell. Rain-soaked Andreuz and Curtus stepped into the hallway.


    "No need to stab me, lad," Curtus said gently after seeing what Josel was holding.


    Embarrassed Josel put his weapon down. Waiting for an explanation, he stood and watched as the men peel off their wet outerwear.


    Andreuz Sandkan put a hand on his son''s shoulder. "Josel, as I said, it is better that you know nothing more at this point. For now, the most important thing is that you avoid the stranger you met at all costs. If you see him, run away and come and tell me."


    Josel sighed in frustration and, without answering, staggered back to his room. He threw himself onto his bed and almost immediately fell into a restless sleep, filled with kites curving in the sky and hooded strangers lurking in the streets.


    * * *

 Chapter 2

    Andreuz


    Paidos, Andiol Empire


    The stands surrounding the Great Arena were packed with townspeople. It was as if all of Paidos had come out to celebrate an official holiday.


    Dozens of yellow-red flags of Andiol were hoisted above the stands, fluttering proudly in honour of the day whenever wind caught them. The slightest breeze was certainly welcome, as the people, packed tightly together, sweated in the spring sunshine.


    The choir, accompanied by musical instruments, finished its performance and made way for a group of young dancers. Soon the audience was clapping along to the swirling beat of the dancing and music. There was something so liberating about the celebration that for a moment Andreuz Sandkan felt the need to smile with the others. Almost, at least.


    All too familiar worries were circling in his head and the scarface Josel had met haunted the most current of them. Andreuz wished he had more wisdom to put the pieces together, but his reflections with Curtus had been fruitless.


    Perhaps taking part in the Spring Day festival would bring a little relief from worrying. Besides, of all Andiol''s celebrations, it was the carnival-like Spring Day that he happened to like best.


    A variety of merrymakers, jugglers and jesters entertained the crowd at the market, where traders and craftsmen had also come to display their wares. The market tables were full of all kinds of food for sale, and the people swarmed around them. Such was a Spring Day in Paidos.


    The most spectacular celebrations were always held in the capital, Dimalos, where the emperor was traditionally received by a parade of troops marching down the main street under the triumphal arches. Paidos was just a medium-sized provincial town, far from the imperial capital. Perhaps that is why the Spring Day there lacked the same military and nationalistic spirit as in Dimalos or other major cities of western Andiol.


    Why should I be interested in this kind of dim-witted sabre-rattling, Andreuz wondered. Andiol was not even his homeland. Anything but.


    Then the buglers blew a fanfare as the school procession entered the arena. Along with the rest of the audience, Andreuz watched as pupils of different ages were arranged into a formation on the field.


    The Spring Competition held during the last week would culminate in a formal award ceremony, followed by a break from school for up to a month. In an age-old tradition, starting on the Spring Day, parents would have their children help out on the farms with the sowing. However, as people increasingly moved from rural to urban areas, the original meaning of the celebration had in many ways become blurred.


    The students wore their school colours, and it took Andreuz only a moment to spot a golden-haired head in the light blue rows of the Gatewell School.


    While most of the other 16-year-olds knew how to settle down for a dignified event, Josel swayed from side to side in his standing place and jokingly nudged one of his friends.


    Andreuz shook his head. Josel was still immature, just entering adulthood. It was probably better to let him enjoy his youth for now, unaware of the ultimate dangers. How long that would be possible, Andreuz did not know.


    He had sensed a change. A storm was brewing, and it made him uneasy.


    * * *


    The occasion continued with the distribution of certificates. Teachers called out the students'' names one by one, starting with the youngest. Those who heard their name jumped out of line to collect their certificates from the school magisters standing on a podium in the middle of the field, and just as quickly returned to formation again.


    The children''s bouncing and quick bows to the teachers were entertaining enough to watch, but Andreuz''s mind wandered elsewhere - to troubles old and new.


    His eyes darted from the students to the fenced-off section of the stand where the dignitaries of Paidos were seated. At first he saw the tall, straight figure of Dareis Monteilon, the imperial governor, seated between two bodyguards.


    Monteilon''s position had deteriorated considerably during the year. The powerful Shadow Cross organisation was unhappy with the province¡¯s governor and had the support of many of the major professional factions in the Town Council.


    The name ''Shadow Cross'' left a bad taste in Andreuz''s mouth. In fact, every time he heard it, he felt like spitting a snotty lump on the floor.


    The Shadow Cross was skilfully organised and had an impeccable public image. Originally founded hundreds of years ago to protect the rights of peasants, it had spread to the cities of Andiol and extended its activities to all sectors of society. The organisation was a spectacular provider of aid to the poor, participating in charitable projects that were beyond the means of the Empire.


    Andreuz''s eyes moved from Monteilon to the Shadow Cross leaders sitting a little to his left. With his long black hair, dark goatee and thick eyebrows, the narrow-faced man who stood out was Isendar Vargan, the Shadow Cross¡¯ regional director in Paidos.


    As a man who cared about the problems of ordinary people, Vargan enjoyed great popularity. Andreuz could see through the lies, but he was only one man and could not do much for his stronger ones.


    Next to Vargan sat a woman in her early forties, her trademark dark hair artfully braided over her head. She was Nadaila Tomsto, the chair of the Shadow Cross group in the Town Council. There were also several other Shadow Cross leaders, whom Andreuz did not know by name.


    In the stand, from the Shadow Cross to the right, sat more chairs of the Town Council factions, key officials, and other invited guests. Andreuz could recognise the leader of the Merchants'' Guild, with forehead furrows and often depicted in newspaper cartoons, and the influential head of the Women''s Labour Union.


    Next to Governor Monteilon sat the town councillor Immos Duhan, a short man but a high administrative authority in Paidos. He was responsible for implementing the decisions of the Town Council and the governor.


    Then, under the gaze and murmurs of the crowd, a new person was ushered into the fenced-off section of the stand. The beautiful woman had long hazel hair and a stately posture. Mrs Elyssa Monteilon, the governor¡¯s wife, sat in the compartment next to her husband.


    In Paidos, all sorts of malicious rumours circulated about the Monteilons'' relationship. The tattlers at the market kept saying that one of them had been unfaithful to the other. Of course, in the gossip about the Monteilons, the betrayal was always linked to sexual deviance or relationships with other prominent people in the town. Andreuz was not interested to know if there was any truth in the rumours.


    Dareis Monteilon said something to his wife and pointed his finger across the field towards the line-up of the White Court School, where their son Zdain stood in his dark blue school uniform. Andreuz noticed that the boy had inherited much of his mother''s good looks.


    Zdain was the same age as Josel and had attended the same school in Gatewell few years earlier. In the middle of the previous year, however, he had transferred to the White Court School. It was rumoured that young Monteilon was only nominally a student at White Court, receiving all his lessons from his tutors.


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    Not even a governor could take his son to a fully private school. It would have been unthinkable for a high official of the Empire to show such insolent contempt for the state school system. Free education was a matter of national pride in Andiol, and at least in Paidos there were no separate schools for rich and poor children.


    Zdain Monteilon and Josel happened to be very evenly matched in sports, and as a result they had become each other''s worst rivals in every discipline. Besides, from what Josel had said, Zdain was a real pain in the ass and deserved all the ridicule he could get. Andreuz did not believe in such things. Josel was Josel and sometimes a bit hard to deal with. His mother''s son, in many ways...


    Andreuz quickly shook off the distracting thoughts. He had promised himself not to think about Josel''s mother. Especially on a day like this.


    He awoke grateful for a blast of horns. The senior students had received their diplomas and the most anticipated part of the ceremony, the awarding of prizes for the Spring Competition, could begin.


    Dareis Monteilon and his assistants had made their way to the podium in the middle of the field. Prizes were to be awarded according to age and gender in each of the nine disciplines: fencing, steeplechase, running, archery, kite fighting, long jump, discus, swimming, and wrestling. Since wrestling was generally considered an unwomanly sport in the Empire, girls did not compete in it at all. Kite fighting, on the other hand, was the only sport in which girls and boys competed in the same series. Winning it was therefore highly prized, despite the relatively low physical demands of the sport.


    The governor¡¯s assistant stood on the podium and spoke into the loudspeaker, reading out the names of the age group winners: "Girls, third grade, winners, running: Dai Sadsa, steeplechase: Paede Loreidon..."


    Dozens of names whizzed past Andreuz''s ears before the announcer reached Josel''s age group. Now he sharpened his hearing. "Boys, ninth grade, winners, running: Malken Daofon, steeplechase: Jond Tammreion, fencing: Jovan Merfakoi, long jump: Malken Daofon, discus: Remos Matisof, kite fighting: Josel Sandkan, swimming: Pertus Barifand, archery: Tenn Tarfartian, wrestling: Leon Emmertes."


    As Malken from the Eastgate School had won two events, eight youngsters ran to the podium. In mixed order, they stepped up to the podium to receive the applause of the audience and the winner''s trophies.


    Andreuz watched as Josel climbed the steps to the podium with as much dignity as possible and bowed to Governor Monteilon, as was the custom. Moments later, the official placed a wreath of leaves on his blond locks.


    When Josel soon returned to his place in the line-up, Andreuz noticed that he himself was trembling a little. It was probably a mixture of pride and sadness.


    Every year it became harder to protect Josel from the world around him. The mutilated stranger had been a warning of sorts - Andreuz was sure of it now. There were forces walking in the night that would not hesitate to use violence to achieve their goals.


    * * *


    The Spring Day celebrations in the Great Arena ended, as usual, with a speech by the imperial governor. Straight as a stake, Dareis Monteilon stood at the podium.


    After receiving the signal to begin from the town councillor, he began to speak through a tinny loudspeaker. "Dear citizens of Paidos! Today we celebrate the Spring Festival, the twenty-second anniversary of the reign of His Imperial Highness, Saveir I. Glory be to the emperor, whose good governance has made Paidos flourish today. We have just rewarded young athletes. In them lies the future of Paidos, the future of all the brave Dimali people. Surely the same enthusiasm of the youth will be transmitted in the days to come for the good of Paidos and the whole Empire. I wish all the graduating students good luck and success in the years to come."


    At this point the Monteilon took a short break. There was scattered applause from the audience. Many of the governor''s officials clapped vigorously, but the Shadow Cross¡¯ regional director Isendar Vargan crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his seat.


    The governor continued. "This past spring has been a good one for Paidos. The town is in order, and the crop prospects are promising. There is good reason to believe that Paidos is going to continue to develop in the same favourable direction..."


    Dareis Monteilon had no time to finish his sentence, for Isendar Vargan had risen in the stands and his voice, amplified by a loudspeaker, carried across the arena. "Governor, I disagree. Spring has not been good for everyone in Paidos. Just because the governor and his minions are living large doesn''t mean the citizens are doing well."


    There was some applause from the audience. Monteilon seemed stunned by the interruption, which Andreuz assumed was unprecedented in the history of Spring Day speeches.


    Meanwhile, town councillor Immos Duhan had got hold of a loudspeaker: "Vargan, I ask you to present your opinion to the Town Council. Please allow the imperial governor to continue his speech."


    "Is the town councillor trying to prevent the public from hearing the truth about Monteilon''s mismanagement?" Vargan replied in a booming voice that drew cheers from the audience.


    Monteilon shifted uneasily on the podium and said: "Vargan, no one is stopping you from speaking, but I would like you to leave it for another occasion. Today is a day of unity in Paidos, not of discord."


    "Governor, I think I''ll speak today. The people of Paidos deserve to hear what an unworthy ruler you are."


    "Don''t insult the governor!" the tiny town councillor shouted, but he could not continue as a pair of Shadow Cross men had snatched the speaker out of his hand.


    Things were getting heated in the fenced-off stand. Some of the officers had stood up and, judging by their gestures, were demanding that Vargan be silenced. Instead, some members of the trade factions were vehemently urging Vargan to continue. The helpless councillor waved his hands in vain, not knowing what to do without his loudspeaker.


    Isendar Vargan continued: "Listen! The governor tells falsehoods when he claims that the spring has been good for the people of Paidos. Or does he think the rise in the price of bread and the increased tax burden are good things? Maybe they are good for him. The governor is glad to see the poor people''s coins flowing into his coffers."


    "Stop your lies!" Monteilon barked at Vargan but was met with clenched fists and angry exclamations from the stands.


    "While the governor sat in his palace counting the money he had stolen from the people of Paidos, the Shadow Cross helped poor families buy bread. The Shadow Cross has helped the sick who could not afford the expensive fees of the town infirmaries. Likewise, the Shadow Cross has compensated losses to merchants who have been victims of accidents and robbery," Vargan said, drawing a roar of cheer from the crowd.


    Dareis Monteilon realised his moment had come. "That is full of..." he began angrily but could get no further as Vargan''s voice overwhelmed the arena.


    "All of this has been done by the Shadow Cross while the governor is in bed with the whore boys and the governor¡¯s wife is sharing herself in the civil servants¡¯ offices."


    This caused a huge uproar in the audience. Some laughed at Vargan''s words, some shouted accusations at Monteilon and a few demanded Vargan to stop his offensive speech, but their voices were drowned out by the din.


    Andreuz found it hard to keep still. He wanted to intervene and stand up for governor. But that was not possible, in public he and Dareis Monteilon did not know each other.


    "Look!" someone sitting nearby yelled. In the fenced-off section of the stands, Elyssa Monteilon was making her way out of the arena, protected by security guards. All sorts of small objects, such as leaflets crumpled into balls, flew at her from the crowd.


    Now Nadaila Tomsto of the Shadow Cross had also risen from her seat and raised the loudspeaker to her mouth. "Why are you running away, harlot? Did the truth hit you too hard?" she jeered after Elyssa Monteilon, who had disappeared through the arena doorway. The mocking words drew wild applause from the crowd.


    "Never insult my wife!" Dareis Monteilon snapped from the stage. "Let me finish. It''s all an outrageous lie. I have been determined to improve..." Monteilon''s speech was drowned in a storm of protests joined by Vargan and Tomsto on their loudspeakers.


    Andreuz glanced at the field. The schoolchildren had been infected by the frenzy in the stands and their formation had broken up into a seething horde. Josel and his friends were also hollering along with the others. Andreuz was annoyed, but there was nothing he could do about it either.


    Things were getting out of hand. The crowd was screaming for the sheer joy of it. There were attempts to throw rubbish at Dareis Monteilon from the stands, but the distance was too great. Monteilon tried twice more to continue his speech, but the furious roar of the crowd forced him into silence.


    Then the governor¡¯s carriage rolled up to the podium. It was drawn by a team of four horses. Immos Duhan, the town councillor, who had run to the field in a panic, waved frantically for Dareis Monteilon to get in. He seemed to refuse at first, but then changed his mind and hurried into the carriage, the door held open by a guard. Amid shouts of derision, the carriage sped out of the arena.


    At this point, the teachers, who were upset themselves, realised that they should get their pupils back on track. Starting with the smallest and clearly frightened, they were herded out of the arena. The departure was disorganised and there was no sign of the previous order.


    Once Josel''s class had been safely ushered off the field, Andreuz rose from his seat and pushed his way to the doors. He had seen enough. Paidos no longer felt like the same town where his family had found shelter from the enemy fifteen years ago.


    * * *

 Chapter 3

    "Our Empire has long been under pressure from many threats. While the Shadow Cross likes to flex its muscles, it can only undermine order in our homeland. Far more unpredictable is the republican opposition, whose efforts we have been following closely here at Military Headquarters. So far, attempts to crush the opposition movement have been unsuccessful.


    So much for domestic affairs. Let us now move on to the real subject of my speech, the external threats that our armed forces are supposed to combat.


    The issue of Malkania has been the subject of strategic reflection for decades. The desire of the Council of Grand Dukes of Malkania to accelerate the arms race is well known. The war of prevention has always had strong supporters among our generals and in the Senate - I will return to their arguments afterwards. Personally, however, I see no possibility of diverting troops for an operation against the West, given the current resource situation. The situation in the East is so critical.


    In my youth I fought in the East on the fields of the Never-Ending War. The front was much more stable then than it is today. Yet there are no indications of an end to the long period of trench warfare. The Ksingis have neither the courage nor certainly the ability for large-scale operations or the usurpation of the upper hand. But neither do we. The shortage of men has worsened on all sections of the front and there are not enough reinforcements without conscription. And in the current political situation, the emperor has no desire to call up men for military service.


    The East has been Andiol''s fate for decades, and without a solution to the problem of the Never-Ending War, it will remain so. Therefore, I say no to an invasion of Malkania."


    - Excerpt from Marshal General Rezak Vondau''s review at the Headquarters of the Imperial Army of Andiol, Autumn 1591.


    * * *


    Josel


    The morning had already turned to day before Josel finally woke up. Last night''s celebration of Spring Day had lasted until late. He had wandered around the city with his best friends, checking out all the young people''s hangouts, just in case there were any interesting girls.


    It had been carefree fun, but Josel had still had to struggle during the evening to keep in the party mood. More than once he had to peer over his shoulder to make sure a certain lipless creeper was not lurking in the shadows. With an excuse, he had avoided walking home alone.


    Josel rubbed his head, which was aching from a slight hangover. Eventually, the unpleasant thoughts gave way to the brightness of the day. Stretching his limbs lazily, he staggered to the sink in his room, poured water from the tap into a basin and quickly washed up himself.


    The cold water refreshed nicely. After washing, Josel hastily brushed his teeth and looked for clothes to wear. Luckily, the ridiculous school uniform could be left at the bottom of the wardrobe for a whole month until the second term of the year began.


    After getting dressed, he looked in the mirror. White undershirt, sleeveless vest and slim-fitting trousers looked good on his lithe body. The light colour of the waistcoat matched his hair so well that Josel grinned smugly at his reflection.


    He skipped down the stairs to the lounge, whistling to himself. Dad and Curtus were not there, but were talking in the study. The door was ajar, so Josel pricked up his ears to hear. Unfortunately, the men had probably noticed that he was awake and were therefore speaking deliberately quietly. Josel could, however, make out concern in their voices and individual words such as ''Monteilon'' and ''the Shadow Cross''.


    Josel gave a grumpy sneer. Why was he still being treated like a little child who wasn''t allowed to listen to grown-up talk? Surely a 16-year-old was old enough to understand more serious matters.


    Annoyed, he crossed the lounge to the kitchen, hoping to find something warm to eat. Unfortunately, the pots and pans left on the gas stove were running dry. It was something Josel had grown accustomed to since his mother''s death. Curtus tried his best in the kitchen, but he did not have time to handle everything.


    Luckily, Josel found a piece of stale bread in the cupboard and, after descending the stairs to the cold store, a cheese, ham and butter. At least they¡¯d fill you up, he thought as he sliced the ham onto a plate.


    As Josel munched on his late breakfast, Andreuz Sandkan came into the kitchen and wished his son a good morning.


    "I was thinking of going out," Josel said.


    "Okay, but be careful. The situation in town is volatile."


    "Oh, because of yesterday?"


    "Yes," Andreuz replied. "It is said that clashes between the Shadow Cross gunmen and the governor''s soldiers were narrowly avoided."


    "Why doesn''t the governor resign if he has mismanaged so badly?" Josel wondered.


    It made his father frown. He said in an angry voice: "Do not believe Isendar Vargan''s lies, too many have already gone to believe them."


    The answer did not please Josel. Why shouldn''t the Governor''s actions be questioned? His father''s constant negativity towards the Shadow Cross also irritated him. After all, the organisation had done far more for the town in that year than the Governor had probably done in his entire term of office.


    Wanting to challenge his father, Josel said: "Who knows, maybe Vargan is telling the truth."


    He shouldn''t have done that, because Andreuz slammed his palm on the table and said: "Son, you must remember that those shadow dogs never tell the truth, never. The Shadow Cross is not tolerated in this house, you know that!"


    Who was Dad to dictate the opinions of others! Josel jumped up from his chair. "Why do you always defend that perverted Monteilon? At least Vargan is helping the townspeople and not just playing in bed with who knows who!"


    Without warning, Andreuz''s hand slashed through the air. Josel cried out as the open palm struck his ear.


    "Think about what you''re saying, kid!" Andreuz shouted, his face red.


    Josel pressed his hand to his ear. It hissed and burned.


    Curtus came into the kitchen. "What''s going on...?" he said before Josel stormed out of the kitchen without looking at his father.


    Josel darted into the hallway, snatched the house key from the nail and slammed the front door behind him.


    Once outside, he strode down the street in a rage and with no clear destination in mind. The slap still left a sting around his ear. Why did Dad have to be so stubborn! Why on earth did he have to defend that jerk governor!


    As he walked, the anger began to subside. Josel realised that he had walked quite far, to a part of town called Belfry Hill, where he rarely visited. His home, school and the sports ground - the most important landmarks in his life - were in the other direction.


    Belfry Hill was known for its many manufactories, where weavers, platers and other workers made products for the people of Paidos. In Belfry Hill was also located the Headquarters of the Shadow Cross, and the area was said to be under the organisation''s special protection.


    The soldiers of the City Guard were nowhere to be seen. In their place on Belfry Hill stood the watchmen known as the shadow sentries, their grey and black jackets emblazoned with the emblem of the Shadow Cross: a cross and a much larger shadow. Josel could only guess how many other shadow sentries were roaming the streets, disguised as ordinary townspeople.


    Reflecting on the extraordinary situation of Paidos, he realised that he had come to a peaceful park. A wooden bench in the shade of a huge linden tree beckoned him to rest his feet. After sitting down on the bench, Josel took his time observing the townspeople passing by. You could feel the tension in Paidos in their hurried movements.


    Josel began to feel thirsty. He was about to return home when he noticed someone approaching the bench. Josel quickly pressed his backside against the bench and just stared.


    The girl was tall and strikingly beautiful. Her raven-black hair, typical in southern Andiol, fell to her shoulders. Her oval face was charming and her dark eyes were captivating.


    "Hey, can I sit next to you?" the dark beauty asked in a voice without a trace of shyness.


    "Of course, there''s plenty of room for two," Josel managed to say, trying to estimate the newcomer''s age. A little older than himself, perhaps?


    The girl sat down gracefully on a bench and looked at Josel without flinching. Josel didn''t really know what to think. Was the stranger interested in him, or was she just curious? It was so hard to find out about girls, especially the girls at Josel''s school.


    Josel thought he was one of the most popular boys in school. Or at least his golden hair was the object of the girls'' inexhaustible interest. That''s why Josel didn''t mind being lighter than the others and never refused the attention he received.


    Still, he had not been able to go all the way with the girls. A few kisses and some tentative caresses in the park next to the school - that was all. For some reason, the girls were looking for serious dating rather than passionate moments in a secluded place.


    It was hard to understand. In his own mind, Josel was too young to commit to anyone. He just wanted to find a nice girl to try things out with. What more did a young man need? There would be plenty of time for dating later.


    Perhaps the girl on the bench was like that, one who found nothing objectionable about having fun. Josel glanced at her from under his brows and decided to smile.


    It worked, because she finally opened up the conversation: "This park is my favourite place in Paidos. Isn''t it beautiful?"


    Josel had to admit.


    "You''re not from Belfry Hill, aren¡¯t you?"


    "How did you guess?" Josel wondered, adding, "I live in the Portwell area."


    "I would remember if you had sat here before."


    "Oh, you would remember?"


    "Yes, it would be hard to forget such a handsome boy with hair like that."


    The remark made Josel''s cheeks flush and she laughed lightly at his confusion.


    After a short silence, the beautiful girl introduced herself: "I''m Jolanda."


    "Josel," he replied, squeezing her hand. The hand was graceful and warm; Josel would have liked to hold it much longer.


    "Our names go well together. They start the same way," Jolanda remarked and burst out laughing again. Josel laughed too and found that he liked her.


    They chatted for a long time on the bench. Jolanda seemed interested in what Josel was doing and eagerly asked more questions. When Josel told her about his victory in the spring competition, Jolanda called him a sports hero and touched his bare arm lightly with her fingertips. The gesture sent a pleasant shiver trough his entire body.


    Jolanda scantly talked about herself. She said she was a shop assistant and lived in a women''s hostel nearby. Josel assumed that she was ashamed of her modest background and therefore did not bother to inquire further.


    As Josel had suspected, Jolanda was two years older than him, already eighteen. His ego was quite flattered that a slightly older girl would show such obvious interest in him.


    After a long chat, Jolanda started to leave, and Josel asked when they could meet again. Jolanda laughed and said she was afraid Josel would never ask.


    A meeting was quickly arranged for the following morning. Josel couldn''t help but smiling a stunned smile when Jolanda gave him a little kiss on the cheek as she got up from the bench.


    * * *


    As Josel walked home, he realised that it was already noon. The time with Jolanda had flown by. Was it mutual infatuation or what? Josel wasn''t sure, things had happened so quickly. In any case, Jolanda was very beautiful and fascinating.


    Suddenly he remembered the argument with his father. The anger had evaporated and been forgotten with the walk and the meeting with Jolanda. In fact, Josel was ashamed of the whole incident. Dad had enough to worry about, with Mom¡¯s death and all. He should try to be friendly when he got home, and Dad would get over it, as he always did.


    As Josel approached the house, he saw old Curtus sitting on the front porch, smoking his pipe and talking with Robs Nakof, the tailor who lived downstairs in their house.


    The Nakof family consisted of Robs, his wife Isebela and their children Davon and Casda, aged three and five. Even now, little Davon was running around the yard under his father''s supervision, pushing small toy carts.


    When he saw Josel, the little boy happily shouted "Josi!" and raced off, forgetting the cart in the middle of the road.


    Josel had occasionally looked after the tailor''s children when their parents were away. Davon and Casda must have thought of him as a sort of big brother. Josel found the little ones fun to play with, especially since he did not have a little sister or brother of his own.


    He nodded a greeting to Robs and Curtus before crouching down to listen to little Davon''s fuzzy explanation of a cat and its three kittens that Davon had seen behind the woodshed. After listening patiently to the child''s story, he ruffled his hair and walked over to Robs and Curtus.


    "Good to see you, lad. Your father has been worried, try not to upset him anymore. The last few days have been hard for Andreuz," Curtus said in his own calm way.


    Josel mumbled a yes, waved goodbye to Davon and stepped over the threshold through the open front door. The door to the right of the staircase led to the Nakof''s apartment and the tailor''s office. Directly ahead were the stairs leading up to the Sandkans'' apartment and Curtus'' attic room.


    When Josel opened the front door, the first thing he saw was his father pacing restlessly in the living room with a newspaper in his hand. Andreuz Sandkan''s face lit up with relief as he saw his son stumble into the hallway and hurried over to him.


    "Josel, don¡¯t think badly of this morning," Andreuz said. "You know I don''t usually... I was tired and I got upset for nothing. Of course you can say what you think."


    "Never mind...let''s leave it at that," Josel said, and everything was settled. Standing there face to face, he realised that he was not much shorter than his father, although Andreuz was a rather tall man.


    "Is there anything to eat?" Josel continued, not wanting to prolong the silly argument. Besides, his stomach was churning with hunger.


    "Curtus has prepared a meat and turnip stew, there''ll be plenty for tomorrow too."


    It was enough to make Josel rush to the kitchen. As he crossed the living room, he grabbed a fresh newspaper from the table. On the front page was a bulletin signed by Governor Monteilon himself, urging the citizens to remain calm and mentioning several projects recently launched by the imperial governor of Paidos. Josel thought that Monteilon''s self-congratulatory letter would not convince the people, especially when he remembered the hostility at the Spring Day celebration.


    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    Since his father had returned to his writing and probably wanted to be left alone, Josel climbed the stairs to his room after lunch. Although the room was cramped, Josel liked it, it was his own private space. The room was lit by a small double-paned window overlooking the wall of the house opposite. There was a bed along one long wall, a desk along the other, and a bookshelf with school books and all of Andreuz Sandkan''s literary works.


    Josel looked at the mess: heaps of clothes on the bed and the floor, and the junk piled up on the small table by the window. But he decided to postpone the cleaning and picked up one of his father''s books from the shelf. It was called Troubadour Kharl and the revenge of Masked Thief. Josel found the titles of his father''s books a little whimsical and exaggerated: The Bridge of Nao-Kartheon will explode! Stop it, Kharl!; or Troubadour Kharl, the hero of the whole Empire; or Masked Thief, the most dangerous of all enemies.


    Troubadour Kharl was the protagonist and hero of Andreuz Sandkan''s novels. He was a master swordsman, who also played the fipple flute, and in the books he went from one wild adventure after the other. Following a series of swift plot twists, Kharl did always outdo the villainous Masked Thief or one of his other devious enemies.


    In general, Josel had no interest in reading beyond compulsory schoolwork. For example, the novels he read for literature class at school were sleeplessly dry. At least the adventures of Troubadour Kharl were exciting, even if they were not the most important works of Andiol literature.


    He flopped into bed and took his time leafing through a novel about the revenge of Masked Thief.


    "At dawn, Troubadour Kharl saddled Gingerbread and took a last look at the map. The road to Dafrenheld Castle would be arduous and fraught with danger, but Kharl had to try. The Knife King''s diamond was worth it, worth more than life itself. "


    Josel yawned drowsy and turned the pages. He knew the story all too well. Soon Kharl would be in trouble, but of course he would be saved at the last minute. Why did the plots of the Troubadour Kharl novels always have to be so predictable? It was as if the father deliberately wrote simpler stories than he was capable of.


    Fortunately, the real life was much more interesting than books. Like Jolanda, who was impossible to forget. Not that Josel wanted to. Her kiss still warmed his cheek and his stomach tingled as he remembered their meeting on the park bench.


    The noises from the lounge interrupted Josel''s reverie. "Josel, your friends are here to see you," Curtus'' gruff voice announced from downstairs.


    At the same moment, the door to the room was flung open and three dark-haired, brown-eyed boys burst in. The tall, lanky young man with the most prominent nose and a look of eager curiosity on his face was Franz Landez, Josel''s best friend. He was followed by burly, round-faced Bartos Rigailon and good-looking curlyhead Darren Temjanion. The boys shouted cheerful greetings, and Josel smiled with delight. He had missed his friends already!


    "Goldy, what the hell! You''re just lying here, even though the sun is shining outside," Franz grumbled. "I got up early to see if the Governor had announced his resignation. He hadn''t! The neighbours said that today the town council..."


    The story was interrupted when a curly-haired Darren snatched the book out of Josel''s hand and spelled out the name on the cover. "Daddy''s stories again! With the help of these you..." he guessed, making a dirty gesture with his hand.


    "You can''t even read," Josel said back to Darren.


    This caused the boy to roar playfully and attack Josel. Soon Josel was lying on his stomach on the bed with his hand clenched behind his back. He knew he was very evenly matched in wrestling with Darren, but since neither of them were serious, Josel did not bother to put up a good fight.


    "Well, can I read?" Darren asked, grinning with the dimples on his cheeks, and twisted Josel''s arm a little harder.


    "Let me go...alright, you can read...", Josel growled, and Darren released his hand. "You can read as well as paint merchant Gekko''s old donkey."


    Josel laughed and ran from Darren behind Franz''s back. Darren tried to throw a pillow at Josel, but it hit Franz right in the face. A merciless pillow fight ensued. The calmer Bartos was content to watch from the sidelines with a wry smile on his face.


    Eventually the boys settled down and found seats in Josel''s room.


    Franz was sitting on Josel''s bed with his long legs crossed and his back against the wall. "That Vargan¡¯s attack yesterday was quite an incident," he said. "It''s going to be tough for poor Monteilon unless he gets reinforcements from the emperor for the Paidos City Guard."


    A pensive pause followed. An apologetic cough brought the floor to Bartos, whose father was a high official in the Paidos administration. "Dad said a lot depends on which side the merchants and other big factions in the Town Council take. That''s all he would say."


    "Boring! I don''t care who''s in charge," said Darren, who seemed more interested in starting a new pillow fight than discussing politics.


    The remark provoked Franz to argue against it. "It''s not the same at all! Monteilon is a scoundrel, but neither does the Shadow Cross care a whit for this country. If disorder grows in Andiol, the situation on the Eastern Front could worsen, or even Malkania could attack us from the west. The emperor and the army need the support of the entire nation behind them."


    It was a rather coy way of putting it, which the quick-witted Darren immediately picked up on. "Both places are fricking far! You should think about something normal; you sound like our history teacher. I mean that probably 100-year-old guy who hasn''t had a woman since he got off his mom''s tit."


    Josel saw Franz''s mouth tighten into a line. He had to think of something hastily to soothe him. "Let''s go out. To Saramanda''s Inn, for instance," Josel suggested.


    It was the magic word that swept away Franz''s sulk. "Indeed! It always happens there," he confirmed, his face beaming, and was on his feet in an instant.


    The others didn''t mind either: Darren could make himself comfortable anywhere, and it wasn''t like Bartos to complain. The decision was made, and soon they were out on the road. Since the tailor Nakof had gone in with little Davon, the journey to the tavern could continue without further delay.


    * * *


    They waited at the rail-carriage stop. Darren was throwing pebbles at the door handle of a grouchy-known shoemaker, clearly hoping for a little scuffle. While Bartos tried to make him stop, Josel thought about the morning scene at home. Why did Dad have to be so adamant in his defence of Governor Monteilon? It was probably pointless to ask, he would never have said.


    Franz''s foot stamped the ground, restless with anticipation. He had a habit of getting excited about anything that was the least bit exciting. And for Franz Landez, almost everything in the world was exciting, except the sales shifts in his mother''s general store.


    But Josel had not made his suggestion without a reason. Much was heard and seen in the brewery known as Saramanda''s Inn. It was the main gathering place in town for travellers, merchants and other mysterious strangers. Besides, the owner, a plump woman called Saramanda, was one of the few innkeepers willing to serve intoxicating drinks to people of Josel''s age.


    A whistle woke the four boys. A wagon was rattling towards them from up the hill, steam billowing from its pipe. It halted with a clamorous screech. A few jumps and they were on board.


    The rail-carriage began to move again. The stern-faced conductor did not seem pleased to have to deal with four noisy youngsters. Especially when a grinning Darren told him that he was broke. Fortunately, Bartos had enough coins in his wallet to save the day - as he always did.


    Josel liked to ride on the rail-carriages. They were an easy way to get from one side of town to the other, much faster than with an ordinary horse-drawn carriages. It was amusing to hear Curtus ramble on about how, in his youth, the first rail-carriages had only just been tested and their steam boilers had been bursting all the time. There were also no airships yet.


    Andiol must have been a much duller place to live in those days, Josel thought, and lifted his scabby shoes to the opposite bench - just to tease the conductor.


    * * *


    The sun was still high in the sky when Josel and his friends arrived at the door of Saramanda''s Inn. The famous tavern was on the ground floor of a three-storey stone building. On the upper floors, in addition to mistress Saramanda''s supposedly luxurious private quarters, were rooms for travellers and private chambers where the wildest drinking parties were said to take place.


    The boys, led by Franz, entered the great hall of the tavern, right in the middle of the action. Jars of beer were being tipped and many customers were about to dine. In the corner, cards were being played and dice thrown, but there was no music. Saramanda was known to have a deep dislike for all kinds of musicians and merrymakers, so no performers of any kind were allowed.


    After a little wrangling, the four of them chose a table near a chatty group of two Imperial Army soldiers on their day off and a civilian from Paidos sitting at the same table. Since the City Guard, rather than the army, was responsible for keeping order in the town, anyone in imperial military uniform was usually just passing through.


    The Never-Ending War in the east demanded more and more men to fuel it, and even in Paidos, army recruiters did their best to lure idle young men into service. The promise of a decent wage, or the sheer desire for adventure, led many to defy death and give up their freedom for the safety of the Empire.


    Josel had no interest in war, but Franz was probably ready to forge his age and join the army heading east. That was because the recruiters had filled his head with heroic tales of battles.


    This time it was Franz again, waving his thumb in the direction of the soldiers at the next table and telling his friends to pay attention. Darren rolled his head at him and pressed his palm to his cheek in imitation of a yawn. Franz''s eyes, however, fixed on the soldiers and he did not notice the sneer.


    Despite the background noise of the tavern, it was easy to make out the soldiers'' conversation, for they were getting drunk and talking in loud voices.


    "Nobart, do you like this beer? Or is it better at home?" the gangly soldier snarled at the man next to him and began to scratch his unshaven chin. Judging by his dialect, he was from further west.


    "Hah, I wouldn''t drink that goat¡¯s piss," Nobart replied. "There must be better tasting beer in the East. You aren¡¯t up for a fight if you can''t get a pint to fill your belly."


    A bystander at the same table chimed in. "The cheapest ale in Paidos is a feast next to the lager served in the taverns of the Eastern Front. I think you made a poor choice when you joined the army anyway."


    "What do you mean? At least I''m glad to have escaped the creditors this way," said the soldier with stubble.


    "Haven¡¯t you heard what awaits you in the East?"


    Both soldiers shook their heads.


    The civilian laughed harshly and replied for them, "Certain death awaits you."


    The boys listened in silence, almost holding their breath. It was exactly the kind of talk they had hoped to hear in Saramanda''s Inn. Josel noticed Franz craning his neck towards the soldiers to hear better.


    Franz found it even harder to contain his excitement as the civilian continued. "Angry creditors are nothing compared to the Eastern Front. You did a stupid thing when you signed the treaty. You''re in for a shitty time in the East. I don''t suppose the recruiter mentioned the ever-increasing attacks or the constant shortage of men? Of course, he didn''t mention - how else they could get more fools like you to join a pointless war."


    "What do you think you know, old man?" snapped the unshaven soldier.


    "I know a lot. I served six long years on the front line near Gloomfort, though Gloomfort no longer exists. It was destroyed by a Ksingi attack a few years ago. Only three men from our company survived the battle. Imagine, off the whole company! I was lucky to lose only this one," the civilian said, raising his hidden left hand. It had been cut off at the wrist.


    Josel took a sharp breath. Nobart and the unshaven man were also stunned. They looked at each other in obvious concern.


    Finally, the unshaven one spoke: "Things have certainly improved since you were here. I''ve read in the papers about the great victories at the front. This country needs new heroes, like the brave Marl Gaidok!"


    Franz nodded knowingly at his friends. Marl Gaidok, the most famous warrior of years past, was his greatest role model. Over the years, Josel, Bartos and Darren had grown tired of listening to Franz recount his exploits. Josel was grateful that Gaidok had been missing or dead for a dozen years. Otherwise, Franz would have sought him out and begged him to join the band of adventurers led by his hero.


    The armless veteran was not as impressed. He grunted in a mocking tone. "Phew, it''s all propaganda! They don''t want the people to know the truth. No great victories have been achieved in fifteen years."


    "What about the Farthest Pass?" the unshaven man reminded.


    The veteran took a long swig from his ale and shook his head heavily. "The Farthest Pass was no victory. It was averting total destruction. The lines are at breaking point and more men are dying than can be transported to the front. Even a hundred Marl Gaidoks would not save Andiol."


    Nobart was the first to reply. "But how is that possible? Everyone knows that our army is better equipped and more skilled in battle than the Ksingis''."


    "That may have been true in the past," the veteran explained. "The Ksingi army today is different from half a century ago. They don''t have as powerful weapons as we do, but they have harnessed the beasts of the East to their warfare. I myself have seen the fury hounds attack in the same formation as the Ksingis. If you don¡¯t know, they are canines, the size of small horses. I have seen them tear men to pieces with their fangs. And that''s not all. The enemy also possesses a strange magic that..."


    "That''s just bullshit!" barked the unshaven soldier.


    "Who says you''ve ever been at the front?" Nobart snorted, supporting his comrade.


    The veteran glared at the soldiers, but did not join the debate. "You''ll see," Josel heard him mutter.


    The soldiers were unconvinced by the veteran''s words, but the four boys at the next table were beaming with enthusiasm. The staff at Saramanda''s Inn had also noticed the noisy trio. A waitress, dressed in a white apron glared at the men so sternly that they lowered their voices.


    Next, the waitress turned her attention to the boys. She looked at Josel and the others for a moment, as if to see if they were old enough to order.


    "Okay, a beer for each of you and then you leave. This is not the place for someone so young," she said with motherly firmness.


    The boys'' grumbling did not change the waitress'' mind. So Bartos, who always had the most money, paid for all the drinks, despite the feeble protests of the others.


    Meanwhile, the soldiers at the next table sat in hushed silence. The handless veteran had risen from the table and made his way to the door. As he did so, a young lieutenant of the Imperial Army, in his neat service uniform, walked up to the soldiers.


    "Get a good rest today, men. We have a long march tomorrow," the lieutenant announced in a commanding tone. Then he strode briskly up the stairs to the upper quarters, where Saramanda was known to have arranged prostitutes to entertain the officers.


    Nobart grinned at the lieutenant''s back. "Brainless chump, the death will mow him down on the Eastern Front as surely as it will mow us down."


    "Shut up!" the unshaven man snarled. "Come on, I''ll kick your ass in a dice game." With that, they got up on one foot and hopped to the other end of the hall, where the gambling tables lured customers to spend their money.


    "Am I supposed to believe that?" Josel asked, sipping the beer the waiter had placed on the table. The newspapers reported the exact opposite of what was happening on the Eastern Front. That much Josel had read.


    "I certainly do!" Franz almost snapped. "Monteilon is afraid that the people would freak out if they heard here how things really are in the East."


    Josel was not so easily convinced. "Well, in that case, why doesn''t the Shadow Cross come clean?"


    Franz had no answer, so Bartos was able to share his views. "Perhaps the Shadow Cross doesn¡¯t want the people to be angry with the emperor, but only with Monteilon. It is more advantageous for the Shadow Cross to focus on the problems of Paidos. Vargan is playing a devious game. He is even more dishonest than Monteilon."


    "No," Franz interjected. "Monteilon is the lowest of the low when it comes to honesty. Somewhere on the level of the sneaky market vendors "


    Darren held up his finger. "Except that those vendors can''t cheat enough money to get whores in bed," he said, causing the others to chuckle.


    Franz clearly wanted to keep talking about war and took the floor before Darren''s next joke. "Still, the biggest deal is the Ksingis using the fury hounds!"


    "There are stories like that in my father''s books - fairy tales. The fury hounds aren¡¯t real," Josel said, although he knew from experience that Franz''s head would not turn.


    Even now, stubbornness and enthusiasm glowed in Franz''s cheeks. "The veteran had fought at the front for years. He¡¯d know how it is there," he said.


    "Maybe, but we''ve heard the old men twaddling before. They don¡¯t talk about the fury hounds in school or in the newspapers," Josel protested.


    "Phew, I don''t trust what the school or the Monteilon¡¯s papers says."


    Josel scowled and did not bother to argue any longer. While the more patient Bartos and Darren continued to discuss with Franz about the existence of the fury hounds, Josel let his gaze slip to the inn''s guests.


    A lone figure at a corner table caught his attention. The dark robes gave the figure a furtive appearance, especially when his face was hidden behind the hood.


    Josel found it odd. Plenty of people spent time in the pub with only their own thoughts and a bucket of beer for company, but why would anyone want to hide their face inside? It reminded Josel of the Troubadour Kharl books and the cunning Masked Thief, who wore a mask that partially covered his face when he disguised himself.


    Just as Josel was about to tear his gaze away from the lone figure, the stranger suddenly pulled his hood down and stared straight into his eyes. The man''s lips were grotesquely mutilated and the whites of his eyes flashed yellow. Then, with an equally swift movement, the hood returned to cover the scarred face.


    It felt as if every hair on his skin stood up. Josel shivered and wanted to jump up and take to his heels. Barely he managed to calm himself. Whatever his father and Curtus had done that night, it had not scared the lipless horror away.


    "What''s the matter, Goldy? You look like you ate a rotten apple." Franz asked, interrupting his ramblings about the monsters threatening the eastern parts of the realm.


    Josel shuddered. "Nothing... just get on with it."


    Franz furrowed his brow, knowing his friend well enough to see that something was wrong. But Darren''s banter about the breeding habits of fury hounds forced Franz to argue against it, and Josel could breathe a sigh of relief.


    Josel was equally sure that there was no point in alarming his father and Curtus by telling them of his new encounter with the lipless persecutor. After all, the man had done nothing wrong on either occasion. It was therefore difficult to understand his father''s panic.


    Even so, Josel could not help but be startled when he glanced back at the corner table and saw that it was empty. As if the hooded figure with yellow eyeballs and a battered face had never sat there.


    * * *


    When the last of the four had finished his beer, they made their way, somewhat reluctantly, towards the front door. Before they left, however, the boys managed to catch a glimpse of Saramanda herself. The illustrious owner of the tavern was wearing a green dress with an unusually open neckline. She was working behind the bar counter, bracelets jingling and heavy breasts swinging.


    The boys grinned at each other; the sight of the buxom ladycompletedthe visit. The next day, they had to find something equally interesting to do.


    Darren suggested going to the sports ground, which he thought was the best place in town for girl-watching. It was an easy excuse to persuade the others, even Franz, who despised sport. The curves of the track were already in Josel''s mind, and when Bartos muttered something approving about weightlifting, tomorrow''s agenda was set.


    Then Josel remembered his meeting with Jolanda. "Guys, if it¡¯s okay, let¡¯s not go until the afternoon."


    "So, what are you up to?" Franz wondered.


    "Josi has a girl!" the witty Darren exclaimed triumphantly.


    The correct guess made Josel blush and his friends roar with joy.


    "Who is it? Tell us now!" the trio pleaded in unison.


    Proud of his surprising success on the female front, Josel told all about his meeting with Jolanda. Others patted him on the back and congratulated him, as if everything about Jolanda was already clear. Together they decided to postpone their meeting.


    After saying goodbye to his friends, Josel took a walk home. A lot had happened in the past few days. First, he had won the kite fight, then he had met Jolanda. It seemed he had been almost too lucky. What if the hooded stranger was some kind of warning sign that one day his luck might be snatched away?


    Josel let his thoughts drift, realising that he had taken a longer detour than he had originally intended. The stroll seemed to have dispelled any miseries. Josel chuckled to himself. It was foolish to panic over the scarface. He was young, strong and having the time of his life. Nothing could stop him, ever.


    * * *

 Chapter 4

    "There has been a rapid improvement of technology in our beloved homeland. The results of Emperor Saveir''s and the Senate''s tireless efforts are beginning to show: manufactories of the most varied industrial products are now springing up in every town. Their pipes are blowing unprecedented wealth into Andiol, and in the coming years we will all be able to enjoy the fruits that the emperor has given to his people.


    We have also recently witnessed other changes since the days of our fathers. In a short time, airships have taken over the skies, making travel much easier. So have our new steamships on the seas, whose importance to intercontinental trade we have only just begun to taste. As technology continues to advance, these new modes of transport will surely become accessible to the ordinary citizens. I therefore believe that developments in this area will be much faster than expected.


    When we talk about technological developments in Andiol, we cannot fail to mention the leaps and bounds that military technology has improved in recent years. The cornerstone of our armament is that the Imperial Army''s weapons are far superior to those of our enemies. This has had positive results on the Eastern Front. I would argue, for example, that the recent heroic victory at Farthest Pass was due as much to the power of new rifle models and more effective artillery as to the bravery of our soldiers. They make an unbeatable combination: an Imperial Army just as brave, but better equipped.


    Time will tell whether the final victory over the enemy will be achieved in the near future. The progressive Emperor Saveir and the Senate have provided the means. Now it is the turn of our soldiers."


    - Inscription by Dareis Monteilon, Imperial Governor, in Paidos Gazette, published on 10th of Grindstone month, year 1588.


    * * *


    Josel


    It was the next morning and Josel was sitting in the kitchen with a steaming bowl of porridge in front of him. Andreuz Sandkan had gone to the printing house, so Josel was eating alone with Curtus.


    "Hey lad, why are you in such a hurry?" Curtus wondered as Josel shovelled porridge quickly into his mouth.


    "A meeting," Josel replied with a mouthful of food.


    "Oh, that means a girl," Curtus said, winking knowingly.


    Josel smiled a little, but didn''t bother to reveal more.


    When the porridge and sandwiches were finished, Josel hurried out. He told Curtus he would be back at two o''clock.


    He had put on the most stylish clothes he could find in his wardrobe. The trousers were dark grey and well-fitted, the shirt light blue and fashionably cut. Still, he felt insecure. What if Jolanda had forgotten the whole meeting, or had just come to say she wasn''t interested? Even though Josel himself had been dreaming about her all night.


    Thoughts raced through his head as he arrived at the meeting place in front of the Paidos Gasworks. Soon, Jolanda appeared from around the corner of the Gasworks building and in no time they were face to face. Josel''s heart leapt with joy as Jolanda hugged him in greeting.


    "It''s good to see you again," Jolanda whispered in his ear.


    Josel could not answer, he just wanted to concentrate on feeling the warm forms of the other''s body. Her scent was intoxicating and it made Josel dizzy. There was a hint of vanilla and some other spice.


    After some confused catching up, Jolanda suggested they go for a walk in the town. Josel immediately agreed. Without asking permission, Jolanda took his hand and Josel felt himself soaring like a kite.


    As they walked, Josel mentioned that he lived nearby. He also told her about his parents, and Jolanda was clearly moved by his mother''s fate. The girl stopped, ran her finger down Josel''s arm and said she was sorry for him.


    When it came to Josel''s father, Jolanda said: "Yes, I know Andreuz Sandkan. I''ve read his novels, Kharl as the Knife King''s prisoner is really exciting." She continued: "I¡¯d love to meet your father one day. That is, if you ever want to see me again." The girl''s voice trailed off and her gaze was expectant.


    A warm wave ran through Josel''s body and he hurried to answer: "Of course I''d like to see you again. I''ve never met anyone like you."


    A smile lit up Jolanda''s face, reaching her eyes. For Josel, they were incredibly beautiful eyes, like dark jewels that sparkled.


    As they talked, they stopped in a quiet side street. There Jolanda took Josel''s hand. The touch made the boy flinch.


    "I think I want to kiss you," she announced, and without waiting, her soft lips met his mouth.


    His legs almost gave out from the surprise. Josel was not used to a girl being so proactive. Somehow, though, he pulled himself together and managed to return the kiss. His other hand found its way from under Jolanda''s hair to the nape of her neck, where he gently stroked the soft skin.


    The kiss became more and more demanding. They embraced and devoured each other''s lips. Jolanda''s delicate fingers roamed over Josel''s shoulders. Eventually they found their way from the collar of his shirt to Josel''s chest.


    The girl''s touch felt a gentle pinch in his stomach and lifted his skin to goosebumps. Josel found himself becoming aroused. Jolanda must have noticed too, for they were in each other''s arms.


    When their mouths parted for a moment, Jolanda whispered: "You''re so hot," and shamelessly pressed her hips against his.


    Later, when Josel recalled the situation, he thought they could have gone who knows how far. But to their disappointment, the heated moment came to a rude end when an angry old hag burst into the alley from one of the gateways.


    The old woman began to shout, calling Josel and Jolanda "indecent troublemakers". This made the youngsters laugh, loosen their grip on each other and run out of the alley, away from the old woman.


    As they rounded the corner, Josel and Jolanda looked at each other. Their hair were a mess and their lips were red, leaving no doubt as to what they had just been caught doing.


    Still in a state of excitement, Josel straightened his clothes and tried to bring himself down to earth. He would have liked more, much more.


    "More next time, Goldy," Jolanda said, kissing Josel''s cheek gently. It made the blood rush through Josel''s veins again.


    They walked alongside all the way to Josel''s house. Josel hopefully suggested they go inside. Desire burned in his groin, and he wanted to continue where they had left off.


    But Jolanda declined, shaking her head.


    Shit, shit, shit, Josel chided himself. What had he been thinking? Marching with Jolanda to see his father and Curtus and then going straight to bed? He felt embarrassed about the thought.


    "When will I see you next, tomorrow?" he asked, his voice a little husky.


    "I can''t tomorrow," Jolanda replied regretfully. "I have to work all day, even today I only got a break for a few hours."


    Again, Josel swallowed his disappointment, but Jolanda comforted him: "Don''t worry, I''ll see you the day after tomorrow. I know a place where we can be alone, just the two of us. Come to the bell tower of the town hall at the fifth hour of the day."


    Hearing this, Josel quickly pressed himself against Jolanda and kissed her once more.


    Only with difficulty and much delay did they let go of each other. Then they exchanged another look and waved goodbye.


    Jolanda began to walk away, swaying beautifully. Josel watched until the dark-haired head was completely out of sight. It was nice that Jolanda had figured out to call him Goldy, like everyone else. The silly nickname sounded funny when she said it.


    Back at home, Josel tried to put his thoughts in order. Things with Jolanda had happened so fast that his head was spinning. But not too fast. Josel wanted more, he wanted everything - all of Jolanda for himself.


    Fortunately, neither Curtus nor Dad were anywhere to be seen, so Josel dashed straight into his room and locked the door. He tore off his trousers, threw himself down onto the bed, and got his rocks off.


    "More next time, Goldy," Jolanda had said. Not just said, promised. But why did it have to be two more days until the next time? Those would be the longest two days of waiting in Josel''s life.


    * * *


    In the afternoon, Josel was standing on the rear bridge of the rail-carriage, sportswear packed in a canvas bag. A spring breeze was blowing in his ears and the sun was smiling in the sky. He felt light and perhaps little giddily. It was because of Jolanda. Josel couldn''t really concentrate on anything else.


    As soon as he jumped off the wagon, he saw the huge arena of the sports ground in front of him. Only the main arena, the venue for the Spring Day celebrations, and a few other buildings in Paidos were bigger.


    Bartos caught up with Josel on the way to the main entrance of the arena. There they found Franz kicking stones impatiently. Knowing his friend''s hasty nature, Josel guessed that he was already there at half past the hour. They would have to wait for Darren, as the curly-haired boy was not in the habit of keeping track of the time.


    That''s what happened this time too. Franz and Bartos had already had time to inquire about Josel''s meeting with Jolanda when Darren finally arrived, smiling brightly and seemingly unaware of his lateness. Franz chaffed for his delay by suggesting that Darren had been busy to curl his hair - one of their running jokes - and was rewarded for his remark with a hefty smack on the side.


    Without further delay, the boys headed for the changing room. Like the others, Josel pulled a pair of shorts and lightweight running shoes out of his bag.


    They came to the field, which was protected from the sun''s hottest rays by wooden canopies. Beneath the canopy, the space was circled by a running track, with various sports facilities built in and around the edges.


    Despite the hour of the day, there were a number of young people and children practising on the field. Some were preparing for competitions, others were just getting fit for fun. It was the holiday season, so many of them, who didn''t have to help their parents at work, spent their time on the sports field.


    The boys waved hello to a couple of girls they knew from school. Darren never missed an opportunity to charm the girls, and even now he was horsing around in front of them, showing off his biceps - which were not that big.


    The girls giggled and Darren blew them a very inviting kiss. It was only Franz''s bored muttering and a few disapproving coughs from Bartos that made Darren stop flailing.


    It was time for sport. Josel and Darren wanted to do the long jump, but to please Bartos, the foursome went to the weights first.


    "So, Bars, are you going to break your record?" Franz asked.


    "Let''s see," the sturdy boy grunted, feeling the iron bars appraisingly.


    They all started lifting weights, although Franz soon pointed out that sport was bad for the brain. The tall boy even claimed that he had read a book on the subject.


    "If your theory is correct, there stands one of the biggest fools in Paidos," Darren said, pointing to the track.


    The others turn to look in the direction Darren is pointing. There was Zdain Monteilon, wiping the sweat from his bare torso with a towel, apparently after a long run.


    Every muscle on Zdain''s slim body stood out beautifully, the kind Josel assumed the schoolgirls in Paidos daydreamed. He was about to say something derisive himself, but Franz managed to squeak out: "That''s right, there''s Paidos'' number one dummy head. Maybe he inherited his stupidity from his bossy father."


    While the mates cheered at Franz''s comment, Zdain Monteilon walked without noticing them towards the long jump venue. As Zdain seemed to be alone on the field, Josel suggested: "Let''s go and tease that clown a bit?"


    "I wonder... if it would be worth lifting some more weights," objected Bartos, who always wanted to avoid strifes, even though the burly boy might have been the best fighter of the four friends.


    "After all, we have the right to go long jumping like everyone else," Darren said with the dimples on his cheeks.


    It was decided then. Josel gave Darren a serious nod and they headed off to the long jump. As Franz hurried after them with a mischievous look on his face, Bartos could only follow his friends towards the certain confrontation with the muffled curses.


    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    They came to the long jump''s run-away, where Zdain Monteilon was preparing for the jump.


    "What''s little Din doing here?" Josel asked, deliberately using a diminutive from the name Zdain. Without really knowing why, he felt a strong urge to annoy the other.


    Surprised by the unexpected harassment, the interlocutor turned to face the intruders. The boy''s narrow face darkened as he recognised them.


    But Zdain didn''t have time to say anything, because Franz had already spoken: "Move your junk, Monteilon. This place is reserved for us."


    "And by what right?" Zdain asked indignantly.


    "Because we don''t feel like looking at your face here," Franz replied.


    "Hey beanpole, do you think you''re funny?" Zdain said in a voice so haughty that Josel was little surprised. Usually, the son of the governor was timid and did not respond to a challenge in the same way.


    Josel decided to take the opportunity to intervene. "Shut up, Monteilon. Why don''t you tell me how Daddy is doing? Is he counting his money in the palace to buy a new kite for his favourite son?"


    Bartos grunted worriedly behind him, but Franz and Darren whistled encouragingly at Josel''s quip.


    "Oh, it''s the pissy-haired son of a fairy tale writer," Zdain sneered again with unusual malice, smiling as his taunt hit the target. He did not seem afraid at all, even though he was alone against four.


    "Fuck you, Monteilon. Leave my dad alone!" Josel was really angry now.


    "It¡¯s not my fault that your dad''s lousy children''s books are mainly fireplace tinder by us. You''ll be a failure like him," Zdain hissed back, his brown eyes sparkling.


    "Oh, a failure?" Josel shouted. "Your dad fucks boys and your mom is a slut!"


    The insult hit hard. Zdain''s face flushed and he blurted out, "What about your mother, she killed herself when she couldn''t stand you anymore!"


    This was not what Josel had expected. He stared at Zdain, stunned for a moment, before charging at him with a roar. Fists pounded the air. At least one of the blows struck Monteilon, who cried out in pain and tried to strike back. Josel was so enraged that he did not bother to protect himself, so Zdain''s fist landed painfully in the corner of his eye. But Josel managed to maintain his advantage gained by surprise, and soon Zdain was on the ground, protecting his head.


    Then Josel was grabbed by the shoulders. Bartos pulled him off, away from the groaning Monteilon. The strong boy held on to him with both hands and would not let Zdain to be attacked again. Josel gasped, his head bobbing, and he think there was blood in the corner of his eye.


    Many youngsters had gathered around the brawlers to watch. They prattled among themselves, but Josel was in no mood to listen.


    Zdain was still lying on the sand of the track, holding his bleeding nose. Monteilon looked both angry and miserable. He wriggled painfully to sit up and then to stand. Blood trickled from his nose onto his bare chest. Neither Darren, Franz nor anyone else made a gesture to help. Zdain looked at Josel with disgust, spat the bloody blob on the ground and limped towards the changing rooms, his nose still running and the eye area reddening.


    Bartos seemed to have finally decided that Josel was not going after Monteilon and let him go. Josel remained sitting on the ground, breathing heavily. Gradually the bystanders left the scene, realising that there was nothing more exciting to come.


    When Josel finally got up, Darren handed him a clean towel. Josel gratefully pressed it to the bleeding corner of his eye. He still felt shaky and his legs were trembling. He''d never fought like this with anyone before; no one else had ever made him so angry.


    Josel sat down on the nearest bench, still holding a towel over his eyebrow. The others watched him in silence. Finally, Josel spoke up, "The bastard deserved it."


    Franz nodded vigorously. "Yeah, he totally deserved it. That filthy rat!"


    "Whether deserved or not, nothing good will come of it. What if the governor intervenes?" Bartos said with concern.


    Josel was worried too. Zdain''s father would surely find out about the scuffle and be doubly outraged to hear the insults he had heaped upon himself and his wife. Losing temper had been a mistake. Fear crept into Josel''s mind. What if Dareis Monteilon put him in prison? Surely the beating of a governor''s heir was certainly not a minor issue to his influential father.


    "Don''t worry, we can handle two Monteilons," Darren tried to console him.


    Bartos frowned. "I wouldn''t be so sure, but let''s wait and see. Dareis Monteilon has enough to worry about right now, maybe he''s too busy to deal with his son''s little problems".


    "Yeah, if we get shit from the governor, let''s sign up as mercenaries in the East-Andiol. We could go after the fury hounds!" Franz babbled - only half joking, Josel thought.


    The boys were no longer in the mood to stay for sport, as everyone else on the pitch was staring at them with round eyes. After changing out of their sportswear, the boys silently made their way to the rail-carriage stop.


    The bleeding from the corner of Josel''s eye had stopped by then. There would probably be no need to see a doctor. Instead, he worried about how he would explain the bruised face to his father. Josel was a bad liar, and Andreuz Sandkan was no easy to fool. His father had a strange ability to notice when someone wasn''t telling the truth. Besides, Dad hated violence of any kind and would go crazy if he heard that Josel had been in a fight.


    After getting out of the carriage, they sat for a while on the steps of the Imperial Museum. It would not be a long walk home from there. One of the reasons the four boys had become friends was that they lived on almost the same block.


    Josel considered asking his friends for help with a cover-up story. But after a moment''s thought, he decided that their supposedly clever explanations could worsen the situation. He had to face his father alone.


    Finally, the friends decided it was time to say goodbye and agreed to meet tomorrow on the same steps of the museum. On the way home, Josel decided to deal with his father half-heartedly. He would tell him that he had been beaten up by a stranger when he went to jump at the runway he had reserved.


    The story would not be far from the truth. The closer they got to home, the more convinced Josel became of his version. He could worry about the governor''s possible actions later.


    * * *


    After opening the large front door, Josel anxiously climbed the stairs and turned the key in the front door. Curtus immediately appeared in the hallway. The old man did not smile, as he usually did when Josel arrived home, but said gravely, "Your father wants to see you. Go to his study and wait. He will be here in a moment. Then I will clean your wounds."


    So, the fight would not be easily explained after all. Josel sighed in resignation and went up the stairs from the living room to Andreuz Sandkan''s study. The door was ajar, so he pushed it open and stepped inside.


    The smell of old paper was strong in the air. For a moment, Josel just stared at the ceiling-to-floor shelves overflowing with maps, scraps of paper and, above all, books. They were everywhere, in stacks on tables and even on the floor. There were thick encyclopaedias, thin pamphlets and the odd ratty-looking textbook with foreign titles Josel could not make out.


    The shadows cast by the oil lamps climbed up the spines of the books, creating a mysterious atmosphere in the room. Josel could only imagine the stories hidden between the covers. His father never allowed him free access to the treasures on the shelves.


    Andreuz Sandkan claimed to use the books as background material for his novels. The explanation was hard to believe. Why was the study always locked, and why did his father only select the most boring books for Josel to read: mostly about nature or history? The unjustified secrecy made him sick. Dad had no right to boss him around, especially as he didn''t want to tell Josel anything.


    The creaking of the stairs startled Josel.


    Andreuz Sandkan stopped in the doorway and stared at his son as if he were an intruder.


    "Take a chair and sit down," he said, moving to his usual place behind the desk.


    Josel sat down in an armchair on the other side of the table. How did Dad hear about the fight already?


    Andreuz did not sit down. He pushed his chair so hard that the floor creaked under its legs. "Josel, I have never condoned unnecessary violence, because fists hardly ever bring a positive solution. Tell me, have I ever spoken to you about this?"


    Josel froze in his chair, waiting for his father to explode. He nodded cautiously, remembering that he had heard the same sermon before.


    "Then why did you hit Zdain Monteilon?" his father asked in a very calm voice, still staring into Josel''s eyes.


    "Because he hurt Mom!"


    "You also insulted his mother and father," Andreuz Sandkan replied firmly, but still without raising his voice.


    "How do you know that?" Josel asked, stunned.


    Dad did not answer Josel''s question, but began to speak. "Son, about the following things you will not say a word to anyone, not even to your friends. Do you understand?" he said sternly.


    Nodding to Josel, Andreuz continued: "Did you think that the son of a governor would be alone on the sports field? When the situation in the town is so tense right now? Well, certainly not. All the while, Zdain is watched over by a few men, loyal to the governor. They don''t make a fuss about themselves but keep an eye on the boy from a distance. But if Zdain were in danger, they would defend him to the last breath".


    "Then why didn¡¯t they defend the damned Monteilon against me?"


    "Because it was you who attacked Zdain."


    "Me?"


    "Because you are my son," Andreuz answered.


    This made Josel even more confused. He sat in the chair not knowing what to say.


    "As you have noticed, I will not tolerate the mockery of the governor in my home," Dad said. "I have also made it clear on several occasions that I do not like the Shadow Cross. Dareis Monteilon and I have known each other for years. We are on the same side, belonging to an organisation whose one mission is to oppose the Shadow Cross. Our organisation is clandestine, with extensive networks that stretch from one end of the continent to the other."


    Josel tasted what he had just heard. Dad working for some mysterious organisation threatened by the Shadow Cross! It seemed absurd, but he let his father continue.


    "The Shadow Cross likes to portray itself as a gentle benefactor, the last refuge of a poor people," Andreuz said, his voice dripping with contempt. "The reality is quite different: in reality, the Shadow Cross is trying to establish its dominance, first in Andiol, and eventually in the whole populated world. And that''s not all. There are indications that the Shadow Cross has individuals within its ranks who ultimately serve the Darkness."


    A stunned Josel took advantage of the pause: "The Darkness?"


    "Yes," Andreuz began with a sigh. "I think I made a mistake hiding things from you for so long, my boy. I thought that ignorance would protect you. Too much has been left unsaid and I don''t know where to begin."


    Andreuz Sandkan frowned for a moment. "There is a very old might, blessed by the Darkness. It still lurks in the shadows, but it wants to emerge and fill the world. To spread, this wickedness needs humans as its servants. That is why it gives great power to those who are willing to give up their freedom. They are called the fallen."


    "The fallen," Josel repeated the word. It had a chill ring to it.


    "The fallen are slaves of the Darkness," Andreuz continued. "They are bound by an invisible chain that forces them to bow to their masters. For the fallen, only the Darkness matters. They are even ready to kill without mercy. When the Darkness commands, the faithful slave will murder his friends, his parents, his children..."


    Josel felt cold, but his father had not stopped. "You know that far beyond the southern seas lies the continent of Darkuria - the land of mysteries and witches. The people who live there worship the mighty but angry deities, Grozavok, Nalvajda and others. From these same gods, the fallen believe they receive their powers."


    "There are no gods!" Josel interrupted.


    "We don''t know that. At least the fallen believe in their gods and for the sake of those gods they commit atrocities," Andreuz pointed out and moved on. "The Shadow Cross has also been infiltrated by the fallen, although the organisation is more driven by sheer lust for power. It wants to eliminate all those who stand in its way. Especially those of us who work directly against the Shadow Cross."


    The words bit Josel hard. A thought popped into his head, "Is that why the Shadow Cross is after the governor?"


    Andreuz scratched his cheek and said: "Therein lies the problem. It is not certain whether the Shadow Cross simply wants to take control of internal politics in Paidos, or whether it has knowledge of Dareis Monteilon''s activities against the organisation. If the latter is true, the situation is extremely serious."


    After taking a few aimless steps on the floor, Andreuz continued: "In the most dangerous scenario Isendar Vargan and Nadaila Tomsto are both fallen. I don''t know if they are. You see, it is very difficult to identify the fallen. Their network, known as the Black Flame, has spread like spore cloud across the Inhabited World. It''s impossible to know how many of them are in Paidos."


    "Either way, there aren''t many in this town besides you and Curtus that I can trust completely. As I said, the situation is very tense. If Monteilon goes down, then our safety is threatened as well. That is why I hope you will not turn your friends against any member of the Monteilon family."


    His father''s blue-grey eyes stared so hard that Josel swallowed and finally nodded.


    Suddenly he remembered the lipless man he had seen again in Saramanda''s Inn. "Who¡¯s the scar-faced stranger? A fallen?"


    "I''m not sure," Andreuz replied, furrowing his brow. "This man wanted to give us a sign of himself when he introduced himself to you on the street. The name he told you, Kal''ditha, has meaning. It is an ancient language and literally means ''son of the night''. The word can also be translated into our language in another, more descriptive way: ''fallen''. I suppose the man asked you to convey his greetings, knowing that I would recognise the meaning of the word. But would a fallen man, who serves the Darkness, declare himself so openly? I wonder. In any case, I believe the stranger is more interested in me than in you. Nevertheless, come and tell me immediately if he approaches you again. But that''s it, we have other concerns at the moment."


    Josel was about to mention what had happened in Saramanda''s Inn, but then a new question came to mind: "Why doesn''t the emperor intervene in the activities of the Shadow Cross or the fallen? Surely he must know."


    A frustrated sigh escaped from Andreuz''s mouth. "The emperor is of no use to us. When was the last time he made a public appearance? There will be no speeches, the spring military parade will be taken over by one of the generals... the emperor will be absent. Who knows if he himself is one of the fallen."


    "Not the emperor!" Josel shouted louder than he had intended.


    "Josel, you have to realize that anyone can be. You can''t vouch for anyone, remember that. Not even your best friends."


    "Franz, Darren and Bartos aren¡¯t some kind of damned fallen! You know that," Josel snapped.


    A sad smile crossed Andreuz''s face. "I hope you choose well with those you trust. I chose wrong once."


    Silence fell over the room. Andreuz scratched the back of his chair with his fingernail. His expression was so sad that Josel dared not inquire more about the subject.


    Instead, he asked, "Is there anything I can do to help your organisation?"


    Andreuz laughed and shook his head. "You certainly don''t lack courage, that''s good. But I don''t want you to help. You are still young, and besides, you are all I have left. I don''t want to lose you like I lost Idalae."


    Josel put his head down. So, Dad still thought he was just a kid. But suddenly, he understood something behind the words. "Wasn''t Mom''s death an accident?"


    Dad''s posture slackened a little. "I don''t think so. I''m afraid it was a warning to me. I''ve been trying to find out. An eyewitness had spotted someone working on the vegetable carts just before they rolled over Idalae. The man who owned the carts also claimed to have locked the wheels. However, no evidence was found against anyone. That''s all I know about it."


    "Someone killed Mom...", Josel mumbled. The words choked in his throat, and it was almost impossible to stay still in the chair.


    Andreuz must have noticed, because he said: "That''s enough for now. I''ll continue the story another day. You have learned enough new information for one day."


    Josel stood up. At the door, however, he turned and asked, "What is the name of your organisation?"


    The father was silent for a moment and then said in a deep voice: "The Blue Moon."


    "The Blue Moon," Josel repeated. It sounded rather poetic. He nodded to his father, stepped out of the room, and looked out of the living room window to see that the day was fading into evening.


    * * *


    Josel did not go out that night. He sat in the living room by the fire, dozens of questions running through his mind. The foundations of the whole world were rapidly crumbling. The fallen, the Blue Moon, the inexplicable evil his father had described - there was almost too much to process.


    At the same time, Josel had a burning desire to know more about these new and frightening things. In the end, Dad hadn''t revealed much, probably just a glimpse of the truth. Because it had to be the truth, Josel never doubted for a moment. Even though his father had urged him to doubt everything and everyone.


    At one point, Curtus stomped into the living room and sat down beside Josel. The old man quietly began to clean the wound in the corner of Josel''s eye.


    Only when he had finished, did he speak: "So Andreuz told you the facts."


    "He told me," Josel replied earnestly.


    "I have my own story, but I''ll save it until you know enough to understand." With that, Curtus patted Josel on the shoulder and climbed up the stairs to his attic chamber.


    Later that evening, as Josel passed through the lounge, he saw the light still reflecting from under the door of Andreuz Sandkan''s study. Josel had always thought that his father spent long evenings in his study writing his adventure novels. Now he sensed his father sitting at his desk, wrestling with far more serious matters.


    After tossing and turning in bed for a long time, Josel finally fell into a restless sleep, with the faces of the Monteilons, Isendar Vargan and his father flashing before him. In the dream, everyone was telling Josel to do something, but he could not decide whom to obey.


    * * *

 Chapter 5

    Josel


    The warm, beating sun had already climbed to the top of the sky when Josel stepped out of the door of his home. He had woken late and received a gentle bark from Curtus as he finally slouched into the lounge. Last night''s conversation with his father had kept him pondering all morning.


    Josel had sat in the soft armchair in the lounge, trying to make sense of the jumble of things his father had told him. The result was that he knew too little, but enough to understand that his family was in danger. That was probably what Dad had wanted - for Josel to be careful, but otherwise to stay out of things that were too difficult for someone his age. Suchoverprotectionirritated him, and Josel decided to demand a better explanation from his father.


    Now he was on his way to meet Franz, Darren and Bartos, and very late. Distracted, he failed to glance to the side as he crossed the street and was almost caught under the fast-moving stagecoach.


    The driver of the wagons braked with wheels squealing and bouncing on cobblestones. Josel managed to jump onto the pavement at the last minute, avoiding being trampled by the horses'' hooves. The driver unclenched his fist and shouted a litany of curses at Josel before spurring his horse back into action. Josel shouted back an equally vulgar insult and wagged his finger disrespectfully at the departing coach.


    Still deep in thought, Josel arrived at the foot of the stairs leading to the Imperial Museum of Paidos. He had arranged to meet his friends at the top of the stairs - not because any of them were interested in the museum''s dusty collections, but because the stairs happened to be the foursome''s regular meeting place.


    Josel strode up the stony steps, only to find that there were not any friends in sight. After glancing around, he decided to sit down on the steps and watch the town below.


    Paidos seemed more restless than usual. Around the edge of the square, people had gathered in small groups to talk. Josel was too far to find out the subject, but he suspected it had something to do with Dareis Monteilon and the Shadow Cross.


    The tension was also reflected in the fact that a dozen or so city guards were horseback in the corner of the square, as if keeping an eye on the crowd. This also seemed unusual, as soldiers normally patrol in pairs.


    At the same time, someone slapped Josel on the shoulders, causing him to almost jump up in the air in fright.


    "Goldy is as scared as a baby rabbit!" Darren chuckled and Franz and Bartos, standing behind him, laughed in amusement. Josel tried to look angry without much success.


    "Here you are, all alone, while the whole town is buzzing," Franz began when the laughter finally stopped. "You''ve been reading the paper, haven''t you?" he asked, shoving a copy of Paidos Courier into Josel''s lap. Everyone in the town knows that the newspaper was printed by the Shadow Cross.


    Josel had to admit that he had not read it. His father never bought Paidos Courier at home, preferring Paidos Gazette, which, like the Courier, was not overtly anti-Monteilon.


    On the front page of the newspaper, in large letters, it said: "The governor has embezzled the town''s money!" The subtitle added: "Reliable witnesses say the Town Council will meet in emergency session this afternoon."


    Josel shook his head, the headline was a serious accusation, the Shadow Cross was clearly playing for high stakes.


    Franz began to babble excitedly, "I don''t know what''s going to happen. There are rumours that the Shadow Cross is inciting the townspeople to strike. They say the rail-carriages won''t run at all today and the machines in the manufactories are at a standstill. Maybe we will see a real revolution! Just think, the people of Paidos will stand up shoulder to shoulder against the villainous tyrant who has exploited them for years!"


    "Yes, and I suppose they''ll elect you to succeed Monteilon," Darren continued.


    "That would be a good choice!" Franz exclaimed, straightening his back.


    "In the name of the Emperor, I, Franz Landez, command you, Darren Temjanion, to shave off those silly curls."


    Bartos burst out laughing, while Darren tried to throw Franz with his cap.


    Josel guffawed along with the others, but couldn''t shake off the worrying thought from his mind. What if the Shadow Cross really did overthrow Dareis Monteilon? What would happen to Dad and Curtus?


    After a while of jesting with each other, the boys set off. They wandered aimlessly through the streets. It was soothing to know that the school holidays would last for weeks and there would be no hurry to go anywhere. Although, Franz would have to help his mother in the shop from time to time, and Darren would probably have to find a way to earn money.


    Otherwise, the four of them were free to do whatever they wanted. That meant having fun, hanging out in town late into the night, playing sports and maybe taking a little trip out of Paidos. Spring was definitely the best time of the year, and Josel was pretty sure that this spring was going to be a particularly successful one. Screw you governor, the fallen and other distant worries!


    The image of Jolanda came to mind, and it was the girl who would have a lot to do with how good the season would be. When his mates happened to look away, Josel smiled secretly.


    The boys decided to stop and sat down under the cover of a sheltered gateway. Bartos munched on a bread roll he had bought from a street vendor, and Franz tried to persuade Darren to argue with him about which professional factions would support the Shadow Cross'' demand for the governor¡¯s dismissal.


    "Isendar Vargan can at least seduce the representatives of the craftsmen and women workers to his side. I''m not sure about the merchants," Franz says.


    "Seduce? That scarecrow-looking guy!" Darren interjected.


    "Hey, I''m serious. Aren''t you the least bit interested in the situation in the Town Council?" Franz asked, his voice rising.


    "Not really. Unless those women workers have a youth department. I can pay them a visit and the women will forget Vargan''s limp dick," Darren replied, clutching his groin. Josel and Bartos laughed. In the end, Franz couldn''t help but join in the laughter.


    The banter stopped when two girls they knew from school, Elenda and Giesela, walked towards them.


    As greetings were exchanged, a happy smile curved the petite Elenda''s mouth. Josel caught a glimpse of Bartos, who was flushed red as always around Elenda. No wonder, Elenda was very nice.


    Giesela, on the other hand, was a nuisance. The pig-nosed girl was plain-looking, but she must have thought she was a phenomenal beauty. To make matters worse, she seemed to have a crush on Josel and did not seem to realise that there would be no reciprocity.


    Giesela''s first words were not to Josel''s liking either. "Josel, you''re a hero! Word of the fight is spreading through the city. You¡¯re so brave," the girl chirped.


    When Josel made no more than a dismissive mutter, Franz added that Zdain had got what he deserved.


    Giesela agreed, "We don''t like that cocky Monteilon boy either. Don''t we, Elenda?"


    The petite girl admitted that this was the case, so Giesela was allowed to continue her gabbling. "Do you know that the Shadow Cross is throwing an all-night party for the youth of Paidos tonight? We were thinking of going."


    "They''re offering free beer and wine - as much as you want," Elenda supported her friend.


    "We could consider it," Franz mused.


    "Parties are always fun!" Darren shouted and patted Bartos on the shoulder. "Right, Bars? Elenda invited us."


    That was enough and Bartos turned scarlet again.


    "You''ll come too, won''t you, Josel?" Giesela begged. She sounded like a meowing cat.


    "I''m not coming, I''m not interested in the Shadow Cross," Josel announced. After what his father had told him, he felt no attraction to the events of the Shadow Cross.


    Giesela was silent for a moment before she said sourly, "Well, actually I was supposed to bring Jolanda''s regards. She''s asking you to the party."


    Jolanda! Joy was all over Josel''s chest. "Oh, Jolanda is asking? Well, I''ll come then. Tell Jolanda I''ll be there," he replied, not caring that he sounded like a fool in love.


    The other boys laughed and Elenda smiled her pretty smile.


    Giesela, annoyed by the lack of power of her own charm, snapped, "See you there," and turned away as Elenda waved goodbye to the boys.


    After the girls left, Franz and Darren joked about Josel and Bartos'' weakness for the female sex. Soon, the boys decided to head home to gather their strength for the evening.


    Josel knew he would have to sneak into the party in secret, as his father would never approve of going to the Shadow Cross¡¯ rallies or running out at night anyway. He was a little puzzled that Giesela knew Jolanda, but he didn''t dwell on it. Anything goes as long as he got to see the beautiful Jolanda tonight!


    * * *


    It was almost nightfall when Josel arrived ata dilapidated apartment building. It was the home of Darren Temjanion and his parents. Josel nimbly climbed up a ladder leaning against the wall to the second floor and knocked on the window of Darren''s room.


    Soon the window opened and Darren stuck his curly head out. After a brief fuss, he dropped through the window onto the ladder and began to climb down after Josel.


    The boys had agreed that leaving for the party would depend on how quickly Josel could sneak out of the house. He had to wait in his room for a long time before he was sure that his father and Curtus were no longer awake.


    Just in case, he had left a note on his bed saying that he had gone out with his friends. You never know, what kind of search party would Dad organise otherwise. It was better to receive the likely rebuke in the morning; the chance to see Jolanda was too good to pass up.


    "Did you get away easily?" Josel asked as Darren jumped from the bottom of the ladder to the street.


    "They already passed out," Darren replied, glancing grimly at the windows of his house.


    Josel looked away and bit his lip for asking.


    That was the end of it. Darren broke into a run, and Josel hurried after him. They jogged along the lantern-lit street. Josel could feel his veins pounding; the party and Jolanda were waiting.


    If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Despite the late hour, the windows of the Bartos'' home were bright with light. The house of his father, Chancellor Berron Rigailon, was large and highlighted the family''s wealth. And no one from the family came to open the door, but a grey-haired servant whom Josel knew as Tobeias. He mentioned that ''Young Mr Rigailon'' was already waiting for his guests and gestured towards the stairs leading up to Bartos'' room.


    Before the boys were halfway up the stairs, Bartos and Franz rushed down.


    "It''s about time, we''ve almost drunk all the wine in the house," Franz complained.


    "Let''s go! Mom and Dad are in the country house, so no worries. Tobeias won''t tell them," Bartos said with uncharacteristic bluster, almost pushing his friends out the door.


    * * *


    The walk to the party venue was quite long, but the bottle of wine Bartos had brought with him helped to lighten the mood. Once there, Josel felt already a little tipsy. Finally, he would be able to see if the Shadow Cross parties were as wild as his schoolmates had advertised.


    At least, the music and loud chatter could be heard far outside the party hall. The venue was one of the outbuildings near the Shadow Cross headquarters, where a ballroom had been built, perhaps for just such a purpose.


    Outside the main door stood several alert-looking shadow sentries in their grey and black uniforms with batons hanging from their belts. Apparently, they didn''t want any uninvited guests to disturb the event. Josel and his friends were allowed to enter the hall under the watchful eyes of the guards without further question.


    A surprisingly large number of young people had gathered in the ballroom. It was hot and quite crowded inside. The air smelled of girls'' perfume and fresh sweat. Some of the party guests were dancing to the music of the orchestra, while some others were gathered around the tables at the back of the hall.


    Josel tried to look for Jolanda, but couldn''t find her from the crowd. At one table, Darren noticed their friends from school; at least Mikos, Semjoz, Falinda and Nora were sitting there.


    They were happy to see the boys and soon Josel and his companions were sitting at the table chatting merrily and enjoying a beer. From somewhere, Elenda showed up, and to Bartos'' delight, she sat down next to the sturdy boy.


    Unfortunately for Josel, Elenda was unable to answer the question about Jolanda''s whereabouts. Frustrated, Josel decided to search her and got Franz to go with him.


    Theypushed through the crowd. The intoxicating drinks had done their job and many of the partygoers were getting very drunk. In the corner of the hall, a shadow sentry was roughly ushering one of the brawlers out. Here and there, adults from the Shadow Cross wandered around, stopping occasionally to chat with the youths, offering them the chance to join the organisation. Josel was sober enough to realise how cunningly the organisation managed to attract a large number of new young members by offering them a little wine and dancing.


    Josel and Franz drifted out of the ballroom into a side corridor where it was a little quieter. Couples in love were huddled against the walls. Franz had just time to say: "Blah, that¡¯s fricking syrupy, let''s go somewhere else", before someone grabbed Josel''s arm and repeated his name.


    Jolanda! She was wearing a beautiful dress with a very open neckline. The sight sent an excited shiver through Josel''s body.


    "What happened to your eyebrow?" Jolanda gasped in shock as soon as she reached Josel.


    Josel, who had already forgotten the bruises he had received in the battle against Monteilon, shrugged his shoulders with a grin." It''s all right. I beat up an idiot. You should have seen his face."


    Jolanda said she was afraid Josel would not come. Josel hurriedly introduced her to Franz, who didn''t seem too thrilled to see her.


    "Nice to meet you," Jolanda said in a sweet voice and shook Franz''s hand.


    The three of them chatted for a while until Franz, somewhat reluctantly, realised he was a third wheel and said he was going for a walk but would be back.


    After Franz had left, Jolanda told how she had bumped into an old friend, Giesela, who had been given the task of giving Josel an invitation to a party, as they had known each other from the same school.


    Then they talked about all sorts of things in general. Jolanda was very interested about Josel''s father. "It would be great if I could meet him," she said.


    Josel told her about his father, but was careful not to mention the things Andreuz Sandkan had confided in his son. He wondered, though, if he might one day reveal more to Jolanda. She would surely be thrilled to learn the truth about the Shadow Cross, for example. But not on this night, when Josel was determined to do something else with Jolanda.


    They moved to an empty bench by the wall. Josel took Jolanda''s hand; it felt delicate and warm. Suddenly, Jolanda quickly kissed Josel on the mouth.


    "Goldy, I''ve missed you so much," Jolanda whispered.


    Josel responded by kissing her passionately - and for a long time.


    At some point between kisses, Jolanda asked, "Would you like to go somewhere quieter? I know a room nearby where we could go."


    "Let''s go right now!" Josel replied as the passion heated up his guts. Soon... it would be the first time with a girl - with Jolanda!


    They got up and Josel was about to lead Jolanda out of the corridor when Franz came in with a pale face and a frantic look in his eyes.


    "Josi, you have to come right away! I have something important to tell you," he insisted with a strange urgency.


    "Franz, I was just about to...I can''t leave now!"


    "You must come. This is really important."


    "What''s going on?" Josel asked, trying to decide if something was horribly wrong or just Franz''s characteristic excitement over trivialities.


    "I can''t tell you here, come with me," Franz almost begged, tugging at Josel''s sleeve.


    Josel considered the situation for a moment. The interruption was annoying, but after all, Franz was his best friend. "Okay, I''m coming," he finally replied.


    He turned to Jolanda. She was standing with her hands on her hips, scowling at Franz. "Jolanda, I''ll try to get back as soon as I can. I''m really sorry," Josel said, but couldn''t calm her down.


    "Don''t expect me to be here if you stay long." Jolanda frowned, her dark eyes aching dangerously, and yanked her hand from Josel''s grip.


    Not knowing what else to say, Josel gave Jolanda a last apologetic look. Cursing his bad luck, he hurried to the nearest front door, where Franz was already waiting, looking impatient.


    "You''d better have a good explanation!" Josel snorted in the yard. "I was just about to go to bed with Jolanda."


    Franz ignored this, but looked around in alarm. After making sure no one was within earshot, he whispered hoarsely, "They''re attacking the palace."


    "What?"


    "The Shadow Cross is attacking the Governor''s Palace!" Franz whispered, his face white.


    The words stunned Josel. "Are you sure?" he managed to ask.


    Franz spoke quickly, "I happened to be nearby and saw the shadow sentries preparing to enter the palace. I heard the commander giving orders. ''Bring the governor alive, the others don''t matter,'' he said."


    "Where? Show me!"


    "Come on! The attack must have already begun," the big-nosed boy replied, and started jogging in the direction of the Governor''s Palace. Josel followed him.


    There were no other passers-by on the dark streets, but Franz stayed in the shadows. Arching his back, Josel followed. They ran along the fence and then up the hill. Panting for breath, Franz urged Josel to climb up the solid stone wall. At the top of the wall, where they could see.


    In the darkness of night, groups of men ran towards the Governor''s Palace, using the ledges and other shady places for cover. They were not moving empty-handed: Josel''s eyes caught swords and rifles.


    For a moment the entire block was illuminated by a bright flash. Perhaps it was a gas lantern that had been blown to pieces. There were glances and screams from further away, but they were quickly drowned out by the sound of rifles firing. Suddenly, one of the advancing shadow sentries fell to the ground, howling in agony. The others continued forward, rifles now ready to fire.


    Franz watched the events unfold, looking both frightened and excited. "Why are they attacking? This is an illegal rebellion against the emperor!" he whispered.


    Then Josel remembered. "We have to help! We must save the governor!"


    "How on earth could we..." Franz began, his mouth open.


    "Dad! Let''s tell Dad. Come on!" Josel interrupted and jumped down from the wall. He took off running towards home with Franz in tow.


    "What could your father do?" Franz gasped the question as he reached to Josel.


    "Dad...Dad is on Monteilon''s side. We have to tell him," Josel said, picking up the pace.


    When they finally saw Josel''s house, Franz seemed half-dead from exhaustion and could barely stand on his feet.


    Something was happening outside the Sandkans'' house. Five horses were waiting, ready to go, while two men, unknown to Josel, were holding their bridles.


    Just then the front door opened and Josel''s father, Curtus and a third man rushed out. Andreuz Sandkan had two pistols on his belt that Josel didn''t even know his father owned.


    "Josel!" Curtus and Andreuz exclaimed as if from the same mouth.


    "They''re attacking the palace," Josel managed to gasp in reply.


    The look of relief on Andreuz''s face was wiped away. "I know," he said in a firm voice. "Curtus and I are on the way there. Go home and pack a rucksack with food provisions and travel gear. We''ll all leave as soon as we get back. Hurry! There are instructions on your bed for what to do if we don''t come back."


    Dad¡¯s last words terrified Josel.


    The other men hurried Andreuz to his horse, but he turned to Franz. "Josel will be leaving town soon. Don''t ask where, it''s too dangerous. Franz, since I know you can be trusted, run immediately to Petty Street, to baker Mommes. Bang on the door, he''ll open it. Say: ''Message from Sandkan. It''s an emergency. The governor is being transferred to a shelter.'' Do you remember what to say? Good! Then you go home and tell no one about this. The following weeks will be tough in the town, so stay out of the way of the Shadow Cross."


    Having said that, Josel''s father jumped on his horse, which was pacing restlessly. The five horsemen galloped off, hooves scraping the cobblestones, towards the palace.


    * * *


    Josel and Franz stared at the receding horses.


    "You''re leaving," Franz said, still out of breath.


    "I guess so. And I don''t know where," Josel replied vaguely.


    Suddenly he remembered Jolanda. "Franz, find Jolanda. Tell her I had to leave with Dad," Josel said, putting his hands on his friend''s shoulders.


    "I''ll find her," Franz promised, giving Josel a quick hug. He spoke in an emotional voice: "Good luck. I have to go. I hope to see you soon."


    Josel was silent for a moment, just squeezing Franz''s arm. Then he said: "We''ll see. Say hi to Bars and Darren."


    The tall boy replied with a crack in his voice, "I will," and then he turned and scurried off in the direction of Petty Street.


    A lump formed in his throat as Josel watched his best friend move further away. Is this the kind of excitement Franz dreamed of, Josel wondered. At the same time, he remembered his mission and hurried inside to pack the rucksacks.


    In a fury, Josel rummaged through the cupboards. He found two rucksacks in the closet, which he remembered using when he and Curtus had gone camping in the woods outside Paidos. A couple of blankets, a map, water to drink, bread, some carrots and potatoes, cheese, dried meat... Josel had no real idea what kind of supplies it would be wise to pack, but he tried his best.


    Then, remembering the note his father had left, he climbed the stairs to his room. He picked up the envelope from his bed and stuffed it, unopened, into his trouser pocket. Josel also took some spare clothes, a knife and a coin purse containing all his money. It was not a large sum.


    He barely had time to gather what he needed before the sound of footsteps came from the stairwell. Andreuz Sandkan was the first one through the door, followed by the alert looking Curtus. Dad¡¯s shirt sleeve was stained with blood and his left arm was wrapped in a sling.


    "Don''t worry about it," Andreuz said grimly, seeing his son''s concern.


    Further questions stuck in Josel''s throat as he noticed a third person pushing into the hallway. That was not any of the men on the street earlier. In the hallway of their home stood a frightened-looking Zdain Monteilon.


    "Monteilon!" Josel shrieked, his voice hoarse with shock.


    The brown-haired boy looked back. He had an expression on his face that Josel could not read. Zdain was wearing black trousers and a white long-sleeved shirt that he hadn''t had time to button properly. The bluish circle around his eye and the scratches on his cheek were still reminders of their fight.


    "Yes, he will come with you. The governor and his wife are waiting downstairs. I''ll take them to safety. You go with Zdain and Curtus," said Andreuz Sandkan.


    "Me with Zdain!" Josel huffed, causing a blush of indignation to appear on young Monteilon''s face.


    "No objections! It would be too dangerous to travel as a group. Curtus will take you to the city of Ipalos. We will meet there later. Read the letter and then destroy it. Obey Curtus in everything and protect Zdain as your brother.


    Josel wanted to shout back and ask more questions, but he knew better than to say anything.


    "I have to go," Andreuz continued more softly. "Take care of yourself, you''re a great boy." He touched his son''s cheek with his healthy hand, nodded to Curtus and Zdain, then turned to leave.


    There was a hollow silence in the corridor after Andreuz left. Finally, Curtus turned his attention to the rucksacks. He handed one to Zdain, who, without looking at Josel, muttered a thank you to the old man and hoisted the pack onto his back.


    Curtus'' face was full of determination as he spoke, "Josel, have you got everything you want to take with you from your room? Good. We''ll leave in a moment, but first we''ll cover our tracks." The old man walked briskly into the lounge and disappeared.


    Josel stayed in the hallway with Zdain, but avoided looking at him. That cheeky, snobbish brat had invaded their home. He was carrying the equipment Josel had carefully packed, as if it were his own! Josel was getting angrier by the moment at Zdain''s presence. He would have cursed Zdain to the depths of eternal sleep had Curtus not returned.


    "Let''s go, your father''s study is on fire," stated Curtus, as if he were saying the most mundane thing.


    "What!" Josel cried out.


    The old man turned to him with a serious expression on his face. "We probably won''t come back. It''s better that your father''s notes are not left for strangers to read. Say goodbye to Paidos, your childhood is now behind you."


    Curtus'' words stung Josel. A faint crackle from the direction of his father''s study added to the sense of finality. Dad''s lifework burned there, among everything else. The place Josel had called home all his life would soon be no more.


    Zdain watched Josel with a look in his brown eyes. Again, it was difficult to interpret. The other boy must have known how he felt, since Zdain had just moments ago been forced to leave his own home. It was not a good thing, Josel felt uncomfortable sharing such a private feeling with Zdain Monteilon of all people.


    "It''s time to go," Curtus said, patting Josel comfortingly on the shoulder.


    The staircase had never seemed so dreary. As Curtus closed the front door for the last time, the click almost hurt.


    Walking down the stairs, Josel remembered the tailor''s family living downstairs. "What about the Nakofs? The whole house will burn down soon!"


    "Don''t worry, Robs has moved his family to safety," Curtus reassured him and opened the front door. Then they slipped out into the dark night.


    * * *

 Chapter 6

    "After coming to power, the Negos family successfully continued the previous ruling family''s campaign to eradicate all forms of religiosity from Andiol. The imperial rulers wanted to elevate themselves as the sole absolute authority and thus justify their right to the throne. The existence of gods would have interfered this autocracy, however dishonourable the idea may seem to us.


    The Dimali, who make up the majority of Andiol''s population, are today virtually irreligious, which is a very puzzling and exceptional development in cultural history. Spirituality in Andiol is now limited to a few superstitious rituals practised by the rural population and to seasonal festivities whose traditional meaning has been forgotten.


    Even their relationship with the afterlife distinguishes the Dimalis from other peoples. For them, death is seen as a total end, in which the person who has left this world enters a place or space called the eternal sleep. There he sleeps in darkness, devoid of thought and emotion, until the end of the world. A rather comforting view, but it explains the restlessness and tendency to live in the moment that characterises the Dimali."


    - The Priestly Report of Malkania, II/1586


    * * *


    Josel


    The weather had not become any cooler, but Josel was nevertheless cold. In fact, his whole body was shivering. Although a slight burn floated up his nose, he couldn''t turn around to look back. He just couldn''t.


    Curtus said the horses were waiting a short distance away, and regardless of his age, he started to run. Josel clung to his heels and heard Zdain''s footsteps behind him. From somewhere further away, presumably from the direction of the Governor''s Palace, came noises, including gunfire. Paidos was not the same familiar Paidos anymore.


    Their own neighborhood was quickly left behind as Curtus led them into more secluded alleys, out of sight of the other night walkers. They turned from many corners without encountering anyone. Still, Curtus kept glancing to the side and even behind them, probably fearing a follower.


    Finally, they stopped in front of a house that was no different from the others. Curtus struck a match and lit the lantern he had been carrying. When he had done so, he fumbled for the key in his pocket and turned it in the door. And so they entered a dark, dank-smelling room that had clearly not been inhabited recently. Curtus peered out of the door once more, then locked it behind him.


    Although they were now locked inside, Josel did not feel safe. The uninhabited room was empty, and even after lighting the lantern, it was dim. Curtus, however, strode purposefully across the room to another locked door, which opened with a squeak if it had not been used for years. Beyond it was a corridor that smelled just as musty, and at the end of it another door. Curtus opened this too and they stumbled out into the courtyard.


    Curtus spoke for the first time in a long while. He pointed to a building at the back of the courtyard and said: "There is a stable where some kind people have arranged horses for us."


    Carrying the lantern, he led the way to the stable, where they were greeted by a strong smell of horse manure. Josel tried not to breathe through his nose and thought about going back outside.


    The horses were neighing in their stalls. Curtus walked past the first of the stalls containing the mare and its foal. From the next one he led out a grey-spotted mare. Josel remembered that a horse of this colour is called a dapple grey.


    Meanwhile, Zdain had picked up a saddle, stirrups and bridle for the horse from the stable wall. As soon as he saw Curtus'' mare, he set to saddling it with a sure hand.


    Josel chewed his lip and looked away as Zdain led his ready-to-ride mare out. He had only sat on a horse a few times himself. Was there really no other way to leave Paidos?


    In the next stall, Curtus found an iron grey stallion that was putting its ears back and refusing to be saddled. "Take this one out and make sure it doesn''t run away," the old man advised after finally getting the saddle on the stallion''s back.


    Josel swallowed and began to lead the large animal out of the stable. The stallion tossed its head and tried to wriggle free. Only with great difficulty did Josel manage to tie it to the fence by its halter.


    Zdain watched with amusement, holding his own horse''s bridle in one hand. It crossed Josel''s mind to punch the governor''s son, but just then Curtus reached the yard with his chestnut stallion.


    Curtus measured the animals with his eyes. "Zdain, change horses with Josel. I''m sure you''re a more experienced rider and can keep the bucking stallion in line better." Josel felt like sinking into the ground in shame. Didn''t Curtus understand that he embarrassed him in front of Monteilon?


    Zdain replied all too casually, "Of course," and walked with the mare to Josel to change horses. As he handed the reins of the mare, he dared to show a slight smile that made Josel boil with rage.


    When Curtus looked away, Josel whispered to Zdain: "Wanker".


    Governor''s son flinched in surprise, and it was Josel''s turn to smile. Strictly speaking, he had not promised Dad to be kind to Monteilon.


    Soon Curtus beckoned Josel and Zdain to join him. "Well, the journey begins," he said. "Let''s try to get out of the town as soon as possible, before the Shadow Cross takes over all of Paidos. We''ll head for the Southern Trade Route to Ipalos. We are going to get there by a shortcut that follows the edge of the Veilwood. It would be too dangerous to take the main road, as the enemy will make every effort to catch us."


    As the boys nodded, he went on: "So the destination is Ipalos. We''re looking for Marta Donthav. She is a member of the Blue Moon and is prepared to receive us. Marta''s house is located in the Merchants'' District. We will meet Andreuz there. Your parents, Zdain, will take the most direct route to the town of Five Hills, the sanctuary of our organisation. You can join them later."


    Zdain nodded, indicating that it was clear.


    The chatter seemed to be enough for Curtus, for he said without waiting for an answer, "To the horses. Follow me. Josel in the middle and Zdain last, is that clear?"


    He put down the extinguished lantern and hopped smoothly onto the horse. Zdain was already on his stallion when Josel clumsily twisted himself into the saddle.


    Without further ado, Curtus rode to the gateway at the far end of the courtyard and Josel tried to follow with his mare. The gate was covered by a large wooden door, leading to a different street from the one they had come from. Curtus jumped from the saddle and dug once more in his pocket for the key. Once the lock was open, he lifted aside the iron bolt across the door that led into the dark gateway and out into the street.


    Curtus climbed back into the saddle, all the while stamping his feet in the direction of the gateway.


    A chill ran down Josel''s spine. What would await them on the street? He glanced quickly at Zdain, who also looked tense.


    At the same time, Curtus shouted, "Now!" and rode out of the gateway and into the street.


    Josel encouraged his mare to follow, managing to keep his balance on the horse.


    The street seemed deserted. Josel clenched the reins, his knuckles white and tried to keep up with Curtus. The horse wriggled beneath him, its hooves bouncing on the cobbles, and the wind blew in his ears. It did not last long.


    They had barely made it to the end of the street when the darkness condensed into human shapes. Two armed men stood in the street.


    "What''s going on? Stop!" one of them shouted, putting his spear in the way.


    Curtus ignored the command and spurred his stallion at full speed towards the man. There was a thump and a harsh curse as the man was crushed into the street by the impact. The spear clattered to the pavement and rolled away.


    Josel tried to urge his mount after Curtus, but the other man dashed in from the side. The mare spooked and stopped in its tracks.


    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    The man lunged at Josel with a triumphant expression on his face and reached for the reins. Terrified, Josel tried to get his horse moving again, but the mare whinnied and refused to move. The man grabbed the bridle with his hand, while the man Curtus had knocked down stumbled forward. The man holding the bridle pushed hard, telling Josel to give up. To no avail, Josel tugged at the reins himself.


    Then Zdain was there. He deftly kicked the man, who howled in pain and released his grip.


    "Go!" Zdain shouted to Josel, who got his horse moving again. The mare broke into a gallop and caught up with Curtus, who was already turning back. Zdain also managed to break away from the men and rode alongside them.


    "Shadow sentries... need to get away," Curtus shouted into the wind. He spurred his mount into a fast trot ahead of Josel.


    * * *


    The horses ran through sleeping Paidos. The stars and moon shone brightly over the town, showing the fugitives the way. By now they were too far from the Governor''s Palace to hear the sounds of battle, or the fighting had died down. A few people fell in the riders'' path, but no one tried to stop them. Josel''s riding was still shaky, but fortunately the mare was quick and kept up easily with Curtus'' chestnut.


    Gradually the streets widened into country roads and there were fewer and fewer houses. They had reached the outskirts of the town. Only fields and trees now lined the road. Josel had been to the outskirts of Paidos before, but now, at night, the landscape looked completely alien.


    The heavy rucksack rubbed against his shoulders and slammed into his lower back with every bump. Josel tried to ignore it, for Curtus seemed to have no intention of slowing down. He could tell by the sound of hoofbeats that Monteilon was right behind him. Monteilon, who Josel secretly thanked for his ingenuity a moment ago.


    The steady trot of the horses and the silence of the countryside dulled the senses. Just as Josel was about to fall into a limp lethargy, there was a rapidly approaching thud somewhere ahead of them.


    Curtus had heard the same and slowed his chestnut stallion noticeably. "Get out of the way! Quickly into the trees!" he croaked, jumping from his horse.


    Josel halted his mare as well and stumbled after the others into the roadside woods. They managed to hide themselves and the horses from the eyes of the road. At the same time, a sound came closer and closer. There must have been several riders on their way to Paidos.


    "Maybe the emperor has sent soldiers to the town to help my father," Zdain said, stroking the muzzle of his restless stallion, clearly addressing his words only to Curtus.


    "Let''s hope so. I''ll get closer, you stay here quietly," Curtus said and handed the reins of his horse to Zdain. He slunk under the cover of the bushes towards the roadside and soon disappeared into the darkness.


    The thunder of the approaching horses grew louder. There must have been a lot of horses. Josel fumbled with the knife in his belt, hoping Curtus would be back by now. Zdain continued to stroke his horse with an absent gaze.


    Soon, the thud of the hooves came very close. Then it started to recede in the direction of Paidos. The branches of the bushes rustled and Curtus returned.


    "They were not the emperor''s men, but armed shadow sentries," the old man said. "There must have been more than a hundred horsemen! They want to take the whole town. The men had enough modern rifles to do it."


    Josel drew in an involuntary breath. Firearms were expensive in Andiol, and war in the eastern border had the best weaponry. The City Guard, for example, didn''t even have enough good rifles for a quarter of its men. The rest had to make do with ancient muskets or even swords. That''s what Dad had once told him.


    Paidos would face a night of slaughter and defeat before the morning. Would someone Josel knew be killed? It made him sick to think about it.


    "It¡¯s better to move on. We''ll try to get as far away from Paidos as possible during the night," Curtus said.


    They led the horses back to the quiet road again. The journey continued in silence.


    Pretty soon they came to a crossroads. The Southern Trade Route continued broadly towards Ipalos. At the junction, however, a narrow dirt road branched off, barely wider than a wagon.


    This must have been the byway Curtus meant, for he rode determinedly up the narrow road, Josel and Zdain following behind. The road ran north-west, more to the north of the Southern Trade Route. The area was far less populated than the busy Trade Route. This little road at the edge of the forest wasn''t the first place the Shadow Cross came in search of fugitives. At least they hope so.


    South of the byway, the landscape was dotted with meadows. On the northern side of the road, however, the trees began to thicken. Huge trees were already growing beside the road. Behind them, the night forest was humming. They had come to the edge of Veilwood.


    The vast primeval forest extended as far as Narrowlake. The western border of the forest was the eastern bank of the Frothy River. Like everyone in the southern part of the realm, Josel knew the stories of the Veilwood and the ghosts that lived in its caches. Children were frightened by the woodland creatures that kidnapped babies from nearby villages and hid them in the forest, or took terrible revenge on intruders who disturbed the peace of the forest. Even many adults were afraid of the Veilwood and few ventured deep into the forest, even during the day.


    The journey continued under the cover of the Veilwood. Josel thought there were not many hours left until morning. He was tired, but not sleepy. Curtus had slowed his pace a little to spare the horses, but still their goal seemed to be to get as far away from Paidos as possible before dawn.


    When the frosty light of the moon shone from the right angle, Josel glanced at Zdain, who rode beside him. The governor''s son stared at the road ahead, his lips pressed into a determined line. Was this the look he and Curtus would have to watch all the way to Ipalos?


    The night had been too long, too eventful. Gone were Franz and other friends. And of course Jolanda, who was left alone in the chaotic town. How long would it be before Josel saw them again? Damn it! His smooth and easy life had been shattered in a single night. All because of a snub between the bloody Shadow Cross and Dareis Monteilon!


    Suddenly, Curtus'' horse let out a scream that was deafening in the still night. Curtus had time to shout a warning to the boys, and at the same moment the horse collapsed beneath him, as if it had had a sudden seizure.


    With amazing agility for a man of his age, Curtus managed to jump out of the way and avoid being pinned under the falling stallion. He crumpled to the ground on his knees, but got up anyway. With a quick wave of his hand, he ordered the boys to dismount and move to the edge of the forest. Josel and Zdain obeyed and hurried by the side of the road.


    Curtus'' horse was shaking and bucking on the ground in spasms of death. Soon, however, the animal''s suffering was over and the chestnut stallion met its end.


    For a while, nothing happened. Curtus'' eyes were fixed on the road ahead. Then the boys saw it too.


    Some distance down the road stood someone tall and dark. The outline of the figure glowed yellowish or almost greenish against the darkness, though Josel could not pinpoint the direction from which the light was coming.


    Josel drew his knife from its sheath. His heart pounded in his chest. Zdain stood beside him, alert, also clutching his knife. The horses backed away in fear. They might have fled if Josel and Zdain hadn''t held on to the bridles.


    As the stranger approached, Josel let out a cry of terror. The figure was several heads taller than him, too tall to be human.


    It glided along the road without lifting its legs. It had long, raven-black hair, thick as a horse''s mane. There were two slits glowing in the night where his eyes should have been.The face was like a bony mask and the mouth was in a hideous grimace, accentuated by fangs.


    The creature raised its hand, where Josel saw what must have been ten pointed fingers. A shudder of horror shook his entire body and he could not take a step. Tears streamed down his cheeks and an involuntary groan escaped his throat. The horse''s bridle dripped from his slack hands. Beside him, Zdain cried out in pain and fell to one knee.


    Everything happened quickly. There was a loud bang and a flash in the air. Then there was another bang, and with another flash, the monstrous creature fell to the road. Before that, a black blob flew through the air. It struck Curtus in the chest and the old man sank to the ground, screaming. In an instant, the paralyzing sensation of fear was gone.


    Josel rushed to Curtus. His clothes were torn to shreds from his chest and his exposed skin was covered in blood and been burned by black substance. Curtus wailed in agony on his back.


    "Curtus!" Josel shouted.


    "Josel," Curtus managed to wheeze, barely audible, but at least he opened his eyes.


    Josel was already tearing off his own shirt to bandage Curtus''s wound, but the old man made a sharp gesture of refusal with his hand. "Don''t touch, the black stuff is sticky and corrosive."


    "How can I help?" Josel asked.


    "Come and listen, you too, Zdain," Curtus said, beckoning them closer.


    The boys knelt beside the bleeding man. Josel noticed that Zdain had picked up the pistol. With it, Curtus had shot the monstrous creature.


    "It was a vra-dagraaj, or a dreader in the vernacular, the most dangerous of the servants of darkness..." Curtus'' speech was interrupted by a furious cough, which caused blood to trickle from the corner of his mouth and nose.


    A dreader? Josel remembered hearing the name before: at school, when the teacher had told his class about old folktales. In real life, there should be no such thing as dreaders.


    Curtus was coughing, and for a moment it seemed he could not breathe. Josel looked at the wounded man in distress, not knowing what to do.


    Blood dripped from Curtus'' mouth and nostrils, but he recovered after a long period of gagging. "The dreader... it''s destroyed now. You know this because the sense of fear is gone. They use powerful magic and are difficult to kill. Get the gun, there are still bullets in it."


    "You need treatment!" Josel cried in despair. Curtus couldn''t mean...


    Curtus'' bloody lips twisted into a smile. "Lad, there''s nothing more to be done with me. Dreader''s poison kills quickly," he croaked.


    Josel wanted to resist, but Curtus stroked his hand gently.


    "I have to go, you carry on. Now listen. From now on, stay in the cover of the forest. There may be more dreaders, they usually attack in groups. Go to Ipalos, to Marta..."


    A gust of coughing spurted more blood onto the old man''s chin. Still, he tried to continue. "Take the purse from my belt, you need money...You are good boys. Josel, I am proud of you. Say hello to your father. Go quickly, to the shelter of the forest..."


    Curtus'' speech, which had faded to a whisper, stopped altogether. A single tear rolled down his cheek. Then his eyelids closed and his head flopped backward. Curtus Jerovann was gone.


    * * *

 Chapter 7 - The Interlude

    "It was not the usual darkness. No, there was something wrong, something accursed. The sleeping beast had awoken. With pain and death it crossed the land.


    Again and again you raided against the night and again and again it tore you apart. The world was burning and the world was drowning.


    And above all this was a red glow. Red is the colour of blood. Black is the colour of the devil. Black and red, together they bring death.


    It was called the Age of Oblivion."


    - Chronicle of Nidiel the Bearcatcher, description of the Age of Oblivion, fourth verse, written c. 215 New Era


    * * *


    Anden


    Frosty Moors, Grand Duchy of Malkania, 1523 New Era


    The night was about to give way to dawn. Five soaking wet figures stumbled up a muddy slope covered with lichen and scraggly shrubs. Sleet had whipped the moor since evening, coating the ground with a watery slush, and they trampled the mud under their boots.


    The area was hilly and treeless, with no landmarks in sight. Unless you count the boulders poking out of the low vegetation, as if tossed by some huge, angry monster.


    The loose soil made it difficult to walk. Despite their exhaustion, the walkers glanced up at the sky from time to time. They were not frightened by the raging storm that had broken out at just the right moment. On the contrary, they feared that it would die down, for only sleet splashing from the sky could keep the pursuers at bay. The storm hid the five fugitives under its wet coat and covered the tracks behind them.


    The tallest of the five hooded figures led the group. The task had naturally fallen to Anden Telon. Each of them had their own strengths: Taihan was unbeatable when it came to medicine, herbs and the like, Zaltarim had the scent of a seeker, Izaskar knew the laws of mathematics, physics and astronomy and Jestok... well, Jestok had mastered the Might.


    Anden himself had no such expertise. Rather, he was generally gifted, but when it came to operating under pressure and taking the lead in the midst of chaos, he did it better than any of them.


    As a person, he was still flawed, clouded by his emotions. It was this weakness that had brought the Brotherhood to ruin. If he had not refused to read the signs, the horror of what had happened could have been prevented. The traitors had been able to complete their plan in peace.


    In fact, it was surprising that they had not been caught yet. Especially since Anden had no idea of their current location. It was dark, they had no compass, and they couldn''t afford the luxury of stars. All that remained was the faint hope that he had guessed the right way by the direction the wind was blowing. Otherwise they would be helplessly lost.


    Anden had not bothered to share his concerns with the others. The wary Zaltarim had no doubt come to the same conclusion about being lost, but it was best to keep the others in the dark for as long as possible.


    As a small woman, Taihan struggled to keep up with the men. Jestok the Yellow Coat, on the other hand, was a broken man, and it was better that he maintained the illusion of a good chance of rescue. Izaskar, too, was not worth upsetting any further. Judging by his miserable stumble, the mathematician was on the verge of a mental breakdown anyway.


    Anden knew that without those three, his and Zaltarim''s chances of escape would have been much greater. Still, the thought of abandoning them made his skin crawl.


    He peered at the sky again. The cloud cover remained in place, but it could break up at any moment. And it was from the sky that the pursuers would most likely arrive. Anden imagined the screeching of the chimeijans filling his ears, and the figures riding on their backs...the...


    They couldn''t give up! He quickened his pace, motioning to the others to keep up. Taihan cursed and Izaskar''s panting faded into the distance. The man was certainly not an athlete. They weren''t able to keep up this speed for long.


    Then memories struck and Anden returned to the day the Brotherhood had last gathered. It had been a prelude to disaster.


    * * *


    Fourteen people, friends or at least long-time colleagues, had gathered in the tower room. A few weeks later, two of them were dead, six were traitors, five had fled into the night and one neutral had left the others in the lurch.


    Anden Telon sat at an oval oak table, in his place between Eistaf and Bendac. A fire was burning in the fireplace, jokes were made and cheeky greetings exchanged. It was almost homely in the large tower room of the sanctuary called Haven. The Brotherhood was in full attendance, as it should be at a half-moon meeting.


    There was a lull in the chatter as Laftakom Greyhand rose to open the meeting. His dry, hoarse voice echoed off the stone walls of the tower as it had so many times before.


    Laftakom spoke of the day-to-day issues: the purchases to be made and how to prepare for winter and frost. Next to him, young Chab tapped wildly on the typewriter, documenting his master''s words in the memo of the meeting.


    Anden let out a long yawn, then looked at Eistaf out of the corner of his eye, as he often did during meetings. As usual, Eistaf did not remain silent, but actively participated in the discussion, making sharp points about the issues raised by Laftakom. For such an artistic person, Eistaf Negos was incredibly practical and clear-sighted. As if made to lead nations, Anden had once thought.


    Apart from Laftakom and Eistaf, the main voice at the beginning of the meeting was Randalos, looking surly as usual. He accompanied almost every proposition by Laftakom with a disgruntled grumble. The others remained mostly silent.


    Shadows splayed Lufudon Narthouy''s gravedigger face, and his mouth twisted sourly while others laughed. He was the troll of the Brotherhood: as ugly as he was mysterious.


    Obeiron had a small copper-wired machine on the table in front of him, and the thick-bearded man was fiddling with it, oblivious to the conversation around him. Vanna, on the other hand, was holding a tiny mirror in her pretty hands, enhancing her face. The gesture was one of Vanna''s many ways of presenting herself as a silly fool. Anden knew that despite the mirror, the beautiful woman was watching the situation intently.


    Mocvann Gravenhild, Vanna, gorgeous and lovely Vanna! You are a descendant of the mighty grand dukes of the West, the Sunshine of Gravenhild, the brightest star in Malkania society and a beauty adored by thousands of men.


    Just the sight of your serene eyes, the curl of your lips or the flutter of your golden braids can make anyone forget about eating and sleeping for weeks. And the few who aren''t blinded by your beauty tend to underestimate your other talents.


    You are a brilliant speaker, an infallible tactician and negotiator who never misses a trick. When Laftakom wanted to make a difference through personal diplomacy, he sent you, and the result was almost always excellent.


    Vanna, if I liked women, I would have loved you. Now I hate you, you traitor.


    Maendrym Cors wore a high-collared jacket and sat with military stiffness to the right of Laftakom, glaring grimly at anyone who dared look at him for too long. Cors had spent his childhood in the Camps, amidst the icy horrors, and it was easy to see how the harsh environment of his upbringing had affected him.


    Anden had often wondered why Laftakom hadn''t thrown such a grouch down from the highest tower in Haven. The reason was the same for all of them: Laftakom had gathered the best talents of the Inhabited World and would not let any member of his circle vanish, no matter how troublesome their character.


    We have named you General Cors. You''re an ingenious strategist and spend your days studying the science of war. You know the movements of infantry formations as well as machine warfare from before the Oblivion. You also have a perfect grasp of the intricacies of politics and social structures, but you are too grave and crude to put your skills to good use. Your teachings have spread, however, and your books are read by administrators and soldiers throughout the Inhabited World.


    I didn''t like you, Cors. Your betrayal didn''t surprise me. What kind of creatures are you building up armies for now?


    In keeping with the tradition of the half-moon meeting, participants took turns to share their latest news. This usually meant presenting their own recent ideas and research findings. Each described their achievements in their own characteristic style: Bendac in a shy and modest manner, Vanna in a charming way, Lufudon secretively, Randalos in a pompous way and Obeiron in a way so complicated that no one else understood anything.


    "Well, let''s move on to your news," Laftakom said, glancing around the room. "You may begin this time, my dear Anden."


    The old man used to choose the speakers in a completely random order. He must have found it entertaining. After nodding to his master, Anden began to talk about his current project, which he believed would significantly improve the food supply of the nations. He was enthusiastic, describing at length the progress of his research and the observations he had made.


    The others followed, whoever was listening: Cors had his stony gaze fixed directly on Anden''s nose, Zaltarim, sitting on the far left, kept nodding silently, and Randalos drummed his fingers on the table with a bored expression.


    When Anden finally finished, he was out of breath. Laftakom thanked him for an interesting presentation, and Eistaf leaned over to whisper in Anden''s ear, "If you had gone on a moment longer, Randalos would have bristled with anger."


    "Then why didn''t you ask me to continue?" he whispered back, making Eistaf giggle with laughter. It was a laugh Anden could have listened to forever.


    Next came Obeiron''s and Bendac''s presentations, which Anden listened to with only half an ear. He was not interested in Obeiron''s technical jargon, and Bendac''s stammering and blushing was embarrassing to watch. Instead, he studied Eistaf, who sat with relaxed posture, picking fluff from the sleeve of his elegantly cut jacket.


    Eistaf, you still look very much like the handsome boy whom Laftakom led to Haven one bitter, frosty night. How haughty you were even then. And yet so utterly charming. After all, you are related to the emperor himself.


    I, a mere kid myself, stared at you with round eyes. I couldn''t have been happier when you accepted me, a lowborn, as your friend. This friendship blinded me and hastened the Brotherhood''s demise.


    Eistaf, were you playing your violin and laughing at my jokes while planning Laftakom''s murder? What did you think you would gain by allying yourself with those devils? Why did you tread the slippery path of treachery? Why you, my love?


    Even at that last meeting, Anden could have seen the light. The plan of Eistaf and his collaborators had been exposed by a slip from young Chab. Laftakom had asked the boy to speak next, and Chab had begun to recount his new experiences with the Might. In his carelessness, Chab had spoken out of turn, explaining that he was practically testing the speed of various reactions when a human was subjected to a control discipline.


    Randalos had then snarled loudly while everyone else had turned to look at Chab, who was too late to correct himself: "...I mean control...sheer control of the Might!"


    Laftakom''s look was openly questioning, and at least Zaltarim and Taihan looked stunned.


    Taihan spoke first. "The practice of the control discipline on human beings is strictly forbidden. I, if anyone, know the injuries it causes. What do you need such a skill for and who did you use it on?" She blurted out the words so fast that they clumped together.


    "I didn''t..." Chab started, startled, but Eistaf hurried to intervene, "He used it on me. I was Chab''s guinea pig because I wanted to feel the effects of this cruel spell. I wanted to understand the pain experienced by the victims of the fallen. I asked Chab to try the control discipline. I am sorry if I have betrayed your trust, Master."


    Anden shivered. He knew his friend well enough to know that the explanation was pure bullshit. Eistaf Negos would never have been so tender.


    Laftakom fell into a pensive silence. Chab, staring at his typewriter, looked ashamed and Eistaf apologetic, but Anden had time to observe the reactions of the others.


    It was impossible to read Vanna, but at least the woman had stopped plucking at her mirror. Bendac trembled, perhaps the unexpected turn of events had shocked the fearful fellow. Taihan looked openly disapproving, while Randalos had a contemptuous "what did I tell you" expression on his face.


    Go to hell, Randalos Vevozor! If you had wanted to, you would have been powerful enough to tip the scales in our favour. Randalos, if you were with us, the traitors would be fleeing from us now. And Obeiron would still be alive.


    Then Laftakom spoke, calmly as was his way. "You have broken the rules of our brotherhood. It is not without reason that we are all forbidden to practice the control discipline. You know history well enough to understand the atrocities of this dark curse. You too, Chab, young as you are."


    "Eistaf, you should already understand the sanctity of our rules," Laftakom continued. "Your habit of questioning established truths has been to our advantage, but crossing a certain line is not acceptable. The fact that you are acting out of sheer curiosity and compassion is certainly mitigating. What makes it more serious is that you lured Chab into your experiment. I still don''t think a vote on punishment is necessary. I would ask you not to engage in such foolishness again. Next time you won''t get off so easily."


    "What! No punishment?" Taihan cried. Her dark eyes burned with anger.


    In his heart, Anden agreed. He could not understand Laftakom''s laxity in such a serious matter. But another, much stronger voice in his head urged him to be loyal to Eistaf.


    Laftakom raised his hand dismissively. "Calm down, Taihan, we''ve always dealt with situations like this by talking. Does anyone object to my approach?" he said, letting his gaze wander around the table.


    Taihan looked as if she wanted to argue, but then shook her head. Even Randalos seemed to have no desire to challenge his master''s authority.


    Anden felt the weight lift from his chest as Laftakom concluded that there was no need for further action. Eistaf and Chab mumbled embarrassed thanks, and then the half-moon meeting resumed with Randalos'' ponderous lecture of his study of continental plate movements.


    Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    For the rest of the meeting, Anden reflected on the proceedings of Eistaf and Chab. The idea of the forbidden use of the Might had undoubtedly come from Eistaf. Had he brought up the prohibited subject out of curiosity? The last time he had been guilty of such an open breach of the rules was when he was much younger. Anden dared not to think how many similar situations had gone unreported. That was the way Eistaf Negos had always been, more secretive than open about his actions.


    Eistaf did not like moral lectures either, and Anden did not enjoy giving them to his best friend. Hence the simple reason why Eistaf had not confided his experiment to Anden, but to the easily led Chab. That was what Anden had thought at the time, and only afterwards did he realise his mistake.


    Chab, you are still just a boy, the last of us to join Laftakom¡¯s circle. You were one of the poor children from fishing villages of Northern Isles, a plain brown-haired orphan boy.


    I remember when you were found wandering in the wilderness and brought to Haven. You would surely have been sent away on the first liner boat if Laftakom hadn''t found out something. You were strong in Might, perhaps even more powerful than Jestok or Randalos. You stayed with us.


    You turned out to be smart, soaking up information like a sponge. Laftakom thought of you as his own son and taught you everything he could. And yet, Chab, you are among the renegades who murdered your mentor. Why?


    * * *


    At the end of the half-moon meeting, Anden had started to leave for his apartment when Zaltarim had approached him and asked him for a walk. Slightly puzzled, Anden had shrugged his shoulders approvingly.


    He liked Zaltarim, even though he had never gotten to know him very well. The bespectacled man was an elusive and complex character. At times Zaltarim would talk jovially about things he had seen or heard, but at other times the playful storyteller would become a serious and stern hermit.


    Zaltarim''s long journeys also alienated him from his comrades. If anyone knew the muddy cart tracks and cheap inns full of cockroaches, it was him. In the Brotherhood, everyone had their own occupation, but it was Zaltarim''s chosen path that Anden respected most.


    Zaltarim did not lead his companion to the garden of Haven, as Anden had originally expected, but to the riverbank. They walked one after another along the narrow path to the bank where the Wicked River flowed, black and cold.


    The late autumn chill swirled around the treeless slope, and Anden wrapped his jacket tighter around him. He did not particularly like cold winters, but he had gotten used to them here in the north. Zaltarim, on the other hand, didn''t seem to mind the weather, as he walked ahead of Anden only in shirtsleeves.


    A crow let out a hoarse caw above them. Anden tilted his head and saw Zaltarim''s black-feathered pet scrambling against the wind. After greeting his master, Krahh headed for the towers of Haven. The bird was yet another indication of Zaltarim''s eccentricity.


    When they reached the spot where the bank reached its highest point, Zaltarim finally stopped and turned to face Anden. "You''re probably wondering why I dragged you all this way. I wanted to talk in a place where no one could hear us."


    "What do you want to talk about?" Anden asked.


    "Something is wrong, Anden. I don''t know exactly what, but I can feel it."


    "Wrong? What do you mean?"


    "I have a feeling - you know I get them sometimes - that something is very wrong here in Haven. It''s as if there''s something evil among us that could erupt at any moment." The grey eyes behind the glasses were sharp, which told that Zaltarim was serious.


    "What could it mean?" Anden asked, confused. He believed Zaltarim''s perception, as a seeker the man was exceptionally sensitive to such things.


    "I don''t know exactly, but I guess you also paid attention to that scene at the meeting. I don''t think Eistaf was telling the truth," Zaltarim replied.


    Anden winced, he was irritated when Eistaf was being criticised. "Why do you think that?" he asked more firmly than he had intended.


    "Small gestures. He seemed to be in too much of a hurry to save Chab from the situation, as if he was afraid the boy would reveal even more."


    "So what? It could be something entirely else."


    "Oh, Anden, you like Eistaf too much to notice what I do," Zaltarim said a little sheepishly.


    Anden bit his lip, he did not like it when others brought up his and Eistaf''s relationship. What he thought of Eistaf Negos was nobody else''s business, not even the trustworthy Zaltarim.


    "Why don''t you tell Laftakom about your suspicions?" Anden asked sardonically.


    "You know he won''t listen to me. The stuffy, stubborn man let Eistaf and Chab get away surprisingly lightly. You''re the only one I can talk to about such things."


    Maybe Zaltarim was right, he shouldn''t tell Laftakom. Zaltarim and old Greyhand did not get along very well, but rather only tolerated each other. Anden thought it was because Zaltarim preferred to do things his own way rather than listen to authority.


    "Couldn''t you talk to Jestok, Bendac or Taihan?" Anden suggested, knowing that Zaltarim liked them.


    "Yes, maybe I should. I just wouldn''t want to share this with too many people because I have no proof beyond a bad feeling."


    Anden nodded, perhaps it was not worth going to the others without better information. "How about we both keep our eyes open? We''ll take action as soon as we need to," he finally suggested.


    "Yes, that''s probably best. Don''t mention this conversation to anyone," Zaltarim warned before they turned to return to the shelter of the thick walls of Haven.


    They made their way along the ridge of the hillside towards the dark, looming castle beyond. In the darkening evening, the wind danced with the brown grass of autumn. Anden tugged the collar of his coat upwards, wishing he were already in his own apartment. He would sit in his favourite chair by the fire, ask old Hobbe for a warm mug of cocoa from Southland, and think of something other than Zaltarim''s unpleasant musings.


    * * *


    The last few weeks in Haven had given no hint of what was to come. Everyday life had followed its familiar course, even though the fate of the Brotherhood had already been written.


    Jestok had strummed a lute and serenaded one of the maids. Laughter had blossomed on their faces, and Anden had guessed that the girl was ready to go to bed with her seducer. For a trained chemist, Jestok was unusually light-hearted. Or perhaps that was why he understood the chemistry of love.


    Obeiron had been testing his combustion engines in the courtyard. Randalos had glared at it disapprovingly every time he slouched past. But now Obeiron was dead, murdered.


    My friend Ob, Ob-technician, Ob-sacrificer. Your wonderful gadgets would have been an invaluable aid on the escape. Who uses those devices now? And for what purpose?


    Anden himself had been busy with his own work in recent weeks, visiting the common room only on rare occasions. The methods used to improve the soil in the Age before Oblivion had begun to open up after a long period of toil, and he had not wanted to run away from his work.


    Old Hobbe together with the other servants had provided enough company on those busy days, and Anden was not in the habit of being too sociable. It was likely a problem they all shared. Each lingered in their own chambers, doing their research without bothering to visit each other. Had they been more in touch, a change in the traitors'' behaviour might have been noticed in time.


    Vanna and Cors had returned from a journey together. There was nothing unusual about that either, although Anden suspected afterwards that the duo had used their absence to weave their treacherous plots. He remembered that Bendac had seemed troubled when they had enjoyed grog in the common room one evening. But Bendac had always been socially awkward, so Anden hadn''t paid much attention.


    Bendac - I can''t believe it! Your hair droops thin and your posture is bent with shyness. You never say a bad word about anyone. You know everything about plants and animals, but you go as red as a beetroot when a pretty girl smiles at you.


    You don''t do well with people, but with animals you''re more skilled than anyone else. You feed the birds, chatter to the cats and pat the horses. And you, the kindest of the kind, murdered Laftakom in cold blood! How long did you walk in the shadows before your final fall?


    Perhaps it was better that Laftakom was not anymore here to witness this atrocity. His noble ideals had been betrayed in the most terrible way. An unholy alliance had been forged with the powers that Laftakom Greyhand devoted his life to oppose. A worse betrayal could hardly be imagined.


    For six of them, the common cause was not enough. The sacred vows of the Brotherhood had been broken, as the six cursed ones had hoarded more for themselves. In doing so, they had reached out into the depths of the Darkness.


    * * *


    The sleet whipped across his face, but Anden did not bother to pull up his hood. The blizzard was a sign of life, something worth fighting for. When you are drenched, you could also forget, at least for a moment, until memories came flooding back, painfully.


    Fragments of a conversation sprang to mind from the day Anden had first sensed that life could not go on forever as it had been. Now it seemed an eternity since that meeting. It belonged to the past, to another era that would never return.


    It had happened a few days after the last half-moon meeting. Anden had marched into Eistaf''s apartment in a very confused state of mind. He needed to be convinced that the allegations in the letter he had received were nothing more than malicious gossip.


    How wrong he had been! By going to Eistaf, he had made the traitors wary. Damned foolishness, trusting a friend who betrayed him in the worst possible way.


    Anden''s senses had been sharpened by the soft music from the loudspeakers Ob had built and the scent of wildflowers wafting from the air freshener - as it always did when he entered Eistaf''s apartment. Eistaf Negos appreciated beauty and style. Eistaf the sensualist, Eistaf the charmer, Eistaf the traitor.


    By the time Anden arrived, Eistaf was fiddling with a glass bird that glittered in all the colours of the spectrum. For a moment, he had simply devoured his friend''s features. Eistaf''s long neck was bent into an arch, and the wisp of hair that grew back of his neck had spilled out from under his collar. Anden felt like slipping his fingers around the wisp and tugging at it.


    The wisp in the neck told everyone that Eistaf Negos was of Imperial descent, though only a distant cousin. You could have guessed the lineage from the man''s refined appearance, Anden thought. Eistaf had everything: He was the right height, his build had a certain grace to it alongside his strength, and his face was delicate, almost too attractive for a man. No one could match Eistaf - or Vanna, of course, but Vanna was a woman.


    When Eistaf heard the sound of Anden''s footsteps, his brooding expression softened into a smile. The jingle of the music died away in an instant as Eistaf pressed a small button on the belly of the glass bird.


    "So beautiful and so fragile, like a first love in spring," he said in his baritone, and tossed the bird indifferently in the basin in the corner of the room. There was an unpleasant sound as the glass bird shattered on the rocky bottom of the basin.


    "Why did you break it?" Anden asked.


    "There was a darkening in the wing. The artist strives for perfection and there is no room for flaw in his world."


    "Pity about the bird though. I could have taken it for myself."


    "Anden, I would never give you anything less than perfect," Eistaf said, smiling that relaxed smile he knew Anden loved so much.


    The words were like prickles on his skin. Anden would never get anything imperfect from Eistaf, because Eistaf could never give perfection to another man.


    They had talked about this years ago, and the memory of it still made Anden sad. Why did Eistaf have to open a never-ending wound now? Sometimes he hurts others so easily. And yet Anden could never stay angry with his friend for long. Not in front of that smile.


    Today he was not here to look at a smiling Eistaf, but to demand an explanation for a matter that troubled him. But it was not easy, because he could not be firm with Eistaf. With others, yes, but not with Eistaf, whose presence made the confident and determined Anden look fragile and confused. They both knew this only too well.


    Anden gathered himself and straightened his shoulders. "Eistaf, one of my contacts claims to have seen you meeting with some people known to the fallen, and says you asked them for information on a route to the Bewitched Land of the dreaders. Another source tells me that you''ve been scouring the bookstores in the gloomiest alleys of Dimalos in search of forbidden works on dreaders and their powers? What game are you playing?"


    The smile faded from Eistaf''s handsome face. "So your snoopers claim. How interesting that you would send your minions to stalk your best friend. But why should this information you''ve pried bother you?" Eistaf said in a voice far too mild for his expression.


    He didn''t even try to deny the accusations! As much as Anden had hoped that the sources had been wrong. But no.


    "Is that your answer? Of course it bothers me if you''re involved with anything related to the dreaders. Our rules forbid us to touch such things."


    "Laftakom''s rules," Eistaf said calmly.


    "What!"


    "You heard what I said. We cannot slavishly lock ourselves into dogma if reason says we must do otherwise. Just as the laws of states, the rules of the Brotherhood must be able to adapt to the changing world. There is nothing sacred or set in stone when it comes to man-made rules of conduct."


    Anden had learned over the years that Eistaf had no respect for old traditions, but his words still felt wrong. They went against everything Anden held dear.


    After a moment''s silence, he said: "Eistaf, we are talking about matters of principle; why does our Brotherhood exists."


    His interlocutor narrowed his eyes and spoke again. "We are no longer children. You are thirty-two, I am two years older. Even if we look younger than our age, we will inevitably grow older. With Laftakom''s teachings we may be able to extend our lifespan to perhaps a hundred and fifty years. No longer than that. But what would an endless life sound like? That would be one of the gifts this new path could give us. Think of Anden, the two of us here forever - together."


    Anden swallowed and hesitated. It sounded too wonderful to be true. Moreover, the proposal would mean giving up everything he believed in. So he shook his head and said: "No, that would be wrong."


    Eistaf Negos sighed, a faint smile curling the corners of his mouth. "Oh Anden, you are so predictable. But listen. If eternal life does not tempt you, what about power and might? The ability to do things we have only dreamed of. What we have done so far has been nothing but hustle and bustle. A poor bargain compared to all the things we have the opportunity to peer into with this offer. Just think, a chance to return humanity to its glory days, to the Age before Oblivion!"


    Eistaf''s pale brown eyes had glistened disturbingly, and Anden had sensed a strange feverish excitement in the man. If only he had realised then that with Eistaf it was no longer a matter of idle dreams. The traitors were already preparing to carry out their plan.


    In his gullibility, Anden had thought it was just a philosophical debate. But much more heated than the kind of debate they usually had. He had thought that Eistaf was just weighing the options and was interested in Anden''s opinion on the matter. How little Anden''s opinion had mattered at this point. It had not been worth a penny, even though they had once sworn eternal friendship. Those, too, had been empty words of betrayal on Eistaf Negos'' part.


    Of course, he had been angry with Eistaf and had spoken his mind. "You are mad if you believe in the promises of those who were created to destroy. You think you can play the game with them, when just stepping onto the playing field is a sure path to ruin. You don''t know the powers you''re dealing with. You cannot control the situation, no one can control the witches of Cmorh-Biyr. You are making a mistake for which all of humanity will pay."


    "Hah, you''ve filled your ears with the gossip of the Blue Moon apocalypticists again. Lufudon has done his research. He''s familiar with the powers of the dreaders. Lufudon has convinced me that we can do great things by harnessing these beasts. Why miss an opportunity when the alternative is to wallow in this state of backwardness for thousands of years? Lufudon has shown..."


    "I don''t care what Lufudon has shown. The man is as treacherous as a poisonous snake, perhaps even a fallen."


    Lufudon Narthoy, you''re an abomination to a man. I have always loathed your piercing pig''s eyes and your sharp, ever-bleeding nose. Your shrill voice grates on my ears, and your obsessive interest in literature about the darkest secrets makes me sick.


    "Know thy enemy", you used to reply to others'' queries and continued to explore the dark literature. You exuded toxic, but hid your true nature from Laftakom. I wish I knew how you blinded the master.


    "Watch your accusations!" Eistaf interrupted. "You''ve always had a strange personal problem with everything to do with Lufudon. He has worked hard for the good of the Brotherhood, been the most loyal of the loyal. While your admired Zaltarim has floundered around the world on his ridiculous hunt, Lufudon has worked tirelessly on research that has brought us to a turning point. This is beyond your comprehension."


    "Are you saying that his hunt is ridiculous? How dare you!" Anden could not remember when he had ever been so angry with Eistaf.


    Eistaf Negos, however, had remained calm. "You surely understand now why I have not spoken these thoughts to you before. I knew you would react with such emotion. You are trapped in Laftakom''s outdated ideas. Come back when you''ve calmed down. Then we can talk in peace."


    Anden had nodded coolly and left Eistaf''s beautiful apartment for the last time, although he had not known it at the time. They had not spoken of it again. The opportunity had not arisen. A week later the treason was discovered.


    He had not visited Zaltarim either. Something in his mind had prevented him from talking to anyone about his and Eistaf''s relationship. It was a mistake that Anden perhaps regretted more than anything else.


    * * *


    Anden came back to the present. The night could not last long. The first signs of dawn reddened the sky, and as the sun raised its full face for another day, the escape would be cut short in the arms of the traitors.


    He stumbled forward. Others followed somehow. Their pace had slowed to a miserable trudge, but Anden had no strength to hurry anyone.


    Then he saw movement in the lightening sky. A black dot was moving swiftly towards them. Was it a lone chimeijan and its rider? A scout to alert the others. So this is where it would all end, like this.


    Anden shouted an alarm. He fumbled in his pocket and found a switchblade. A few slashes to his wrists and the veins would open. Others could do what they liked, but he would not surrender himself alive to the beasts of the dark.


    The movement in the air above them grew closer. Izaskar fell to his knees and could only wring his thin hands. Taihan pressed herself to Zaltarim''s side, blathering panickily. Jestok merely stared in resignation at the sky and the approaching destruction. Anden could not help them. He opened the blade of his switchblade. Eistaf, for your sake.


    That''s when Taihan''s scream rang in his ears. It was...that screamed name...He had to watch it again. Anden saw a large crow fluttering through the storm towards them. Like Taihan, he called out the bird''s name.


    "Krahh, Krahh..." Anden echoed and put the knife back into his pocket.


    The bird landed on Zaltarim''s shoulder. A roll of paper tied to its leg contained information that was hard to believe: reinforcements were close by, the pursuers had disappeared.


    Anden floated down the clay slope with Izaskar, so relieved he was. The wise Krahh was indeed capable of miracles. Just as Zaltarim was no ordinary man, the world''s last great jackdaw was no ordinary bird.


    Krahh had given the five fugitives a second chance, a new life. Anden Telon would use it in the best way he could think of: to continue the work for humanity that Laftakom had left unfinished. And along the way, he would avenge the traitors, avenge them harder than anyone could have imagined.


    * * *

 Key People and Glossary

    Key People


    Andiol Empire


    In the town of Paidos:


    Josel Sandkan ("Goldy", "Josi"): 16-year-old boy from Paidos


    Andreuz Sandkan: Josel''s father, author


    Curtus Jerovann: old man, Josel''s father''s assistant


    Franz Landez: Josel''s friend, 17 years old, son of a grocer


    Bartos Rigailon ("Bars"): Josel''s friend, 16 years, son of a senior official


    Darren Temjanion: Josel''s friend, 16 years


    Jolanda: a young woman in Paidos


    Dareis Monteilon: the imperial governor of Paidos


    Zdain Monteilon ("Din"): the governor''s 16-year-old son


    Isendar Vargan: the regional director of the Shadow Cross


    Kal''ditha: a stranger


    Elsewhere in Andiol:


    Zal, Melgyera ("Melgy"), Ragart ("Fox") and Marl: travellers


    Marta Donthav: widow of a merchant


    Toma: Marta''s servant


    Grand Duchy of Malkania


    In the town of Naldau:


    Anibella Dannkas: duchess


    Danae Dannkas: 15-year-old niece of Duchess Dannkas


    In the past


    Members of the Brotherhood


    Laftakom Greyhand, Eistaf Negos, Mocvann Gravenhild ("Vanna"), Taihan Xo''jox, Randalos Vevozor, Jestok the Yellow Coat, Maendrym Cors, Chab, Anden Telon, Zaltarim Fizol, Bendac, Obeiron Kuubos ("Ob"), Izaskar Ksellendor and Lufudon Narthoy


    * * *


    Glossary


    Afamat: a small semi-independent state south-east of Andiol


    Andiol: an empire, neighbouring Malkania in the west and Land of the Ksingis in the east. The flag of Andiol is a yellow sun pattern stylized on a red background.


    Astray Mountains: the mountains between human-inhabited Darkuria and the Bewitched Land.


    Bewitched Land: ''Ar''dagh-mor''. The realm of the dreaders on the continent of Darkuria. See: Cmorh-Biyr.


    Black Flame, the: a network of the fallen through which they share information with each other and group together to serve the goals of the Darkness. The Black Flame is run by mysterious ''superiors ''. See: fallen.


    Blue Moon, the: an organisation that has been active since the Age of Oblivion and whose mission is to fight against the Darkness. Headquartered in Hidden Castle. More recently, it has turned its attention to the Shadow Cross in particular.


    Central Trade Route, the: an important east-west road via Five Hills to Dimalos.


    Chimeijan: see: fiend wings


    Cmorh-Biyr: the human given name (in Darkurian language) for the centre of the Bewitched Land. The name means the darkest darkness and describes well the place where no sunbeam can penetrate through a curtain of black clouds.


    Confidants: a term used by the Blue Moon members to refer to each other.


    Control discipline; control: ways to control and command another person by the Might.


    Chronicles: narratives containing old traditional information collected more than a thousand years ago. The best-known chroniclers are Nidiel the Bearcatcher and Cedne Usvamieli.


    Darkness, the: A unholy force or entity from which the fallen believe they derive their power and in whose name they act. See: fallen


    Darkuria: ''Biyranthoj''. A naturally barren continent, cooled by cold ocean currents and almost always covered by clouds, in the southern hemisphere. Only the east and north coasts of the continent are inhabited. Low standard of living, high poverty, some mining.


    Dimalos: the capital of Andiol, located in the western part of the empire.


    Dimalis: the largest population group in Andiol, comprising the majority of the country''s citizens. The Dimalis are somewhat mixed with the Malkanians in Western Andiol.


    Dreaders: in the old language ''vra-dagraaj''. The dreaders are the most powerful of the followers of the Darkness. They have strange abilities and can move from place to place with dark magic. Creatures mentioned in ancient chronicles and legends, but which very few now believe to exist.


    Duke, Duchess: the second highest noble title in Malkania, inherited by the eldest child of a duke, regardless of sex.


    Eastkeep: the largest town in the Eastern Andiol and the most important centre in the region.


    Eternal sleep: A place or space where the Dimalis believe people go when they die. After being afflicted with eternal sleep, people sleep peacefully, free of memories and worries.


    Fallen, the: people who have sworn an oath to the Darkness and sold their souls for one reason or another. A fallen who has sworn an oath is bound to serve the Darkness and is punished by death for breaking it. The gruesome rituals of worship to the overlords of the Darkness are an integral part of fallen''s lives. See: Black Flame, Overlords of the Darkness, followers.


    Fiend wings: ''chimeijan''. Large flying mammalians, which in the old chronicles are called ''the steeds of the dreaders''.


    Five Hills: a town in central Andiol


    Followers, the: ''duranej'', a name used by the fallen for themselves.


    Frosty Moors: a treeless wilderness area in north-eastern Malkania.


    Frothy: a large river flowing from the central Andiol to Ipalos. It empties into the Great Ocean south of Ipalos.


    Fury hounds: dog-like beasts the size of a small horse. They live mainly in eastern Andiol and Land of the Ksingis in large herds. In Andiol, horror stories are told of how they kill for pleasure and enjoy slowly mauling their victims to death.


    Governor, Imperial Governor: a high official appointed by the emperor of Andiol. He governs his province from the largest town or city in the region.


    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.Grand Duke, Grand Duchess: the highest noble title in Malkania, inherited by the eldest child of the Grand Duke, regardless of sex. The Grand Dukes form a council from among themselves to govern the country.


    Great Ocean: the ocean south of the Andiol and Malkania, extending to the northern coast of Southlands. The Great Ocean is usually referred to simply as ''the Sea'', as it is the only sea known to most people in Andiol and Malkania.


    Grozavok Rift: a long and remarkably deep gorge in the Bewitched Land. Its depths are said to be home to some of the most terrifying beasts.


    Haven: the headquarters of the Brotherhood led by Laftakom Greyhand at Frosty Moors, now abandoned


    Inhabited World, the: the area of the world comprising the inhabited parts of Andiol, Afamat, Malkania, Land of the Ksingis, and the Southlands and Darkuria. Sometimes the term is used to refer to Andiol, Afamat and Malkania alone. The term ''Inhabited World'' is also used to distinguish the distant continent known as the Uninhabited Lands.


    Ipalos: a city in southern Andiol along the river Frothy.


    Ksingis: the inhabitants of the Land of the Ksingis.


    Laftakom Greyhand''s Brotherhood, the: a now defunct community of scholars with a variety of disciplines, whose headquarters, called Haven, was located in Frosty Moors in Malkania. Its members also used the Might in their research and were able to extend their lifespans. In addition to its leader, Laftakom Greyhand, the Brotherhood included Eistaf Negos, Mocvann Gravenhild, Taihan Xo''jox, Randalos Vevozor, Jestok the Yellow Coat, Maendrym Cors, Chab, Anden Telon, Zaltarim Fizol, Bendac, Obeiron Kuubos, Izaskar Ksellendor and Lufudon Narthoy.


    Lake Towns: in Andiol, along the Central Trade Route, there are four nearby towns and lakes connected by the river Frothy. The most important of the lake towns is Deepwater, on the shores of the Great Lake.


    Land of the Ksingis: ''Ksing-Goidao''. A large state east of Andiol and Afamat.


    Main Hall: the room in each major administrative building of the Shadow Cross where the leaders of the organisation meet to take official decisions.


    Malkania: grand duchy, state west of Andiol. The flag of Malkania has a bright red vertical line on a white background and two adjoining triangles of the same colour.


    Masked Thief: a character in Andreuz Sandkan''s adventure novels. The main antagonist of Troubadour Kharl.


    Might, the: a special ability to influence matter and living beings without physical contact. Only few people have the Might, and even fewer understand the existence of the power itself. Unfortunately, some people also want to use it for evil purposes. People who possess the Might are therefore sought after as servants of the Darkness and are tempted by the Black Flame to fall by any means necessary.


    Naldau: a town in eastern Malkania


    Nalvajda: see: Overlords of the Darkness.


    Nao-Kartheon: a large city in western Andiol. Famous for its many parks and its great bridge. The meaning of the old-language name is "New Kartheon".


    Never-Ending War, the: a war waged by Andiol against Land of the Ksingis. It had lasted several decades in the border region between the two countries.


    Nissos: town in southern Andiol by the sea.


    Nobility of Malkania: in order from the most important: grand duke, duke and count. In addition, the younger sons and daughters of the family who do not inherit the nobility of the head of the family are called barons and baronesses.


    Oblivion, the: an indefinite period of time before the beginning of a new era. The wars and upheavals of the oblivion period destroyed much knowledge and caused a major setback in technological development.


    Overlords of the Darkness, the: deities worshipped by the fallen, from whom they believe they receive their powers. The worship rituals are accompanied by horrific rites, which vary for each overlord. In general, the fallen choose one deity, whom they mostly worship. The high priests of the dreaders also serve a particular overlord. The most famous of the overlords are Grozavok (Prince of Eternal War), Nalvajda (Mistress of Lies), Blahaazsa (Lord of Lust), Chatramar (Poisoner), Nemxerdor (Painmaker), Halbadah (Lord of Delusions).


    Paidos: a town in southern Andiol


    Priestesses/priests of all gods: members of the clergy of the public temples of Malkania dedicated to all gods.


    Seeker: a person with a special ability to recognise the use of the Might around them. Some seekers also have the ability to identify other things.


    Senate, Imperial Senate, the: the highest administrative body of Andiol Empire, enacting and enforcing laws. Subordinate to the Emperor.


    Seven Companions, the: an expedition to the Bewitched Land of the dreaders in 1563. Members: Anden Telon, Curtus Jerovann, Ikarr Knobnose, Trebomir Galna, Natalya Afins, Gothey Soldqek and Marl Gaidok


    Shade commandos: people with special training. They are trained to, among other things, shadow a target, disguise themselves to blend in, pick locks and survive fights. A shade commando can be a master swordsman, a burglar and an assassin at the same time. A number of organisations and even countries employ shade commandos.


    Shadaar: an ancient state which was located in the present Andiol area. Destroyed during the Oblivion.


    Shadow Cross, the: a powerful and popular organisation in Andiol, originally founded to protect the rights of peasants. Since then, it has spread to all sectors of society. Also active in Malkania. The emblem of the Shadow Cross is a cross-shaped tree with a larger and darker cross-shaped shadow behind it.


    Shadow dogs: a not so polite nickname for the shadow sentries or the members of the Shadow Cross.


    Shadow sentries: soldiers of the Shadow Cross


    Shadow walkers: a nickname for the members of the Shadow Cross


    Snagosts: monsters of the dark woods depicted in horror stories. Yellowish, long-limbed, their skin covered in toxic slime.


    Southern Trade Route, the: a major road in southern Andiol, goes through Paidos and Ipalos among others.


    Southerners: dark or black-skinned people who inhabit the Southlands.


    Southlands: continent across the Great Ocean south of the Andiol. The countries of the Southlands are Qoi-Tenqeee, Saadda and Mtuul. There are also some self-governing territories.


    Spring Competition, the: a sports contest for young people held around spring time in most parts of Andiol. Traditionally, the Spring Competition includes fencing, steeplechase, running, archery, kite fighting, long jump, discus throwing, swimming and wrestling.


    Spring Day, the: an annual national holiday in Andiol Empire. It marks the end of the first term of the school year. Celebrations throughout Andiol.


    Starveds'' Desert: a wide sandy desert in the Southlands.


    Tigeros Forest: an enormous, almost unexplored forest area in western Malkania


    Town Council: a body in each town or city of Andiol. The Town Council is responsible for regional decision-making in the town, together with the provincial governor. It is made up of representatives of the main professional groups in the town and organisations such as the Shadow Cross. Can pass a vote of no-confidence on the governor, which is then approved or rejected by the Imperial Senate.


    Town Councillor: the highest administrative authority in the Andiol towns, responsible for implementing the decisions of the commander of his district and the Town Council. Responsible to both the governor and the Town Council.


    Traitors, the: the name used by Anden Telon for Eistaf Negos, Mocvann Gravenhild, Maendrym Cors, Chab, Bendac and Lufudon Narthoy.


    Troubadour Kharl: the protagonist of Andreuz Sandkan''s adventure novels


    Veilwood: a vast forest area in the south of Andiol


    Vendum: the capital of Malkania


    vra-dagraaj: see: dreaders


    * * *

 Chapter 8

    "Somewhere far away, at the end of the world, lies the Bewitched Land. There, the sun does not rise and the moon does not shine with its glow. It is the dark land of the dreaders.


    Whoever finds the Bewitched Land will find his own death too. Thus not a soul can tell us about this place, gruesome and mean."


    - Cedne Usvamieli''s chronicle, A Poem About The Dreaders, compiled around 150 New Era


    * * *


    Josel


    Nothing could be done, but Josel remained kneeling on the road, staring at the body in front of him. It was impossible to comprehend. Curtus...calm and secure Curtus, one of the family. Now he was gone, dead. Without warning and forever. First Mom, then Curtus, now only Dad was left, or was he lying breathless in some unknown place?


    A series of sobs shook Josel and his eyes filled with tears. He was so alone, his home was gone and loved ones dead all around him. The world was a much crueller place than he had imagined a few days ago. Nothing like the dreaders should even exist! Where did this horrible creature come from? Why had it killed Curtus?


    Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder.


    "We should get off the road," Zdain said in a faint voice.


    Josel had completely forgotten Monteilon. He was ashamed that another boy had witnessed his moment of weakness. "Don''t touch me!" he snapped and stood up.


    Monteilon''s expression changed to hurt, but Josel did not care.


    "Where are the horses?" he wondered, not seeing them anywhere. Only Curtus'' horse lay motionless on its side on the ground. It was impossible to know what the dreader had done to it, for there were no visible injuries.


    "They must have fled," Zdain replied, avoiding eye contact.


    Josel wiped his teary eyes on the sleeve of his shirt. "Let''s carry Curtus into the woods to hide," he said, his voice cracking miserably. They had to fight and keep going towards Ipalos. That was what brave Curtus had wanted.


    Zdain nodded and grabbed the body by the legs. Josel took the still warm arms and they dragged the old man to the edge of the forest. They placed Curtus in a half-sitting position under a large tree. Josel avoided looking at the dead man''s face as they lifted his arms into his lap to rest. When they had done so, they returned to the road.


    "What about... the dreader?" Zdain asked, carefully pronouncing the name Curtus had given the monstrous creature.


    Josel shrugged, not bothering to answer, but turned to the body of the swarthy figure. A deep breath escaped his throat. "Look!" Josel shouted, pointing to where the dreader had fallen.


    Where the creature''s body should have been, there was only a ragged robe. Black-grey ash dripped from it to the ground. This was all that remained of the monster.


    "Witchcraft!" Zdain cursed and stepped back.


    Suddenly the road felt very unsafe. The leaves on the trees did not rustle as the wind had completely stopped. Not even the sounds of animals could be heard.


    "Hurry to the forest!" Zdain hissed.


    The boys scampered into the shelter of the trees, backpacks swinging on their backs. Only when they reached the forest did they dare to stop. But they did not feel safe.


    The darkness on the road was no match for the endless gloom of Veilwood. In many places, the sky was completely covered by huge trees, and there was little moonlight filtering through the foliage. It was almost pitch black. Zdain stood beside him, but Josel still could not distinguish the boy''s face.


    "What''s next?" Josel asked, hoping his voice did not sound startled.


    "I guess we need to keep going," Monteilon suggested, pointing to the pitch-black forest behind them. "The road is that way. Let''s try to follow it from a distance."


    So the boys set off on their way. Zdain led the way, trying to dodge the trees and bushes that stuck out of the darkness without warning. They both had good walking boots on their feet, but it was still a struggle. Roots and stones tried to trip them up, branches splashed against their faces and once they almost fell into a boghole. Their boots were soaking wet, but they had to keep going. They had to get farther away, for they would be no match for any dreader.


    Some wild animal scurried across the path without warning. It was probably just a rabbit, but Zdain screamed in fright and stopped so suddenly that Josel bumped into his back. Soon they were lying tangled together in the moss. Josel cursed and showed Zdain roughly away.


    "This is not going to work," Monteilon said in a tired voice as he stumbled to his feet.


    "Let''s take a break," replied an equally exhausted Josel.


    They found a dry spot under a large tree and lay down.


    "You have some blankets in your rucksack," Josel remembered.


    It was frustratingly slow to undo the buckles in the dark, but eventually they both found themselves with a hiking blanket made of coarse cloth.


    Josel wiped his runny nose on the back of his hand and drank a drop of water. Then he wrapped himself in the blanket and curled up on a somewhat dry pile of leaves, the moss-covered stump at his side.


    The night in the forest was cold, even though the day had been pleasantly warm. Or perhaps the chill was due to wet feet and tiredness. He could not sleep, the mosquitoes were a nuisance, and every sound of the night was frightening.


    Lying surrounded by thick darkness, Josel felt very unhappy. Without asking permission, he had been driven from his home into the arms of the night. Without the protection of any adult, he had to cope with dangers too great for any sixteen-year-old.


    Now, as was often the case when Josel was feeling down, memories of Mom came flooding back. Usually he pushed her to the back of his mind because it hurt too much to think about her. This time, however, Josel did not have the strength to fight it, and the image of the blonde woman flashed in his closed eyes.


    Idalae Sandkan had been a good mother, a kind and humble person. The kind who should have lived a long life and not died crushed by a vegetable cart before she was even forty. It was wrong, so totally unfair!


    Josel remembered the morning about two years ago when he had last seen his mother. As usual, she had been busy in the kitchen when Josel woke up. They probably had not talked about anything in particular at the time. She had wished him a good day at school, reminded him of his homework and so on, as mothers in every corner of the Inhabited World would do. When Josel came home from school that afternoon, he found his father and Curtus with weeping faces waiting for him.


    The pain squeezed at his heart and Josel wrapped the blanket tighter around him. He felt cold and scared. It wasn''t even enough that Mom was dead, Curtus had also been suddenly snatched away.


    The news would also affect his father, if Josel ever met him again. What if a similar monster had attacked Dad? No, he wouldn''t think of that! He had to try to be brave and hold on, that was what Curtus had wanted. Maybe tomorrow will be better. Josel pulled the blanket over his head to protect him from the beasts of the forest, and slowly sleep took hold of him.


    It was pitch black when Josel awoke. At first he thought he had gone blind, but then he remembered where he was. There seemed to be something beside him...Josel felt a very human-like lump with his hand...Monteilon! Luckily it was only Monteilon, lying under his blanket, almost attached to the side of his travelling companion.


    Under normal circumstances, Josel would have roughly pushed the boy away. Now, however, the knowledge that there was another human being, albeit Zdain Monteilon, next to him in this ghastly place made nocturnal Veilwood feel at least a little safer. Josel clenched the corner of Zdain''s blanket in his fist, just to be sure, and drifted back to sleep.


    * * *


    Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    When Josel awoke again, the morning was already brightened. The sunbeams filtering through the treetops played on his face and dazzled him. He felt miserable, cold and listless. He forced his eyes open and found himself lying at the base of a large tree. There were trees and bushes all around him. Nothing else. He was alone.


    All that was left of Monteilon was a rumpled blanket. Where had the governor''s son gone? Did he run away, abandoning his companion alone in the forest?


    Josel got up and walked around. There was no sign of Zdain. Finally, Josel couldn''t stand it any longer and called out. No one answered. He called again. In vain.


    A moment or two passed, then the branches snapped and Zdain emerged from the bushes. "What are you babbling about? Do you want to invite all the monsters of the forest to attack us?" he asked.


    The boy''s white shirt was badly tattered and one sleeve ripped off after last night''s tramping. Even in his dirty clothes and dishevelled hazel hair, he looked annoyingly handsome. Despite the fact that there was still some blue around his eyebrow.


    "I called when I thought you''d slipped out. Where were you?" Josel said sternly.


    "Sandkan, haven''t you ever heard that people have to relieve themself?" Zdain scoffed and then asked: "You did pack some food, didn''t you?"


    Without answer, Monteilon rummaged through his rucksack and pulled out a bag of dried plums, bread and cheese.


    "You don''t have to eat if it''s not good enough for you," Josel remarked after seeing Zdain twirling the slightly sticky plum in his hand.


    "No, it''s fine," Zdain said quickly, as if afraid that Josel would take his food away from him.


    Josel also searched his own rucksack for a similar set of breakfast items, and they began to eat in silence, sitting on their blankets.


    In addition to the food, Zdain had found a map in his pack, which he studied with a frown. Finally he looked up. "Do you know where we are?" he asked.


    "No, you forced us to come here at night."


    "Could you have navigated better in the dark?"


    "I didn''t say that," Josel muttered and turned in the other direction.


    The situation was almost hopeless. To be lost in the middle of nowhere, with a person he hated. How were you supposed to act in such a situation?


    What would Troubadour Kharl have done? Surely the great adventurer would have climbed a tall tree and gazed at the stars with his hawk-like eyes, or followed the movements of animals to find the nearest body of water. But Josel did not have the talents of an adventure hero, and neither did Monteilon.


    The boys sat on their blankets for a long time. Finally, Josel tried cautiously, "The road might be that way, because the sun is rising behind my back."


    "Maybe, but do we dare risk going near the road?"


    "Let''s see where the road goes and follow it through the forest. At least we won''t get lost again," Josel suggested.


    They gathered their belongings and set off. As there were no paths, progress was slow. This time Josel led the way, trying to deduce from the sun how they could find their way back to the road. Out of curiosity, he broke the silence and asked: "Listen Monteilon, did you know before that the dreaders are real?"


    Zdain seemed surprised by Josel''s sudden talkativeness. "Mmm...I thought they were just fairy tales. The Chronicles of Nidiel the Bearcatcher, for example, tells of battles against armies of thousands of dreaders. But no one believes the old chronicles.


    Josel admitted, the dreaders were part of the mouldy pages of folklore that even the most gullible old men didn''t believe to be true. Sure, you heard all sorts of strange things from storytellers and traders from the outback, but there was no mention of the dreaders in those stories. Josel remembered that Franz had once asked a teacher in a school class if the dreaders were real and had been ridiculed by his classmates.


    It made Josel wonder aloud how Curtus could have recognised the monster as the dreader.


    "He must have seen them before," Zdain concluded.


    That Curtus had seen the dreaders in the past! Josel realised that he probably did not know much about the man who had lived with their family for so long.


    The discussion came to a halt. Josel wondered what the dreader had done here in Andiol''s hinterland. Had it attacked them on purpose?


    They must have trekked very deep into the forest during the night, as it seemed to take forever to reach the road. Although it was not yet very early in the morning, the humid heat of the forest was already oppressive. Josel''s shirt was damp under his pack, and hair stuck to his forehead with sweat.


    Zdain sighed loudly behind him, indicating what he thought of the other''s map reading skills. Josel was still pretty sure they were on the right track.


    Soon Zdain was muttering something about "changing places". Josel was about to turn and yell something rude in response when they suddenly stumbled out of the bushes and onto the side of the road.


    For a moment, Josel just blinked in the bright sunshine. Then he saw something that made him silently curse at his own carelessness. On the road were several people on horseback.


    Without further ado, he threw himself to the ground in the hollow behind a large bush. Zdain scrambled to his side. The riders had no time to notice them.


    Josel was about to suggest crawling back into the shelter of the forest when the sounds of hoofbeats and people on the road approached. The boys were able to see part of the road from behind the bushes. Josel craned his neck cautiously and pricked up his ears. He could see the horses'' feet and count five riders. The voices again told of people arguing among themselves.


    "There''s nothing here... who''s to say they went this way?" a gruff male voice growled. The speaker''s horse stepped towards the other horse.


    "I claim, and Vargan claims!" a female voice replied sullenly.


    The voice reminded Josel something, but so did the name "Vargan". It could be none other than Isendar Vargan. Which meant that these people had to be the shadow sentries! Josel looked at Monteilon, who was lying next to him, staring back with a frightened expression on his face.


    "Blah, you''re just a girl and Vargan is far away," the hoarse-voiced man replied.


    "Yeah, you''re not one to tell us what to do, I heard you failed in your own mission," another man chimed in from a distance.


    The criticism angered the woman who shouted at the person who had just spoken, "You idiot, you''ll pay for what you said!"


    He did not answer, but turned his horse threateningly towards her.


    Confrontation was in the air, but the third man began to calm things down. "Don''t argue. Our job is to find Monteilon and his companions, not to go at each other''s throats. Jolanda is in charge because Vargan and Tomsto ordered so."


    Jolanda! Suddenly Josel recognised the voice. He jumped up and saw a familiar young woman on horseback. Jolanda wore a dark blue cloak over her shoulders and her long black hair fluttered in the wind. She looked sullen, but as beautiful as ever. What on earth was she doing with the shadow sentries?


    At the same moment, Zdain pulled Josel back to the ground. "Crazy, you''re trying to expose us!" he hissed, squeezing Josel''s shoulders painfully.


    "Let me go!" Josel demanded, wrenching himself free of the grip.


    Then Jolanda''s voice came from the road: "What was that?"


    Both boys froze in place.


    "Ha, don''t panic. It''s just some animal, but I can take a look while I pee," the hoarse-voiced man replied lazily and jumped off his horse.


    Josel stared at Zdain in horror. The man came straight towards them. The boys lay as if petrified; one false move would do them harm.


    The shadow sentry was already rustling near the bush. He walked past Josel and Zdain, opened his fly front and stood with his back to them. Soon he would inevitably turn and see the hiding duo. By then it would be too late.


    Zdain looked at Josel and pointed with his hand. Josel understood the scheme. He had to act, even though his fingertips prickled and his stomach churned. Zdain nodded and they both jumped to their feet.


    The shadow sentry had only just turned his head when Josel and Zdain simultaneously shoved him from behind. Urine splattered here and there, the man lost his balance and collapsed to the ground. As he scrambled to his feet, cursing, Josel and Zdain were already running for cover in the forest.


    That was also enough to attract the attention of those on the road.


    "What the fuck! Ruffus!" someone shouted, and the boys heard the men fall from their horses and rush towards them.


    There was no time to waste. The boys stormed through the trees, trying to get farther into the forest. Josel heard Jolanda scream something. From the racket behind them, they knew someone had gone after them. Branches splashed against their faces and they both stumbled at least once.


    Josel and Zdain kept running long after the sounds of their pursuers had died away. They pushed deeper and deeper into Veilwood. There, the trees were even larger, and vast foliage almost completely covered the sky.


    When the boys could no longer run, they half walked and half jogged, struggling to keep up. Finally they stopped at a large rock, gasping for breath like fish out of water.


    Josel fell down next to the stone. Zdain glanced behind him in concern, but then threw his rucksack off his back. He dug out a canteen, which he drained in one go. Josel was about to follow when Zdain attacked him with a barrage of angry words.


    "What were you thinking, stupid! You almost got us both killed. You don''t jump up in a situation like that."


    "You don''t understand. That girl was Jolanda, my...girlfriend," Josel replied, sitting on the ground, his voice thick with despair.


    Zdain stared at Josel, his brown eyes wide open. "Your girlfriend? That was Jolanda Vargan, daughter of Isendar Vargan."


    It was as if the rug had been pulled out from under Josel''s feet.


    "Didn''t you know?" Monteilon asked in disbelief after seeing Josel''s expression. "You''ve been shagging with the daughter of our archenemy. Damn it, Sandkan, you''re a total pinhead!" Zdain spat.


    Normally Josel would have snapped at Monteilon, but now he did not have the strength to do so. There was no more thirst, no more hunger, only a bottomless fatigue. He really was a total pinhead. Had it all been a lie? Jolanda''s beautiful words and promises, even those passionate kisses?


    Josel pressed his head to his knees. It would be so easy to just stay there, to let it all go. Perhaps the leaves of the trees would fall on him and eventually the unfortunate young man would be remembered only as an oddly shaped pile of dirt at the foot of a large rock.


    Zdain ruined that plan too. "Let''s move on, Sandkan," he said.


    Why the hell doesn¡¯t Monteilon leave me alone? Josel felt like throwing a pebble or a cone at the heckler. With a groan, he got to his feet.


    "You might want to have a drink," Zdain said in a colourless voice.


    "Shut up, you smartass," Josel muttered, barely audible. Nevertheless, he dug a water bottle out of his backpack and reluctantly took a few sips. After that, the bottle was almost empty.


    "Give me the map," Monteilon ordered.


    Josel gasped, but pulled a folded piece of paper out of his pocket.


    Zdain took the map and began to study it with a furrowed brow. After turning the map over for a while, he hoisted his rucksack onto his back and began to walk forward. A glance in Josel''s direction was an unspoken command to follow.


    At midday, the sun was of little help in determining the right direction, and it was easy to get lost in the dense forest. Besides, Josel knew they would soon have more to worry about than reading the map. Their food supplies wouldn''t last long and there was an urgent need to find water. So far they hadn''t come across any streams.


    Josel hated the forest and the all-knowing Monteilon. But what he hated even more was himself and his own gullibility. Why had he fallen head over heels for Jolanda Vargan?


    * * *

 Chapter 9

    Danae


    Naldau, Grand Duchy of Malkania


    Danae Dannkas nodded approvingly to the maid who had just finished doing her hair. She uttered a polite thank you, then sent the maid on her way, nodding again to her reflection for reassurance.


    The maid had done a first-rate job, especially remembering that Danae''s hair was not the easiest to comb. Shoulder-length blonde hair tended to bend into defiant waves, which required precision and willpower to style into the latest trend in Naldau''s high society. Especially these days, when Danae would not have patience to sit down at the dressing table for half an hour.


    But Danae didn''t care much for following the latest fashions. In fact, it was rather silly that all noblewomen had to have their hair done in the same way. She would have preferred to choose her own style, or even to comb her own hair independently.


    It was equally silly that all the young girls were dressed in the same way. Especially as Danae hated the open necklines that were in fashion this spring. It made her breasts look so insignificant. Duke Agerbah''s full-bosomed daughter, Semma, had cast mocking glances at Danae''s bust and whispered nasty things in the ears of her sniggering friends. Danae could guess the taunts without hearing them: "flat-chested bitch", "pancake", "boobless bimbo".


    Semma''s malice might have hurt Danae even more had she not known that, despite her small breasts, she was many times more popular with the boys of Naldau''s palace district than Agerbah''s plump cow. She had only a few friends among the girls, but the boys almost adored Danae. This was because she was not like the other girls of Naldau. Danae had the courage to say and do things that were not considered appropriate for girls.


    She enjoyed hunting deer and hiking in a nearby beech forest. Danae loved to pedal her bicycle at full speed, imagining for a moment that she was free of all the tiresome formalities that filled her life. Danae also had fun running away from the palace in the middle of the night to party with the boys and get drunk. It was all completely inappropriate and dishonourable behaviour for the heiress of a prestigious noble family.


    Not only was Danae too reckless to be friends with many girls her age, she was too wild for the strict mold of Naldau social circles, which required a young girl to be nothing but sweet and pretty. Sometimes, of course, it was nice to play the socialite, if only to keep Aunt Anibella from imagining that Danae was somehow strange or didn''t want to be a woman.


    That was not the point at all. Danae did like all the advantages of being a woman. She enjoyed testing her feminine charm on the boys around her. The boys competed to see who could win Danae''s favour and intimacy.


    Had the supposedly chaste Semma ever been kissed by a boy? Danae had done more than that. She knew from Semma''s whispered insults that word had got around. But no matter, the mockery was just a sign of jealousy. Danae was something Semma and her blathering friends could never be. She was different from the rest. There were dozens of Semmas in Naldau, but only one Danae.


    But not for long. Danae would soon leave Naldau behind. Aunt Anibella had had enough of Danae''s antics. The latest all-night excursion had finally been the last straw for Duchess Anibella Dannkas.


    According to her aunt, Danae had disgraced the family name. "When it is my time to go, you will be the last of the Dannkas. By the Gods, behave with the dignity of your family!" she had bellowed.


    Strictly speaking, Danae was not the last member of the house of Dannkas, but her maternal second cousins had no right to inherit the title of Duchess from Anibella. The thought of the Dannkas name disappearing from the directory of Malkanian nobility haunted Anibella, who cherished her family''s heritage.


    Finding a worthy husband for Danae was therefore her aunt''s most important task. A well-behaved son from another ducal family, but far down the line of succession, might be a possibility. Then the family could continue under the name of Dannkas. Unfortunately, the niece''s unconventional behaviour seemed to jeopardise the plan.


    Anibella had been an important support for Danae after her father Farrain and mother Arlene, Anibella''s younger sister, died of lung pox. Danae had been a baby at the time and had no memory of her parents. Her father, Farrain, had come from the lower nobility, so the name Dannkas had been passed down from mother to daughter, as was the custom in Malkania in such cases. The Dannkas family was very small, and childless Anibella was the last of four siblings to survive, so it had been only natural that the orphaned girl would be raised by her aunt.


    Raising a child had brought a welcome change to Anibella''s regular life, and Danae had willingly pleased her silly aunt. Everything had been going well until the days when Danae had decided to be different.


    "In the name of Voltha, will this difficult age never pass?" Anibella had lamented to her friends, unable to make her young niece fit the part of a noblewoman.


    But Danae knew better than her aunt. Adolescence had not changed her. Danae had always been that way, but it was only when she had grown into a woman that she had had the courage to act on it. It was liberating to break out of the role that the society had set for her. Once Danae had begun to break boundaries and go her own way, she had felt like a bird released from a cage. After that, she had no intention of returning to that cage. Life outside it was simply too interesting.


    Despite Anibella''s tearful prayers, Danae had shown no sign of change. So her aunt had decided to act before the girl became pregnant or thought about running away with a servant boy.


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    The worst part for Anibella was that Danae had made her look like an unworthy guardian. To Anibella, who was chaste, religious and conscious of her reputation, this was an abomination. As a result, the niece had received quite a tongue-lashing from her aunt after her last night out.


    "In heaven''s name, Danae! It is not appropriate for a fine lady of fifteen to go out at night to whoring and come home in boys'' clothes, drunk as a skunk. You remind me of some cheap tavern wench."


    At first, Danae couldn''t believe her ears. Duchess Anibella Dannkas never used such language. Auntie was the finest of ladies, pious and meticulous about formality. But this time aunt Anibella had stammered out one harsh word after another, looking like she was about to bawl like a little child.


    Besides, her aunt was wrong. Danae had never gone that far with a boy. But no amount of reassurance could calm the seething Anibella. Auntie had not listened, even when Danae had tried to explain, promised to mend her ways and behave like a Priestess of all Gods.


    In the past, Danae had always managed to worm her way back into her aunt''s good graces after the worst blows, but now no amount of persuasion had worked. Aunt Anibella said she had prayed month after month for a change in Danae''s behaviour.


    The prayers had not been answered, so Aunt Anibella had sought the advice of her friend, Grand Duchess Ofelja Henermas, who was - if possible - an even greater authority to Anibella than Gods.


    Grand Duchess Henermas had always been cold towards Danae. She had probably seen her opportunity and suggested to Anibella that her niece should be sent away from Naldau for a while. Aunt Anibella, who was rather sensitive to the advice of those wiser than herself, had accepted with a heavy heart.


    That was the reason why Danae was packing her things now. She did not blame her aunt, whom she loved despite all her faults. The plump and pockmarked Anibella hadn''t been able to marry or start a family. According to mocking rumours, as a young girl she had been hopelessly in love with a handsome and arrogant young man who was now the grand duke of a powerful family. This young man had then broken poor Anibella''s heart by telling her how ugly and repulsive he found her. Nevertheless, Anibella was still rumoured to keep a picture of the grand duke in his youth in her bedside drawer as her most treasured keepsake. The knowledge of this made Danae very sad, but she had no means of consoling her unhappy aunt.


    Anibella faced a difficult dilemma when it came to finding a new home for Danae. Despite her certain sluggishness, Anibella had realised that sending her niece away for a year to live with another Malkanian family might not have been a good idea. Danae would surely have carried on as before, and word of the Dannkas heiress'' disgraceful behaviour would have spread throughout the Grand Duchy. In that case, Danae could be in real trouble.


    Not everywhere was the atmosphere as tolerant as in Naldau, a secularised and liberal town in Malkania. In many parts of the Grand Duchy, the moral code of the clergy extended not only to the common people but also to the upper classes, and a wanton daughter of a house of dukes could face a fate far worse than public shame. Her aunt had therefore decided to send Danae as far away from home as possible.


    After sending several letters and receiving negative replies, Anibella had finally remembered her childhood friend, who had married a Dimali official against her family''s wishes and had been forced to move to the hinterland of Andiol.


    Although the general mood among the nobility of Malkania was strongly against relations with the Dimalis, Anibella had not abandoned her friend. It had been nearly ten years since she had last met Naeda on a visit to Dimalos, but they had continued to correspond by letters ever since.


    When, after more than two weeks of agonising waiting, Naeda had agreed to Anibella''s request, Danae''s aunt had almost laughed with joy. At last, the problem that had plagued her nerves would be solved.


    Auntie had begun her preparations in good spirits, but had immediately mourned her separation from Danae. However, she had convinced herself that it was all for the best. Danae learned that Naeda had a teenage son who, according to his mother''s writings, longed for the company of a girl of his own age. Aunt Anibella could already see in her mind''s eye a well-behaved, quiet and more indoors loving Dimali boy. Unlike Danae, who had nightmares of the pimply-faced, nearsighted and stooping monster whose lovesick advances she would have to endure.


    Despite the horrors, the thought of leaving caused a spark inside Danae that could not be described as merely unpleasant. She''d never been much further than Naldau because Aunt Anibella didn''t like to travel - especially if it meant coming into contact with the country folk.


    The very act of travelling was agonising to Anibella, who saw trains as a mode of transport for the bourgeoisie, something a noblewoman should never set foot on. Airships, on the other hand, she feared, seeing them as a defiance of the will of the Gods, since humans were not meant to fly. Occasionally, Anibella would take an uncomfortable carriage ride to Vendum to attend to family business or meet acquaintances, but she was always exhausted after her journeys and vowed to stay in Naldau for the rest of her life.


    Danae, on the contrary, had dreamed of seeing distant lands. Places whose images she had admired in the book Wonders of the Inhabited World. The black ledges of Rotthyi Cliffs defying the fury of the sea, the unconquerable Pike Peaks rising above the clouds in the snow, insurmountable Starveds'' Desert, vast Tigeros Forest teeming with wondrous life, and wild rapids, the Flurrying One with its deathly whirlpools. She wanted to see them all, and much more.


    After Anibella''s announcement that Danae would be travelling all the way to Andiol, she had thought for a while that she would see the tower buildings of Dimalos, the gardens with bubbling fountains and the glittering palaces. So it had been a great disappointment when Anibella had told that her destination was a provincial town in the south of Andiol, of which Danae had never heard.


    * * *


    When the day of departure came, Danae had said goodbye to her weeping aunt with more sadness than she had imagined.


    She had said her farewells to close friends the night before. None of the boys were any more special to her than the others, but she knew she would miss each of them. But now she was grateful that she hadn''t chosen one of them as her boyfriend, because then it might have been even harder to leave. Would the boys forget her in the year she was gone? Danae had quickly put the thought of the boys in Semma''s arms out of her mind.


    Danae did not have to make the journey alone. Offus, the head chamberlain of the Dannkas family, would see her to her destination. They would ride in a carriage drawn by Anibella''s best horses to the airship field. There they would board an airship to take Danae close to her destination. Auntie had told her niece''s new guardians the exact date of her arrival so that they would be ready to meet her at the landing site.


    As Danae gazed out of the coach window at the palace grounds, and gradually at the whole of the Naldau descent, she suddenly felt very lonely. The familiar world, everything she had loved in her life, would soon be a thing of the past. There was nothing but the unknown ahead, a year or maybe two in the company of strangers in a place she knew nothing about except its name. Paidos, that was the name of the town.


    * * *

 Chapter 10

    Josel


    "Josel, stay at home. Me and Curtus will come and get you. If you do not hear from us by morning, find baker Mommes in Little Street and tell him my name. He is reliable.


    If Paidos is not safe, travel to Ipalos and visit Marta Donthav, whom I know beforehand. She is living in the Merchant''s District; you cannot miss the big yellow house.


    Destroy the message as soon as you have read it.


    With love, Andreuz."


    "It''s from your father, huh? What does it say?" Zdain wondered.


    "None of your business," Josel replied curtly and began to tear up the letter he was reading. The message had clearly been written on the night when the familiar life in Paidos had been shattered. He had no desire to share the last memory of his father with Monteilon.


    "I have a right to know, it affects me too," Zdain insisted.


    Josel was silent for a moment, trying to resist the urge to punch the other boy in the face. It was because of the Monteilon family''s shenanigans that they were stuck in this filthy mess. Still, Zdain was right; it was only fair to tell him. "All right..." Josel began, outlining the contents of the letter.


    Neither of them had anything more to say. Zdain hoisted his rucksack onto his back and started walking again. With a sigh, Josel buried the paper shreds in the dirt with the toe of his shoe and hurried after him.


    * * *


    The trees in the forest were mostly deciduous - lime, ash and beech. The undergrowth was mainly young trees and shrubs, as the ground was too dry or dark for flowering plants and ferns. Instead, mosses lined the ground in thick carpets, covering decaying tree trunks that had fallen to the ground and stones that lay here and there. The landscape was like something out of a painting, the kind you''d like to look at from your living room wall at home - rested and full.


    As the day wore on, the boys were still walking. Josel''s feet were blistered, but he was not going to complain, not in front of Monteilon. They would keep going, they were both athletes and Josel did not want to be inferior to his rival in this sport either.


    During the breaks, Josel and Zdain mostly glowered at each other. There was no talking, and if they said anything to each other, it was strictly practical. For the most part, they just trudged along. Zdain, who had the map to himself, led the way, and Josel, who silently hurled insults at the brown-haired boy''s back, was in the rear.


    As the evening began to darken, the boys did not want to repeat the previous night''s miserable attempt to walk in the dark. Their throats were dry with thirst and the thousands of footsteps weighed heavily on their legs when they finally found a more or less decent place to spend the night. Beneath a low bank was a soft hummock covered with grass. They threw their packs into the ground and took turns emptying their bladders behind the bushes.


    When Zdain returned, Josel spread the blanket out on the ground.


    "Hey, that was my blanket," Monteilon gasped.


    In his state of exhaustion, this was enough for Josel to lose his temper. "Oh, your blanket!" he exclaimed, jumping to his feet. "These are certainly not your blankets, but my father''s. I have no reason to let you use either one."


    Enjoying the embarrassment on Zdain''s face, Josel pulled both blankets over himself. The other boy stood still for a moment, looking unhappy, until he sat down on top of his rucksack a few steps away from Josel.


    It was a cool night again. Josel settled down in his sleeping spot next to the earthen wall and buried himself in his blankets. Monteilon was chewing on his lip, still sitting on his rucksack, even though Josel had expected he would get angry and tear a blanket for himself. Josel began to feel that he had gone too far. A pang of remorse prickled his chest. Was he going mad, worrying about Monteilon''s bad mood?


    Josel tried to lie still and forget about the boy sitting on his rucksack. But nothing came of it. Finally, he pulled off the top blanket and threw it at Zdain, snarling, "There''s the stupid blanket for you."


    The blanket fell next to Zdain, but he made no move to pick it up. Josel muttered something about ingratitude and turned away. Sleep just would not come.


    Veilwood was as spooky as the night before. The wind sighed through the leaves of the trees and the nocturnal animals rustled in the darkness. Josel hoped that the sounds were only of small, harmless animals.


    It was hard to tell what was real and what was not. In the Troubadour Kharl stories, the forests were teeming with human flesh-loving snagosts. The old chronicles told of wars against the creatures of darkness. No one took them seriously, or even considered them a reflection of ancient history. Josel had not believed in dusty legends - not until he encountered the dreader.


    If the dreaders existed, why not the snagosts as well? What if they were prowling somewhere nearby, opening their deadly, slime-oozing mouths and dreaming of their next human meal? Two schoolboys would be no match for such monsters.


    Josel felt cold. He had to peek out of the corner of his blanket to make sure there was no a snagost - or worse - lurking in the nearest bush. Fortunately, the dim moonlight revealed nothing of the sort. Josel could only make out the figure of Zdain wrapped in the blanket a little further away.


    At least the blanket was good enough for him, Josel thought, but he could not calm down. Every unfamiliar sound made him shiver and he wished there was someone beside him to hold his hand.


    When sleep finally took over, it was restless and full of nightmares.


    * * *


    The morning was, if possible, worse than the day before. During the night, greedy mosquitoes had bitten Josel''s ankles and wrists full of itchy bites. Lack of sleep and dehydration were evident throughout his body: Josel''s head ached and he was in a bad mood.


    The boys ate two limp carrots in silence. There was no appetite for dry bread because there was no water. Josel saw Zdain moisten his chapped lips with the morning dew on the grass. When the boy looked away, Josel repeated the trick. But it did nothing to quench his thirst.


    Still silent, they set off. Step followed another, but the forest remained unchanged. In the same way, Josel''s thoughts went round in circles, always ending with the gut-wrenching disappointment: Jolanda had been nothing but a spy. That''s how it had to be. And Josel would surely have spilled everything he knew to his lover, if only she would had time to ask.


    It was hard to tell how long they had walked since the last rest. Josel put one foot in front of the other. Fatigue squeezed with every step, but at the same time it numbed the mind and somehow made the unbearability of the situation easier to bear.


    Suddenly he bumped into Zdain''s back. For some reason, Monteilon had stopped at the foot of a small cliff. It took Josel a moment to realise that they had already passed it once, perhaps half an hour earlier.


    "So, you have gone astray. Even a blind man can read a map better than the governor''s brat," he spat out his bad mood.


    Monteilon turned in a flash. "Are you trying to start a fight?" he asked.


    "What if I try?" Josel replied, taking a defiant step towards the other boy.


    Zdain backed away.


    "Are you afraid? You worthless coward!" Josel declared.


    Then Zdain knocked him down with force.


    Monteilon''s brown eyes burned with anger as he shouted: "I''ve put up with this constant harassing for a long time. Even though you''ve beaten me to a pulp, and even after that you''ve been talking shit to my face all the time."


    Josel jumped up. "You''re the one who asked to be beaten. You think you''re better than the rest of us," he barked and pushed Zdain in the chest.


    "You son of a bitch!" Zdain roared and punched Josel painfully in the stomach with his fist.


    Josel fell to his knees, struggling to draw air into his lungs. "You fuckhead!" he bellowed and lunged at Zdain, knocking the boy down with his head.


    They fell on top of each other. The dead leaves whirled in the air. Zdain hissed and reached for Josel''s hands to lock them in his grip, but was met with a swift knee kick to the side. Groaning in pain, Zdain tried to retaliate by hitting Josel''s head, but failed.


    Josel was about to kick Zdain again, but the boy rolled nimbly out of the way. The blows rained down, but became less and less forceful until the fight turned into a wrestling match, with neither boy getting the better of his opponent. Soon they were panting on the ground, holding each other''s wrists.


    Eventually Josel released his grip and spun out of Zdain''s reach. His jaw and side were sore - bruises were sure to come. He glanced at Zdain. The boy was lying on his back, staring into the treetops.


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    After a long moment of silence, Josel thought aloud, "This is stupid. We will never get to Ipalos if we were at each other''s throats all the time." So, Josel decided to try, "Listen, Monteilon... what if we called a truce?"


    Zdain raised himself up on one elbow and turned to Josel. "I have been wondering the same thing. Maybe we should try to get along."


    Josel sat up and immediately his side stung more. "I suppose we should," he said.


    The look on Monteilon''s face was reserved but not unfriendly. "But that doesn''t mean I like you," the governor''s son was quick to point out.


    "Same here! As soon as we get to Ipalos, you''ll walk in one direction and I''ll walk in the other, and we''ll never meet again," Josel made it clear.


    "Okay, point taken."


    They scrambled to their feet. Zdain''s stained white shirt had been torn even worse in the fight. Now a large shred hung from it, leaving his right side almost completely bare. The boy looked at the tear with an annoyed scowl and with a single tug yanked the hanging piece of cloth free.


    "I liked this shirt, it wasn''t cheap," he said, dropping the rag and to the ground.


    "I''ve got spare clothes in my pack, you can get a new one there," Josel mentioned.


    "Uh, it''s not worth it until I can wash up. There must be at least a pond or something in this miserable forest." Zdain walked over to his rucksack and shook the empty canteen. "Or just a brook would do," he added.


    Josel agreed; he too had run out of water. To console himself, he dug two dried plums from his pack and gave one to Zdain. They devoured the fruit quickly, but it was not enough to satisfy their hunger.


    "Shall we move on, find a brook?" Zdain asked in a surprisingly cheerful tone.


    "Let''s look at the map together," Josel suggested, equally conciliatory, adding with a cautious smile: "I won''t hit you."


    "You''d better not, because this time I''m going to kick your ass," Zdain said with a laugh.


    Josel disagreed with the outcome of the rematch, but kept his mouth shut. Getting out of the forest was more important than another duel.


    * * *


    Examination of the map gave no certainty about their current location. However, the position of the sun peeking through the treetops told them they were heading roughly in the right direction.


    Josel and Zdain staggered on in silence. Throats sore from thirst did not inspire conversation, and they were not accustomed to talking to each other any more than was necessary.


    Trees soughed in the wind while small birds chirped warning calls in the bushes as two boys passed their nests. The air was warm and the terrain relatively easy to traverse. Still, familiar worries swirled in Josel''s mind: the disappointment of Jolanda, the concern for his father, and the cruel fate of Curtus. There was also a kind of longing for friends, home and Paidos in general that weighed on his chest.


    The boys took occasional breaks to nibble their dwindling supplies. It was very painful to eat without drinking, but they couldn''t find water anywhere. They just had to carry on, even though every step felt like being covered in tar.


    They had not quarrelled after the fight. But the irritation of the situation had reached the point where Josel knew that at any moment one of them would say something offensive. Even now, Zdain turned the map in his hand with an exasperated look on his face, searching for any landmark that would tell him where they were.


    "Dammit! This is not going to work," Zdain said.


    Josel was content to remain silent, there was no point in arguing in this situation.


    The walk continued. At some point, Josel started to feel like he couldn''t go on any longer. Where on earth did Zdain get his strength from? The other boy was a few steps ahead of him up the hill. Josel stopped and leaned against a large tree.


    Zdain walked along for a while, but then noticed that his companion had fallen behind. He turned around and said in a tired voice: "Hey Sandkan, we have to keep going."


    "Do what you want! I''m staying here!" Josel snapped more angrily than he had intended.


    The reply clearly annoyed Zdain, who announced: "Don''t think I''m coming for you." With that, he turned and continued on his way, ignoring Josel.


    As Zdain''s rucksack had disappeared from view, Josel slumped down against the trunk. What was the point of trudging on through this disgusting forest? Let that bastard Monteilon go...


    He sighed and pressed his palms to his face. Veilwood hummed in response, looking even bleaker than it had been a moment ago. Josel lifted his gaze from his hands. He should probably keep going, lest Monteilon get out of shouting distance.


    Just as he was about to climb up and catch up with Zdain, there was a loud crash from the top of the hill. Someone or something was coming towards him at high speed.


    Josel did not have time to jump behind the bushes to hide when he saw Zdain rushing down the hill. "Sandkan, there''s water!" the boy shouted joyously from afar. "There''s a pond beyond the hill!"


    * * *


    The pond was not large, but it was not small either. It was surrounded on the hillside by cliffs that sloped gently down to the shore. On the opposite bank was a marshy, mossy area with a few trees sticking out. The pond had a rocky bottom, which made the water very clear.


    As soon as they reached the shore, the boys dropped to all fours and began to slurp water. After quenching their thirst and filling their canteens, they lay down on the sun-warmed rock. Josel felt good for the first time in days. It was impossible to be angry, even in the company of Monteilon, when water source had finally been found.


    Stretching his limbs, Josel sat up, squinting his eyes in the glare of the sun. "Monteilon, can you swim?" he asked mischievously.


    "I think I beat you in that event a couple of years ago in the Spring Competition," Zdain replied, sounding a little indignant.


    "You must be misremembering," Josel said.


    Zdain snorted, but couldn''t quite hide his smile.


    They stood up. Both took off their soiled shirts.


    "I''ve got soap with me," Josel said happily, mostly to himself, and then added to Zdain: "Oh, but do you need it at all? You princes don''t sweat and get dirty like us mere mortals, do you?"


    "Very funny again," Zdain said and began to remove his trousers.


    Out of curiosity, Josel glanced at his companion, who was already stripping off his underwear. Monteilon looked... good, although Josel noticed that he himself was bigger from there. In his thoughts, he let his gaze linger too long on the other boy''s naked body.


    Of course, Zdain noticed the stare. "Haven''t you seen muscles before?" he asked with a wry smile.


    "Every day in the mirror."


    "Ah, you have a habit of looking in the mirror? Sandkan, no surprise."


    Unable to think of a witty retort, Josel turned away and removed the rest of his clothes. Meanwhile, Zdain had already stepped into the water and seemed to be wondering if he would dare to get wet. After a moment''s hesitation, Monteilon plunged into the pond with a thud.


    Josel went to the shore with a bar of soap in his hand. As he bent down to place the soap on a rock, the water hit him. He cried out in fright, which made the splashing Zdain laugh. Josel shouted a curse and rushed into the water to avenge the cold shower.


    A water fight was now inevitable. They splashed each other, laughing and making noise like little children, forgetting how much they hated each other. When they had played and splashed enough, they took turns washing themselves.


    "I don''t care if it''s snobby, but it feels good to be clean," said Zdain, standing on the shoal, rubbing soap into his armpits.


    "You''re right," Josel, floating nearby, admitted. He was a little surprised that the two of them could have a conversation.


    After washing up, Josel challenged Zdain to a swimming contest, which ended in a draw. Occasionally they would go up on the cliff to lounge, and when the sun got too hot, they dashed back into the water in perfect harmony.


    Eventually Josel decided that swimming was enough, the sun was already quite low in the sky. Perhaps it was already late afternoon. He swam to shore, pulled on a pair of clean underpants and sat down on a rock to dry off in the sun. Looking at Zdain, still floating in the pond, Josel reflected that he really felt no animosity towards the governor''s son at that moment.


    * * *


    Josel''s eyes slid from Zdain to the sky. The sun was still above the treetops, but evening was inevitably approaching. He let his eyes sweep across the sky. Not a cloud in sight...but what was that dark spot? It seemed to be moving.


    Josel stood up. The spot was coming closer. It could not mean anything good.


    "Monteilon!" he shouted hoarsely, running a few steps to the shore. "Get out of the water!"


    The boy swimming in the pond stopped splashing and turned his attention to Josel.


    "Why would I do that?"


    "In the sky... it''s moving this way." The point was indeed approaching.


    "It must be a bird..." Zdain called back from the middle of the pond.


    The dot grew into a splotch with wings. But no bird was that big.


    "No! Come away!" Josel cried out in despair. Why Monteilon couldn''t believe it, but start to being difficult again?


    Then a blood-curdling scream tore through the sky. A bird made no such sound.


    After hearing the scream, Zdain finally realised the danger and began to scoop frantically towards the shore. The flying creature was huge, and it was coming straight for him.


    Zdain was almost at the beach when the beast screamed again. It was so close that Josel could make out the huge bat-like wings on its black body.


    Then everything happened very quickly. Zdain floundered to the shore and clambered onto the rock as the beast arched over the pond. The animal was at least the size of a horse. It had a beak like a bird of prey, only bigger. Its legs resembled those of a giant falcon, but there was little else avian about the creature. Like bats, its wings were leathery, and its body was covered with fur instead of feathers.


    Josel realised that the only way to be safe was to run for the shelter of the trees. He screamed at the top of his lungs, beckoning Zdain to follow him to the edge of the forest. The monstrous creature squalled and darted towards its prey. Zdain almost flew the last few steps and caught up with Josel behind the tree trunks.


    The beast shrieked in a horrible way. Branches slammed against bare skin and rhizomes scraped knees to scratches as the boys threw themselves into the nearest hollow. The monster had been unable to follow them into the thicket. It howled its frustration over the pond, flapping its huge wings wildly. Finally, the splashing and screeching subsided and the monster, unsuccessful in its hunt, flew away from the pond.


    They lay on a moss-covered ground, almost stuck together. Josel found himself squeezing Zdain''s wrist and released his grip. Monteilon gasped for breath, his eyes squeezed shut, still clinging to Josel''s shoulder.


    "Don''t worry...it already flew away", Josel said, touching his finger to the boy''s shoulder.


    Monteilon cautiously opened his eyes, but did not let go of Josel''s shoulder. Frightened and losing his self-confidence, Zdain looked like a lost little boy.


    "Thank you...Josel," he whispered, calling his companion by his first name for the first time.


    Josel waved his hand to signal that there was no need to thank him. Suddenly aware of Zdain''s nakedness, he sat up.


    Zdain''s hand slipped from his shoulder. Josel struggled to his feet, but the brown-haired boy made no move to get up. Josel noticed that Zdain''s body was shaking; he must have been terrified.


    "Come on, it''s safe now," Josel said, peering through the trees at the deserted pond. The little birds, silenced by the appearance of the beast, were singing again. It was obvious that the horror had flown away.


    "What was that all about?" Josel asked, referring to the beast. He wanted to know, even if it meant revealing his ignorance to Monteilon.


    Zdain looked worriedly at the sky, but did not put any clothes on. He sat down on a rock and drew up his knees into his lap. When he finally spoke, his voice was weary and cracked.


    "My private tutor once told me to read Cedne Usvamieli''s chronicle. You know it is a fairy tale from ancient times. I have forgotten most of it, but one passage stuck in my mind. The poem went something like this: ''On the sky of the Bewitched Land flies a fiend wing, a night steed, monstrous. It carries its lord, the dreader, to murder and receives its reward - a meal of blood, a human''," Zdain said, stumbling a bit with his words.


    Josel breathed hard and fought against a shudder. "The dreader that killed Curtus...that was its mount."


    They had no desire to pursue the matter any further. Josel noticed that Zdain''s skin was stained with dirt and suggested a wash. They took turns to clean themselves by the shore while the other stood guard. Neither of them was in the mood for a swim.


    There were clean changes of clothes for both of them in the rucksack. The boys put them on without delay and went to the edge of the forest to eat. Repeatedly, Josel''s eyes scanned the sky from which the masterless steed of Curtus'' slayer had so suddenly appeared. Had it been mere coincidence after all?


    * * *

 Chapter 11

    Isendar


    Paidos, Andiol Empire


    Isendar Vargan took a few aimless steps across the floor of his large study before pausing to look out the window framed by thick velvet curtains. As he did so, he stroked his long black hair. It felt greasy, but he did not care. The man staring out the window was impatient for news. The hair didn''t matter, the news did.


    The view out of the six-paned window into the garden, however, could tell him nothing of the important information he was feverishly awaiting. But at such moments Isendar had a habit of looking out the window, useless as it was.


    In Paidos, everything had gone according to plan. For months, the Shadow Cross had deliberately sown discord among the townspeople. Disgusting rumours had been spread about Dareis Monteilon, and the legitimacy of the governor''s authority had been questioned. The rebellious spirit of youth was propped up by organising alcohol-fuelled parties where they were encouraged to act against the governor in any way possible.


    That might have been enough to defeat Monteilon without the direct action from the Shadow Cross. Unfortunately, the City Council had been intractable, and the majority had not been inclined to support the dismissal of the imperial governor. Therefore, Isendar Vargan had finally grown tired of waiting and launched an open rebellion against Dareis Monteilon, and thus against the imperial throne. He had no intention of backing down.


    He took a few more restless steps until he stopped to think. Had he forgotten something? Something small and seemingly insignificant, but which could derail the plan? Or plans, Isendar had several in the works at the same time. These plans overlapped, replaced those that had gone wrong, acted as stopgaps or were simply unworkable visions.


    Isendar liked to intrigue. However, he often left the rough execution to others. Why get his own hands dirty when the work could be done by someone less important - someone incapable of planning.


    No, Isendar Vargan had certainly not forgotten anything. The success of his plans would depend on factors beyond his control, such as the expertise of other people. It was a pity to play one''s best cards when one could not be responsible for everything. You just had to trust that others would do their assigned tasks properly. And if they did not - well, it was always easy to replace people with new ones. More loyal, more intelligent, more cold-blooded...


    Suddenly he heard footsteps approaching quickly and the door to the room opened. Isendar knew who it was without even turning to face the door. Except in certain emergencies - which he really did not want to remember - only one person had the right to enter his room without knocking. But it was precisely because of these exceptions that the regional director of the Shadow Cross in Paidos turned towards the door with lightning speed.


    This was not an exceptional situation, so Isendar breathed a sigh of relief and let his hand slip away from the reddish stone amulet hanging around his neck. With an expectant smile on his face, he looked into the face of the visitor.


    "Jolanda, darling," he began, trying to find signs of good news in the beautiful dark-haired girl''s face. To no avail - Jolanda looked downright furious.


    "What''s wrong, my girl?" Isendar asked.


    "I lost track of them," Jolanda confessed.


    "Are you absolutely sure that the boys you saw were the ones we were looking for?"


    "Of course I am!" was the sharp reply.


    Isendar Vargan believed his daughter. Jolanda had become like her father, who was never wrong. "Good. That means Monteilon has split his group in two. We''ll focus our search on the northern route. That''s where we have a certain sighting of Monteilon himself. The boys are less important."


    "But the boys might know Monteilon''s whereabouts and more about his plans. Let me look for them," Jolanda spoke with unusual fervour; his daughter was normally better at controlling her emotions.


    Isendar thought he knew what it was. "You are losing your ability to think rationally. It was a mistake to let you talk to young Sandkan."


    "It won''t jeopardise the plans," Jolanda snorted irritably.


    Isendar did not agree. "I can get you ten beautiful blond boys. I have connections with the best slave traders in the Southland."


    Jolanda waved her hand in the air to show how little interest she had in the offer.


    "You need someone to oversee the implementation of your plans in Ipalos. You need someone you can trust there," Jolanda said after a short silence, still with a poignant tone in her voice.


    Isendar furrowed his brow. The girl needed more training, she should suppress her emotions if she wanted to go far in life. Nevertheless, Jolanda was right, there were not many in Ipalos he could trust.


    Jolanda, on the other hand, he trusted completely, and Isendar Vargan usually did not deny his only daughter anything.


    "Okay, you''ll be on your way as soon as possible."


    "Thank you, Daddy," Jolanda whispered, kissing her father on the cheek.


    "You will have full authority in the city and I will give you a certificate to prove it."


    Jolanda nodded enthusiastically and looked as if she wanted to shuffle off.


    Before Jolanda left, Isendar said, "Go, my girl, but be careful. These days there are other hunters than the Shadow Cross, parties from whom even I cannot protect you. We are currently having a dice game at every table in the tavern, if you know what I mean."


    Jolanda nodded seriously.


    The regional director of the Shadow Cross took one last look at his daughter''s face before gesturing for her to leave. Maybe it was not completely madness to keep looking for those two boys after all. Isendar remembered hearing that for Andreuz Sandkan, nothing in the world came before his son. If Jolanda caught the boys, Sandkan, who had already lost his wife, would unveil all his secrets for his son''s life.


    Of course, the success of the whole plot did not depend on finding Sandkan or even Dareis Monteilon; Isendar Vargan never left anything to chance. Besides, there were much bigger issues at stake than capturing the imperial governor of Paidos.


    Isendar rubbed his bony hands together and glanced out the window, framed by black velvet curtains. Again, the view revealed nothing new, but it helped to gather his thoughts. Preparations had to be made for the long journey to the west.


    * * *


    Josel


    "That''s all," Josel said after digging out the rest of the food. That was a few raw potatoes, a small piece of dried meat, a carrot and a chunk of dark bread - stale and dried to a crust.


    His own inability to pack enough food annoyed Josel. There was plenty of food left at home, but in his haste he had grabbed whatever he could find. And there was no home any more, only the seemingly endless forest and the faint hope of reaching Ipalos.


    Zdain looked disappointed at the food supplies. "There''s no celebration with this."


    "Not really," Josel admitted.


    They decided to share the carrot, the meat and most of the bread.


    Zdain reckoned that the journey to Ipalos would take a couple of days, even on horseback. Knowing this, the lack of supplies seemed really bad.


    "There are birds and rabbits here. We could set traps," Josel mused aloud, though he knew they had no equipment to build them. Besides, as a city boy, he had no idea how to pluck a bird or skin a rabbit. Josel doubted if Monteilon did either.


    As Josel and Zdain continued their journey, the sun could no longer rise above the trees. The boys agreed that they should go as far as they could while there was still enough light.


    "The old road through the forest cannot be far away," Zdain argued.


    If we are in the right direction, Josel thought silently.


    Zdain appeared to be dazed; the events in the pond had clearly shaken him. So Josel led the way with the map while Zdain was content to follow. Monteilon did not complain of fatigue, but seemed quietly grateful whenever they stopped.


    Josel was not quite sure if he should be pleased at the opportunity to take charge. At least they were now even with Zdain when it came to saving another''s life. Josel Sandkan had no desire to be indebted to the son of the deposed governor of Paidos.


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    * * *


    As the evening grew dusky, Veilwood seemed an even more forbidding place, but Josel and Zdain pressed on. They hoped to find the road through the forest by nightfall. Neither of them wanted to spend another night in the middle of the darkest wilderness. Especially as there was something more menacing in the slowly descending darkness than the night before.


    Josel could not define this vague and disturbing feeling, so he said nothing to Zdain about it. Monteilon would surely have thought his companion was a coward.


    They had been unusually lucky. First in the encounter with Jolanda and her henchmen, then a narrow escape from the clutches of that flying beast, the fiend wing. But in a forest teeming with wild beasts, you could not survive forever on luck alone. So Josel put one foot in front of the other, hoping that Zdain would keep up.


    The dusk, spreading like a mist, began to thicken into a murkier darkness. It was a good reason to keep persevering; the thought of stopping frightened Josel. The nagging feeling that something was wrong had not gone away.


    There was nothing unusual to be heard. Veilwood had fallen silent, waiting for the night. The little birds had stopped chirping and the wind had died down. Every rustle was startling.


    Imagination plays tricks, Josel tried to convince himself. Hunger and fatigue were causing strange hallucinations. He let his gaze wander to the sides, but all he could see were tree trunks disappearing into the darkness.


    The distant caw of a bird crossed the night sky. The sound soon faded and the same oppressive silence reigned again. Josel and Zdain had no choice but to continue. The passage of time was hard to decipher. There were only two boys and an ever darkening forest.


    Suddenly, Josel pricked up his ears. He slowed his steps and fumbled with the hilt of his knife.


    Was it the same bird? No, something else! It had been a quiet sound, like a whisper in the night.


    A shudder ran through Josel. Fear had wrapped itself around him and could no longer be shaken away. He pulled the knife from its sheath and glanced quickly at Zdain.


    "What is it?" Zdain asked.


    "Don''t you feel it?" Josel asked, his eyes searching the darkness.


    "I do, and I don''t like the feeling," Monteilon replied tensely.


    The silence and the sense of fear had preceded the appearance of the dreader. They would have no chance of surviving another encounter with such a monster.


    They stopped to look around. Monteilon grunted and threw his rucksack off his back.


    "We need Curtus'' gun," he said hoarsely, fishing a pistol out of his pack. Zdain - unlike Josel - had experience with firearms, so he had been allowed to carry the pistol from the start. Now he loaded and secured it with habitual ease.


    "Let''s continue!" Josel whispered.


    They moved slowly, constantly glancing furtively sideways. Then the sound came again. It could not be located in any direction. It was just like a barely audible sigh on the wind. Except that the forest was completely windless.


    Even if the moon shone in the sky, its reflection was not enough to illuminate the travellers'' path. Darkness was now a black curtain around them. There was only enough light to see the nearest trees.


    Josel squeezed the knife handle in his sweaty hand and tried to quicken his pace. Zdain followed, breathing heavily. The thud of their footsteps echoed like a drumbeat through the night forest - or so it seemed to Josel. He imagined how easy it would be for a stalker lurking in the darkness to track his victim.


    Then suddenly, from somewhere above, there was the snap of a branch and a crackling sound. A gasp escaped Josel''s lips. Zdain raised his weapon, but did not fire. They watched as the dark figure flapped its wings and disappeared into the treetops, accompanied by a bird-like croaking.


    A raven, just a raven, Josel sighed, trying to find his balance on his wobbly legs. Still, he could not shake the nagging feeling. Something far worse than a lone black bird was preying in the forest.


    "Forward!" Josel exclaimed.


    The boys set off again, pushing their way through the dark forest. It was impossible to move fast. The path was hardly discernible and they kept stumbling over rocks and stumps. Branches splashed against their faces and they had no idea which way to go.


    Josel almost jumped when Zdain touched his shoulder.


    "I feel that we are constantly being pulled in one direction," the governor''s son said quietly.


    Pulled in? Who is doing that? Josel asked in his mind. He could hear the forest murmuring and whining around him. It was impossible to block out the sounds, and they sent shivers down his spine. He had to keep going.


    Then something flickered in his peripheral vision.


    "Come on!" Zdain said, pulling Josel''s sleeve and making him turn in the other direction. They ran into the middle of the trees. Sweat trickled down their necks and panic gripped their minds.


    They were swinging branches out of their way and stumbling aimlessly forward. All around them, the forest squeaked as if the wind were whistling in the corners. Josel tried to stay at Zdain''s heels. Alone, he would surely not make it out of the forest alive.


    Another flash forced them to change direction. Josel didn''t know if they were going forward or around. There was a crackling in the night, a different sound than before. It was like the laughter of a madman, ending in a scream. The sound was everywhere, in front and behind, far and near. Sometimes the howls and whispers went over their heads. Whatever those voices were, they were chasing them.


    At the same time, the dense branches gave way and the forest thinned out in front of the boys. Josel and Zdain gasped in unison as the moonlight lit up the clearing they had entered. There was an old cemetery.


    The stone memorials were covered in moss and climbing plants. Some of the stones had fallen and the rest were sticking out of the ground in crooked rows. In the centre of the clearing were the ruins of a large burial chamber. Its half-collapsed roof and pillars looked bleak in the moonlight.


    Josel glanced at Zdain, who had stopped to listen. Soon he understood why. The whispering had subsided and there was an unbroken silence in the cemetery. It was as if the Veilwood had gotten what it wanted, or at least taken the boys to the place it wanted. The thought made Josel''s blood run cold.


    They took a few unsteady steps towards the centre of the graveyard. It did not feel right to say anything. The woodless clearing smelled like a trap, a death trap with no way out. Josel noticed that Zdain had not lowered his pistol.


    It was too dark to make out any inscriptions on the gravestones. Josel mentally counted the centuries the dead bodies had rested in the forest cemetery. Who had they been when they were alive?


    "We have to go," Josel muttered, but Zdain''s footsteps led the way to the ruined tomb.


    Josel gripped the hilt of his knife and followed, knees trembling. Only moments later, he screamed as the ground crumbled beneath his feet.


    Clods of dirt were flying in all directions as he fell backwards into the ground. Somewhere nearby, Zdain screamed too. At the very last, Josel saw a pale flash above him, like the glimmer of a lighted lamp. Then his head hit something and the world was lost in darkness.


    * * *


    Josel did not know if he was conscious or not, but he could see. He knew he saw Veilwood, this same region, a very long time ago. Back then, there was no forest growing there.


    A large army was marching along the road across the plain. The road was as smooth as a mirror, a pitch road in the past, the kind Josel had heard of. The soldiers'' helmets gleamed in the sun, and somewhere a drum was banging to the beat of the marching men. The men chattered in good humour. Their rifles hung loosely from their straps on their shoulders or chests. You could tell that the troops were returning from a victorious battle, or even on their way home.


    Not all the soldiers were on foot, but there were vehicles among them. They were like chariots without horses. With large wheels underneath them, they rolled forward. At the back of the group, there were also some strangely shaped, noisy wagons rattling around. They looked like disproportionate and sizable containers decorated with pipes. Josel had never seen anything like that before and could not guess their purpose.


    One small chariot in the front group caught Josel''s attention in particular, as it had no roof, like almost all the others. The man behind the expressionless driver was no longer young. The hair that peeked out from under his forage cap was already grey. He wore the insignia of a senior officer on his shoulders. The man was strong and confident. He sat with his back straight, nonchalantly facing the two soldiers in the chariot, who looked almost as experienced. Everything suggested that the grey-haired officer was the commander of this marching army.


    The sky grew dark. It started to rain, but the drops were not water, but something black and dirty, like soot. The soldiers looked at each other and at the sky, stunned. The filthy rain lashed the army. The sub-commanders ordered the men forward. The drums fell silent and the mood instantly changed to fear and uncertainty. Vehicles regrouped in the column, securing the flanks.


    Suddenly, a terrible scream rang out. The soldiers turned their eyes to the black, clouded sky. Their movements slowed, and Josel could feel the horror in the men. It paralysed and squeezed his heart, as if...


    That''s when Joselin saw it. Huge flying beasts swooped down from the clouds. They shrilled, opened their claws and slashed at the air with their leathery wings. The fiend wings had arrived.


    Each fiend wing carried a dark-haired rider on its back. From a distance, Josel could make out the beastly hands that held the reins and the fanged bone faces, similar as the slayer of Curtus had. Then he was forced to fall to his knees, wailing in agony with the soldiers.


    At the same time, a tattered black veil surrounds the army. The edges of the army were attacked and the deafening crack of rifles filled the field. New men burst from the wagons onto the field, rifles at the ready. Many of them were killed as soon as they got out, or blown to pieces with their wagons. Somewhere a small cannon was being hastily assembled on a rack.


    The explosions followed one another as the container-like wagons hurled projectiles from their barrels at the beasts. In vain, for one by one the wagons burst into a sea of flames after an invisible hit.


    The dead and dying were trampled into the dirt as the men ran in panic on the battlefield. Some of the soldiers could not even run. They merely cowered in terror on the ground, waiting to die.


    In spite of everything, the old commander was still aboard his chariot. He was shouting desperate orders to some device, drowned out by the din of battle. Certainty had vanished from his face.


    The gauzelike cloud grew denser, concealing the dreaders and their flying mounts. The fiend wings squalled and moved swiftly like arrows. Suddenly they were among the soldiers. From the shelter of the black veil, the dreaders struck down the army, slaughtering their victims on the spot. The men screamed in pain and sheer terror, the dying groaned with heartrending agony, and the old commander was thrown from the chariot to the ground.


    * * *


    Josel was still on the battlefield, but there was no more war. There was only a charred field with smoking carcasses of wagons and other debris lying here and there. There were bodies too, thousands of them, badly bruised or burnt.


    Josel looked tearfully at the corpse beside him. The slain soldier was just a boy, probably the same age as himself. His skull crushed and a look of panic on his face, the young man stared into space. Turning in the other direction, Josel came face to face with an even more horribly mangled young soldier. Bodies were everywhere, not a single living thing.


    Then he felt himself sinking. Josel did not struggle, but succumbed to the fall. Beneath the dirt was a hollow where dozens, even hundreds, of men in uniform lay, rifles at their sides. The bodies looked so dead and yet so alive. The soldiers called Josel to them. He wanted to go, to find his final resting place among the men, to be one of the thousands of dead in the forest.


    * * *


    Some force pulled Josel up. He did not want to get up, but wanted to join the soldiers who had fallen in the terrible battle. But the force pulled him away. It would not let him stay there. He heard a crow cawing above his head and saw a white fire that lit up the whole forest.


    What is happening now? Where is Zdain? Monteilon must be found¡­


    * * *

 Chapter 12

    "What is left of the nations that were ruling in the Age before the Oblivion? Only wind-swept crumbs - relics that have been dug out of the sand or drowned by the centuries, barely withstanding the ravages of time.


    The written sources either did not preserve or were purposely destroyed in the decades that followed the Oblivion. So few people survived, and even fewer wanted to remember what had been wiped out. Their children were left with a scorched earth where no grain germinated and no grass grew. Nor did the polluted seas provide a catch for anyone.


    At least we know something: some names and sporadic phrases from those happy times. It was a time when mankind lived in its prime and the fields grew golden.


    There was Vallahor, with its cloud cities where the tower blocks were reaching for the sky. The West was ruled by the mighty merchants of Sederia. Oh, and of course the most glorious was Shadaar, home of art and science. Also famous were Jikitaria in the east and the wealthy city-states of Poenad and Livakar.


    There are said to have been others, small, perhaps even great places, whose stories were taken from us by the Oblivion."


    - Andiol''s Best Schoolbook, a chapter on ancient states, third edition, 1580.


    * * *


    Josel


    "The boy is regaining consciousness," Josel heard a woman''s voice say from somewhere nearby. The voice was hoarse and a little harsh, but it undoubtedly belonged to a woman.


    Josel opened his eyes. In the glare of the lantern light, it took him a moment to realise that he was lying under some kind of canopy. They were not inside, but the open sides of the canopy gave a view into the darkness of the night.


    The person who had just spoken was sitting in a squatting position next to him. The middle-aged woman''s hair was grey and thick, but cut short in a manly way. Her cheeks were slightly sunken in the way that people with very little body fat do. Her worn face still bore traces of a former beauty. Josel thought she had once been a very beautiful woman.


    "Where are we?" Josel asked after looking at the woman''s face.


    "By the road, in the middle of Veilwood."


    Did she mean a road through the forest? Everything was groggy, not long ago Josel had been in the cemetery and thought it was his last moment. But where was Monteilon? He had to make sure that Zdain was all right...


    He searched with his eyes for the other boy, "Where...?"


    "Your friend is outside. He just woke up too," the grey-haired woman interrupted.


    Josel tried to get up.


    "Wait, I''ll invite the others in," she stopped him. "The boy is awake," she announced in a louder voice.


    Three people ducked their heads and stepped under the canopy. The first was Zdain, a relieved smile flashing across his face. The governor''s son looked startled, his hair dishevelled and his clothes dirty. Otherwise he seemed fine. Their eyes locked for a moment, but then Josel''s attention was drawn to the other two newcomers.


    One was an old man, almost grandfatherly in his appearance, who immediately sat down on a wooden box under the canopy. He had a long face with sad lines. His nose was rather large, accentuated by his angular glasses. The eyes behind them were fixed searchingly on Josel.


    Josel had to look away quickly and shift his attention to another stranger. He was a sombre-looking, tall and robust man whose hair, originally mousy brown, was already partly grey. He glanced at Josel and then dropped to one knee on the edge of the canopy. The man''s hand rested on the hilt of the sword that hung from its sheath, and he watched the darkness outside the canopy intently, obviously ready for action.


    The old man motioned to Zdain, who was still standing with his back bent, to sit down on a bundle of blankets next to Josel. As the boy settled down, the old man''s eyes returned to Josel.


    "You are awake and you seem lucid. Good. Most of those who have visited the military cemetery of the Shadaarian army have lost their minds permanently. Though very few have ventured there." The man''s voice was strong for his age, but there was a melancholy note to it.


    "Shadaarian army?" Josel dared to ask.


    It made the robust man smack his mouth with irritation.


    The spectacled old man, on the other hand, nodded gravely. "Yes, in the graves lie soldiers of the once great and powerful state of Shadaar. An army that was annihilated in this forest more than 1500 years ago. Actually, there was no forest here then. The world looked very different before the Oblivion...In any case, the Shadaarian generals were not prepared for a confrontation in these lands. The decisive battle was to be fought elsewhere. But someone had betrayed the army''s hidden location to the enemy. They were taken by surprise. A battle ensued, the most terrible imaginable..."


    "Perhaps all this has been shown to you?" he asked then, although there was a statement in his voice.


    Zdain nodded, his face pale. A lump rose in Josel''s throat as he remembered the clouds of soot and the beasts swooping through the air.


    "It was one of the first battles of the Wars of Oblivion," the old man lectured, his eyes fixed on the distance. "The later casualties of the war were left to rot in their places, but the fallen of Shadaar were still given proper burials in the cemetery. But at a terrible price. Legend has it that it was not enough for the enemy to simply kill the enemy, but that they placed a black curse on the slain soldiers. They were doomed to haunt travellers crossing the ancient battlefield for all eternity. And the passing centuries have brought no peace to the victims. Their possessed souls still whisper in the night, beckoning travellers to join them in the graveyard. You two almost became part of the ghost army."


    A chill ran through Josel as the old man''s last words rippled through the air. Zdain beside him swallowed audibly as well.


    "Do you believe in ghosts?" Josel had to ask the old man.


    "I believe that the world is much more special than it seems at first sight," was the answer. "Ghosts, hallucinations, nightmares - in the end it doesn''t matter what you call the experience. What matters is that it happened to you."


    It was impossible to say anything intelligent about that. Curses and ghosts should only exist in fairy tales - and so should the dreaders. Josel felt cold. They had not been dreaming, he was sure of that. And for some reason, the old man knew about the soldiers. The whole world had gone mad!


    "Why have I never heard about this cemetery? There''d be stories about it," Josel said anyway. He tried to cling to another, more rational option. Maybe he and Zdain had been drugged, or had accidentally eaten mushrooms...


    "Because this area is uninhabited," the old man explained. "Over time, people learned to avoid this place, and the plain grew into what we now know as Veilwood. It''s easy to take the few individuals who talk about the cursed graveyard for lunatics or swindlers. Perhaps that is for the best. After all, folk don''t want to know about such things. It''s safer to believe it''s all madness."


    The grey-haired woman stared blankly ahead. The man clutching the handle of his sword coughed and continued to gaze into the darkness. Josel wanted to think of anything but dead soldiers.


    It was the old man again who broke the silence. "I''m Zal, by the way," he introduced himself, gesturing to his comrades in turn. "This is Marl and Melgyera."


    The sullen man grunted some sort of greeting. The woman even smiled a little and said: "You can call me Melgy."


    Zal was not finished. "We also have Ragart. He''s on guard duty. Actually, we are all on Ragart''s errand, on the way to Ipalos."


    The old man watched the boys with his sharp eyes. "But now, my young friends, it is time for you to tell us about yourselves. What on earth are you doing in Veilwood at midnight?"


    Suddenly, a thousand wheels were rattling in Josel''s head. These people had undoubtedly saved their lives, but did it mean anything in the end? Dad had forbidden him to trust anyone, and these travellers were strange. There was no point in revealing anything. Zdain was about to open his mouth, but Josel beat him to it.


    "I''m Franz and this is my cousin Darren," Josel began, careful not to meet Zal''s gaze. "We come from the village of the woodcutters, right on the edge of Veilwood. We are on our way to Ipalos to visit our aunt."


    "It''s a long way to Ipalos - especially on foot. Why were you in the middle of the forest and not on the road?" asked the woman who had introduced herself as Melgy.


    Josel swallowed and tried desperately to think of an answer.


    Fortunately, Zdain bailed him out. "You see, we were ambushed by a group of bandits. They took the horses. We managed to escape into the forest, but we got lost and had to wander around in the thicket for a couple of days."


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    Josel mentally thanked Zdain and hoped that the explanation would be enough. Who knows if these people would hand them over to the ghosts again if they caught them in a lie.


    Melgy, at least, still seemed suspicious. Marl was clearly not interested in the whole thing. Old Zal, on the other hand, turned his glare on the boys, who were trying their best to look like country boys lost in the forest.


    "So the bandits took the horses," Zal murmured, looking so pensive that Josel almost shook with excitement. "Well, then you''d better travel with us. There''s room in the wagons, isn''t there, Melgy?"


    The grey-haired woman raised her eyebrows and looked wary, but at least mumbled a brief affirmative.


    "We should keep moving, there are many other dangers lurking here besides the cursed graveyard," Zal said. He got up from his seat and walked out into the open air.


    Marl and Melgy answered the call, and together they began to dismantle the camp.


    The boys realised from Melgy''s fierce expression that they were in the way. They got out from under the canopy before it was folded up.


    The starry sky and a couple of lanterns lit up the road as Josel looked around. The two wagons were stopped on the road. The canopy had been pulled between them. A total of eight horses were restlessly pawing the ground in front of the wagons. The gloomy forest stretched out on either side of the road.


    A crow cawed in the darkness of the night. Was it the same bird they had encountered in the woods before the cemetery? The fear that had already dissipated was again pressing on Josel''s chest. No force in the world could drive him back into Veilwood. That was why he did not want to refuse the wagon ride, even though it had been offered by strangers.


    Josel flinched at the touch on his hand. Zdain tugged him by the sleeve away from the canopy, where Marl and Melgy were still hustling.


    The governor''s son stopped by the roadside. "Next time you lie, think your story through. You almost gave us away!" he snapped in a hushed voice.


    "I bet you would have told the old man our real names yourself!" Josel replied as quietly as he could in anger.


    Monteilon was about to say something, but instead of objecting, he sighed. He looked at Josel for a moment and then said: "Let''s not argue. We''re alive."


    "Yes, alive," Josel repeated slowly.


    Then a man carrying a lantern approached from the direction of the wagons. Dressed in a brown leather vest and a white collared shirt, he was of medium height, very stout and paunchy. His head was completely bald and each ear had a gold ring. The man''s broad face held an equally broad smile.


    "Greetings, young men!" the comer called from afar.


    "Hello," Josel and Zdain mumbled in unison.


    "Allow me to introduce myself, Ragart Zapp, at your service, gentlemen," the man said, bowing generously. "Or some people call me ''Fox'' - they say I''m shrewd and sly. I also look like a nimble animal, don''t I?"


    Ragart grinned and raised his belt with both hands over his large belly. "And it''s true what they say, a successful merchant can never be too cunning," he added with a loud chuckle. As he laughed, the belt slipped back under his belly.


    The boys looked at each other. This man was cut from a different cloth to his fellow travellers.


    "Who are you, by the way?" Ragart asked.


    Josel introduced himself as Franz and Zdain let the name Darren slip out of his mouth, albeit a little stiffly.


    Fortunately, the bald-headed man was not interested in asking about the boys'' backgrounds. "Good!" he exclaimed. "Zal told me you were coming with us. I''ll give you both a ride. Let Zal go in Melgy''s and Marl''s wagon. Actually, I own that cart as well! The cargo is also mine. You''ll be comfortable in the wagon. Because I''m carrying carpets - the best quality!"


    Josel and Zdain could only nod as the merchant continued: "You see, I managed to buy some first-class carpets at a bargain price from a merchant who came all the way from Afamat. The bastard thought he was selling me inferior copies, but Fox can smell a genuine Afamatian rug a mile away."


    "Don''t believe his stories," came Melgy''s sour voice from behind Josel. "The wagons are ready to go," she added, walking away.


    Ragart grinned at the boys after she had gone and whispered like a conspirator: "She''s a toughie, don''t ever pinch her butt. I made that mistake once and found out that Melgy can kick hard."


    This drew polite laughter from Josel and Zdain.


    Ragart climbed into the driver''s seat and told the boys to get into the wagon and take the most comfortable berths they could find. He said that he avoided sleeping at night because the nights were too interesting to waste with your eyes closed.


    The yawning Josel was not thrilled by the idea of staying awake. He followed Zdain into the wagon, where the interior was lit by a dim lantern. This and the countless rolls of carpet made the space almost atmospheric.


    It turned out to be quite difficult to find a suitable place to sleep in the packed wagon. Eventually the boys settled down side by side.


    Ragart had handed Zdain a bag of food, containing bread, cheese and a few dates. After a moment''s fumbling, Josel found a wooden basket of water bottles among the carpets.


    As the wagon began to move, the boys rushed to have a meal. For a moment, neither said a word, just stuffing the food down into their mouths. Josel could not remember the last time anything had tasted so good.


    When his worst hunger was satisfied, Josel leaned his head against the pile of carpet. The horses'' hooves bounced and the wagons rocked in a steady rhythm. He felt relaxed and pleasantly drowsy.


    But Zdain''s whisper forced him to wake up. "Do you trust these people?"


    Josel shrugged. "Hard to say. Strange people."


    "Indeed, but they rescued us without anything in return," Zdain pointed out.


    Josel did not disagree. "Do you remember how it went? How did we get to safety?" he had not thought to ask until now.


    "I only remember bits and pieces. You were screaming. I tried to run to you, but I fell. Then the ground gave way under my feet and I fell into one of the graves. That''s when the gun went off and I think I hit my head. I had a terrible dream about the battle..."


    "I saw the same thing," Josel interrupted. "Maybe everyone who gets lost in the cemetery sees it. Even the old man guessed what we''d seen."


    Zdain took a thoughtful sip from the bottle. "Yeah, maybe. Anyway, I awoke to someone - I think it was Marl - dragging me down the road. Apparently you''d already been carried to the wagons. I fainted again and didn''t wake up until I was in the tent. Luckily nobody had time to ask my name before you made one up for me."


    Josel ignored the criticism. "How in the hell did they find us?"


    Zdain had an answer for that too. "Marl and Zal didn''t immediately notice I was awake. They were chatting freely and Marl mentioned a bird that had been screeching over the graveyard. That''s how they knew to come to aid."


    "The bird? Why would anyone care about a bird?" Josel wondered - in a voice so low that Ragart could not hear it.


    "I don''t know. There''s a lot of bizarre things about them..."


    Josel yawned and curled up into a more comfortable position.


    "Sleeping might be a good idea," Zdain suggested.


    "You''re right, Darren," Josel replied with a mischievous smile.


    Zdain sighed exaggeratedly and said, "What a stroke of genius to name me after that annoying friend of yours. Where''s your imagination, Sand...Franz?"


    "Well, if it had been up to you, you would have introduced yourself as the Emperor of Andiol and me as his servant."


    "What a servant! Twice he had punched the emperor in the nose."


    Josel chuckled to himself; chatting with Monteilon was almost entertaining at times. He closed his eyes and thought of his father. Perhaps he was currently on watch in Ipalos, wondering why his son had not arrived in the city by now. Seeing Dad would bring much comfort to the chaos: he would take all the responsibility and tell Josel what to do.


    Maybe they could return to Paidos. They could pick up life more or less where they left it. But many things would be different: there would be no Curtus, and their home had been burned to the ground.


    Josel could no longer resist the urge to sleep, and slowly drifted off. Calm breathing beside him told that Zdain had already fallen asleep.


    * * *


    Melgyera


    Veilwood, Andiol Empire


    Melgyera Dimossai sat in the driver''s seat, combing a stubborn tangle out of her hair. While she was doing that, she took a good look at the old man holding the reins beside her.


    Zal looked lost in thought, which was of course only the surface. In reality, he was as alert as a wolf that had smelled a hunter. That''s how Melgyera had once imagined him, a wise old wolfhound, fleeing the hunter and stalking the prey at the same time.


    Furthermore, it was often impossible to tell what Zal was thinking. Particularly now when they had to bear the burden of two adolescent nuisances. Even though Zal and Melgyera had enough problems already.


    They had left Narrow Lake early yesterday morning. After so many failures, new clues promised much, forcing them to speed up their journey. They were driving to Ipalos in a hurry that had nothing to do with the Ragart''s carpets. Anything could happen at their destination.


    The excitement tickled her scalp. Melgyera deliberately squeezed the comb so hard that a few hairs came off by the roots. That night, a little pain did her good. It kept her alert for enemies old and new.


    "Why did you take those scoundrels with us when everyone can see they''re lying?" she inquired.


    "Are they lying then?" Zal asked, his mouth and eyes round with surprise. From the look on his face, you would have thought Melgyera had just proposed to him.


    The astonishment was only feigned, but Melgyera felt the need to share her findings. "I suppose you noticed their dirty but fashionable clothes. They come from some town in southern Andiol, perhaps Nissos, Paidos or Ipalos, but certainly not from any rural village. And the other boy''s hair, blond as sunshine. Maybe the son of a merchant from the far west, but certainly not a local country bumpkin."


    "You are always so sharp, Melgy," Zal replied with a smile, continuing his speech to the big crow-like bird sitting in the wagon fence: "Thank you, Krahh, for leading me to them."


    Krahh croaked slightly, as if she understood her master''s words.


    I''m sure she did, Melgyera thought. After all, the black-feathered Krahh was a great jackdaw and the wisest animal Melgyera had ever met in her life.


    "Why did you decide to save those boys and make trouble for us?" she asked again, as Krahh spread her wings and found a more peaceful place to sleep on the roof of the wagon.


    "Out of sheer curiosity, I wanted to find out who would be crazy enough to defy the Shadaarian army on a night like this," Zal said.


    "And then?"


    "My curiosity grew even more when they began to concoct their little tale."


    Melgyera snorted, the story had indeed been utterly helpless.


    But Zal was not finished yet. "But there was something else about those youngsters..."


    The words made a thought crackle in Melgyera''s head. "What, is there Might in them?"


    "Neither one has it, not a scrap."


    "What do you mean then?" Melgyera asked, puzzled and a little disappointed. It was always so amazing when Zal sensed the Might in someone. It did not happen often, and very rarely was there enough Might to make that person useful - or dangerous, if it came to that.


    Far more often dangerous than useful.


    "It was not the Might. I am sure of that," Zal said.


    "So what then?"


    "I felt something else, in both of them. Very strange. I should talk to someone..." Zal interrupted with a sigh.


    They both knew that there was no one with whom Zaltarim Fizol could discuss the matter. There had been none for a long time. Neither Taihan nor Anden...


    After a while, the old man spoke again: "Let Ragart speak to them. Who knows, maybe these young fellows will come in handy to us."


    Zal''s sad smile was not enough to convince Melgyera. Those rascals would never do them any good. Instead, Melgyera had a hunch, a lot of harm and worry.


    However, all she said was: "Sometimes I wonder how you can still get excited about such little things. It would have been much easier to let the ghost warriors eat them.


    "Oh, Melgy, if I didn''t get excited about everything trivial, I wouldn''t have lived to be this old."


    The grey-haired woman laughed faintly, but did not let Zal go back into his thoughts just yet. "I don''t mind saving the boys. I just hope that bringing them along won''t interfere with our hunt in Ipalos."


    This time, behind the glasses, Zal''s gaze was undisguisedly wary. When he replied, there was a strained tone in his voice. "The trace is blurry and based on hearsay. I''d still be a fool not to check it out. Wouldn''t I?"


    Melgyera agreed. There was no margin for error in this search.


    * * *

 Chapter 13

    "At its simplest, the Might is the ability of someone to change the established laws of physics, to do something that should not be possible. The Might comes in various manifestations, and an individual usually has only one or two ways of channelling it. For example, some can use it to heal injuries or illnesses, others can move objects, and regrettably many can use it destructively. Then there are us seekers who can locate the Might in others.


    It is an absolutely innate trait, present in varying degrees in perhaps one in 5000 people. It cannot be learned or made to ignite spontaneously. The Ksingi people aptly call this rare trait a ''gift''.


    For most people, the ability remains latent and they do not become aware of their potential throughout their lives. This is especially the case for those who have only been given a small amount of the Might.


    It would be fortunate for the world if the strongest in Might never realised their potential. Too many, however, do. For their sake, we seekers exist - for better or for worse."


    - Laftakom Greyhand''s notes, undated


    * * *


    Josel


    The day had already dawned when Josel woke up from his dream. Someone poked him in the shoulder. He would have liked to go back to sleep - he was still tired - but the person who was trying to wake him up did not seem to give up.


    Josel reluctantly opened his eyes to see the annoyingly cheerful face of Zdain Monteilon. It was too much for Josel with his morning grumpiness.


    "Get your hands off me!" he snapped, slapping the other boy''s arm away.


    The sunny expression immediately vanished from Zdain''s face. "Ragart told me to wake you," he replied.


    "Okay. You can go," Josel said, more rudely than he meant to.


    There was a mixture of anger and dejection in Zdain''s eyes. "Can you do anything but be mean?" he asked in a quiet voice. Then he clambered over the heaps of carpets and stepped out of the wagon.


    Josel remained staring at the pile of carpet in front of him, silently blaming himself. Why did he have to ruin everything, just when things were getting a bit better with Monteilon? There was simply something about the governor''s son that always made Josel''s blood boil. What it was, he did not care to wonder. He sighed and began to make his way through the clumps of carpet and out of the wagon.


    The morning sun was peeking out from behind a thin veil of clouds. After rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Josel noticed that both wagons were parked in a meadow-like field at the side of the road. The horses were unharnessed. Tethered with ropes, they were chewing grass in the pasture. Marl was sitting on a big log, sharpening an already sharp-looking knife.


    Josel looked around for his other companions. Plump Ragart was nowhere to be seen, nor was old Zal. The woman who had been introduced yesterday as Melgyera was standing with her back to Josel, busily picking at something under the wagon flap. She had not noticed him yet. Monteilon - no, Darren, I had to remember - was sitting on a wooden box a little further away, drawing patterns in the dirt with a stick.


    Josel walked hesitantly over to the boy. Zdain did not look up or otherwise indicate that he had noticed the intruder. The soil was covered with check marks and a grumpy saw-toothed line.


    I should probably say something, but what? "Is there breakfast somewhere?" Josel opened the conversation and immediately regretted his lousy start.


    "Do I look like a servant!" Zdain jumped up and threw the stick to the ground.


    "Don''t shout, others will hear!"


    "Who started shouting this morning?" reminded Zdain, without lowering his voice.


    "I didn''t..." Josel started, but was immediately interrupted.


    "I thought as much - you would never," Zdain said. "Why did you even come to talk to me? We have nothing in common."


    The coldness of the brown eyes made Josel swallow his attempt to say something soothing.


    He turned on his heel, took a few quick steps and almost bumped into Zal.


    "What''s the fuss about?" the old man asked.


    "It''s nothing..." Josel tried.


    "The racket is as loud as when the tidal wave of the apocalypse came."


    "A wave of what?"


    Zal was silent for a moment. The lines on his face deepened as he began to speak. "I told you about Shadaar and the miserable fate of its army. The worst upheavals of the Oblivion took place in those years, though it cannot be proved for certain. The Oblivion erased the knowledge of the past as it literally drowned large parts of Shadaar. A tidal wave swept across the continents, taking with it hundreds of thousands of people - those lucky or unlucky enough to have been spared by the war. This is why ancient relics are sometimes found beneath the soil, and why early history remains largely a mystery to us".


    "So what caused the Oblivion?" Josel asked, because the teachers at school had never explained it. Zdain must have been thirsting for the same information, because he was staring at Zal with puzzled eyes.


    "Who would know," Zal replied. "The Oblivion was a total disaster. It was a blazing sea of flames, an earthquake, and most of all an enormous surge that submerged most of the earth''s surface into the sea. What was left was what formed the present states."


    "How do you know all this?


    "I read a lot and memorise things that interest me. Even old age has certain advantages," Zal replied with a smile. "I will continue with you another time. For now, I think breakfast is ready," he added.


    At the same time, Melgy''s hoarse voice invited them to have a meal.


    * * *


    A dining area was set up on the flattest part of the meadow, in a semicircle bounded by the wagons. Josel sat down on the clover tussock beside Zdain - too close, judging by the scowl.


    Stern looking Melgy served the stew on tin plates. Marl, sitting on a stump, thanked her and accepted a hefty portion. Ragart showed Zal to take a seat next to him on a folding chair, the kind Josel had seen in Bartos'' house. Soon the men were deep in conversation.


    The stew steamed invitingly on the plate. Josel was scraping his first spoonful when Melgy''s question caught his attention. "Ragart, are you sure the man you spoke to was telling the truth?"


    Ragart turned in Melgy''s direction so suddenly that his large belly bounced and his earrings flashed in the sun.


    "That man was a merchant," he said. "And when a merchant dares to confess that he has abandoned his precious cargo, I believe him...Besides, we merchants never lie."


    Melgy''s response was a mere snort.


    "Where was I...", Ragart continued. "Yes, this man did indeed have some skirmish with the Shadow Cross. That''s why he had to flee in a hurry after the regime changed, leaving his possessions behind. I hear the rest of the merchants'' guild grovels and kneels before the Shadow Cross."


    Josel listened intently and turned to Zal, the supposed leader of the strange group. The old man''s expression was focused but unreadable.


    "According to the merchant, events had progressed very quickly. The City Guard was defeated within hours and the first officers loyal to the governor were executed at dawn. After a summary trial, imagine that!" Ragart snorted and waved his hand.


    In anger or in excitement? Josel was not sure, but he understood very well which town they were talking about.


    "What about the governor himself, was he executed as well?" Melgy asked.


    Josel''s heart skipped a beat. He glanced at Zdain, who was sitting tight as a kite string.


    The silence felt unbearably long. Finally, Ragart said: "That''s what the merchant didn''t believe. Rumour has it that the Shadow Cross is still searching for the governor."


    The answer relaxed Zdain''s expression a little, and Josel let the air out of his lungs with relief; there was still hope.


    The bald-headed merchant continued, "Paidos is now a town controlled by the Shadow Cross. A man called Isendar Vargan rules there, does that mean anything to you?"


    Josel felt cold, that name meant a lot to him.


    Now it was Zal''s turn to join the debate. "Vargan, an ambitious and ruthless man, they say...The fall of Paidos changes the big picture. Whether it will change our situation is a matter to be discussed. Ragart, will you show me the map in your wagon? Marl? Melgy?"


    The old man rose from his chair and made a gesture towards the wagon.


    Fat Ragart jumped up with surprising agility and followed Zal to the wagon. There was nothing left of the joviality and playfulness the merchant had shown earlier.


    Marl stood up too, looking determined. Unlike the others, however, he took his stew plate with him, as if afraid it would disappear in his absence.


    "Boys, get some more food, we''ll be back soon," Melgy ordered.


    Obviously Josel and Zdain were not welcome at the meeting. They could only guess what was being discussed there. Why was the ordinary carpet merchant and his entourage so interested in the unrest in a town that was not even their destination? Perhaps they had some valuable merchandise in storage in Paidos.


    After Melgy left, the boys looked at each other. Josel tried to read Zdain''s face, to see what he was thinking. Was Monteilon still angry? He must have been, for he silently turned his gaze back to the stewpot. So Josel coughed loudly and said: "I wonder if the merchant Ragart spoke to was telling the truth."


    Zdain was silent for a moment before answering: "Probably he told the truth. You saw those shadow sentries armed with rifles, didn''t you? The City Guard was a mouthful for them, I bet."


    Josel decided to continue the conversation. "Why are Zal and Ragart so interested in all this? I find it odd that Zal recognizes Vargan''s name. Surely he''s not that important a person anyway."


    "Yep! It would be also interesting to know whether Zal and Ragart are for or against the Shadow Cross," Zdain said contemplatively, stirring his stew with a spoon.


    After a moment''s pondering, Josel spoke again, "If they are on Vargan''s side, we are in grave danger. If they are against him, we are still not in safe company."


    "You''re right."


    "That''s why we need to leave at the first opportunity."


    "Waiting for that opportunity," Zdain replied.


    The boys finished their rations in silence. After a while, their companions returned from the wagon to the stew pot. Melgy and Marl looked as serious as usual, and Zal was lost in his own thoughts.


    Only Ragart was carefree, telling a hilarious story about a horse and a cow having a cub together. Josel and Zdain tried hard to appear amused. It was the wrong time to reveal to the others that the situation in Paidos was worrying them too.


    * * *


    The journey continued. The landscape along the roadside was still wooded, but the trees no longer looked so menacing or dense. There were hardly any other travellers in sight. The route through the Veilwoold was not popular. The reason was not the Shadaarian ghosts, but the fear of the bandits. There were not enough Imperial soldiers to patrol the country byroads. So a traveller had to rely on luck, or arm himself to the teeth, as Zal and his companions seemed to have done.


    According to Ragart, they would reach the Southern Trade Route after a few hours. From the crossroads, it would be less than a day''s ride to Ipalos. Josel was a little worried about getting back on the main road. There would be plenty of other wayfarers. He had certainly not forgotten Jolanda and her little patrol.


    Besides, the wagons seemed to be moving faster now than at night. Ragart kept the breaks very short and encouraged the horses to push harder. Why the strange party was in such a hurry, the boys were not told that information. Perhaps the carpet buyer was impatiently awaiting delivery in Ipalos.


    Josel and Zdain took turns on the driver''s bench next to Ragart. With the morning''s quarrel still fresh in their minds, they had little to say to each other. Fortunately, Ragart had an inexhaustible storehouse of wild stories, each more unbelievable than the last.


    "Have you ever seen a fury hound?" Ragart asked, managing to capture the boys'' attention.


    Josel rolled his eyes at the man''s back, and Zdain, sitting on the driver''s seat in front of him, mumbled something declining. They would not fall for such nonsense.


    "I have," the merchant said and fell silent. He looked over his shoulder at Josel and then at Zdain beside him, but did not utter a word. He just smiled with his whole wide face.


    Josel heard the rhythmic thumping of the horses'' hooves and the birds twittering in the trees nearby. He also heard his own breathing. Ragart, on the other hand, shrouded himself in a silence that tickled the boy''s curiosity - mischievously, no doubt.


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    In the end, the merchant must have gotten what he wanted, for Josel could no longer hold out. "The fury hounds aren''t real. You''re just trying to fool us," he retorted, sounding more uncertain than he would have liked. The one-armed veteran in Saramanda''s Inn and his words had not been forgotten.


    Ragart smiled. "You wouldn''t say that if you''d been with me then. It was three summers ago, in the town of Eastkeep..."


    "In Eastkeep?" Josel made sure he had heard correctly.


    "Yes. At the eastern gate of Andiol, in the land of adventurers. It¡¯s a town populated by fugitives, mercenaries and all manner of villains. In Eastkeep, a pint of ale costs a copper, a woman one more, and a third trade will kill you. A fool ends up miserable there, but a cunning man can make a fortune by snapping his fingers," Ragart described in the voice of a storyteller.


    Josel pricked his ears to catch every word over the hoofbeats. Zdain also concentrated on listening.


    At school, the teachers had portrayed eastern Andiol as something quite different, a remote and sparsely populated wasteland not worth wasting lessons on. In the Empire, only the West mattered. It was the home of prosperity, while in the East there was nothing more significant than the unbroken front against the Ksingis. Paidos fell somewhere in between.


    "In Eastkeep, Fox encountered a fury hound - a mistake that almost cost him his life," Ragart spoke as he applied his whip to the horses'' hindquarters.


    As the wagons soon picked up speed, Josel and Zdain shouted in unison, "Tell me more!"


    Ragart laughed, rubbed his bald head and released the boys from their agonising wait. "It started in a shabby beer hall. The floor was covered with rotten straw, sweat was reeking everywhere - probably my own too - and a harlot who had seen her best days was leaning against the bar. I sat alone at a rickety table, with my fifth or sixth tankard for company. Suddenly a floorboard creaked beside me and I turned to look..."


    * * *


    "...The next day a passing caravan of traders found me in the wagon and the mangled bodies of three Afamatian bandits on the road. I had to pay through my nose to keep the mouths of those damned greedy merchants shut. That''s probably my biggest regret - apart from the non-existent pearls, of course," Ragart concluded.


    "What happened to the fury hound?" Zdain asked in a husky voice.


    Josel held his breath, that''s what he wanted to know. Ragart could not have concocted such a thing on his own. There had to be fury hounds.


    The merchant stared down the road in front of him. Then he lowered his voice and answered: "I don''t know. I suppose it''s still out there somewhere in the dead of night. Imagine a canine beast the size of a small horse. And imagine its razor-sharp teeth, its insatiable hunger and thirst for blood. Maybe it is watching us right now with its red eyes from the edge of the forest."


    Josel gasped involuntarily.


    It made Ragart turn his head. "What did you think of the story?" he asked. "What was your name again?"


    It was only after a long struggle that Josel managed to say, "Franz".


    "So impressed by my story that he can''t remember his own name," Ragart said and laughed out loud. It was not a nice laugh.


    * * *


    "Don''t you realise how dangerous our situation is? And you can''t even remember the name you made up! Ragart already suspects us!" Zdain whispered angrily as they climbed down from the wagon during the next break.


    "I know!" Josel hissed back. It was true, the situation was very dangerous. All Ragart had to do was tell Zal his suspicions, and the old man would hand them over to the Shadow Cross in no time.


    "We need to get out of here. At the first chance," Josel said.


    Zdain did not agree. "Where could we escape from here, on a busy main road? Let''s wait for Ipalos instead. We''ll slip away into some shady alley in the city and never have to see Zal and company again."


    "Do you think we''ll make it to Ipalos without being discovered?"


    "Ragart said we''d be there in the morning. We can make up a good excuse or two before that."


    "I guess so," Josel agreed.


    Without further ado, Josel left Zdain''s company. He needed a moment alone to think. He decided to make a tour around the wagons before they continued the journey. At the same time he could keep an eye on the road for Isendar Vargan''s patrols.


    He hated to admit that Monteilon was right. Without the horses, the flight would lead nowhere. And there was no way they could steal a couple of horses from Ragart. Marl would chase them down and surely skin the horse thieves alive. So staying with the wagons all the way to Ipalos was probably the best option.


    Ipalos - Josel had never been there. In fact, he had never visited any town the size of Paidos. All he knew about Ipalos was what he had read in school books or heard from Bartos, who had been there a few times on his father''s business trips.


    The city of Ipalos, to the south-west of Paidos and somewhat larger than it, was a prominent trading centre. It owed much of its significance to the Frothy River, which flowed through it. It was one of the largest rivers in Andiol, both in flow and length, and flowed into the Great Ocean a few miles from Ipalos.


    The location of Ipalos on the southern trade route attracted merchant ships to its sheltered river port. Further upstream, ships could easily continue north along the wide river, eventually sailing all the way to the western Andiol. The bustling trade had made Ipalos prosperous, but as a port city it was more restless than the peaceful Paidos.


    Josel was not at all pleased with the city''s troubled reputation. He did not need any more excitement. Fortunately, Zdain had told him he had been in Ipalos before, so finding Marta''s house should not be an overwhelming task. They would find Lady Marta, meet Josel''s father, and the silly adventure could be over.


    Almost accidentally, Josel''s feet led him to the side of the other wagon and straight into the lion''s den. In fact, he almost tripped over Zal, who was reading a book in his chair behind the wagon.


    "Well, Franz," Zal said, putting the book on his knee. "Don''t walk too far, the journey will continue as soon as the horses are fed," he added, adjusting the position of his glasses.


    Josel''s gaze was drawn to the cover of the book resting on the old man''s knee. The book was more than familiar. Zal was reading Andreuz Sandkan''s latest novel, When Masked Thief fooled Troubadour Kharl, which had just been published that spring.


    Did Zal read adventure novels like that? Too late, Josel managed to wipe the astonishment from his face.


    "Do you know this book?" Zal asked in his usual voice. But his eyes flashed with such precision that Josel thought it best to tell a half-truth. "Yes, it is familiar. The Troubadour Kharl books are my favourites."


    The old man seemed to weigh Josel''s words. "Yes, reading is always useful. It''s nice that a hard-working woodcutter''s son has time to read. I suppose you have to help out with the woodwork quite a bit, don''t you? You''re old enough to do a man''s work, aren''t you?"


    "Somewhat," Josel replied, wondering what Zal was after.


    "Has your father taught you the secrets of his profession? He presumably wants you to take over his work?"


    "Yes...he has taught me."


    Zal''s expression brightened. "Well, good. Then tell Franz, the old uneducated man, which type of axe is better for felling really big trunks, the hatchet or the poleaxe?"


    Josel swallowed. Something he had feared. "Uh, I''m not... really sure."


    But Zal did not let him get away with it: "Well, but aren''t these the basics? Answer, please. What kind of axe?"


    The question could not be avoided. Josel tried to think of something clever to say, but his mind went completely blank. He had to make a guess. "The poleaxe is undoubtedly better, at least that''s what my father always insists."


    Zal''s sharp gaze almost pierced Josel. "Then your father is the worst lumberjack in the Inhabited World. Anyone who''s done a bit of woodcutting knows that neither type of axe is suitable for felling trees."


    Josel felt himself sweating from head to toe. The old man said no more, just watched him intently.


    "I must have misheard something," Josel finally managed to stutter. Then he hurriedly said to continue his walk. Zal replied with a knowing nod.


    At that moment a crow began to make noise in the nearest tree. To Josel''s ears, as he left the scene, its rasping sounded very accusatory. The game was lost, the old man had seen through the lies. It was only a matter of time before Josel and Zdain were called to account for their dishonesty.


    Frustrated Josel wanted to rage. When Zal was out of sight, he kicked a stone lying in the road so hard it hurt his foot.


    * * *


    As the wagons rolled onto the Southern Trade Route, the landscape changed completely. The edge of the forest gave way to meadows, hayfields and bushes in colourful blossom.


    Occasionally the wagons would pass a few regiments of houses. They were surrounded by fertile-looking fields and pastures where goats and sheep grazed with complete disregard for the passing carriages. Occasionally you might even see a horse or a few cows.


    From all this you could conclude that the houses along the roadside were more or less well off, though not rich. But it was safe to live along the busy trade route, where the imperial soldiers kept order and the bandits at bay.


    But now there were no patrols of the Imperial Army. Only two soldiers rode at a fast pace past Josel and the others towards Ipalos. The soldiers'' haste was obvious and made Ragart''s face fall: "At this speed, they''ll kill their horses long before they reach Ipalos."


    Sometimes they encountered other travellers too. Every horseman who rode towards or past them made Josel, who was sitting in the driver''s seat, lower his eyes quickly. There were people on the road for thousands of reasons, but among them might well have been two messengers from the Shadow Cross, looking for the two boys who had escaped from Paidos.


    In general, the other road users were country folk, transporting their produce for sale either to a neighbouring village or even as far as Ipalos. Josel wondered how many of the farmers they saw would donate part of their earnings to the Shadow Cross.


    It was said that the organisation was even more powerful in rural areas than in towns, and that entire villages, down to the last house, were members of the Shadow Cross. In return for the tax they paid, farmers received protection from the Shadow Cross against bandits and cattle rustlers, as well as insurance against crop failure or natural disasters. Such protection meant a great deal to ordinary villagers, so it was no wonder that so many willingly joined the ranks of the shadow walkers.


    There was no news from Paidos. When they stopped to water the horses, Ragart tried to question a merchant couple from Paidos for information. But the merchants had left town before the Shadow Cross overthrow, so Ragart gave up snooping and began discussing the impact of the grain price rise on the economy of Andiol.


    The closer Josel and his travelling companions got to Ipalos, the larger the clusters of houses became. By afternoon, they were already good-sized villages, with signs for inns beckoning them to stop.


    Ragart did not even look at the inns. He said they would drive all night again, because he wanted to be in Ipalos by dawn and get rid of the carpet piles as quickly as possible and at a high price.


    Josel was not sure if that was the underlying reason for their haste. There was no point in asking further questions, as Josel did not want to answer any questions himself. It was better to keep quiet, listen to the bald-headed merchant''s prattle and hope for a speedy arrival in Ipalos.


    In the evening the wagons were halted for another long rest. The horses were given a generous portion of oats and a good brushing as a reward for their efforts. Zal pointed out that they were on schedule, so the pace could be slowed down a bit if it would help the horses to keep going. Ipalos would be reached early in the morning.


    Josel and Zdain spooned up the stew Melgy had warmed up. There was little to talk about, as the old feud was still simmering. Still, it was good to have Zdain around. There was at least one person who shared the same goal. In this strange group, Zdain was, after all, the only one Josel could trust.


    The evening slowly turned to night and the wagons were on the move again. The other travellers had all but disappeared. Only a couple of farmers, clearly behind schedule, hurried home. Although the Southern Trade Route had a reputation for safety, the people of the nearby villages were not happy to spend the night outdoors.


    The gathering darkness made Josel yawn and long for sleep, but it did not seem to bother Ragart. The bald-headed merchant held tightly to the reins of the horses while staring into the night. He showed no signs of fatigue, unless you counted a lull in the chatter as such.


    The only concession Ragart made to the time of day was a carefully wrapped travelling cloak. Under it, he watched his surroundings like a cunningly stalking predator, true to his nickname. Josel had a hunch that the happy-natured waggoner, telling funny stories, might be a misjudgement of Ragart ''Fox'' Zapp''s character.


    Eventually, Josel gave in to fatigue. After bidding Ragart goodnight, he crawled past the piles of carpets to his last night''s resting place, where Zdain had moved an hour ago. The lantern was only dimly lit, but Josel guessed Monteilon was still awake.


    "Good night," he murmured as he lay down. Zdain''s reply was only a quiet grunt, but it was a reply nonetheless.


    * * *


    The stones littering the sandy road made Josel''s feet bleed. Nevertheless, he ran like a man possessed. He had to get away from his pursuers.


    "Where are you running to, city boy? Why did you lie to us? Aren''t you grateful that we saved you?" Zal shouted after him.


    "No, let me explain!" Josel pleaded as Zal''s gnarled fingers grabbed his shirt collar.


    When Josel turned around, Zal had changed into another person. The man in black had long black hair and thick eyebrows. Josel recognised him as Isendar Vargan.


    "You stupid bastard, did you think you could run away from me?" Vargan hissed, then burst into a ghostly laugh that distorted his hollow features.


    Josel struggled but could not break free of the man''s grip. Vargan shook him and pinned him to the ground.


    The soil was damp and cold. As damp and cold as the early morning in the Ragart''s wagon.


    * * *


    "Wake up! Something is happening. Soldiers...checkpoint," someone whispered, shoving Josel awake.


    "What?" Josel coughed, dazed from the nightmare. He blinked and saw Zdain''s worried face above him.


    "I said soldiers and a checkpoint," Monteilon repeated, loosening his grip on Josel''s arm.


    "What makes you say that?" Josel mumbled, then stood up on his elbows. It was still dark outside.


    "Because I was awake and I saw it with my own eyes! The soldiers are checking the wagons."


    At the same time, Ragart slowed the horses pulling the wagon, making them snort loudly.


    "Shadow sentries?" Josel half asked, half said. "They''ll get us if we stay here!"


    "I know, but how do we..."


    "Behind the wagon," Josel clarified, putting on his shoes. "Come on!" he added, rolling to his knees and going on all fours between the piles of carpet at the back of the wagon.


    Zdain cursed under his breath and followed.


    The wagons had already stopped. There was a whistle and then Ragart''s voice.


    Josel did not stay to hear what the soldiers had to say to the merchant, but jumped off the back of the wagon behind Zdain and onto the road.


    There was movement only at the front of the wagons. Josel hesitated for a moment before beckoning Zdain to follow him over the roadside ditch and into the bushes. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the wagon Zal was driving pull up next to the Ragart wagon. He also saw a man holding a lantern, with the Shadow Cross emblem on the front of his tunic.


    Fortunately, the shadow sentry had turned his attention to the wagons and failed to notice the boys disappearing into the bushes. Soon they were running along a path winding through the bushes. Josel guessed it would take them in the right direction, towards Ipalos. The bushes and sparse trees here and there offered little cover from view, but there was no sound of pursuit.


    Eventually Josel slowed his pace to jogging and then walking.


    Zdain came up beside him. "All the stuff was left in the wagon," the brown-haired boy said calmly.


    At that moment, Josel did not care about the belongings. He pointed to the lights in the distance; it could only be Ipalos early in the morning.


    * * *


    On the Southern Trade Route


    "Should I stop them?" Marl asked, his hand on the holster of his pistol. Zal, sitting beside him in the driver''s bench, tore his gaze away from the two boys who were slipping past the wagon into the woods beyond the roadside.


    "No, let them go," Zal replied. "We would unnecessarily attract the attention of the shadow sentries and put ourselves in danger at the same time."


    Marl grunted in agreement - the old man was right, as always - and steered the wagon behind the Ragart''s wagon, which had already come to a halt.


    "What have you got for cargo?" the sour-faced shadow sentry pressed Ragart.


    "Just carpets, two wagonloads of plain carpets, which I want to get rid of as soon as possible. You wouldn''t like to buy a pair, would you, Mister Soldier?" chattered Ragart.


    "I don''t want to," interrupted the man who had stopped him. "Are there people on board?"


    "Were you looking for people, not smuggled goods?" the merchant asked, his tone curious.


    "Answer my question, please," the shadow sentry said, more tense now.


    "There are a couple of boys there. Relatives, you see. They''re good laddies..."


    "Show me," the shadow sentry demanded, gesturing to his comrades standing further away to come closer.


    "I wouldn''t dare wake them if they were asleep," Ragart tried.


    "Show them to me!"


    "All right, all right. They''re in the wagon," Ragart said, moving from the driver''s seat to the inside of the wagon. After asking his comrades to keep watch, the shadow sentry climbed in after him.


    Ragart lit a lamp on the wagons.


    "There''s no one here," said the shadow sentry.


    "But they were here, behind the carpet piles..."


    "Did you lie to me?"


    "Certainly not, sir," Ragart tried to defend himself.


    "You talked about boys, but there are none here. Show me the boys or I''ll arrest you!"


    "We are here!" Zal called from outside the wagon.


    The shadow sentry turned quickly. "Are you the boys?" he said, staring with a skeptical look at the old man and the Marl standing beside him.


    "Where did you go? Haven''t I told you a hundred times that..." Ragart scolded, instantly getting into the act. He scrambled through the driver''s seat to the ground, so fast that his large stomach jiggled.


    "Mister Zapp, when the coach finally stopped, we just went to the side of the road to relieve ourselves," Zal said defensively.


    The shadow sentry watched the duo who had appeared beside the wagon, still openly suspicious. "What kind of boys are you? You''re old men!" he growled.


    "Zapp and Boys is the name of our shop," Ragart smiled lovingly and spread his arms.


    "Boys!" repeated the shadow sentry, annoyed.


    "Yes, and they are good boys, like I said."


    "Then who will drive the other wagon?" the shadow sentry asked the bald man, ignoring his babbling.


    That got Ragart excited: "Well, that''s our girl!" He waved happily at Melgy, who had just appeared on the driver''s seat of the other wagon.


    "Go and don''t come back!" the shadow sentry snorted, turned and started to walk towards his two comrades, mumbling to himself.


    Relieved, Ragart sat back on the driver''s seat and muttered: "Fox was almost caught in a trap, but he slipped away, albeit with a heart attack...Next time you rescue me from trouble, do it a little faster."


    The words made Zal smile a little. Marl did not smile, as he had not done for many years.


    * * *

 Chapter 14

    Franz


    Andiol Empire


    When Franz Landez awoke, he had no idea whether it was day or night. He had dozed off for a while, but woke up to a chill. His back ached and his legs were numb from bad posture. Sleep had come in small doses, and waking up was always just as miserable. He had been given nothing but a thin blanket, even though the stone walls radiated cold.


    After Franz fumbled in the darkness to the door, he found a fresh ration that had been pushed through the hatch. It must have been daytime, the third day in captivity.


    There was nothing on the plate but a thin soup and a morsel of dry bread, but one could hardly expect any better. The vital thing was that they had not stopped bringing him food, even though he had not answered the questions the way the interrogators wanted.


    He shook his stiff limbs for a while before crouching down on the soup plate with a blanket over his shoulders. The food had been gobbled up in no time, but his stomach was not full afterwards. He sighed and flopped back onto the blanket. Once again, his thoughts drifted back to the moments after the fall of governor Monteilon.


    * * *


    Franz had done as Andreuz Sandkan asked: he had dashed to baker Mommes'' house. He had banged on the baker''s door as if it were the last day. When the baker came to the door in a huff, Franz had said, gasping for breath, the words from Josel''s father: "Message from Sandkan. It''s an emergency. The governor is being transferred to a shelter."


    Hearing this, the baker Mommes no longer seemed angry, but frightened. "Shadow Cross?" he had asked.


    "Yes, they attacked the palace," Franz had panted back.


    The baker had told Franz to hurry home and forget he had ever been at his door. According to Mommes, they would not know each other if they bumped into each other in the streets of Paidos.


    At home, Franz had found his mother sitting in the kitchen. Like so many times before, Ginnavere Landez had waited for her son to come home for the night. Now the sounds of gunfire had made her doubly worried. Franz had explained to his mother what had happened, but had been careful not to mention Josel or his father.


    * * *


    The next day, all of Paidos was in a state of chaos. The people who were moving through the streets were restless and frightened. They hurriedly took care of the bare necessities while trying not to attract the attention of the shadow sentries that swarmed everywhere.


    Franz, on the contrary, could not be persuaded to stay at home. After his mother left in the morning to the family''s general store, he slipped into town.


    As soon as he stepped outside, he smelled smoke in the wind. That, along with his hunch, led him to the Sandkans'' house in the next block. There was a sense of finality in the sight of the still smouldering wreck. Josel was gone - hopefully far enough away to be safe.


    The governor''s palace was also damaged by fire. The people of Paidos, who dared to whisper on the street corners, gossiped that the Shadow Cross had killed the governor. Others claimed that Dareis Monteilon had escaped. No one knew the fate of Sandkans.


    Armed to the teeth, the shadow sentries scoured every house and corner, looking for the emperor''s officials and the still fleeing soldiers of the City Guard. Soldiers who would give up resistance were promised amnesty, but the fate of those who continued to fight against the Shadow Cross would be merciless.


    A strange excitement bubbled up inside Franz. The situation was so fascinating yet terrifying at the same time. It was as if a great claw had taken hold of Paidos and shaken it to the core. Somehow Franz had a premonition that the upheaval in the town would not stop there.


    Was this the adventure Franz been dreaming of for so long? No, he was pretty sure of that. In any case, the defeat of the imperial governor brought a change to everyday life. Maybe it was not yet an adventure, but at least something worth remembering.


    Franz thanked his lucky stars when he found his two remaining friends unharmed in their homes. Bartos, though, was pale and frightened, for the shadow sentries had been searching for his father since dawn. Fortunately, Bartos'' parents had spent the night safely in their country home. A servant had been sent after them to warn Mr and Mrs Rigailon to stay away from the town in future. Officials loyal to their governor, such as Bartos'' father, faced the worst fate under the rule of Isendar Vargan.


    Naturally, Bartos and Darren asked about Josel. Franz remembered the promise he had made to Andreuz Sandkan, but he shared the information with his friends anyway. Together they weighed up the situation from every possible angle, and finally concluded that Josel''s father was more than just a poorly selling author. None of the boys dared to speak of their common fear that they would never see their golden-haired friend again.


    While they were loitering around the town centre, Franz recalled something that, in retrospect, should have been forgotten. In his own restless way, with his mind in a whirl, he explained to his two friends Josel''s request to deliver a message to Jolanda.


    At the same time, Franz wondered how to get in touch with this Jolanda, whose face he could hardly remember. Giesela! The girl had told him that she somehow knew Josel''s crush. This sassy girl would be useful for once. Franz swore himself that he would ferret out where Jolanda was living.


    Giesela was easy to find at her home. Franz was disgusted by her pretentious way of speaking, but he behaved as politely as he could. Franz''s temperament made it difficult, for he was used to saying out loud what was on his mind, rather than flattering someone.


    Fortunately, Giesela, who was in a good mood, promised to take Franz to see Jolanda at short notice. She would just have to make sure that Jolanda was at home first.


    "A lost errand across town isn''t worth it," Giesela had chirped in her girlish voice.


    After the girl had gone, Franz bought a stuffed bread roll from a street vendor. While gnawing it he impatiently marched to the place where Giesela had said she would meet him. He had chased Bartos and Darren away earlier. Franz had promised to take Josel''s message to Jolanda and then, sure enough, he would do it alone.


    It was a long walk to Belfry Hill where Giesela had told him Jolanda lived. Franz seldom went there, even though he had explored all of Paidos as a little boy.


    Fed up with the constant chores, his mother''s orders or the racket of his younger siblings, Franz had often escaped to the hustle and bustle of the town. It was only when he was speeding along the back bridge of the rail carriage on the other side of town that he could feel truly free. The movement was the main thing, not where he was going.


    On these trips Franz had sometimes asked Josel to join him, less often Darren or Bartos. Although he appreciated the company of his friends, sometimes he had to be alone. The others did not fully understand the euphoria he felt when he was out on the town. The strange people in the streets of Paidos, the deserted houses that smelled of abandoned life, the cemeteries bathed in the shadows of the fading evening - these created the happiness of Franz''s childhood years.


    Over time, Paidos had become all too familiar, and Franz, now seventeen, found little new in his hometown. Oh, how he longed to be further away! Away from the familiar and safe rows of houses in Paidos, away from his annoyingly squeaky siblings, and above all away from the Landez General Store, whose monotonous shop work he hated.


    Of course, Franz loved his mother, sisters and brother. That was the only reason he had not already left. Yet every soldier he encountered in the tavern or every merchant from a faraway land made him think more seriously about running away. There had to be something else to life than the constant, flat routine. So many times he had dreamed of being born in another place, somewhere much more exciting than the stable and dull Paidos.


    * * *


    Franz clicked his tongue in annoyance as he saw Giesela come around the corner, hips swaying. He had waited for her until he was bored, and now she dared to show up at the meeting place as if nothing had happened.


    So Franz asked bluntly: "Where''s Jolanda?"


    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Giesela wrinkled her pig''s nose, but replied more politely and maturely than expected: "Please follow me, it''s not a long way."


    They passed a large stone house and an equally large building next to it. Behind the other building was a gateway, which Giesela assumed led to their destination.


    The gatehouse looked vaguely familiar to Franz. Later, sitting in his cell, he wished for a better memory. Then he would have had time to turn and run.


    There was no Jolanda waiting for Franz. Giesela told him to go alone through the gateway into the courtyard. The first door on the left would lead him to Jolanda. Coming from someone other than his own classmate, such words would have made Franz hesitate. Now he just grunted his thanks and followed the instructions.


    Franz had barely stepped through the gate when someone tackled him to the ground. Groaning in pain, he turned his head to see three malicious-looking men in the colours of the Shadow Cross. A quick glance at the courtyard reminded Franz of a visit to the same place a few years earlier. On that occasion, he and Josel had slipped away from the grumpy shadow sentries who, moments before, had dragged a struggling, chained man behind a sturdy iron door into the darkness.


    Franz, too, was fighting back as much as he could, demanding answers from the men but getting none, and demanding to see a girl called Jolanda. Nothing helped, but the shadow sentries dragged him into the stairwell and down the stairs into a dark corridor.


    The men carried him roughly past dozens of iron-doored cells. Then they came to another set of stairs that took them to an even lower level of the dungeon. The corridor was almost identical to the one above, but there were fewer lamps and the smell of damp was stronger. Either the third or fourth cell from the left was where Franz was thrown.


    "Don''t try anything stupid," one of the shadow sentries said. Then the men left, leaving him alone in the darkness. Franz was locked up in one of the filthiest cells of the Shadow Cross, without knowing any reason why.


    * * *


    Franz scratched his itchy back, there must have been bedbugs or some other nasty bloodsuckers in the cell. It is probably the fourth or fifth day in captivity. After the second interrogation, there had been no third. And the food bowl was now empty.


    The interrogator had fished for information about Josel''s father and Curtus, things Franz had no idea about. He had asked about the Sandkans'' acquaintances, about their connections with governor Monteilon and about other people Andreuz Sandkan had met in the last few weeks. How could Franz have known such things, and even if he had, he would never have sung the secrets of Josel''s father to some nefarious shadow dog.


    As a result, he was literally thrown back into the dungeon after the interrogation to think of better answers. Or, alternatively, to starve to death in a prison cell swarming with bedbugs.


    As time passed, the food did not arrive. Franz had tried to get the guard''s attention by banging his wooden plate against the iron door of the cell. But there had been no sound from the corridor and he had finally given up. In a fit of rage, Franz had pushed his plate into the corner of the cell and slumped on the blanket on the stone floor.


    There was no longer a governor to enforce the imperial laws that protected the citizens. There was only the Shadow Cross and its anarchy. Much as Franz had mocked Dareis Monteilon, he now wished with all his heart that the governor was still in office.


    He wondered what was going on at home. Mom must have been busy in the shop, surrounded by her kids. Tinka was rapidly growing into a woman and becoming a nuisance to Mom, Janos would start school in the autumn and would need his big brother''s advice, and Mom could not cope with both working and waking up every night to look after crying little Minai.


    Although the two youngest had different fathers to Franz, they were just as dear to him. In town, the ladies gossiped about Mrs Landez''s promiscuity. According to the backbiting, Franz''s mother did not behave as a grieving widow should. She had gotten pregnant twice after her husband''s death, and there was no record of the children''s fathers.


    Franz cursed quietly. You should kick the shit out of gossipmongers like that!


    His mood was not helped by the water dripping from the roof of the dungeon; the splashing of it was enough to drive him crazy. Only covering his ears brought a momentary relief.


    Then there were sounds he might never hear: the rattle of wagon wheels on the road, the surge of waves against the sides of an ocean liner, the howling of wolves in the frosty night, the clash of swords and the roar of the dying men in the midst of a brave battle...


    That''s what Franz dreamed of. If only he could feel the excitement and adventure on his skin, to feel again the same exhilarating thrill he felt as a little boy on his solitary excursions.


    There were far more glorious ways to end one''s life than languishing in a musty prison cell. People would never take a deep breath when a storyteller mentioned the name of Franz Landez. There would be no songs or books about Franz the Hero. His body would be tossed like a sack of potatoes at his mother''s feet for burial. The siblings would not be able to admire their older brother''s exploits and tell their own children about them in due course. They would mourn him for some time and eventually forget their brother, who had died years ago. Who would want such a fate?


    Despite the misery of the situation, Franz refused to be discouraged. He had to persevere and look for any chance to get out of prison. The reason was Jolanda.


    During the first interrogation, when Franz had revealed that he had come to see Jolanda, the interrogator had raised his eyebrows and puckered up his lips. "You don''t just come to see someone like Jolanda Vargan."


    It was as if someone had hit Franz on the head with a large stone. Jolanda Vargan! Yes, of course, he had heard that name before. The whole town knew that Isendar Vargan had a very beautiful daughter who had risen to high positions in the Shadow Cross. For one reason or another, the couple had targeted Josel''s family.


    They had been badly fooled, Franz himself too, but especially Josel. Even the devilish Giesela had known all along what a trap she had lured Franz into. The girl would pay for her crimes in the harshest possible way.


    Josel needed to be warned about who Jolanda really was. Wherever Goldy roamed in the great empire of Andiol, he should not be pining after a witch like Jolanda Vargan. A true friend would take word of Jolanda''s treachery to Josel, even to the ends of the earth.


    Once the initial enthusiasm had worn off, Franz remembered his unfortunate situation. What chance did he have against the mighty machine of the shadow walkers? He had no connections and no money. The Shadow Cross, on the other hand, had both. Franz would stay locked in his cell for exactly as long as the Shadow Cross wanted him to.


    Food and drink would hardly be brought in unless he proved useful. And Franz had no way of proving his usefulness without deceiving someone. He could tell the interrogator the name of the baker Mommes, but what would be the consequence? The fate of the baker was a matter in itself, but to reveal that would also put the Sandkans in danger. But what if his thirst and hunger became so great that he was ready to trade Josel''s life for a cup of water?


    * * *


    It was impossible to estimate the passage of time. The distribution of food had somehow periodized the day, but the sheer pressure of waiting completely obscured the timeline. The hunger could still be forced from the mind, but the thirst was getting worse by the moment.


    The constant dripping of water was particularly unbearable. Not a single drop fell to the ground. Franz had come to believe that the invisible dripping water was a torture device developed by the Shadow Cross for the starving prisoners in their cells. Or maybe he had just gone mad from the darkness and loneliness and was now hearing things.


    That''s why the thumping in the corridor made Franz doubt his own ears. Yet the voice persisted, even drawing nearer. As if someone were walking behind the iron door. Would the guard still bring a drink? Or merely an invitation to another interrogation?


    Even that would be better than this gruelling wait. Franz decided to try to trick the interrogator into giving him water and food. But how to fool a cunning and experienced shadow walker? Still, something had to be worked out, or his dry lips would whisper the name ''baker Mommes''.


    The footsteps came closer, and Franz wished that a cup of water would be pushed through the door hatch. This did not happen, but the key turned in the lockcase. To the interrogation after all, Franz stated himself, preparing a defiant expression on his tired face for the prison guard.


    When the door opened, only a glimmer of corridor light penetrated the dungeon. Why did the jailer not carry his lantern, with which he liked to blind the prisoners eyes accustomed to the dark?


    Before Franz could ask for water, the visitor spoke. "Are you Franz Landez?" asked a remarkably resonant, almost musical voice.


    What is this all about? "Of course I am," Franz announced, rather uncertainly. Was this person not a prison guard but a new interrogator?


    "That is exactly what I wanted to hear! We are leaving now."


    "Leaving? Where to?"


    "Naturally, out of this cheerless place. Please follow me, my young friend," the unknown man said, opening the cell door further.


    Franz thought for a moment and then cautiously stepped out of the cell.


    Only when he reached the corridor did he get a better look at the man. The upturned, long and elaborately shaped moustache was the first thing Franz noticed as he squinted his eyes in light. The man was perhaps forty-five, but still boyishly slim. He wore a woolly cap and held an elongated object in one hand.


    The observation was interrupted, because the man spoke again. "We''re in a hurry, I only put the guard to sleep for a moment."


    "In a hurry where? Who are you?" Franz asked.


    "Get out of this prison, as I said. The other questions will be answered later," the moustached man said, motioning for Franz to follow him down the corridor.


    Franz shrugged, any chance of getting out of the dungeon was worth a try. As the man was about to disappear into the shadows of the corridor, Franz decided to follow.


    The torch-lit corridor led away from the front door, but Franz did not care. The man had to have a reason to get him out of prison, and he was going to find out what it was. Hobbling along on his legs, stiffened by imprisonment, Franz hurried after the man.


    Finally he reached his rescuer, who had stopped and was looking appraisingly ahead. Then Franz noticed the stone steps that descended steeply down into the darkness.


    "Exactly like my adventure in Dafrenheld''s Castle. You have to go down to get up," said the man, somehow triumphant, smiling so that his facial hair quivered comically in the light of the torch.


    Franz wondered why the name ''Dafrenheld''s Castle'' sounded so familiar. To say something, he blurted out: "Are you sure?"


    "No, sure am I not. Even so, I''m fascinated by the idea of where these stairs will bring us. Aren''t you? I''m not mistaken about you, am I, Franz Landez?"


    What the heck did he mean by that? Franz did not quite understand. Still, a sort of curiosity tickled his stomach. The stairs clearly led somewhere, as they usually did. And that destination was certainly a hundred times better than this dungeon.


    "Let''s go," he nodded to the moustached man, who gave a satisfied whistle in response.


    * * *

 Chapter 15

    "People of Paidos! The minions of Monteilon the Exploiter are still at large. Do not help the oppressor, but expose the enemies of the people who are hiding. Report saboteurs and imperialists directly to the provisional government. The best tips will be rewarded!"


    - Bulletin of the Shadow Cross in Paidos Courier, on 6th of Withies month 1592


    * * *


    Bartos


    Paidos, Andiol Empire


    "Breakfast! Thanks, mate!" Darren was delighted when Bartos, a little embarrassed, handed him a paper bag. Inside were a couple of cheese sandwiches and some ham. Nothing fancy, but Darren started to eat eagerly.


    Bartos did not ask why Darren had not eaten at home. It was better to keep quiet and pretend that bringing a breakfast bag to a friend was perfectly normal.


    Although there were no others at the rail-carriage stop, Bartos shifted his weight restlessly on his foot. "Have you heard anything from Franz?" he asked after looking around. These days it seemed that even the cobblestones in the street were eavesdropping for the shadow walkers.


    Darren, munching on his bread, flashed his dimpled smile again. "Yeah, he finally got himself a girlfriend. I mean, a fury hound bitch. Franz galloped off on it to escape the shadow sentries. I heard he''s going to start a kennel with his fianc¨¦e." When Bartos did not laugh, the curly-haired boy hastily suggested: "Shall we go to Landez''s to find out?"


    On the way to Franz''s house, Darren twisted a piece of string he had found somewhere, kicked every pebble he came across on the street and grinned cheerfully at the beautiful daughter of the weaver. Even when he was worried, Darren expressed himself so differently from Bartos, who had become even more silent and pensive since Franz got arrested. First Josel, then Franz - suddenly their group of friends was scattered to who knows where.


    It was all the fault of the Shadow Cross! What the shadow walkers had done to the Bartos'' family was unforgivable. His father, a reputable senior official of the emperor, had been turned into a miserable outlaw, and now the shadow walkers were doing everything they could to extort the Rigailon family fortune for the Shadow Cross.


    Luckily, Mom and little sisters had been sent to Grandfather''s house in the village of Barkhill, three days'' drive north of Paidos. Bartos and Tobeias, the family''s faithful servant, were the only ones left in the house. The valuables that Mom had not managed to take with her had already been carried to the coffins of the Shadow Cross.


    The day before yesterday, the shadow sentries had burst in at dinner time and stolen Grandmother''s silverware and Dad''s gold table clock. When Tobeias had tried to stop them, the shadow sentries had beaten him.


    Bartos knew that even his own safety was not guaranteed in Paidos these days. Yet he had firmly refused to go with his mother and sisters. It was his duty to look after the house until his father gave further instructions. Bartos waited for his father and knew he would come. Berron Rigailon would never abandon his family.


    Neither did Ginnavere Landez. Franz''s mother was furious when she heard that her son had disappeared on his way to see Jolanda. The tall, powerfully built woman had marched straight to Shadow Cross headquarters, despite Bartos and Darren''s objections, and demanded to see Isendar Vargan or Nadaila Tomsto. The shadow sentries had roughly pushed Mrs Landez down the stairs, spraining her ankle. She had received no information about her son.


    After Franz''s disappearance, Bartos and Darren had of course done everything they could to find out about their friend''s fate. They had searched half the town before finally finding Giesela.


    Darren had gotten all steamed up, threatening her with who knows what. After endless pressing, she had finally revealed that Jolanda was in fact Isendar Vargan''s daughter, and that was probably the reason why Franz was now in possession of the Shadow Cross.


    Untypically of him, Bartos had cursed heavily and felt a sudden and unwise urge to reach for Giesela''s throat. The pig-nosed girl had deceived them all, but she also had the power to put Bartos and Darren in the same place as Franz. Besides, getting Franz out of the hands of the Shadow Cross was the most important thing. So Bartos hurried his steps, hoping that Franz''s mother would know something new about her son.


    * * *


    Bartos and Darren only had to enter Landez''s General Store to realise that something was wrong. The store looked as if it had been shaken by a thunderstorm, the goods were strewn in messy heaps on the floor, and the shelves, always so neat and tidy, were now in disarray.


    "What''s happened here?" Darren asked with a worried frown. At the same moment, Ginnavere Landez limped from the back room into the main hall. She carried Franz''s little sister Minai in her arms.


    In addition to her remarkable height, Franz''s mother bore other similarities to her son. Ginnavere Landez''s face was adorned with a large eagle nose, her high forehead made her look intelligent and her hair was almost coal black in its darkness. But now Franz''s mother lacked the vigour and determination that Bartos was used to seeing in her. On the contrary, Mrs Landez looked as if she had just cried.


    Before Bartos could form a question, Darren was already ahead of him. "Has something happened to Franz?" In an instant, all joy had vanished from Darren and there was only concern in his voice.


    Bartos swallowed, the fear of something terrible gripping him.


    Mrs Landez''s strong voice cracked as she answered. "He...he''s gone, escaped from prison. The shadow sentries were in here, making threats and breaking things. They said I hid the boy somewhere, but I don''t know where he is." Franz''s mother clutched the little girl tighter in her arms and looked at Bartos and Darren with panic in her eyes.


    "Franz is missing?" Bartos said, dumbfounded.


    Darren continued quickly: "He''s not missing, he''s escaped - there''s a big difference. I know Franz, he''s safe for sure".


    These words did not seem to be much comfort to Franz''s mother. "Now the entire Shadow Cross is after him. The men who came here said that the runaways would be killed without mercy."


    Little Minai began to cry. Probably frightened by the tone of her mother''s voice, the girl hardly understood the meaning of the words.


    Mrs Landez''s bewailing did not leave Darren speechless. "You can''t catch Franz. The guy''s as slippery as an eel - in a good way," he said, smiling. "He won''t be caught by any of those wretched shadow dogs, and I''d stake my fortune on it."


    What fortune? Darren was as poor as a beggar, Bartos knew, but he let his chatty friend go on.


    "The shadow sentries have no idea where Franz is. Otherwise they wouldn''t have come here," Darren explained. "Since there''s been no word from him, he''s safe. Isendar Vargan is left to bite his long nails, and Franz is laughing sweetly somewhere far away from here. Believe me!"


    Ginnavere Landez looked unsure. "You talk a lot, Darren. They really haven''t found him. But where could my son have gone?"


    "Franz knows the hiding places. If anyone''s clever, it''s him," Darren said, nodding reassuringly.


    After some more persuasion, Darren finally convinced Franz''s mother that her son was safe and that it would be much better if he did not return home until Paidos had been recaptured from the Shadow Cross. In the end, Mrs Landez was so pleased with the boys'' visit that she showered them with sweets and gave them both a squeeze on the doorstep.


    Bartos thought that his own contribution to reassuring Franz''s mother was insignificant. After all, Darren had done everything. Bartos himself would not have been capable of a similar performance. He was too slow and clumsy to know how to deal with other people.


    That''s what his father had once said: "You won''t make a great popular leader, son, but you''ll make a wise advisor to the leader."


    Bartos was not sure if he would be up for that either. Maybe Dad was just trying to comfort him. After all, Berron Rigailon was a good man. Kind-hearted and wise, one of the most respected men in Paidos, or so Bartos had heard. One day, Bartos would want to be like that - a remarkable man, respected by all for his wisdom.


    But he never really thought he would rise to such a position. Bartos had inherited his father''s dark features and sturdy frame, but not his character and skills.


    He was never lucky with girls either. When Bartos tried to approach the fairer sex, he was completely frozen. All he could do was stammer stupidly. With Elenda, things had gone nowhere either, even though he had looked at her longingly for months.


    Darren was quite different, also when it came to charming girls. Bartos knew of no one else his age who was as popular with the ladies. Darren always had a girlfriend, sometimes two at the same time, and there was almost a queue of new admirers.


    Sometimes he talked about things he had done with girls - not bragging, but certainly knowing that Bartos still had his virginity. Then, for a while, Bartos had secretly hated his friend.


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    Darren was pleasant-looking, much more handsome than Bartos himself, but that did not explain everything. In his good-humoured insouciance, Darren was just so charming that you could not help but like him. He knew how to smile at the right moment and, above all, he knew how to talk. That''s the kind of boy girls liked, not a bore like Bartos.


    He glanced sideways at the boy strolling beside him. Darren whistled and tossed his cap in the air. Yet Bartos knew there was something else beneath all that nonchalance: The real Darren Temjanion was far more sensitive and vulnerable than the easy-going charmer he liked to appear to others, even his friends.


    Bartos remembered a little curly-haired boy who had run crying into the street, when his parents went on a drunken rampage. He also remembered the bruises on little Darren''s skinny body and the boy''s insane appetite every time he went to school for lunch.


    Even then, Darren had been a master of deception. He had joked and amused his mates with a smile on his face, even when he had been beaten up by his drunken father the night before. If anyone tried to get to the truth, Darren would get angry or give the silent treatment.


    Bartos had already got to know Josel and Franz before he started school. As if by unspoken agreement, they had accepted Darren as the fourth member of their group of friends in the first year of school. This was partly because Darren was fun to be around, but also out of pity, which the boy did not want.


    It had felt important to do more, even if Darren had not wanted any help. They must have been ten years old when Bartos brought up his friend''s situation with his influential father. Chancellor Berron Rigailon had listened quietly and finally promised to take care of the matter.


    Bartos did not know what his father had done, but it had helped. Since then, Darren''s ribs were no longer bruised and his clothes were cleaner and less torn than before. Darren''s mother and father drank as before, but the boy and his sister, who was a few years older, were a little better.


    If Darren had any inkling of Bartos'' father''s involvement, he had never said so out loud. Bartos himself could not have had more respect for his father. It was a terrible injustice that the good man had been driven from office and from the hometown he loved. As much as Bartos respected his father, he hated the Shadow Cross.


    * * *


    A couple of days after visiting Franz''s mother, Bartos invited Darren to stay over night. This was nothing unusual, as Darren sometimes stayed at the Rigailons'' big house when his parents'' drinking got worse than usual.


    But now Bartos had a very different reason for asking his friend to join him. He did not feel safe at home.


    The atmosphere in Paidos had become tense. The townspeople were on their guard, suspecting each other of being the henchmen of the Shadow Cross. No one dared to say a word about the Shadow Cross, even though the mistreatments were becoming more blatant.


    People were ruthlessly beaten, homes looted, and dozens of residents suspected of being supporters of the governor were imprisoned by the shadow sentries. Numerous imperial-minded officials and City Guard officers were reportedly executed after summary trials. Bartos knew that his father would have been among them had he not fled the town.


    It was also rumoured that governor Monteilon had escaped from the Shadow Cross. This delighted Bartos. As long as Dareis Monteilon stayed alive, the people of Paidos would have someone to rely on in their resistance. Together, they could defeat the shadow walkers and reclaim their hometown. But where was Monteilon and his liberation force?


    As the son of Berron Rigailon, Bartos knew that sooner or later he would have to face the Shadow Cross. A nearby baker named Mommes had been killed a few nights earlier, though he was not known to have had any animosity with the Shadow Cross. So anyone could have been a victim.


    Bartos had a hunch that something bad was about to happen. That''s why he had ordered the servants to leave town. Loyal Tobeias would have liked to stay and protect the house, but Bartos could not allow him to risk his life defending the Rigailon family''s property. It was Bartos'' responsibility, now that his father was gone.


    Unfortunately, he had quickly realised that he was not brave enough to live in the house alone. Selfishly, he had put Darren in danger by asking him to be his protector. Bartos felt he was nothing more than a big flathead and an even bigger coward.


    * * *


    They had settled down for the night as soon as it was dark. Darren had tried to make conversation, but Bartos'' replies had been nothing more than short grunts. Eventually, the curlyhead had grown tired of his friend''s silence. With his bed on the couch, he had turned his back on Bartos. It was not long before the steady breathing could be heard coming from Darren''s direction.


    Bartos wished he could have fallen as fast asleep. Thoughts swirled in his head; sleep did not come until midnight.


    It was pitch black when Bartos awoke. A strange feeling overcame him. As if he had heard something. He listened - it could not have been Darren. The calm breathing came from across the room. Otherwise, it was quiet. Bartos closed his eyes, trying to reach for the dream he had been snatched from.


    Just then, the sound came again, muffled but still clearly audible. It was like a steady thump, coming from somewhere downstairs. A cold shiver ran down Bartos'' spine and his palms were instantly wet with sweat. Was someone in the house? A shadow sentry? Bartos was no longer sleepy. He was terrified.


    When the bang sounded again, Bartos made up his mind and got out of bed without a sound. He took a few steps to Darren''s couch and shook him awake.


    "Wh-what?" Darren mumbled, still half-asleep. Bartos whispered for him to be quiet and to prick up his ears. Although Bartos could not see his friend''s face in the darkness, Darren''s small gasp told him he had heard the same.


    "Let''s go and see what it is," Darren suggested after the thumping had stopped for a moment.


    Bartos swallowed. Did Darren not realise the danger? If the Shadow Cross had infiltrated the house, they might be slaughtered like the baker.


    "Are you sure?" he asked, ashamed of the fearful tone in his voice.


    "I''d rather go and see what it is myself than wait for it to get here," Darren reasoned, springing out of bed. "I bet it''s just a twig tapping on a windowsill," he added, as he opened the bedroom door.


    Bartos followed his friend, hating his own cowardice.


    The stairs leading down were cold under bare feet, but for the first time Bartos was grateful that they were made of stone and not wood. There was not a creak as the two friends, dressed only in their underwear, descended the stairs to the ground floor of the Rigailons'' house.


    By now the banging had stopped and the house was quiet. Bartos tried to ignore his pounding heart. Despite his light clothing, sweat soaked his armpits and back.


    They arrived at a small hall with access to three directions. Each entrance leading to a different part of the house looked equally menacing to Bartos. He nodded to Darren and quickly slipped past the other two open doorways into the hallway. The sound had been like someone knocking on the door.


    With Darren securing his back, Bartos crept to the front door. There was no sound from behind it. With shaking hands, he lifted the leather flap covering the peephole and peered out. Behind the glass was the porch, lit by an outdoor lamp. It was deserted.


    "Open the door slightly," Darren whispered, and Bartos had no choice but to turn the key sticking out of the lock.


    All he had to do was twist the knob and open the door. Bartos wiped his sweaty palms on his shirt and inhaled an extra lungful of air. Then he opened the door.


    The cool night air streamed into the hallway. The pale light from the outdoor lamp was blinding. For a moment, Bartos was sure that a shadow sentry, or something worse, would leap from the darkness behind the stairs to slit their throats. A shudder of fear ran through his body and for a fleeting moment he thought he was going to die.


    But Darren''s laconic statement, "no one", brought Bartos back from the brink of horror to the present.


    "No, indeed," he replied with an audible gulp. His eyes wandered around the darkness surrounding the illuminated stairs. There was no one. Or if there was, whoever was lurking in the night did not want to be seen.


    Bartos was cold and muttered hurriedly: "Let''s go inside."


    He was already thinking of going back to bed when Darren spoke: "If that wasn''t a knock at the door, what was it?"


    Anxiety gripped Bartos again and he felt his palms sweat. "We-we''ll have to check downstairs, I suppose," he replied.


    Now it was Darren''s turn to lead the way. The small lounge to the right of the stairwell was completely empty. At least Bartos found a candle there, which he lit by scratching a match. The miserable flame did not provide much light, but at least it made him feel a little safer.


    Darren, on the other hand, did not seem to mind the darkness. The nimble-footed boy tiptoed through the Rigailon house with a quiet fearlessness that made lumbering Bartos feel even clumsier.


    The library behind the social room was also empty of intruders. The massive bookshelves with their books looked menacing in the dim light, but they did not hide anything out of the ordinary.


    Bartos began to get the feeling that a trip downstairs was pointless. Perhaps it had indeed been a twig tapping on a window, or a drunkard staggering home from the alehouse and knocking at the door. But Bartos could not remember a single tree growing right next to the house, and there were no taverns in the vicinity. The thought sent another uncomfortable shiver down his spine, and Bartos pulled the legs of his underpants down over his freezing thighs. He really wanted to get back to his warm bed.


    From the library they went downstairs to the main hall. They only had to enter the room to realise that something was very wrong. The door to the backyard veranda was ajar and the white window curtains fluttered ghostly. Bartos could not get a word out of his mouth, but he saw the same thing that Darren was saying out loud: "The window glass...it''s broken."


    The door was wide open, its glass window shattered. The glass fragments on the floor were filtered by moonlight.


    Not just broken. Smashed, Bartos thought, feeling an irresistible urge to turn and run upstairs to hide under the covers.


    Then something rustled in the corner of the room and Bartos nearly dropped his candle.


    "What''s that!" Darren exclaimed, his voice breaking.


    Bartos could only manage a gurgle from his throat. His body trembled as he watched a dark figure emerge from the far corner of the hall. Darren yelped miserably but bravely raised his fists in a defensive stance.


    The figure was so close now that Bartos could see it better. Much more willingly, he would have closed his eyes. The stranger was of medium height and dressed in black. His head was covered by a hood that hid his face. Bartos sensed that the intruder was not a shadow sentry, but something else, something worse. There were always many shadow sentries, and they came through the front door with a loud bang, not sneaking in the back.


    Then the stranger''s hand, covered by a leather glove, reached for the hood. When he pulled it off his head in agonisingly slow motion, Bartos almost begged that a company of Shadow Cross commandos had stormed in instead of the stranger.


    The hood fell away and Bartos finally regained his voice. A baby-like squeal escaped his throat and Darren''s groan did not sound much more manly. Darren, who had been standing defiantly with his fists clenched, now stared at the stranger in front of him with terror on his face. Bartos'' legs were weak and the stearine dripping from the wavering candle burned the back of his hand.


    "I came in because no one would open the door for me," the visitor said in an old man''s voice.


    All Bartos could do was stare at the man''s face, too well lit by the moon''s glow. It was the most gruesome mug he could remember seeing in his entire life. The man had no lips. His mouth was nothing but a scarred opening, leaving his gums and teeth exposed for eternal grimace.


    Other parts of the face were covered by a cruel-looking scar tissue, but the worst part, apart from the mouth, were the eyes. Their yellowish whites and relentless gaze pinned Bartos in place. There was no escape, the trembling legs would not obey. He had to stare at that ghastly face.


    Then the battered mouth formed words again. Although Bartos felt his consciousness blur with sheer terror, he heard the man speak.


    "Bartos Rigailon," the man squeaked. "I have come to fetch you."


    That''s when Bartos'' legs finally gave out and he fell to his knees on the wooden floor of the hall. The candle that had been burning in his hand rolled down to his feet and was extinguished in an instant.


    * * *

 Chapter 16

    On the way to Ipalos


    The rising sun was just a reddish glimmer on the eastern horizon. It was also a promise of the day to come, a day that would hopefully bring something better than the previous one.


    So wished also the boy trudging along the sandy path, his mop of hair taking on its familiar golden glow with the dawn. To make sure no one was following, he turned several times to look behind him, to where the sun was beginning to rise.


    Repeated glances caused the blond-haired boy''s travelling companion to turn his wondering, warm brown eyes to his comrade and frown slightly. After all, their common destination was still ahead of them, a city shrouded in the dark mantle of night.


    Ipalos stood out on the plain like an irregularly shaped sugarloaf in the middle of a dinner table. And if the town was a loaf, the small villages around it looked like lumps of sugar sprinkled on a table.


    Although the city was quite large, the first thing to see on the plain was the wide ribbon of river that ran north to south across the region.


    The mighty Frothy River picked up on its banks most of the villages in the area until it made a gentle bend and plunged into the city. South of Ipalos, the river widened even further, and during the day it was crowded with countless ships sailing upstream from the sea. These included small dinghies belonging to local fishermen, paddle steamers and ocean-going steamships.


    Although darkness was just giving way to light, the earliest travellers were already queuing at the gates of Ipalos. At night, access to the city was restricted and only possible by paying a gate fee. Villagers, unwilling - and often unable - to part with their money at the gate, would arrive with their carts early in the morning to join the queue and scour the markets for the best selling spots. The range of products on sale was wide: nuts, vegetables, eggs, pastries, handicrafts and all manner of necessities. Fish, on the other hand, could be bought directly from the fishermen''s boats in the river port of Ipalos.


    Within the city walls, some began to wake up as well. As the ever greedy seagulls let out their first calls of the day in the skies above Ipalos, smoke billowed from the chimneys of the bakeries and manufactories, the early rising merchants swept the fronts of their shops, and the blanket-clad beggars scrambled to their regular places on the street corners illuminated by the first rays of the sun.


    The daylight also drove some people off the streets. A drunken sailor who had lost his last few mites in a card game staggered back to his ship, a burglar slipped away to his hideout with a meagre haul, and a soldier of the City Guard who had been chasing him retired at the end of his night watch. Ipalos was one of those cities that lived at all hours of the day; only the people who walked the streets changed.


    * * *


    Josel


    Ipalos, Andiol Empire


    It was well into the morning when Josel and Zdain entered the city gates of Ipalos. They had agreed to slip into the city with the other travellers as discreetly as possible.


    Luckily, there were no shadow sentries in sight, and the soldiers of the Ipalos City Guard standing at the gate watched lazily as the stream of people passed by, paying no attention to the two boys without luggage.


    "So, Monteilon, how do we find the Merchants'' District and Martha''s house?" Josel asked. He and Zdain were standing in a small cobbled square, near the main street that led deeper into the city.


    After passing the gate, the boys had quickly turned a couple of corners to make sure they were not being followed. The crush at the gate was gone, but there were still enough people here for no one to look twice at them.


    "I''m not sure...it''s been a while since I went to Ipalos with my father. Should we ask someone here for directions?"


    "But from whom?" Josel replied, looking around.


    "It doesn''t matter. Like this beggar," Zdain said, nodding towards a shabby man sitting against the wall of the nearest stone house.


    "All right, but you do the talking."


    They took a few steps towards the beggar.


    "Good morning," Zdain greeted, tapping his temple with a couple of fingers, as was customary in a polite greeting.


    "Good morning, young gentlemen," the beggar croaked, peering at the newcomers from under his fluffy hair. The dirt covering the man''s face and his tangled beard made it difficult to estimate his age. The tattered state of his clothes suggested deep poverty, but the facial puffiness and foul stench characteristic of drinkers were absent. Perhaps it was just a misfortune that had left him destitute.


    Even in Paidos, beggars were not an uncommon sight. Curtus had described to Josel how technological progress had revolutionised human life. Jobs in manufacturing plants tempted people to leave the countryside and move to the cities. It did not always end well. There was drunkenness, debt and all sorts of other troubles.


    "We could use some advice," said Zdain. "Where is the Merchants'' District?"


    "The Merchants'' District," the beggar replied with a sly, yellow-toothed smile. "Nice area, I have no business there. Why are you going there?"


    "Can you tell us how to get there?" Zdain inquired without answering the question.


    "Sure, but it costs a few coins."


    Zdain turned to Josel. "Sandkan...do you have...?"


    Josel knew that Zdain had some large notes in his pocket, but it was not worth wasting them on a beggar. "Take this," he said as he nimbly took three coppers from his coin purse and dropped them into a cup on the ground.


    The beggar made a blessing gesture with his hands and thanked Zdain and Josel profusely for being ''merciful gentlemen''.


    "Answer, please," Zdain said, interrupting the man''s bowing and scraping.


    The beggar nodded. He began to explain the route in surprisingly meticulous detail, listing various landmarks. Josel and Zdain thanked him for his advice and hurried back from the square to the main street.


    * * *


    Ipalos was different from Paidos. Where Josel''s hometown was ordinary, almost boring, in Ipalos there was something new and wonderful on almost every street corner.


    There were far more foreigners on the streets than in Paidos, which was also, after all, located on a trade route. The sailors in particular brought a special atmosphere to the bustling streets of Ipalos. Josel gazed with awe at the suntanned, rough-looking rogues who had come ashore from their ships to roam the city and squander their wages.


    There were plenty of stranger people than sailors on the streets, too. A dark-skinned man approached, a huge snake wrapped around his bare torso. The man walked down the street as calmly as if he had not noticed the whole snake.


    "A Southlander," Zdain said with annoying knowledge after noticing Josel''s puzzled expression.


    Josel swallowed his angry words. He had seen Southlanders before, but the snake was new.


    After walking along the main street, the boys ended up in the middle of the market. With both their throats dry and their stomachs rumbling with hunger, they bought a drink and steaming meat pies from a stall. After eating them, they continued on their way, passing the stalls of vegetable sellers and peasants selling pastries.


    Zdain seemed to want to leave the market quickly. Josel, however, was drawn to the tables of merchants selling a variety of goods. He tugged at his companion''s sleeve and said: "Wait, let''s have a look."


    "We have no time."


    "You know very well that there is time," Josel said and flashed a smile. It was enough to get his way. For a moment it seemed that Monteilon would have joined in the merriment, but in the end he was content to furrow his brow with a slightly worried expression.


    They turned to the stalls. Many of the vendors were selling homemade handicrafts and woodwork. There were also common household items, from knives to pots and pans, and elaborately illustrated paintings that were far too expensive for Josel. The same could be said for glassware and jewellery that sparkled in the sun.


    Josel moved from table to table; he had always enjoyed looking at oddities. One shopkeeper had some disgusting-looking dried animal parts on his table: rabbit''s feet, frog''s legs, pigtails, even whole small animals preserved in glass jars.


    The shopkeeper, a tiny old woman, cackled with delight when Josel startled and pulled his hand away after touching the stuffed dog''s head. "Lucky charms, lucky charms! Young men, please do buy," the old woman persuaded.


    The next market vendors sold even stranger gadgets.


    "Relics, from the Age before the Oblivion!" The old man - an Afamatian, judging by his hooked nose - praised the objects he had laid out on the sales table.


    Josel did not quite believe the vendor, for it had been well over a thousand years since the time called Oblivion. How could any commodity survive that long?


    If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    About a year ago, Josel''s class had taken a trip to the Imperial Museum of Paidos. The relics they had seen there were unidentifiable chunks of rusted metal and fragments of small objects. Even on the sales table of the old Afamatian, some of the items were just useless junk, like pieces of copper wire covered with some soft material.


    On the other hand, some of the relics for sale were undeniably interesting, such as a large battered horn attached to a tin box. Ignoring the merchant''s scowl, Josel twisted the rattle sticking out of the box, but nothing happened.


    "Broken piece of junk," he reckoned, picking up a new object from the table.


    "What is this?" Josel asked about the odd item he had selected from the table. It was tapered and round, made of thin, sealed glass. One end had metal threads and inside was a funny-looking wire frame. It was completely impossible to judge the object''s function visually.


    "It''s a relic, it doesn''t have to have a purpose," grumbled the old vendor.


    "Or rather, it''s completely useless," Josel said, putting the glass sphere back on the table.


    As Zdain hurried on, Josel moved on to the next stalls.


    The biggest stall in the area was run by a tall man with a stooped back and the prices he charged were staggeringly high. The items on display were also astounding. To the crowd gathered in front of the table, the shopkeeper presented a tool that fired metal staples that bound a paper bundle together.


    "Mechanics, very expensive, but at a discount from me!" he declared to the man in front of the table, who was shaking his head in amazement.


    Josel looked at the device with interest, but Zdain spoiled his pleasure by telling him that such a device had been used in the house of governor Monteilon.


    Next, the stooped shopkeeper picked up an instrument that looked more like a box. "This is a picture-catcher! A brand new invention," he announced solemnly.


    "What does it do?" asked a woman in the audience.


    "It captures pictures of anything. Of houses or even people," the salesman said. He mentioned the price of the device, which sounded exorbitant.


    "How does it work?" the same woman asked.


    "It takes a picture of the object and then spits it out on a piece of paper."


    "I don''t think so."


    "Believe it or not, here are some examples of the citizens I''ve catched in a picture," said the shopkeeper, and his assistant rushed into the crowd to show the black and white pictures of men and women painted with incredible precision.


    The man in the front row wondered aloud, "How are they so accurate, better than any painter''s work?"


    "The machine doesn''t paint, it captures exactly," the salesman explained. "The image is exactly the same as the person in it."


    "In that case, good sir, come here and my assistants will take a very nice picture of you, at a special price, of course," the stooped shopkeeper said, beckoning the man to enter the stall.


    As he left the stall, Josel was pleased to see that Zdain looked thoughtful. Hardly even stinking rich Dareis Monteilon owned such a picture-catcher.


    The market area was vast, much larger than the familiar marketplace of Paidos. The boys pushed their way through the crowds. Josel glanced at Zdain beside him. Monteilon looked pensive, but fortunately not bored. So they could continue to wander around.


    They came to an area where live animals were sold. Josel quickly passed the horse dealers, knowing full well that Zdain might be interested in staying to inspect the horses. He himself wanted to see something special. A travelling carnival had visited Paidos the previous autumn, and the circus people had brought with them all sorts of animals from distant lands, from great apes to elephants. Perhaps the market in Ipalos would have something similar.


    After the horses, there were dogs on the sale for one purpose or another. Most of them were caged. Some were wallowing in their cages, looking frightened, while others were barking and jumping at the bars in a frenzy.


    Josel felt sorry for the animals. The noise of the market and the chattering people must have scared them. Most of all, it made him angry to see the mean-looking men trading the fighting dogs.


    Many of the dogs were already covered in hideous scars, their ears torn to shreds and their tails bitten off. They growled furiously in their chains - fighting dogs were probably starved to make them look more ferocious to buyers. But the plight of the poor dogs was of no interest to the Empire''s legislators, and probably never would have been.


    Feeling dejected, Josel sighed and avoided Zdain''s questioning gaze. Of course, stupid Monteilon doesn''t understand a thing, he thought, looking away from the dogs.


    The boys walked on and came to an area where rarer animals were exhibited. They saw a brightly coloured bird scratching the floor of its far-too-tight cage with its long beak. Equally unfortunate was a large owl sitting on its perch with one leg tied to a chain. A strange, weasel-like but larger predator was circling its cage. The animal''s owner was throwing pebbles at it, probably just to kill time or entertain the public.


    Josel clenched his fist in a rage. If he had a lot of money, he would have bought all the animals at the market and set them free. In addition, he would have thrown a big stone at the scavenger who was throwing the pebbles - hurting him.


    A stream of people carried them towards the stage. A large crowd had gathered in front of it. Josel and Zdain were curious too, and pushed closer.


    A big box covered with brown cloth had been brought to the stage. A hefty, balding man hovered around it, humming into a tin loudspeaker and beckoning the audience to come closer. He was wearing expensive-looking but stained clothes. His puffy, sagging body spoke of a desire to feast.


    The crowd roared with anticipation as the man promised in a raspy voice that he was about to reveal something unprecedented beneath the canvas. The bloated man introduced himself as Isaak Burh, a merchant.


    It prompted a middle-aged man standing next to Josel to blurt out to the woman in his company, "A merchant? ''A slave trader and robber'' is a more appropriate job title."


    "Slave trader?" Josel repeated, unsure if he had heard correctly.


    The man who had just spoken turned his attention to him. "Yes, Isaak Burh is one of the practitioners of that disgusting profession. We certainly don''t want to know what new collector''s piece he''s going to show the public," the man said and began to lead his companion away from the stage.


    Josel was stunned to hear this. "Isn''t there a law against slave trading?" he asked Zdain.


    The brown-haired boy shrugged. "Practice and law are often two different things. Law enforcers and courts don''t have time to deal with everything."


    It was as if it had come straight from the mouth of governor Monteilon. Josel snorted in anger. "Do you approve of the slave trade?"


    "I didn''t say that," Zdain replied. "I said that the emperor''s officials have many other concerns."


    Josel was about to argue, but Isaak Burh, bustling on the podium, had finally decided to reveal the secret hidden under the fabric.


    Burh''s assistant - a large, bare-chested man - stepped onto the stage. He prepared to pull the cloth from the box as soon as Burh gave the signal.


    The boastfulness of the alleged slave trader intensified. "Now you see something unique, something you''ve only heard about in stories. I have spent a great deal of money to bring you this experience. Ladies and gentlemen, I ask for a moment of silence."


    Burh raised his hand pompously, and the shirtless goon grabbed the cloth covering the box. Impatiently, the crowd swarmed closer to the stage. As Burh''s hand slapped his own thigh, his assistant snatched the canvas away. Beneath it was not a box, but a metal cage. There was something, or rather someone, inside the cage.


    People were babbling among themselves, craning their necks to get a better look. Soon there were murmurs of disbelief and shock from the audience.


    Josel saw what the others saw: the small prisoner had dark skin and was wearing a tattered dress. A child? A Southlander child, he wondered, but after a moment he was no longer sure. Although the prisoner was no taller than a seven-year-old child, there was something wild and weird about them. Unlike the jet-black hair of the Southerners, the prisoner''s fluffy head of hair was milky-white, and the muscles of their arms gleamed darkly. A small child could not have looked so strong.


    The prisoner''s mouth was bound with a cloth, and he huddled in the centre of the cage, doing nothing. Just as Josel was about to ask Zdain''s opinion of the prisoner, Burh raised his hand to silence the crowd.


    The slave trader''s voice rose again as he shouted, "I have brought you something that has not been seen in the Andiol Empire for ages. I have a goblin in this cage!"


    The spectators stirred and seemed incredulous. "Can you prove it?" someone shouted from the front row.


    "There''s no need for proof, it''s an obvious goblin. My best hunters have caught it in the Land of Ksingis," Burh assured him, spreading his hands smugly.


    A lone person in the front row applauded, but several others continued to loudly demand more evidence. The claim of a fairy tale creature in Ipalos was hard to swallow, even for Josel.


    "Okay. You''re going to see some tricks from the goblin. They are intelligent animals, as you will soon see," Burh said. "My fire lash!" he shouted to his shirtless assistant, who carried a large, cruel-looking whip to Burh from the back of the stage.


    The bloated slave trader fumbled with the whip in his hand and walked towards the goblin.


    The small, gagged creature mumbled and tried to retreat to the other side of the cage.


    "Jump!" Burh muttered to the goblin.


    The creature made no gesture to obey.


    Burh shouted his orders again, and the roaring crowd encouraged the goblin to jump. But nothing happened.


    "Filthy beast! At least you''re jumping now!" Burh snarled and hit the cage with his whip.


    There was a strange crackling sound and a bluish light flashed. The slave trader had managed to lash the goblin between the bars. The small creature let out a heartrending scream, leaping to its feet. Then it slammed into the top of the cage and bounced like a ball from one cage wall to the other.


    The spectators cheered, ignoring the fact that the goblin was howling in pain. Burh swung the whip again, which cracked with the same sickening sound and flash of light. The little goblin slammed into the walls of its cage, squalling all the while. The audience laughed and demanded for more.


    The show was horrible to watch and the anger burned in Josel''s chest. "Why doesn''t anyone intervene?" he asked.


    Zdain looked sick but did not respond.


    Burh cracked his whip a third time, the goblin screamed and the crowd cheered.


    "We have to do something!" Josel shouted, trying to push his way through the people on the stage. He no longer cared if the creature in the cage was a goblin. He had to help it.


    "What are you doing!" Zdain cried out, trying to grab Josel''s arm.


    "Don''t push!" someone in the audience shouted, punching Josel on the shoulder. A few others yelled insults. Josel ignored them and rushed towards the captured goblin.


    Zdain darted between the shoving and cursing people and seized Josel with both hands. "Don''t be crazy!" he snapped and did not let go.


    Josel struggled to free himself from Zdain''s grip. "The goblin must be saved!" he demanded.


    "There''s nothing we can do!" Zdain shouted back.


    They both turned to face the stage. There, Burh listened smugly to the applause of the audience. The goblin, on the other hand, lay lifeless in its cage.


    The sight cleared Josel''s head. He broke free and glanced unhappily at Zdain. The boy nodded away from the stage and motioned for Josel to follow.


    Josel stumbled after Zdain and they made their way through the throng, away from Isaak Burh, the poor tortured goblin and the bloodthirsty crowd. As they left, they heard the slave trader begin to receive bids from the spectators who wanted to buy the goblin for themselves.


    * * *


    As they reached the edge of the market, Zdain said, "What were you thinking? You can''t save everyone in the world who cries out for help."


    The boy''s voice echoed accusingly in Josel''s ears. "So you have no feelings," he spat.


    "I''m not going to put us in danger with useless attempts."


    "Haw, you are a coward," Josel said. "Even in Veilwood, you were shaking like a rail-carriage because of that damned fiend wing."


    Zdain''s brown eyes flashed dangerously. "At least I didn''t cry like a little child after that Vargan chick."


    "Shut up, you bastard!" Josel exploded, grabbing Zdain by the collar of his shirt.


    Zdain grabbed Josel by the chest in return, but suddenly changed his mind and shoved him away.


    "I told you you were a coward," Josel snorted, straightening his shirt.


    "Idiot! Do you really think fighting will help?"


    "Coward," Josel repeated when he could not think of anything more pithy to say. Annoyingly, Zdain had still not lost his temper. So Josel continued to irritate him: "And now? Is the former governor Monteilon planning to send the City Guard after me?"


    Zdain made no reply. He merely glanced at Josel and said icily, "You''re the most childish sixteen-year-old I''ve ever met." Then he turned and started to walk away.


    Josel took one last grim look at the market and then hurried after Zdain. Together, but at the same time even more sharply apart, they continued their journey to Marta Donthav''s house.


    * * *

 Chapter 17

    Josel


    The walk to Marta Donthav''s house followed the beggar''s route, although the atmosphere was anything but cheerful. Josel was in a bad mood because of the goblin, on top of everything else. Zdain''s mood, on the other hand, was largely Josel''s fault. So there was nothing to talk about and they sulked in silence.


    What a sensitive clown he is, Josel liked to think of Zdain striding ahead, even though he knew he had caused the latest row. He could not apologise - he just could not - so the only option was to lumber silently behind Zdain, watching the scenery of Ipalos.


    They came to a boulevard where tall lime trees shaded the citizens who walked along it. The buildings on either side of the street were large, multi-storey stone-built houses. Only a few houses in Paidos were as tall.


    Zdain seemed uninterested in the buildings. He quickened his pace as soon as he noticed that Josel had slowed down. "Hey, wait!" Josel shouted without getting an answer.


    Josel wondered if his father had already arrived at Marta''s house. Perhaps he had escorted the Monteilons to the road leading to Five Hills and ridden to Ipalos? In that case, Josel would set off with Dad immediately, and Zdain could stay behind to wait for the governor at Marta''s. Then they would no longer be at each other''s throats.


    At the end of the boulevard was a large open place. Josel remembered the beggar calling it Emperor''s Square. Monteilon seemed to be wondering which way to go from the square, so Josel pointed out the right direction in as subdued a voice as possible. Zdain showed no sign of heeding the advice. He went from the corner of the square down a wide street lined with fine buildings.


    Along the streets branching off from Emperor''s Square were clearly the homes of the wealthy. The wrought-iron gates to the well-tended gardens were lavishly decorated, and the sturdy doors of the houses were covered with beautiful carvings.


    The boys came to a bridge, which crossed a narrow canal. The buildings on the other side of the bridge were already part of the Merchants'' District. The houses were large, even opulent, though they only housed one family. Josel looked around with interest. Zdain also seemed to be somewhat impressed by the splendour of the area.


    It was not long before the house Andreuz Sandkan had described in his letter appeared in front of them. There was no mistaking it. Marta Donthav''s house was the only building on the block painted bright yellow.


    Zdain had also stopped to investigate their destination. The boy''s expression turned sour as he met Josel''s gaze. "I guess we''re going in," Monteilon said, still sounding angry.


    "What do we tell Marta?" Josel asked.


    "That we come as sent by your father. It''s better not to involve my parents."


    Nodding in response, Josel felt the tension swirling in his veins. It was very possible that he would see his father soon.


    With nothing more to talk about, they walked to the main entrance. They had to climb several steps to pull the cord of the doorbell. Josel gave the cord a tug, and the bell started to chime inside.


    It was a long time before anyone came to the door. Josel had glanced nervously at Zdain a few times before a glare from him forced him to look away. Then they heard footsteps from inside and the door creaked open.


    The tired looking servant stared at them warily. "And what is your business here?" the man asked in a snuffling voice.


    "Sir, we are here to see Marta Donthav," Zdain said politely.


    "She is not expecting visitors," was the blunt reply.


    "We have a message for Mrs Marta from an old acquaintance. It will surely interest her," Josel hastened to tell him.


    It seemed to work, for after a moment the servant said: "Very well. I''ll go and ask her. Wait here for a while."


    After the servant plodded away, the boys were left alone in the doorway. The hallway of the house was visible through the open door. Although the paint was flaking in places, the artfully embroidered tapestries with nature motifs and the mirrored cabinet leaning against the wall gave an impression of luxury and good taste. Even the banister of the wide staircase leading upstairs, with all its gilding and ornamentation, was pleasing to the eye. It was easy to see that the owner of the house had an eye for beautiful things.


    They had to wait a long time for the servant to return. He did not come alone, but was followed by a tall, grey-haired woman, well past middle age, dressed in a festive yellow dress. The outfit revealed quite a lot of her bosom, unusual for a woman of her age. She also wore a large pearl necklace. However, the outfit did not convey an impression of vanity, but rather proved that she was a person who loved beauty in everything. This was also hinted at by her elaborate hairstyle, which had undoubtedly taken some time to create. The first impression of her was of a refined woman.


    "I am Marta Donthav. You asked for me," the woman said in a strong voice for her age, studying the boys closely, almost penetratingly.


    The servant stepped aside and remained in the background, observing the situation.


    Zdain touched his temple in greeting and said: "Yes ma''am, we have an important matter to discuss. We bring a message from Andreuz Sandkan."


    Marta raised an eyebrow slightly, but otherwise made no sign of her surprise at hearing the name.


    "Yes, unless Andreuz Sandkan is already here," Josel added.


    Marta was silent for a moment, seemingly searching for words. "No, he''s not here. I think it''s better if we talk in peace. Please come in," she said, smiling hospitably. "Toma, set the tea table in the small hall,"


    "Please come in," Marta repeated when the boys hesitated. Josel and Zdain looked at each other and decided to follow.


    Dad''s not here yet. Sadness and disappointment washed over Josel. But could Marta know anything about Dad¡¯s whereabouts? Both Dad and Curtus had seemed to trust this woman. It was only fair to assume that she would not throw two teenagers out into the street.


    They followed Marta across the beautifully decorated room. A large painting on the wall depicted two fighting swans. Josel would have stayed longer to look at the painting, but Marta was already hastening forward.


    The next room was decorated in soft, atmospheric colours. There was a vase of flowers on a table in the middle of the room, but the flowers were wilting and their petals had fallen off. Also the air was stale and the room had clearly not been aired for several days.


    As the boys'' eyes were fixed on the wilted flowers, Marta pinched the tablecloth with her finger and said: "I don''t use this room very often. Since my husband died, I''ve been more comfortable in my chamber upstairs."


    Josel nodded, not knowing what to say.


    Marta invited her guests to sit in the soft-looking armchairs against the wall by the window and wait for tea to be served. Then she left the room the way she had come in.


    Josel and Zdain sat in silence. Josel tapped his finger on the arm of the chair, hoping that Marta would return soon. If only she would offer them a place to sleep, it would be relaxing to have a real bed to sleep in for a long time. But then again, how did he know, rich people were often damned stingy.


    While pondering about this, Josel happened to glance at Zdain, who was sitting next to him, clearly deep in thought. Zdain sucked his lower lip and frowned slightly. Actually, Monteilon was not bad when he was quiet.


    Josel''s musings were interrupted when Marta returned to the room, followed by her servant. The man carried a large tray with a porcelain teapot, cups, plates and small snacks. The servant set the table carelessly, as if in a hurry to return to his duties.


    Marta remained seated on the sofa, quite close to the table. "Eat and have some tea, I''ve already eaten," the hostess said with a friendly smile.


    Josel and Zdain sat down at the table opposite Marta. The tea that the servant poured out was steaming in an inviting way, so Josel quickly put a large piece of ham pie on his plate.


    Marta let her guests eat their meals and was content to watch them. Although the pie was dry and the biscuits watery, starving Josel ate with a good appetite.


    When the boys had satisfied their worst hunger, Marta moved on the sofa to get their attention. "My husband Amdus was one of the most prominent merchants of Ipalos in his day. Since his passing, I have lived alone in this house, running various errands on the side. You mentioned Andreuz Sandkan, a name I am very familiar with, but before I tell you more about my connection with him, I would like to know who you young men are."


    Josel cleared his throat and then began: "I am Josel Sandkan and my companion here is Zdain. Andreuz Sandkan is my father. We escaped from Paidos...I suppose you have heard of the fate of Paidos?"


    Marta nodded, encouraging Josel to continue.


    "When the Shadow Cross took over the town, my father and I were outlaws in Paidos," Josel explained. "Our ways parted that night, and my father''s last advice was to seek help from you. He said we would meet here. Do you have any information on him? I...we don''t know what to do now."


    "This clarified a lot," Marta said. "Your father was right to send you to me. I''m something of a go-to person for situations like this. When I heard about the fall of Paidos, I knew to expect visitors. But I didn''t expect that there would be just two boys on my doorstep. I haven''t heard anything from Andreuz Sandkan. I''m sorry, Josel."


    Marta looked at Josel with a sympathetic expression on her face, then asked in surprise, "Did your father ever mention the name Blue Moon to you?"


    Josel winced with a cautious nod.


    "I thought so," Marta continued. "Don''t be afraid, you are safe because I am one of the Blue Moon''s confidants, just like Andreuz Sandkan. For years, my house has been a kind of reception point through which the Blue Moon members can contact the organisation in case of emergency. I have a detailed knowledge of the Blue Moon members operating in the south of Andiol. Since it is not appropriate for all members of the organisation to know each other''s identity, I act as a contact person between them. Generally, the confidants know at most the other trusted ones in the same town, and contacts beyond that are made through liaisons like me. For example, I know that in your hometown Paidos there were four Blue Moon confidants before the takeover of the Shadow Cross. One of them was your father, Josel. The other is a certain baker named Mommes... or was... he is now dead."


    "Baker Mommes is dead! How could you know..." Josel interrupted, startled. Franz had been sent to take word to baker Mommes, surely Franz hadn''t¡­


    Marta smoothed the folds of her skirt and looked momentarily annoyed at the interruption. Then she took a breath and said: "The messengers are constantly bringing me news from the surrounding area. This is how I learned of Mommes'' unfortunate fate."


    After giving the boys a moment to digest the information, Marta continued in a calm voice. "But let''s get back to Paidos. There is also a couple, Dareis and Elyssa Monteilon. I''ve heard they have a son called Zdain," Marta said, turning her knowing gaze to Zdain. "Am I talking to Governor Monteilon''s son?"


    Zdain looked surprised for a little while, but gathered himself admirably quickly. He admitted: "I am, madam."


    "Excellent, I would like to know about your parents. Are they perhaps with Andreuz Sandkan?"


    "They were with him when we left Paidos, I haven''t heard from them since."


    "Do you have any idea where they might be?" Marta asked.


    Josel was about to answer that his father and Curtus had mentioned the town of Five Hills.


    But Zdain was first to speak out. "No, we were only told your name." Saying this, the boy nudged Josel''s thigh with his knee under the table. It was enough to signal Josel to keep quiet, though he saw no reason not to tell Marta the truth.


    A slight look of disappointment crossed Marta''s face when she heard Zdain''s reply. "These are dangerous times and the Blue Moon has many enemies. I don''t want the Shadow Cross to suspect me. You haven''t told anyone that you''re coming to my house, have you?"


    The boys shook their heads. "So no one knows you''re here?" Marta confirmed, nodding in agreement as the boys shook their heads again in denial. "Then you can breathe easy. You are safe with me. I suggest you wait here until Mr and Mrs Monteilon and Mr Sandkan arrive. I will personally contact my trusted comrades in the Blue Moon and ascertain the current whereabouts of your parents. Until then, you are my guests."


    "We can continue our conversation over supper. I''m sure you''re tired from the journey," Marta explained.


    It was not long before the servant crept into the room and looked at his mistress, waiting for orders. "Toma, would you show the young gentlemen to their room, then you can come and hear my request for an evening snack...and also, my guests will be delighted with clean clothes, find something suitable."


    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    "Yes ma''am," Toma murmured, nodding for the boys to follow. Marta remained seated on the sofa, watching her guests leave the room with a thoughtful expression on her face.


    The servant led them back into the hall and up the stairs. The second floor of the house proved to be more practical and less ostentatious than the ground level. They walked along a corridor lit by a skylight, past several closed doors, until a servant opened a brown-painted door, revealing a neat, if slightly musty-smelling room.


    From the door you could see the washroom on the left. On the opposite walls of the bedroom were two pre-made beds. Compared to downstairs, the room was furnished in a modest way. However, the wall hangings, the soft-looking armchair and the table carved from dark wood were clearly carefully chosen and, in all their simplicity, reflected the good taste.


    After Toma left, Josel kicked off his shoes and collapsed on the bed, finding it wonderfully soft. Here he could fall asleep in peace, without fear of forest monsters or a surprise visit from the shadow sentries. In fact, he could sleep until supper, the servant would surely wake them...


    Josel had only just reached the border between sleep and wakefulness when Zdain shook him awake. "What the heck?" Josel snapped irritably.


    "Don''t fall asleep, we need to talk," the other boy said in a low voice.


    "Can''t it wait?"


    "No, come into the bathroom. I turned on the tap so we won''t be overheard."


    "Wouldn''t be overheard?" Josel repeated, propping himself up on one elbow.


    In a moment, curiosity surpassed sleepiness. Zdain must have had a good reason for ending his silent treatment. So Josel accompanied him into the bathroom, which turned out to be a luxury. There was even a real water closet, similar to the one Bartos'' family have.


    In the bathroom a brass tap spouted water into the porcelain tub. It was not cold like it was at Josel''s home in Paidos. Marta''s house must have had a hot-water boiler to ensure that the bath water came just as warm as you wanted it.


    Zdain seemed to have no desire to marvel at the wonders of the bathroom, for he surprised Josel by asking half-heartedly, "Do you trust Marta?"


    "Why shouldn''t I trust her?"


    "Don''t talk so loud, they might listen."


    "Why such caution?" Josel wondered.


    "First of all, she has given us no sign that we can trust her", Zdain said. "Isn''t it strange that your father hasn''t contacted Marta? Didn''t you also find Marta''s questions somewhat pushy?"


    "Then why did Marta let us inside her home?"


    "I don''t know what she wants from us. Did you hear how she made sure no one knew our current whereabouts, right?"


    "Yes, but you have to be careful in her position."


    Zdain shook his head. "It wasn¡¯t wise to tell two strangers that you belong to the Blue Moon."


    "She knew our fathers," Josel tried.


    "Anyone could have appeared under our names. I don''t trust her."


    "I''m not saying I necessarily trust her either, but do we have a choice?" Josel asked.


    "I told you to keep your voice down!"


    "You''re the one yelling!"


    "Still, I think we should get out of here," Zdain whispered with a demanding look on his face.


    "And where would we go?"


    "I don''t know...north, maybe."


    At the same time, the bath water started to spill over the edge of the tub, and the boys simultaneously rushed to turn it off. Their hands, reaching for the tap, accidentally touched. Josel hissed and quickly pulled his own from under Zdain''s palm. Monteilon looked confused but said nothing. Good, because Josel did not care to listen any more suspicious speculation about Marta.


    When the conversation seemed to have died down, Josel informed Zdain that it was time for a bath. "I''ll go first, since you forced me into the bathroom," he said, nodding towards the door.


    Zdain snorted in frustration, but strode out of the washroom without further ado.


    Once the door was closed, Josel began to strip off his clothes. He wrinkled his nose as he sniffed the sweat from his shirt; hopefully Toma the servant would hurry up and find some clean clothes.


    Undressed, Josel climbed over the edge of the tub. The water was warm, almost too hot. He sighed with pleasure and sat down in the tub, letting more water spill over the edge onto the floor. The sweet warmth spread to every inch of his body, washing away the strain of the past few days.


    The tub was clearly designed for long baths. Josel rested his neck on the wooden rim and immersed himself completely in the warm water. He picked up a bar of good-smelling soap from the edge of the tub and rubbed it all over his body and hair.


    The warm embrace of the water was enjoyable and stimulating in every way. Josel finally allowed himself some satisfaction and groaned as he came into the bath. Afterwards he lay sober for a long time in the slowly tepiding water.


    When Josel finally stepped out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel and carrying his dirty laundry, Zdain was already waiting impatiently for his turn. The boy had taken off his shirt and was standing bare-chested at the window.


    "That took a long time," he murmured, stopping to tap his fingers on the windowpane. "The servant brought some clothes, I''d already chosen mine, but there wasn''t much difference."


    Josel did not mention his misgivings: Zdain had surely picked the best, leaving nothing but rags. He looked suspiciously at the pile of clothes on his bed and grimaced at Zdain''s back as he went into the washroom.


    As the tap made a dull noise in the bathroom, Josel dried himself and began to inspect the clothes he had been given. The underpants and socks were more or less adequate. The same could not be said for the white collared shirt or the dark grey trousers: the sleeves and hem of the shirt hung too long and the trousers, loose at the waist, would not stay up without a belt.


    Josel yawned and lay down on his bed. The bath had made him pleasantly drowsy and his eyelids felt heavy. For a moment he tried to ponder Zdain''s suspicions about Marta''s trustworthiness. But fatigue quickly took over and he sank into the soft abyss of sleep.


    * * *


    When Josel woke up, he had no idea how long he had been asleep. Probably not more than an hour, though.


    He sat up in his bed and looked at the bed on the opposite wall. Zdain was sound asleep, also in his new clean clothes. The boy lay on his side with his knees bent, looking very young and harmless as he slept. It suited Josel; a rested Monteilon might be more tolerable company than a tired one.


    Only moments later, Zdain woke up. He looked around in a daze. "I thought you were..." Zdain began, but closed his mouth at the same time.


    He looked so silly that Josel could not stop his lips from curling into a smile. "You thought what?"


    "Uh, just a stupid dream," Zdain said. He stretched with cat-like suppleness and was soon on his feet, looking as alert as ever.


    Josel would have been interested to know what on earth he had been doing in Monteilon''s dream, but thought it would be pointless to ask. During their little excursion, Zdain had said nothing about what was going on in his head. And why should he, Josel had no desire to share his own feelings with his travelling companion either.


    Despite everything, Zdain Monteilon aroused his curiosity. The boy was intelligent, tough and, it had to be said...brave. Josel remembered the image of Zdain, pistol in hand, in the cursed graveyard of the Veilwood. But then, there was the image of naked Zdain, trembling with fear after the fiend wing''s attack, grateful to his rescuer.


    "So, Sandkan. Have you thought about what I said?" Zdain''s question woke Josel from his rumination, just when he would have liked to be left alone. Why did Monteilon have to talk about running away again?


    "Then I guess you''ll leave. You don''t need me", Josel announced.


    Zdain shuddered and a faint blush rose to his cheeks. If he was about to yell something angry back, a knock on the door interrupted the flow of words.


    Grateful for the interruption, Josel jumped out of bed and opened the door. Behind it stood a bored-looking Toma, announcing that dinner was served.


    Josel peered over his shoulder. Zdain had also got out of bed, looking tense and hurt, his lips pressed together. What a sensitive little noble brat, Josel thought.


    With Toma still standing impatiently on the threshold, the showdown with Zdain would have to wait. Glowering at each other, the boys moved into the corridor.


    As he followed the servant, Josel tried to make observations about the house. Toma''s pattering footsteps and Josel''s and Zdain''s soft tread were the only sounds in the corridor. The rooms they passed seemed empty. Were the servants sleeping downstairs? At least Marta''s bedroom was not on the same corridor.


    They passed the same paintings and vases again until they reached the familiar dining area. Dinner for two was laid out on a small table.


    So Marta would not be dining with us, Josel concluded. Eating in awkward silence in the company of Zdain was no longer appealing. Then again, they could avoid a conversation with Marta.


    With a limp gesture, Toma motioned for them to sit down before leaving the room. Josel was glad that he and Zdain had not been seated opposite each other. At least now he could look straight ahead instead of staring at the plate.


    Since no one came to invite them to eat, the boys figured they could start. Without looking at each other, they began to move the food onto their plates. For the grandeur of Marta''s house, the offerings on the table were almost modest: dark bread, cheese, slices of ham, dried figs and preserved fruit. Water and wine were served in jugs.


    "The cook is ill, but I hope this will satisfy your hunger," came a voice from across the room.


    Josel was startled and turned round. How had Marta managed to arrive so inconspicuously? Or had she been hiding in the darkest corner of the room all along?


    The merchant''s widow wore the same daring cut yellow dress, and the expression on her face was a familiar mixture of friendliness and alertness. The impression of an intelligent woman, not easily fooled, was renewed in Josel''s mind.


    "I already ate in my room. At my age, I''m not as hungry as I was when I was younger," Marta said. A sweet smile crossed her face and she sat down on the sofa against the wall, as she had done during their previous conversation.


    "I''m eager to hear more about your trip. I hope you''re rested enough now. So you can stand the nosiness of an old fool," Marta said with a smile.


    Josel glanced at Zdain and then tensed up, waiting for Marta''s query.


    "Did I understand that your parents left Paidos at the same time?" she asked. "Surely we could work out their location together."


    "Yes, but neither of us was told their destination," Zdain managed to say before Josel could formulate a suitable answer to the question - the same one Marta had asked in the previous conversation.


    She frowned at Zdain''s words and looked at Josel intently. "Oh, I wish I could have helped you somehow. Another town would be a reasonable choice of destination, wouldn''t it?"


    "I can''t say, ma''am," Josel managed to say.


    Marta ignored the answer and moved on to the next topic. "Now that we are in the same boat, I would like to know how much you know about the Blue Moon and its organization. A liaison or something like that would make it much easier for us to contact your parents. You see, I am not in a position to know much. Sure, I have my own contacts among the confidants, but it''s a slow and tortuous process. I''ll send another request tomorrow morning, unless we can come up with something else together."


    "I was told almost nothing. My father thought it was safer that way," Josel replied truthfully.


    "I thought so...but what about young Monteilon? Surely the imperial governor of Paidos had the courage to share his deepest secrets with his son, after all your father was in a very different position from Mr Sandkan."


    Josel was confused by Marta''s words, was there a thinly veiled insult behind them? Although Marta was still smiling her reassuring smile, there was a hint of frustration in her voice. Did she not trust her guests? Josel did not like the idea that Marta suspected them of being impostors or spies.


    When Zdain replied, his voice was strained and his expression openly hostile. "The governor of Paidos cannot afford to confide his secrets. Not even to his son. A governor who blabs classified information is a bad governor, and my father is a good one."


    Josel felt like snorting out loud. Monteilon did not even try to restrain his anger when someone made a slip of a tongue about his family. Damn the pride of an upper-class boy in his family and the father whose blunders had left Paidos in the state it was now.


    "Don''t get heated, my young friend," Marta reassured him. "I''m just curious to hear everything. Even the smallest piece of information can help us in a fight against our enemies."


    Zdain merely nodded in agreement, so Josel thought it best to continue the conversation. "Enemies? You mean the fallen? My dad said there were some in the Shadow Cross."


    Marta thought for a moment. "My boy, the fallen rarely reveal themselves. But among the shadow walkers, there is one who openly shows his true colours. The name ''Isendar Vargan'' must be familiar to you."


    "The regional director of the Shadow Cross," Josel said.


    "Yes, an ambitious man with many enemies. He is also said to have a very beautiful daughter."


    "Jolanda!" Josel shouted without thinking.


    Zdain clicked his tongue next to him, either in warning or just annoyed at his fellow traveller''s slip.


    "Do you know Vargan''s daughter?" Marta asked, leaning forward on the sofa.


    Josel tried to pull himself together. "No...or I mean everyone in Paidos knows her. She''s...Vargan''s daughter, you know."


    Marta looked pensive, but did not dwell on the subject.


    As the boys continued their meal, Marta wondered which route they had taken to get to her house. When she heard that they had come through the market area, she was intrigued. "Did you see any wild animals? I read in the paper that there were some real rarities on display today." Marta''s eyes almost sparkled.


    Josel, still unhappy with the treatment of animals, clutched the fork in his hand. "There were some animals. It''s a shame they''re held captive just because of human greed," he said grimly.


    Marta might have noticed that the guests were not impressed by the opening of the conversation. "Yes, it''s true," she said unenthusiastically, and then went on to ask about the taste of the food.


    Although the food was not particularly tasty, Josel ate with a good appetite. It did not take long for him to feel full.


    When the guests had finished eating, Marta stood up. "Thank you for the chat. I have so few visitors these days that I''m beginning to forget the nuances of conversation. I apologise if I have bored you with my questions."


    Marta paused before continuing. "It is getting late and my old limbs need a rest. I will retire to my room, but we will meet again in the morning. Toma will see you upstairs. I wish you a very pleasant sleep."


    * * *


    After escorting the boys to their room, Toma said good night and left. Josel listened to the fading sound of footsteps and then turned to Zdain. Monteilon looked at the tray Toma had brought while they were downstairs. The tray contained a bottle of wine, two glasses and some nuts to nibble on.


    "I wonder what kind of poison they put in these?" Zdain wondered.


    "So you still don''t trust Marta?" Josel asked.


    "Did the recent debate inspire prove her reliability? At least Marta doesn''t trust us, that''s for sure."


    "She certainly doesn''t when we keep things from her."


    Zdain loudly blew air out of his lungs. "I have no need to shout about my business to strangers. Unlike some of us. Congrats, Sandkan - blurting out all about Jolanda. You almost ended up blabbing your romantic obsession to our hostess."


    "It''s easy for you when you''ve never cared for anyone. So cold and unfeeling..."


    "What do you think you know about my life!" Zdain''s voice was so icy that Josel thought it best to drop the subject. Apparently, Monteilon too had once had a girl in his heart.


    Josel sighed and sat down on the bed. Monteilon was impossible and the whole situation even more so. They had nowhere to go. No home, no parents to tell them what to do. They were just two young boys with no experience of coping with something like this on their own.


    How long would it take for Marta''s message to reach its source in the Blue Moon? How long would she be able to accommodate and bear guests in her house? Nothing made any sense!


    If only the mates had been here. The thought of Franz, Bartos and Darren made Josel''s heart sink. He wondered what was going on with them, if they were even okay? Franz was so prone to getting into trouble too.


    Josel sighed more heavily and stood up. Perhaps a drop of wine would calm him. As he poured the wine from the bottle into the glass, Monteilon crept up beside him and whispered. "I''m leaving tonight. You''ll come with me, won''t you?"


    The words made Josel spill half the wine he had poured onto the tray. He turned to face the other boy. There was a steely determination in Zdain''s gaze; he looked exactly what he was - the son of the imperial governor of Paidos.


    Zdain''s words had sounded like a request, and for a moment Josel was about to say yes, but then stubbornness won the day. "Do you think you''re very clever, going off alone into the night? The Shadow Cross will catch you before you reach the gates of Ipalos," he said.


    "I can be careful. I''ll find a way."


    "Believe what you like, but what about me? What will Marta say if I''m alone?"


    Zdain raised his head haughtily. "Why should I care? Just stay here and munch on Marta''s mouldy snacks. I don''t even want you around."


    "Dad told us to stay together! Do you understand?"


    "Don''t talk so loud!"


    "Don''t tell me what to do!" Josel hissed back, but lowered his voice. Angry and irritated - he did not want to be left alone in Marta''s house, nor did he want to give in to Monteilon.


    There were few options. Josel took a deep breath and said in as calm a voice as possible: "There are fiend wings flying outside. You''re no match for them. I''m coming with you."


    The expression on Zdain''s face changed to a frown and almost a smile. "Sandkan, you may be the most annoying person in the world. Did you know that?"


    "For once we agree," Josel said. He turned and walked into the bathroom, leaving the other boy standing in the middle of the room without a chance for a final word.


    * * *

 Chapter 18

    "The Bewitched Land - how can I describe it? Even after all these years, just the thought of it still gives me the creeps. Imagine yourself running into a dark labyrinth where the air is so thick you feel like you''re suffocating. Imagine your legs sticky with fatigue, vomit in your throat and the back of your head pounding with the knowledge that they''ll be here soon. That you won''t have time to escape.


    The dreaders are faster, stronger and more cunning than you. Soon they will catch you, torture you and then kill you. Not because they''ll do anything with you. Only because they can - because it''s in their nature.


    And Andreuz¡­ people still live there. Those poor souls."


    - Curtus Jerovann (in conversation with Andreuz Sandkan)


    * * *


    Jurkus


    Ipalos, Andiol Empire


    Jurkus looked at the grimy door in front of him and plucked up the courage to enter the kitchen. He could already picture in his mind the age-old grease stains on the wobbly wooden table and piles of rubbish on the floor that no one bothered to clean up. The Crowing Cock''s kitchen was as filthy as the tavern itself.


    But Jurkus had no business in the Crowing Cock''s customer area, especially as he had no money to pay with. His place was at the kitchen table. That''s where he used to go to eat the leftovers that the cook, Spodd, sometimes handed over. It depended very much on whether Jurkus had anything to give in return. If he did not have, there would be no food.


    "So, how much did you make today?" the cook asked Jurkus. Spodd always started with the same question when Jurkus'' shabby figure pushed his way into the kitchen.


    There was no point in expecting compliments from Spodd, and the fat man probably did not even know how to give them; that was the conclusion Jurkus had come to after listening to Spodd''s snapping at the waitresses. Most of the time, the cook did not even need a reason to get angry. When the man had a bad day, everything came out. And good days - well, there never were any.


    Unfortunately, Jurkus knew he was tied to Spodd as long as they both lived in Ipalos. As long as Jurkus was begging on the streets of Ipalos, he would have to carry his haul to the Crowing Cock ''s kitchen. A deal was a deal. Besides, Jurkus knew he was a dead man if he tried to cheat Spodd or broke his commitment.


    Every beggar in the streets of Ipalos had to submit to such an agreement; every beggar had his own Spodd, to whom he handed over the money he earned from begging, or at least most of it. Spodd being Spodd, Jurkus always had to give him all his earnings.


    Only once had he tried to hide the coins he had received. Jurkus did not know how Spodd had found out, but he did not dare try his luck again. He would not survive Spodd''s beating a second time, that was for sure. So Jurkus donated the fat cook all the money.


    Jurkus already had a plate of soup and a crust of bread in front of him when Spodd asked his second standard question: "Did you see or hear anything unusual?


    Strange as it may seem, the cook cared much more about the answers than the money Jurkus was making. At first Jurkus had wondered about this, but after working longer for the boorish cook, he had begun to suspect that Spodd was more than just a cook in a dingy tavern. It was obvious that the cook was sharing the news he had heard to someone more powerful than himself. Even the brutal Spodd was only another cog in the machine, he too had his own master who demanded results, just as Spodd demanded results from Jurkus.


    The knowledge that even the fat cook of the Crowing Cock could be whipped by his master after a failure was very satisfying to the beggar. Jurkus even had some idea who Spodd was passing his information on to. But the beggar was sure that the less he knew about Spodd''s masters, the better. Too much curiosity often led to death in the brutal world of the outcasts in Ipalos.


    "Well, have you seen or heard anything?" Spodd repeated his question, his voice already rising menacingly.


    Suddenly, Jurkus was drawn back from his thoughts to the kitchen of the Crowing Cock. He tried to recall the events of the day. During his months as a beggar, Jurkus had learned to understand the kind of information the cook was interested in. Once he had even been given an extra meal after he had overheard who had broken into Doctor Gremeilon''s house.


    Today, however, had been a sadly ordinary day. "Merchant Dat''Rebal had some guests. Two men who looked like sea captains," Jurkus began.


    "What a trivial nonsense," Spodd grunted, motioning for the beggar to continue.


    "In the morning, two boys, obviously strangers, came to the Hostelry Market and asked for directions to the Merchants'' District."


    "Two boys?"


    "Yes. They stuck in my mind because one of them had blond, almost golden hair. That''s rare here."


    "Did you hear their names?" the cook asked, his voice more passionate than ever.


    "No...or wait a minute. The boy who spoke to me called the blond one Santan...or something like that."


    "Sandkan?"


    "Could have been."


    "Tell me all about the boys!" Spodd groaned and plopped down on the bench next to Jurkus. And Jurkus told it all, as well as he could remember.


    Spodd''s thick face twisted into a grimace that vaguely resembled a smile as Jurkus finished his short story. "I knew you''d come in handy. Take tomorrow off from begging, you can come and eat, of course."


    A day off! That was something Jurkus had never expected to hear from Spodd.


    He was even more stunned when Spodd shouted at the kitchen assistant, "Lana, let Jurkus eat as much as he wants." With that, the fat cook ripped his apron off and stomped out the kitchen door.


    Having recovered from his shock, Jurkus began to ladle the soup into his mouth. He decided to wonder only later why the two boys had made the ever-angry Spodd behave so uncharacteristically.


    * * *


    Melgyera


    Ipalos, Andiol Empire


    They had just arrived in Ipalos, and Melgyera was arranging the things they had brought from the wagons in a room at the Glowing Lantern Inn. Located in the city centre, the Glowing Lantern was an easy choice - especially as the party had stayed there before.


    There were several reasons why they liked the place: Melgyera appreciated the tranquillity of the Inn, Marl its satisfying food and beer selection - if the grumpy man cared about anything - while Zal always preferred a good location and Ragart liked the fact that the Glowing Lantern was popular with the merchants. For Ragart, trading - and telling stories while doing it - was the most important thing in life, which Melgyera resented a little. But Fox was such a hardened fellow that Melgyera did not really care any more, though she had a habit of occasionally nagging at the big-bellied merchant.


    She shared her room with Marl, as they always did when they travelled together. Melgyera did not mind if someone thought they were married. They were not, but sometimes they slept together. She was sure Zal and Ragart knew about that too. Nothing went unnoticed by the old man, and Ragart was probably curious enough to eavesdrop them with his ear to the wall.


    Melgyera glanced at Marl. The sturdy man was sitting on his bed with a blank expression on his face, polishing his sword. Marl had been his usual sombre self all day. Not that Melgyera had expected anything different for years. Few times, she had tried to get him to talk, but had finally given up. There would be no return of old Marl, no smiles, no thunderous laughter, no excitement at the dawn of a new adventure, no chatter around the campfire. The man Melgyera had once known was now a grim killing machine, as skilled and fearless as ever, but even after a victorious battle, the gloom never left his face, not even for a moment.


    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    Sometimes when they made love, Melgyera imagined she saw a glimmer of emotion in his eyes, as if Marl were somewhere else for a fleeting moment, somewhere where the constant pain was not tormenting his heart. It was one of the reasons Melgyera still slept with Marl. Another was that he was very good in bed.


    There was a third reason why she settled for Marl. The years had passed and Melgyera''s charms were no longer what they used to be. Gone were the days when she had lured the most handsome of men to join her with a mere smile. A beautiful smile it had been. ''The prettiest girl in Nao-Kartheon'', she had once been called.


    Today she found it difficult to look at herself in the mirror without feeling the pain of loss. The former beauty had become a middle-aged, sour woman with no family, no children - just a wagon, a road and her promise to Zal. And Marl, of course, to warm her bed from time to time.


    Melgyera shook her head, remembering that she had intended to tell Marl something. "Ragart spoke to the air courier from the capital. He heard that the emperor was not there to receive the military parade on the Spring Day this year either. What on earth is going on in Dimalos? The Empire is falling apart, but Saveir Negos is just hiding. Who is running the country? Or at this rate, it will be the Shadow Cross."


    A vague grunt was the only answer Marl bothered to give. The polishing of the sword continued uninterrupted. It was clear that no one could drag a word out of him today.


    Melgyera sighed. It was up to Marl to face his own demons. If Zal could not help him, neither could Melgyera. Better to ponder the situation in the Empire and its consequences for her own life.


    At the same time she remembered something else and turned back to the strong man. "Where did you leave the boys'' luggage? I thought I''d see if there was anything useful in it."


    This time Marl looked up. He nodded towards the end of his bed and said: "Over there."


    There were even two words, Melgyera thought, and took a few steps in the direction indicated. Sure enough, there were two rucksacks and a blanket roll lying next to the bed.


    Melgyera dropped the blanket but lifted the rucksacks to the middle of the floor. "Let''s see what''s here. Maybe some rope, a good knife or something else useful," she said, mostly to herself. Then she undid the buckle and dumped the contents of the first backpack on the floor.


    A tin drinking cup rolled over next to the bedhead and a tattered map flopped to the floor. A stinking pile of wet and dirty clothes also fell from the rucksack, which Melgyera kicked into the corner of the room in disgust. They did not even know how to dry their laundry before stuffing it in the rucksack! Typical behavior of their kind of immature scamps. Actually, it was lucky that they had gotten rid of the boys so easily.


    She began to empty another rucksack on the floor. This time the result was a canteen, a rotten potato, a soggy loaf of bread and a new collection of wet clothes. So typical!


    Melgyera kicked the clothes towards the previous pile of laundry, but her foot hit something hard. There was something in the wrappings. She crouched down and pushed aside the clothes that reeked of the damp forest, until she picked up something cold and metallic in the middle of them.


    "Pistol!" she gasped in surprise.


    Marl, who had paid no attention to Melgyera, lifted his eyes from the sword. "Show it to me."


    Weapons were one of the few things that inspired any kind of enthusiasm in Marl. Melgyera had sometimes suggested that swords and guns were the means for Marl to avenge his loss. Killing enemies might not bring back happiness or lift the burden of guilt from his shoulders, but perhaps it was at least a small way to find meaning in a life filled with sorrow. Or so Melgyera liked to imagine.


    Marl took the pistol from her hand. It was very strange that two youngsters who claimed to be ordinary country boys had such an expensive weapon. Even though the boys had been exposed as liars from the start, the discovery of the gun still surprised Melgyera. Marl seemed to be wondering as well. He turned the pistol in his hand for a moment.


    Suddenly, the man''s face twisted into an expression of more emotion than Melgyera had seen on Marl''s face for a long time. He looked totally astonished.


    "I know the owner of this pistol," Marl said.


    * * *


    "So you''re saying that pistol belongs to Curtus?" Zal asked, examining the gun he was holding.


    "Yes," Marl assured. "It''s engraved with the initials C.J. and the design is completely different from the current guns. I know this one, Curtus had it with him in the Bewitched Land."


    "They don''t know how to make these things anymore. The weapon was probably handmade from a design that survived the Age of Oblivion. Almost a relic, then," Zal said, adjusting his glasses.


    "Rare and valuable," Ragart smiled and licked his lips.


    Melgyera shook her head at the merchant''s greed. "What are we going to do? Will there be a change of plans?" she asked Zal, who rubbed his chin thoughtfully.


    "I want to know why the boys had Curtus'' gun," Marl interjected. "He wouldn''t voluntarily give it up."


    When Marl last uttered so many words in such a short time, Melgyera noticed. Though it was no wonder, that the fate of Curtus Jerovann interested even the gloomy and usually indifferent Marl.


    The story was not widely known, for there was a need to keep it secret. Even so, the tale of the Seven Companions would have been more than enough to overwhelm the thrills of the whimsical adventure novels that Zal was sometimes seen leafing through.


    It was almost thirty years ago now. Melgyera recalled names from the past: Anden Telon, Curtus Jerovann, Ikarr Knobnose, Trebomir Galna, Natalya Afins, Gothey Soldqek and Marl Gaidok. The Seven Companions, those who had sailed across the southern seas to the continent of Darkuria, the land of the red-haired witch people.


    Under the cloudy sky of Darkuria, they had followed the clues of ancient legend. The path had led the Seven Companions beyond Astray Mountains, to a place that was not supposed to exist. It was Ar''dagh-mor, the Bewitched Land of the vra-dagraajs - the dreaders.


    After crossing the barren desert, they had made their way to the heart of the Bewitched Land, Cmorh-Biyr. The same paths were once believed to have been trodden by the traitors, who had entered into an unholy alliance with the devilish dreaders. It was in Cmorh-Biyur where Eistaf Negos, Mocvann Gravenhild and company sealed their fall into darkness.


    In the end, the Seven Companions had been let down by luck. Dozens of dreaders had attacked, killing Afins and Soldqek - the two of the group who had mastered the Might. Anden Telon had disappeared into the underground labyrinths of Cmorh-Biyr. Curtus had hardly managed to lead the survivors out of the city, from which no one was known to have escaped alive. Despite their losses, they had seen what they had feared.


    For the first time in centuries, a life was stirring in the gloom of the Bewitched Land: slaves worked again in the underground tunnels, the warped towers of Cmorh-Biyr rose to their former size, the fiend wings glided over the Grozavok Rift, new dreaders were born in the brood cells, and signs of the awakening of the thirty high priests of vra-dagraaj were visible.


    Many of those who should have believed and understood had downplayed or even completely rejected the Seven Companions'' descriptions of the land of the dreaders. Melgyera still remembered the mocking lines: "Don''t make me laugh with your fairy tales";"But those devils were defeated once and for all";"We have more important matters. It''s better not to talk about it any more."


    They had not cared! Thirty years had passed since then, but the Blue Moon still did not believe the threat was real. They had not even listened to Zal, though they knew his history in the Laftakom Greyhand''s Brotherhood well. Eventually, in frustration and disappointment, the old man had given up and stepped aside.


    Many had welcomed Zaltarim Fizol''s departure. "It was time for the old sourpuss to go," some had said. Melgyera had been angry, but she had no power to change things. All she could do was follow Zal and hope that one day the Blue Moon would wake up to the truth.


    Melgyera, Ragart and Marl looked expectantly at Zal, who was still twisting the pistol in his hands. As always, the final decision was his.


    "We need to change our plans," Zal began emphatically. "We have to investigate this tip-off. Like you, I really want to know why Curtus Jerovann''s gun was in the possession of those youngsters. I suggest that Ragart goes to the city immediately to make inquiries."


    "I assume that the carpets will remain unsold," the big-bellied merchant muttered resignedly. "I''ll have to leave them with one of my clients from Ipalos," he added, turning to leave.


    After Ragart had left, Melgyera said: "Those boys didn''t look like killers."


    "Then why do they have Curtus'' gun? He wouldn''t give it up without a fight," Marl pointed out.


    Zal shook his head. "They didn''t look like killers, but you know that our enemies will stop at nothing. I want to make sure this is not part of something bigger."


    "I understand, but are you sure the governor of Ipalos will hold against the Shadow Cross? What about our other investigations? The Blue Moon? What about your search?" Melgyera reminded. She did not want to risk everything on a single hint from a pistol.


    Zal disagreed. "I sensed something in those boys and I want to find out what it is. Especially since Curtus seems to be connected to them in some way. The governor must hold out, but if he succumbs in the meantime, we will adapt to the situation. The Blue Moon, however, is our last concern. I don''t owe that gang anything. And as for the search, I''m not giving it up. The trail is too fresh. I''ll do it myself. You two can help Ragart to find the boys...or not, he''ll pick up the scent on his own. Instead, start making arrangements for our transport, a sudden departure is possible."


    Melgyera and Marl agreed and left the room. Zal was the leader, and he was usually right, so Melgyera did not complain. As she stepped out of the inn into the darkening street with Marl in tow, she was still terrified that the search for the two lying brats might cause their other missions in Ipalos to fail - or at least ruin her night''s sleep.


    * * *

 Chapter 19

    Zdain


    Ipalos, Andiol Empire


    The bathroom door slammed shut. Josel was...completely impossible. Sometimes the blond-haired one was as if he had swallowed a burdock - mean and ill-tempered. Occasionally - though quite rarely - the caring and friendly side of Josel would bubble up to the surface. Then there was this third Josel Sandkan, who tossed verbal barbs like sharp stone chips, and was a very funny young man in his own mind.


    The first Josel Zdain hated, the second he admitted he liked, and the third he did not know what to think. That was it. Zdain Monteilon could not figure out what he really thought of Josel.


    Sighing softly, he sat back on the bed and closed his eyes. His thoughts drifted into the past, and Zdain only dimly noticed that Josel returned to the room after a while.


    He remembered Josel from his childhood, from a time when they had attended the same school. It was probably Josel''s golden hair that had first caught Zdain''s attention. Such light hair was almost unique in the Paidos region.


    Josel had stuck in Zdain''s mind anyway. A lively blond boy, always on the move and the centre of attention. Most of the time Josel had kept to a tight circle of his three best friends, but occasionally he would gather around a larger pack of noisy boys. The girls clearly liked Josel too, probably because of both his looks and personality.


    Zdain had followed a lonelier path throughout his childhood. As a shy person, he could not take his place in a gang of boisterous boys, and in Paidos, where the hatred for superiors was the norm, a governor as a father had no advantage in making friends. Zdain was not bullied, but in some ways the other children shunned him. Too often he was left to wander the schoolyard alone, knowing that the guards his father hired were on duty within earshot.


    In particular, Zdain failed to befriend Josel and his friends. On the contrary, after an unfortunate incident in their childhood, the foursome began to be openly hostile towards him. As the years went by, the boys mostly left Zdain alone.


    Every now and then there were still occasions when they would almost get into a scuffle. These were the sports competitions in which both Zdain and Josel excelled. They met on the running track, on the long jump venue and in the swimming pool, alternately beating each other.


    Depending on who was better, Josel gave Zdain either bilious or smug looks. Rarely did the blond bother to say anything, if he did, it was something insulting. Josel''s unfriendliness left Zdain at a loss. At first it saddened him, but eventually he stopped caring and tried to respond with equally sour looks.


    Although Zdain had little or no contact with Josel, he was always aware of the boy''s presence. Zdain saw Josel laughing with joy when he won a sports competition, amusing the girls in his class with his funny stories, jumping on a moving rail-carriage and climbing the water rails to the roof of the school.


    He also knew that Josel hated olives but loved raspberry caramels, that he had a birthmark on his left shoulder and that he said he never did his homework, but still did at least well in his exams. Zdain Monteilon knew all this about Josel Sandkan, even though he did not really know the boy.


    * * *


    Although Zdain did not have a group of friends like Josel, he had something the blond lacked: Venr. His big brother was talented, ambitious and a great athlete. He succeeded in everything he set out to do and was not afraid of anything or anyone. Unlike Zdain, Venr had also managed to make a lot of friends. With his sunny disposition, Venr even melted the parents of his classmates who had a cold attitude towards the governor.


    If Venr was liked at school, he was adored at home. Elyssa Monteilon practically worshipped her older son, forgetting that Zdain existed. Dareis Monteilon, on the other hand, used to compare the brothers to each other - naturally Venr always got all the praise.


    His parents had barely noticed when Zdain brought home a school report with nothing but excellent marks. After all, Venr had received the Imperial Medal of Recognition for being the best student in the town in arithmetic, history and geography. Where Zdain was excellent, Venr was magically good.


    While Zdain had won his discipline in the Spring Competition one year, Dareis Monteilon had shown no pride in his younger son. After all, winning one sport was no great achievement compared to the fact that, at the age of fifteen, Venr had won no less than five of the nine events.


    The only comment from his father to Zdain was that he should train harder to compete in the future. As if Zdain was not already training like crazy. Dareis Monteilon insisted that his offspring must show total dedication to both sport and schoolwork. As the sons of the governor, Venr and Zdain had to set an example for the other children of Paidos, as their father often reminded them. That''s why Zdain spent several evenings a week stifling himself on the sports field and doing his homework late into the night, without receiving any praise.


    His father had already begun to talk in family circles about the possibility of Venr succeeding him as governor in due course. That would require some sort of arrangement, although it was not uncommon in Andiol for the position to be inherited. Of course, no one even considered the possibility that Zdain might become the next imperial governor of Paidos instead of Venr.


    Sometimes Zdain thought that his parents would have been much happier if they had only had Venr. Especially after that nasty disgrace - as his father called it - he had felt doubly so.


    With the nasty disgrace, his mother had become increasingly immersed in Venr''s excellence, and his father''s attitude towards Zdain had become hateful. Neither of them ever called him by his nickname ''Din'' again.


    Soon after the incident, Zdain had become even more lonely at home. It had been over six months since Venr had travelled to Dimalos and joined the Imperial Army. He had excellent references, of course, and everything had been agreed in advance with the senior officers known to Governor Monteilon. So, Venr Monteilon, nineteen years old, was currently serving as a second lieutenant in the Imperial Army in the far west.


    After his departure, the Governor Monteilon''s palace had become a less cheerful place. There was no longer an ingenious older brother. There was only the younger brother, whose disgrace was remembered by the sad looks of his mother, the condemning looks of his father, and the knowing glances of the servants.


    As Zdain lay on the bed in Marta Donthav''s guest room, his thoughts drifted from Venr back to Josel - or more precisely, to his mother, who had died in an accident a year and a half ago. Andreuz and Idalae Sandkan were fairly well-known people in Paidos, so the accident had been reported in the press.


    Some days after the news of the death, a visitor had arrived at the Governor''s Palace. Zdain had never met Andreuz Sandkan before and could not have imagined that his formal father would be associated with such a fairy tale writer. Nevertheless, Mr Sandkan had arrived unexpectedly to meet Dareis Monteilon.


    Zdain would have preferred to remain invisible, but manners demanded that he offer his condolences to the family of the deceased. Especially as Zdain''s mother was, as usual, visiting some of her acquaintances and Venr was in his close combat training.


    Dareis Monteilon and Andreuz Sandkan must have talked for more than two hours in the governor''s private quarters without being disturbed. Zdain could only guess that it was about more than just regretting Mrs Sandkan''s death. At the time, he had heard nothing from his father except cautious references to the Blue Moon. He was aware that Father had more on his mind than his position as governor, but that was all he knew at the age of fourteen.


    When the servant finally came to tell Zdain that his father was waiting, the boy had walked into the governor''s chambers feeling insecure. He did not like meeting strangers, and he was shy about socialising with the guests invited to the governor''s party. Venr was natural at it, his big brother was not timid at all and knew how to behave gracefully in any situation.


    As Zdain stepped over the threshold, he saw his father and Mr Sandkan talking, drinking glasses in hand. The governor was leaning against the piano, looking thoughtful, while the author stood with his back to the doorway, gesturing with his free hand.


    Zdain tapped the doorframe with his knuckles, causing the men to stop talking and turn to him.


    "You''re here at last," Dareis Monteilon said gruffly, glancing at his pocket watch with a reproachful look that Zdain knew had once again displeased his father.


    Andreuz Sandkan, gave a curious look at the newcomer. "He has a lot of his mother''s looks," the author said appraisingly. Only the sadness in the blue-grey eyes told Zdain that the man had just lost his wife.


    Otherwise, Andreuz Sandkan looked like a mixture of intelligence, toughness and benevolence. Zdain could recognise the same high cheekbones and similar chin and eye shape as Josel. Andreuz Sandkan''s thinning hair was also blond, though not strikingly golden as his son''s.


    "Mr Sandkan, I''m sorry about your wife," Zdain managed to get out.


    "Thank you," Andreuz Sandkan said, shaking his head dejectedly, then looked at the governor. "Your son is well-behaved, I wish I could say the same for our Josel."


    Dareis Monteilon did not share the praise for his son. After a moment of silence, the author turned back to Zdain. "I heard you won the running last spring. Josel cursed his second place and his loss to you for who knows how many days. You two aren''t friends, are you?"


    "Well...we haven''t really met properly," Zdain agreed.


    "Why not introduce the boys to each other? It would do Zdain good to meet his peers once in a while instead of dangling after his brother and the palace guards all the time," Dareis Monteilon interjected, making Zdain blush with embarrassment. How could Father humiliate him in front of Mr Sandkan?


    Andreuz Sandkan, however, did not agree with Zdain''s father. "Dareis, it might not be the best idea. After all, we don''t want to spread rumors about the bond between us. And secondly, Josel is not the easiest case to deal with."


    Zdain stared at the writer in astonishment. Very few people called the governor of Paidos by his first name. And what on earth was this bond between them? Only today he had learned that the two men even knew each other.


    "You''re probably right, as usual. It''s better that the news of this meeting don''t reach people''s ears," Dareis Monteilon said, looking meaningfully at his son.


    Andreuz Sandkan then asked Zdain about school, sports and so on. Zdain answered the stranger''s questions politely, but a little shyly.


    Occasionally, the father would interject a clarifying remark or urge his silent son to tell him more. "Zdain, tell me about the time...", "Zdain, do you really not remember?"


    Zdain was annoyed by his father''s interference, but Dareis Monteilon would not be objected, especially in the presence of his guests.


    Fortunately, Mr Sandkan finally glanced at the wall clock and decided it was time to go home. He patted Zdain on the shoulder as he left and made a strange request: "If my son starts arguing with you, try to be patient. He has just lost his mother. Dareis and I do not want you to be mortal enemies, for the day may come when you and Josel will need each other''s help.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Andreuz Sandkan''s words troubled fourteen-year-old Zdain. He did not bother to ask his father, for the answers would have been familiarly vague. "I''ll tell you when you''re old enough," Father used to say.


    But it had to be something important, so Zdain obeyed the author''s request. He refused to listen to Josel''s taunts when he met the golden-haired boy and his friends on the street a week later.


    It was not until the night the Shadow Cross attacked the Governor''s Palace that Zdain began to understand the meaning of Andreuz Sandkan''s words. Standing in the hallway of the Sandkan family home, under Josel''s shocked gaze, Zdain first sensed that he and Josel Sandkan would indeed need each other''s help.


    * * *


    The bed creaked as Zdain opened his eyes and sat up. Josel was lounging on his own bed, playing with an ink pen he had found somewhere.


    Goldy''s carefree expression changed to a grin when he saw Zdain standing up. "What are you dreaming about this time? Probably my victory in the kite fight?"


    Zdain winced. Was it a good-natured joke from Josel or a desire to annoy? It didn''t pay to respond to such childishness, so Zdain just snorted. Why had he been condemned to suffer with damned Sandkan? Josel was a constant tease, both awake and asleep.


    Even during his pre-dinner naps, Zdain had a dream about his blond traveling companion. In the dream, he had lost Josel in the bustle of the streets of Ipalos, and had searched frantically everywhere for him until he found him lying lifeless in a ditch. At that point in the dream, Martha''s servant Toma had come to wake them.


    Was Sandkan angry at having to agree to support the escape plan Zdain did not know. Anyway, Josel was free to complain as much as he wanted, as long as he did as he was told.


    Josel might disagree, but they were not safe in Ipalos. Isendar Vargan and his minions were breathing down their necks, of that Zdain was more than certain. Marta, on the other hand, was no help at all. With her intrusive questions, the old woman had shown that she did not trust her guests.


    Zdain felt that staying in the house was pointless at best. The most sensible thing to do was to make their way to Five Hills as quickly as possible. There, at least, they would know where his parents were. Even if they could not contact the Blue Moon, there were some of his father''s acquaintances living in Five Hills who would surely take Zdain in. And if the Sandkan boy would be really nice and amicable, Zdain might even arrange for him a night''s lodging.


    * * *


    They sat in silence for a long time. Outside, the evening was fading into night, but neither of them bothered to light an oil lamp. Zdain wondered how best to slip out of the house without Martha and the servants noticing. Unfortunately, the window was out of the question, as it could not be forced open - he had tried.


    It seemed the only option was to sneak down the stairs the way they had come and hope that the household were already sleeping. It was too early for that. Zdain poured himself a drop of wine and tried to calm himself. It would be a long journey tonight, for he wanted to be far from the walls of Ipalos by dawn.


    Although they were ill-equipped for extensive travel, Zdain was not worried. He had kept a few banknotes safe in his trouser pocket. They could be used to buy a place to stay for the night, or even a lift in a friendly merchant''s wagon. Without money, the journey from Ipalos to Five Hills would have been pure madness, but Zdain was no fool, though Josel probably thought he was.


    Zdain lay back down on the bed. Rest would do him good, even if he did not want to fall asleep, lest the moment of departure slip by. He turned his head to see what Josel was doing.


    There was no sound of the sleeper''s peaceful breathing. It was too dim to see, but Zdain imagined angry blue eyes staring at him from the opposite bed.


    The evening turned into a night without either of them opening their mouths to say anything to the other. Zdain kept mulling over the route from the room to the door and from there to the north gate of the city. Many things could go wrong, but he did not want to worry about that now.


    The time had come. He got out of bed, put on his shoes and went to the bathroom. It was almost dark, but Zdain did not want to turn on a light that might attract the attention of Marta and the others.


    "I''m leaving now, will you come with me?" he whispered hoarsely.


    Josel had sat up in his bed and grunted: "Yeah."


    "Good. Follow me, don''t make the slightest noise, let''s go out the front door."


    Despite the darkness, Josel''s expression showed a desire to argue. This time, however, the boy remained silent and, after tying his shoelaces, followed Zdain to the door.


    Zdain opened the door as quietly as he could. Moonlight streamed through the skylight into the deserted, almost eerie hallway. Zdain crept forward with Josel at his heels. The dim light distorted the shadows of the furniture into creepers, but the boys made their way to the stairs, ignoring them. Apart from the faint creak of the floorboards, they made no sound. The house responded with a sombre silence.


    They made their way safely to the stairs and padded down the stone steps. The oil lamp illuminating the staircase calmed Zdain a little. All that remained was to get to the door and open it. He had noticed earlier, as they had passed the front door, that the key was hanging next to the doorframe, on a hook nailed to the wall.


    When Zdain reached the bottom of the stairs, he saw that the key was in a familiar place. Despite the hundreds of dangers that awaited them outside, leaving Marta''s house would be a great leap towards Five Hills and safety.


    He took the key and turned it towards the lock, but froze in place. Another door opened to their right.


    "So my guests are leaving without saying goodbye. Luckily, the guest room you''re using is well audible from my private rooms. So I knew when to come to say hello."


    Zdain turned to see Marta standing in the open doorway with Toma at her side. Even in the dim light of the stairwell, the exaggerated sugary expression on the woman''s face was clearly visible. Toma held a club in a threatening grip.


    "Well, my dear boys. Please, go to bed. We''ll talk more in the morning," Marta chirped.


    Zdain tried to think feverishly, nothing was lost yet. "Good night, thank you and goodbye. We''re leaving now," he said, turning the key in the door.


    "You''re not going anywhere." Marta''s voice was cold and hard.


    "You will not stop us!" Zdain barked, opening the door.


    He stopped short. Outside, just beyond the door, waited two giantlike men, a grim expression on their brutal faces.


    "Catch the boys! The game is over!" cried Marta.


    The hulks stepped over the threshold and grabbed Josel and Zdain by the shoulders. Toma moved closer too, raising his weapon.


    Zdain thought for a moment about struggling, but quickly dismissed the idea. The firm grip of the man holding him and Toma''s club suggested that it was best not to fight back.


    Marta''s look was one of pure malice. The gentle smile had been replaced by a cruel grimace, and there was anger in her voice as she spoke. "Stupid brats, you thought you were so clever. Since you didn''t like Lady Marta''s guest room, I''ll let you try another kind of accommodation."


    She beckoned to her underlings and they began to pull the boys towards the door from which Marta and Toma had come.


    They were dragged through the dining room and pushed into the kitchen behind the next door. Something smelled rotten and even in the dim light they could see flies buzzing around the food on the kitchen table.


    Zdain shuddered, but a nudge on the back forced him forward. It was wisest to submit. The musclemen would not hesitate to crush a bone or two as punishment for insubordination. Silently, Zdain hoped that Josel would also realize not to resist. The blond-haired boy was so short-tempered that he could easily try something foolish.


    There was a low door in the kitchen wall, towards which the men carried the boys. When it opened, Zdain guessed that it led to the cellar. Then Toma entered the kitchen, lantern in hand, and ordered the men through the doorway into the darkness.


    Zdain half-walked, half-dragged down a dozen steps to the basement. His nose was flooded with a stench so disgusting it made him want to vomit.


    The room was surprisingly large, and the weak flame of the lantern was not enough to illuminate it completely. A few shelves were lined with jars and bottles. On the floor were sacks that might contained coal or potatoes. The stench was suffocating, but it was impossible to determine its source.


    At the far wall was an area enclosed by iron bars. The men dragged the boys towards it and then threw them inside the cage with great force. Zdain hit the wall and Josel into Zdain.


    At the same moment, there was a clang behind them as one of the men slammed the bar door shut. Toma rattled his key ring for a moment. He soon found the right key and turned it in the lock.


    "How long do we have to stay here?" Josel shouted.


    Toma shined the cell with his lantern and scoffed. "Until you are of some use to us. After that...I wish you a quick death. She''ll enjoy playing with her victims - you''ll see."


    The men pushed their way up the stairs. As Toma was the last to turn to leave, the light from the lantern swung into the corner to the left of the cell. Zdain saw something hanging on the wall, but he did not have time to get a clearer view as the light was already receding towards the stairs. For a moment, the servant''s footsteps could be heard climbing the stairs, but then the door at the top slammed shut and they were alone in the darkness.


    As soon as Toma left, Josel rushed towards the cage door and banged on it with all his might - to no avail, the door remained firmly locked. The boy cursed in frustration, turned abruptly and bumped straight into Zdain.


    "Don''t push," Zdain said.


    "You can''t even move around here," Josel said irritably.


    It was true. There was barely enough room for them to lie down side by side. Although Zdain had no desire to lie down on the cold stone floor.


    Worse than the lack of space and the cold was the stench. Holding a collar or sleeve up to the nose only helped for a moment, for the sickening stench soon penetrated the fabric.


    Zdain could not answer Josel''s question about its source. There must have been something filthy in the basement, because despite the coolness, flies seemed to thrive there. They buzzed around disgustingly, regardless of the darkness.


    Slowly, the eyes got used to the darkness. The small window in the cellar ceiling was dirty or covered with something; there was hardly any light coming through it.


    What''s more, the window was so high that there was no escape, even if the cell door could somehow be opened. Shouting for help, the boys found, was immediately useful. No one outside would hear them, and the noise might attract the attention of Marta and her henchmen.


    Josel sat down on the stone floor and, after standing alone for a moment, Zdain came to the same conclusion. He settled down to lean against the bars diagonally across from Josel. The floor was hard and cool, and the temperature in the cellar was just barely bearable. Zdain feared that they would soon be cold.


    He looked at the figure of Josel drowning in the darkness and wondered aloud about Toma''s statement. "What did the servant mean by someone who likes to play with her victims?"


    "If that means Marta, then you were more than right about that woman."


    "Who cares about being right at this point," dispirited Zdain muttered.


    "At least you can brag that you beat Josel Sandkan once in your life at something," Josel said, laughing mirthlessly.


    "Who will I brag to if I die here?"


    Josel shifted on the floor, clearly trying to find defiance in his voice.


    "I''m not going to die, and if it''s up to me, neither are you."


    "Admirable heroism, Sandkan," Zdain said. Then they fell back into their meditations.


    * * *


    It was difficult to keep track of time. Whether they had been trapped for an hour or two, Zdain no longer knew. He was very cold and sometimes he had to get up to stretch his shivering limbs.


    Just when things could not have got any worse, a rustling sound came from the corner of the cellar. They listened in silence for a while, until Josel breathed out in disgust: "Rats!"


    The animals had apparently been frightened by the sudden crowd in the cellar, but had ventured out of their burrows again in the darkness.


    Zdain shuddered, he had always hated rats, but now he almost wished he could have seen them. The crackling that kept getting louder around them scratched his eardrums. The little creatures had clearly found something to eat in the cellar, for by the sounds of it, there were plenty of them.


    The rats grew bolder. One squeaked through the prison cage, causing Zdain to jump in horror. For once, Josel refrained from taunting.


    Sometimes they exchanged a few words. Zdain shivered with cold. His teeth were chattering, but he could not bring himself to get up and try to flex his muscles.


    Then Josel asked out of the darkness: "Is it cold?"


    "Yes," Zdain managed to say, miserably.


    "Come over here next to me. It''s better to stay warm," Josel asked, and the darkness could not hide the boy''s embarrassment.


    Silently grateful, Zdain moved next to Josel. At first, their elbows only touched. But without saying a word, Josel moved closer, right up to him.


    Zdain pulled his knees up to his chest and crossed his arms over his lap. The rats were scurrying somewhere nearby and the room still smelled just as foul, but the warmth coming from Josel helped. It was not comfortable, but not as bad as it had been a moment ago.


    Nothing could calm the swirling thoughts. What had Marta been after with her intrusive inquiries about the Blue Moon, the Shadow Cross - a little of everything? Was the mistress about to sell her prisoners to Isendar Vargan? Or was she trading secrets of the Blue Moon? Too many questions, but no answers.


    When Josel soon let out a long, sleepy yawn, Zdain did not retreat any further. Nor did he flinch when Josel''s head came to rest on Zdain''s own shoulder.


    The bars were pressing hard against the back of his head and the position was uncomfortable, but in the darkness of the cellar it felt safe to sit on another person''s side. Even if that other person happened to be Josel Sandkan. A bitter thought reminded Zdain that he could not get this kind of intimacy from anyone these days. Certainly not from his own parents.


    Rats were still moving in the cellar. The rustling of their little feet and their soft whimpering rang in Zdain''s ears again, very unpleasantly. The only recourse was to concentrate on Josel''s calm breathing and body heat.


    Even though Josel was Josel, with all his faults, Zdain felt a strange affection for his traveling companion at that moment. He gently touched the sleeping boy''s hand. It was cold, and for a moment Zdain toyed with the idea of holding Josel''s hand longer.


    I''m going crazy here, Zdain thought. Why did he agree to be a pillow for a bully like Sandkan? Maybe in a dark and rat-infested cellar even his worst enemy was treated like his best friend.


    Or he could not really call Josel an enemy. They just did not get along, that''s all. Josel was certainly not an easy person, and Zdain was not one to jump at the whims of others. However, they could not get through the current situation without understanding each other. So Zdain hoped that Josel would, at least this once, not to make things worse by arguing.


    * * *

 Chapter 20

    Bartos


    "Get up!" the lipless monster ordered, but Bartos'' jelly-like legs refused to obey. "Get up, Bartos Rigailon," the man demanded more softly, but just as forcefully.


    Bartos felt his forehead stung, as if something cold had slapped him hard across the face. He was in pain and his legs could barely support him, but he managed to push himself up off the floor. The scarface had made it clear that he could not disobey him.


    "Good," the stranger said after seeing Bartos do his will. His yellowish eyes turned away to where Darren was standing. "Who are you?" he asked, his voice creaking.


    Darren made no reply, just stared defiantly back at the ugly man.


    The man''s eyes flashed menacingly. "What a stubborn boy. I''ll ask you again: who are you?"


    Bartos saw Darren shudder and said with a strange stiffness: "I am Darren, a friend of Bartos."


    "Darren..." the stranger repeated thoughtfully. "I see. It doesn''t matter. I''ll take you with me as well."


    With him? Bartos did not want to go. He had to run, run somewhere. He grabbed Darren''s arm and backed away towards the library. It was a mistake.


    "You''re not going anywhere!" the lipless mouth creaked, and at the same moment a cold pain cut through Bartos'' forehead again.


    He and Darren stopped dead in their tracks. The man was too strong, impossible to resist. He had to be obeyed.


    The events that followed felt like a dream afterwards. The disfigured stranger herded them to the porch door. Bartos lifted his trembling legs and walked out after Darren like some kind of machine without a free will. They stepped onto the garden in their underwear. Yet Bartos could not remember feeling cold or embarrassed. No, he had simply obeyed.


    The man had pulled his hood back over his head and was watching his captives from underneath it. "Look," he croaked, pointing his gloved finger at the corner of the house.


    Only then did Bartos see a carriage, as black as night, with four horses of the same colour. The stranger motioned for the boys to follow, and so they walked towards the carriage.


    Looking back, Bartos could not remember whether the gravel had scraped or the grass had tickled the bare soles of his feet. His memories of the rest of the night were hazy, but there was one thing he had not forgotten.


    At the carriage he had watched the horses pulling them. They did not snort or dig their hooves into the ground, but stood silently in place, waiting for the command to move. And when Bartos looked closer, he saw that the horses had no eyes, but empty, gaping holes where the eyes should have been.


    The man whispered something from his lipless mouth, opened the left door of the carriage and motioned for the boys to get in. The door clicked shut behind them. After that, everything in Bartos'' head was very confusing.


    As the carriage started to move, Bartos knew he should have been terrified. But the only sensation he felt was immense fatigue: his eyes closed and his whole body felt heavy and yet so relaxed. Beside him, Darren was hardly awake.


    The carriage picked up speed, but Bartos was on the verge of falling asleep. A twinge in the pit of his stomach made him imagine that the carriage was rising. But Bartos did not have the strength to open his eyes and look out of the window. Unable to resist, he descended into the black tunnels of sleep - inexorably and heavily, like a log sinking into the depths of a lake.


    * * *


    "The carriage!" was the first thought that flashed through Bartos'' mind as he began to wake. He remembered dreaming of a journey in a carriage drawn by ghost horses, hurtling through the night sky.


    Bartos found himself clutching something soft in both fists, something that unmistakably felt like a sheet. His nose caught the homely scent of wax candles and wood burning in the fireplace. Bartos blinked his eyes open, trying to search for familiar objects. But the room was strange: he was not at home.


    He closed his eyes again. A stranger with a mutilated face, dead yet alive horses pulling black carts - it had to be a dream, some sick nightmare. But it was not, for Bartos knew he had been awake. They had both been...Darren, where is Darren?


    At the same moment, Bartos heard a loud click, followed by footsteps. Instinctively, he opened his eyes quickly and bounced up in his bed. Ready to scream, ready to run.


    The horror melted away in an instant. Darren entered the room, followed by...


    "Dad!" Bartos called to a solidly built man with a face very much like his own.


    Berron Rigailon strode up to his son and crushed him in a bear-like hug. No more words were needed, just relief upon relief.


    Darren peered behind the broad back of Bartos'' father. "Hey, I''m here too. Am I invisible, Bars?" he said, waving his hand as if to stop a driver.


    Bartos pulled away from his father and hurried over to greet his friend. Since Darren seemed his usual chipper self, everything must be all right. But where was the lipless man and his carriage? Surely it had not been a dream.


    "Where...?" Bartos began to unravel the tangle of questions that had plagued his mind.


    He was told that they were in a guesthouse on the road from Lake Towns to Five Hills. From Lake Towns to Five Hills! That was an impossibly long way from Paidos.


    As to how they had got there, his father did not give a precise answer. Not even when Bartos asked again. From the look on his face, Darren was equally ill-informed.


    After Bartos'' pressed once more - this kind of nagging was very rare for him, as the avoiding answering was for Chancellor Rigailon - his father finally agreed to respond. He stroked his dark, slightly greying hair and looked at his son sitting on the bed, then at Darren.


    "This man acted at my request. I asked him to get you out of Paidos before the Shadow Cross catches you. He used whatever means he thought best to bring you here. I''m sorry if he frightened you. He is...a friend," Berron Rigailon finished, somewhat nervously.


    A friend? It was hard for Bartos to imagine such a friend for his good-natured father. He opened his mouth, but then fell silent. It was not his place to pry into his Dad''s affairs.


    So Berron continued: "The main thing is that you are here. You understand that we won''t be able to return to Paidos for a long time."


    "So we''re going to see Mom?" Bartos guessed, and the image of Grandfather''s farmhouse flashed through his mind.


    But his father''s answer was not what he had expected. "We''re not going there. Our journey will take us to Five Hills."


    "To Five Hills? Why?" Bartos was taken aback. Why didn''t they go to Mom and sisters? Bartos already missed them terribly.


    "I have things to do... urgent things in Five Hills. Believe me, this is better, much better," said Berron Rigailon, staring at the wall of the room.


    Bartos did not understand, but did not want to bother his father with further questions.


    "It''s about noon, and we have a few days of riding ahead of us. Let us eat first, as we''ll be continuing our journey in the afternoon. Lunch, I believe, is served in the dining hall downstairs," Chancellor Rigailon said, patting his stomach.


    Food? After the terrible night, hunger was not on Bartos'' mind. How had they got so far from Paidos in one night and morning? It could not have been possible unless the carriage had indeed been flying in the sky.


    Bartos did not get any further, because his father had turned to Darren, who was standing next to him. "Darren, thank you for being there for Bartos last night," Berron Rigailon said. "I¡¯m sorry about that...my assistant, sorry he brought you here too. Now we have to figure out how to get you back home to your parents."Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    The boy being spoken to raised his head. "I''m not going back," Darren announced. His usually cheerful eyes stared at Berron Rigailon, cold and sharp.


    "Your parents..." Berron began, but Darren did not give him a chance to speak.


    "They don''t even notice I''m gone. By now Mom''s probably opened another bottle of Paidos Rapture and Dad''s snoring his head off on the kitchen floor. I might send them a letter. I''ll write that I''m off on an adventure in the west and I''ll be back in a year or two, although they''ll probably have drunk themselves into the grave by then."


    Darren gave Bartos his familiar dimpled grin, although he could not really be amused. Bartos hoped Dad would quickly change the subject, as Darren''s friends tended to do when the conversation slipped to his drinking parents.


    But that did not happen. Bartos'' father looked at the boy standing before him and let his stern expression fade. "They are concerned about your absence. You''re a minor, I can''t keep you here against your parents'' wishes," he said.


    Darren missed the soft tone. The smile had disappeared from his face and the usual ease was gone. In its place was sheer tension and defiance. Bartos could not remember the last time he had seen his friend like this.


    "They don''t care! They don''t give a shit!" Darren shouted, then continued in an exasperated tone. "You think I didn''t know who was behind those donations of clothes and food? I hated taking your charity, but I didn''t want Dad to keep beating me up. I''m not stupid, the beatings stopped when the goods started to come in. I don''t know what you threatened him with, just that it stopped. But even so, you have no right to send me back there...no right at all."


    Bartos looked away when he saw the tears on Darren''s cheeks. Tears that did not belong on this usually smiling face. Darren never cried, he was always happy and carefree. That''s how he wanted to be seen by others, and that''s why it was so hard for Bartos to look at his friend trembling with tears.


    After Darren''s outburst, Berron Rigailon gave the curly-haired boy a sympathetic look. "Very well. You can come with us for as long as you like," he said.


    A teary-eyed Darren stared at Bartos'' father in disbelief and mumbled a muffled thanks. No one said anything else. Darren sniffed, blinked his wet eyes and looked very lonely and orphaned as he stood on the floor.


    Bartos wanted to do something to comfort his friend, but he did not know how. In his mind, he was saddened by his own clumsiness and incompetence, unable to think of anything to say that would fit the situation.


    Then, as Berron Rigailon took a quick step forward and crushed Darren into a comforting embrace against his broad chest, Bartos mentally thanked him for what a good father he had. The kind of father Darren deserved too. Darren, who looked very thin in the big man''s embrace. When he pulled away from the hug, Darren also looked confused and even more tearful. Bartos wondered if an adult had held Darren in years.


    Berron ruffled Darren''s hair and left the room, leaving the boys alone. Bartos felt very uncomfortable. He clenched the sheet in his fist and looked at the rag rug on the floor. Darren walked stiffly to the other bed in the room.


    Bartos glanced at his friend from under his brows and met his gaze.


    Darren wiped his cheeks with his sleeve and said in a thick but demanding voice: "Not a word about this. Not to anyone, okay?"


    "Not a word," Bartos confirmed.


    He would never speak of what had happened, not to Josel, not to Franz, not to anyone. There was a need to say something more. It just was not that easy. "Darren, I...I..." he started, but the rest did not come out.


    Then Darren looked at his friend and said gently, "Bars, I know." After that, Bartos felt much better.


    * * *


    The inn was called the Neighing Filly and was one of the many rest stops along the Central Trade Route, where travellers could stay the night or just stop for a bite to eat before continuing on their journey.


    Bartos'' stomach growled insistently as he descended the stairs leading from the upper floor to the dining room. He was dressed in a similar outfit of long trousers and a long-sleeved shirt to Darren''s, only in a larger size. The boots on his feet were uncomfortable, but Bartos figured they would bend to fit better as he walked. The main thing was to stop loitering around in nothing but underwear.


    Glancing at his friend, Bartos noticed that Darren was working hard to regain his usual joyful mood. Darren was tapping his knuckles on the banister and humming some tavern jingle. The tear streaks had been wiped from his face, but there was still an uncharacteristic lack of effort in his expression. If it was not always easy being Bartos, there was nothing enviable about Darren''s life.


    The dining hall was not overcrowded, but it was not empty either. The boys spotted Berron Rigailon''s broad back at the table in the middle of the hall and sat down. Only now did Bartos look more closely at his father. The dark shadows under his eyes and the extra wrinkle on his forehead told Bartos more than his father wanted him to know. Fleeing Paidos and worrying about his own family had clearly worn him down.


    The discussion around the table was mostly about everyday matters. Berron also said that he had used the courier to send a message to his wife and daughters about the arrival of the boys. Somewhat unusually, Dad also asked about Josel and whether Bartos had heard anything new about the Sandkans'' whereabouts. To that he could not answer.


    As to why they had travelled to Five Hills, Berron Rigailon said nothing. What could be so important that it was impossible to talk about it? Bartos tried to think of alternatives. The first thing that came to mind was the Shadow Cross. Was Dad involved in some grand conspiracy to free Paidos? In any case, he had no intention of confiding in his son.


    I guess Dad didn''t think I was capable enough, Bartos thought wistfully, concentrating on stuffing his mouth with chicken sauce and potatoes.


    With nothing else to do, Bartos began to look at the people sitting in the hall as he ate. He found it amusing to watch people and try to guess the purpose of their journey.


    The man in the leather jacket on the left could have been a wealthy cattle farmer on his way to negotiate a deal with a slaughterhouse. At the next table, a pair of men were raising beer mugs. The men seemed so happy to Bartos that they might have hit the jackpot at the Neighing Filly''s table the night before. There were as many stories as there were travellers, Bartos knew, and flinched as Darren kicked his leg under the table.


    "Look at that," Darren whispered with an enthusiastic grin, pointing at the newly seated duo at the next table. The man was middle-aged and, despite outward signs of wealth, rather unremarkable. Darren had hardly been referring to him, however, but to the man''s female companion.


    The girl was about their age and very pretty. She was dressed rather boyishly in a tunic and tight trousers, but they accentuated her slender body. Her shoulder-length hair was tied back in a ponytail and was a pale colour, like linen thread. Hair of this colour was rarely seen in Paidos, and Bartos would have thought her beautiful for her fairness alone.


    At that moment, the object of their attention noticed the stare and turned her gaze first to Bartos, who was sitting nearest. The girl''s eyes were greenish and were making vivid judgements about her surroundings.


    Bartos felt a rush of heat spread across his face. He had expected a confused, startled or scornful reaction, but she seemed mostly amused by his stare and the blush that followed.


    Meanwhile, Darren had been eyeing the table next to him in the same way as Bartos, but with much more insolence. His deep brown eyes twinkled and he had conjured up his most charming smile.


    Bartos had witnessed the same play with Darren many times before, and had always been equally disapproving. This time, however, he was sort of pleased because hitting on the girls was the best way to get Darren''s mind off his parents.


    Darren was treated by her very differently to Bartos - but not as expected. Seeing his flirtatious expression, she squinted her green eyes slyly, as if to accept the challenge. Darren looked surprised for a moment, then grinned shamelessly at the girl and waited for her reply.


    It did not come, as Berron Rigailon coughed significantly. "Concentrate on your food," he snarled.


    Bartos was embarrassed and luckily Darren knew how to look at least a little ashamed. The man sitting opposite the girl also seemed to have noticed the ogling with the boys, as he gave his companion a long, reproachful look.


    If the man was the young woman''s father, his daughter was certainly not bashful in his vicinity. Even his attempt to scold her was met with only a short laugh, and soon she was talking to him about ordering a drink.


    Bartos kept one ear open to listen to the conversation at the next table. Although the blonde was not his type - he preferred shyer girls - there was something very fascinating about her. Despite Berron Rigailon''s lecture, Darren continued to sneak glances at the neighbouring table.


    "We won''t order a bottle of wine. I''ll have a glass at the most, and you certainly won''t have any more. What would your aunt say if she were here?" said the man at the next table. The drawling speech was foreign and hinted in the direction of Malkania.


    "Aunt Anibella is hundreds of miles away and you would never tell her. Offus dear, how about two glasses for the two of us? I''ll be a good girl for the rest of the journey - especially if I get a bit tipsy," she said, laughing again.


    Bartos was becoming increasingly convinced that the man was not the girl''s father, but he was still quite unarmed by her charms. Even now he tried in vain to keep a scolding expression on his face.


    "All right, two glasses for each of us and not a word to your aunt."


    "Thank you, Silly," she said gently, smiling sweetly at him.


    "Danae, what did I say about that nickname? It doesn''t suit my rank."


    "I only use it when it''s just the two of us. Would you order the wine now?"


    Bartos smiled at the words of the girl called Danae; even Darren would be shaking with a wildcat like that.


    Then the man at the next table said: "You need to cut down on your drinking before you get to Paidos. I don''t think Berron and Naeda Rigailon would approve of a ward daughter who drinks."


    The girl''s possible answer no longer reached Bartos'' ears. The contents of the spoon, on its way to his mouth, fell into his lap. Dumbfounded, he stared first at the duo at the next table, then at his father and Darren, who, judging by his coughing, seemed to have swallowed water down the wrong way.


    If Berron Rigailon had wanted to pretend that he had not heard himself mentioned, that was no longer possible after the reactions of Bartos and Darren. After all, the man and the girl had noticed the stunned expressions on the neighbours'' faces. They had stopped talking and the man, with a questioning look in his eyes, was preparing to say something.


    Bartos'' father was quicker than they were. "I am Berron Rigailon," he introduced himself in the emphatic, deep voice of a senior imperial official.


    The girl''s eyes opened wide and the man''s jaw dropped.


    Bartos was left waiting to see what would happen. He knew his father would handle the situation as surely as anything else that came his way. Bartos hoped that one day he could be as charismatic a man, or at least something more than his boring self.


    * * *

 Chapter 21

    Zdain


    When Josel finally woke up, Zdain was a nervous wreck. Several rats had slipped through the bars and into the cage, and the bravest had even climbed over their feet. He had to fight to keep from screaming.


    Josel lifted his head from Zdain''s shoulder and straightened his back. They quickly pulled away from each other, pretending as if by mutual agreement that they had never been in each other''s arms.


    "Oh, you''re awake?" Zdain asked, rubbing his arm, numb from leaning on Josel.


    "Doesn''t it look like it? You are admirably sharp..." Josel said, yawning.


    Zdain imagined the familiar grin on the boy''s face. Bored, he added: "''Look?'' There''s nothing to see here."


    "There is! Look around you, it''s a bit brighter here in the cellar."


    It was true. Zdain could make out his own feet, and as he turned, Josel''s features were vaguely visible. He had been so busy watching the rats that he had not noticed the small window letting a little more light into the cellar. So it was day, or at least morning, outside.


    "I wonder where I can relieve myself?" Josel continued.


    "I don''t care, as long as it doesn''t spill into this cell," Zdain replied. His own bladder was full too.


    Josel chose to do his business between the bars of the back wall, where the floor sloped downwards from their sleeping area.


    As his cellmate passed water, Zdain''s eyes wandered around the cellar. In the far corner was something he had noticed on his way into the cellar. A large, shapeless object was hanging from the wall in the corner. Zdain squinted to get a better look and motioned for Josel to take a look too.


    "It''s like it''s stuck to the wall," Josel said.


    "The rats are all over it," Zdain observed.


    "Then it must be something to eat."


    They were silent for a moment. Then Zdain realised what the bundle on the wall resembled.


    "Human!" he exclaimed. A shudder ran through his entire body. He was both disgusted and aghast.


    "Hence the stench," Josel said in a choked voice.


    If this place was a prison, the carcass left for rats and flies to eat might well have been Marta''s last prisoner. At that moment, Zdain was grateful that the cellar was unlit.


    Before he had time for a second thought, Josel drew in a deep breath and jumped up abruptly. He crashed into the bars and cried out in a heartbreaking voice: "Dad!"


    The boy pounded his fists against the bars, moaning inarticulately.


    Horror gripped Zdain, the thought of Andreuz Sandkan murdered and eaten by rats was terrifying.


    Zdain stood up and put his hand on Josel''s shoulder as he sobbed softly.


    But Josel shook his hand away and said: "Don''t touch me!"


    Zdain sighed and sat down again. Josel leaned against the bars for a long time before sitting down in the corner of the cell, as far away from his fellow prisoner as possible. The boy was probably crying, though he tried to stifle his sobs in front of Zdain.


    This went on for some time. Finally, Zdain asked in the gentlest voice possible: "Are you sure it''s your father? At least I can''t see well enough." Zdain was not lying, it was too dark to identify the body by its appearance as anyone familiar.


    "Who else! Dad was supposed to be here to meet us," Josel almost whimpered, then sniffled.


    Zdain admitted that this was the case, but said that the corpse could be any of Marta''s enemies. Josel should not jump to that conclusion so hastily. Besides, Marta had asked with great interest about the whereabouts of Andreuz Sandkan, Zdain tried to convince Josel.


    "He lied, and that''s easy to say when your own parents are sipping tea by a fireplace somewhere," Josel said.


    Trying not to lose his temper, Zdain took a deep breath. If the rat-ridden body was really Andreuz Sandkan, then he had no right to be angry with Josel. In that case, Josel would have lost both his parents.


    * * *


    Time passed, but the basement became no brighter. Rather, the room slowly began to darken. It meant that noon had turned into afternoon, or that the sun had disappeared behind a veil of clouds. It was hard to keep track of the time any more. Either way, Zdain was thankful that they did not have to look at the body.


    Josel had slowly moved back into position beside Zdain, though he was careful not to touch. The blond boy had not breathed a word since their last conversation. He was staring at the floor, his knees bent and his head resting on his hands.


    Zdain mentally promised that if he ever made it out of the cellar, he would sort things out for Josel as best he could. But of course Josel would not want any help, least of all from Zdain. Although there was nothing to suggest that they would get out of Marta''s captivity alive. The stinking corpse in the corner was testimony to how the mistress of the house treated her prisoners.


    * * *


    A sliver of light cut through the darkness as the door at the top of the stairs opened. The rats scurried into their holes to escape, and Zdain and Josel scrambled to their feet as well. The light of the lantern stung eyes accustomed to the dark, and the sound of footsteps led the guests into the cellar - Marta and someone else.


    Marta was accompanied by a man with a lantern. Zdain had never seen him before. The stranger was a thin, stooped man with an unpleasant wheeze. His hair hung greasy, his face was covered in pimples, his nose was bent like a fishhook, and there were two small pig''s eyes too close together. Zdain decided straight away that he hated the man.


    The hunchback raised his lantern and shined the cell. "But, but, Your Mighty Highness. What a pair of sweeties you have found," the man said, breathing a long sigh at the end of the sentence. He opened his mouth to reveal a broken row of yellow-black rotting teeth.


    Zdain instinctively backed away.


    It made the man whooping in a way that only distantly resembled laughter. "Oh, Your Greatness," he addressed Marta. "I''d take the brown-haired one for myself. The blonde is pretty too, but the darker one seems to be more scared."


    Zdain shuddered, he wanted nothing to do with such a disgusting creature.


    Then Martha spoke, "Lurk, your time will come after mine. That is, if the prisoners have anything to give you by then." The woman''s voice lacked emotion.


    Josel tugged at Zdain''s sleeve, motioning for him to look into the corner where the corpse hung. Zdain shivered in horror and relief. The body chained to the wall could not possibly be Andreuz Sandkan, for Josel''s father was quite bald, while the corpse had long grey hair.


    That was the end of Zdain''s joy. It was a terrible sight. Most of the flesh had been eaten away, and the strips of skin covering the skeleton were rat-infested. He had to turn away in disgust.


    When Marta noticed where her prisoners'' attention was focused, she instructed her assistant to better illuminate a corner of the cellar. "Well, well, have you met Marta?" the woman said in a cheerful voice, nodding towards the skeleton.


    Josel groaned. Zdain felt as if a bucket of cold water had been poured down his collar. "Who... why?" he asked.


    "Oh, all in good time, my young friends," the woman posing as Martha said, smiling sweetly.


    "What do you want from us?" Josel asked angrily.


    "First of all, all information about the Blue Moon''s operations and headquarters. And of course the whereabouts of your parents."


    "We know nothing."


    Hearing this, the woman ordered her assistant: "Lurk, get the tools!"


    The slimy man was strangely eager to climb up the stairs, leaving the woman with the lantern in the cellar. The woman was content to watch her captives with a look of contempt and self-satisfaction on her face.


    When Lurk returned with his load, the woman finally bothered to answer Josel. "Fool, you may not know anything, but I''m sure the governor''s son does... Lurk, open the cell door and bring the Monteilon boy here."


    Lurk rattled his keychain, and fear of what was to come gripped Zdain.


    When the door opened, Josel attacked the man without a second thought. Fake Marta screamed, but Lurk was quicker. The man yanked something out of his robe, a blue light flashed and Josel fell to the ground in pain, accompanied by a strange crackling sound.


    "Do you want the same, little one, or will you come nicely?" Lurk said in a creaky voice. He held a strange, slightly door-handle-like tool in his hand.


    Zdain''s gaze shifted to Josel, who was writhing on the floor, moaning in pain. He decided to obey the ugly man and walked stiffly out of the cell.


    Josel was left alone on the cell floor, gasping for breath. On Fake Martha''s orders, Lurk began to secure Zdain''s other arm to a chain hanging on the wall.


    While Lurk was working, the woman spoke to Zdain. "They say this cellar was once used to keep animals for food, hence the barred cell. Poor Marta must have enjoyed being chained up here like a goat for slaughter. Well, she was slaughtered in the end."Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    The woman snickered disgustingly at her own words, but continued in a harsher tone. "That''s enough. Let''s begin. Where are your parents and Sandkan now?"


    "I don''t know," Zdain said in a firm voice.


    "Wrong answer," she said, nodding to her assistant.


    Lurk jabbed Zdain in the thigh with his strange weapon. Blue light flashed like lightning, there was a hissing sound, and in an instant an excruciating pain shot through his entire body. Zdain had never been hurt so much before. Drool trickled down his jaw and he found himself sobbing.


    "Do you remember better yet?" the woman insisted.


    "No," Zdain gritted his teeth.


    "Again," she said, and Lurk struck with his cruel weapon.


    Zdain shook and howled in pain, the second time was worse than the first.


    "Are you ready to talk?"


    "I don''t know what..."


    The bluish light flashed again and an immense pain tore through Zdain. Tears clogged his eyes and his whole body shook as if he were in ague.


    "Maybe we''ll try the cane next. Swing and hit hard," the woman said.


    Lurk raised a wooden stick above his head and prepared to strike. The first blow was to the side and Zdain writhed in pain. He tried to protect his head, but with one hand cuffed it was difficult. Lurk struck again, this time to the shoulder.


    Zdain rolled to the ground, trying to dodge the blows. His wrist was chafing on the chain. The cane slammed his thigh, then his forearm, his buttocks and his back. Blows rained down from all sides. Zdain screamed in pain, but Lurk did not stop.


    "Leave him alone!" Josel shouted from his cell - to no avail.


    The beating continued and Zdain fell to the edge of consciousness. Somewhere in the distance, Josel begged him for mercy, and at the same time the cane kept hitting him, but Zdain felt nothing and passed out.


    * * *


    Zdain woke up to find that everything hurt and he could not see much. The cellar, the cane, Lurk... it all came back to him in an instant. It was as if he had been mangled like a sheet. He was broken, crushed like a sack of potatoes left under a rail-carriage. He tried to move, but even the slightest shift of his legs caused a twinge of pain.


    "Don''t move, just rest," said a voice near him.


    Josel. Zdain tried to turn his head - they had not hit him in the head - and could discern the outline of Josel beside him. More precisely, he was on Josel''s lap. On Josel''s lap? He might have laughed at the situation if the mere movement of his shoulders had not been so painful.


    "Where are they?" Zdain managed to squeeze out.


    "They left after throwing you back here," Josel said, sounding miserable. "They said they beat you harder on purpose because I tried to attack that man. To teach me a lesson. I''m sorry, Zdain."


    Zdain? Josel Sandkan held him in his arms and called him by his first name?


    "I tried to look at your injuries. It wasn''t very easy in the dark. You''re covered in bruises, but I think you''re only bleeding from your wrist. I bandaged it."


    Zdain felt the cloth around his throbbing wrist. "With what?"


    "I tore my shirt," Josel said.


    Zdain pressed his head back against Josel''s chest and tried not to moan aloud. Tears ran down his cheeks, it hurt so much. Luckily Josel could not see it.


    "It wasn''t your dad," he whispered into the darkness.


    "No. For that I am grateful."


    They were silent for a while. A curious fly sat on Zdain''s forehead, but he did not have the strength to sweep it away. Zdain felt Josel''s heartbeat against his cheek. At any other time, in any other place, he would have enjoyed being in another person''s arms.


    Josel decided to continue the conversation, which took Zdain''s mind off the pain for a moment. "If what that madwoman said was true, then the body really is Marta. That would explain a lot. But who are our captors? The woman was interested in the Blue Moon. Maybe she''s working for the Shadow Cross. But surely you know there''s something worse than the Shadow Cross."


    "You mean the fallen."


    "Yeah. Dad told me they were everywhere," Josel said.


    Zdain cleared his throat for a moment and then spoke: "Yes, I suppose so: as market vendors, carriage drivers, civil servants, even as teachers in your school."


    Josel was silent for a moment before he asked: "How much do you know about everything... the fallen and the Blue Moon?"


    "Not much, really," Zdain replied, grimacing as he raised his hand to a better position. "I''ve only been told enough to know how to spot danger. Though not much is known about the fallen. Not who they take orders from, or what their ultimate goal is. Destroy the Blue Moon first, I suppose, but then what?"


    It hurt to talk, and a coughing fit forced Zdain into silence. And there was no point in talking too much about the Blue Moon, for Marta''s sound-transmitting pipes could reach down to the cellar.


    Josel must have realised the same, for he continued to talk about more mundane matters. About how much he wished he were home, and what he would do first if he ever got back to Paidos. Zdain would whisper an answer now and then, but otherwise he was content to remain still, careful not to move his mauled limbs.


    It was a little easier to be. Josel''s steady pulse and the warmth radiating from him were soothing. Despite all his bruises, Zdain fell asleep.


    * * *


    It was not a pleasant wake-up call. Zdain was terribly cold, his mouth was dry and the marks from Lurk''s blows were painful. It was dark in the cellar, so it must still be night. He had not slept very long, and sleep had not refreshed him at all. On the contrary, he felt very ill,as if a fever were rising. And even Josel was no longer holding him.


    Zdain brushed his hand in the darkness and reached another boy nearby. The touch woke Josel and he mumbled something. Zdain whispered an apology for waking the other.


    But since Josel did not seem to be angry, Zdain plucked up courage and dragged himself alongside the boy. Zdain was sore and cold, but at least he did not have to endure the misery alone.


    They sat in silence, side by side. Neither could bear to repeat aloud how desperate the situation was. Nor was there any point in grumbling about hunger or thirst. The hours crept by, and slowly the worst of the darkness in the cellar receded.


    Feeling even weaker, Zdain touched his forehead. It almost burned. There was no point mentioning it to Josel, as there was nothing he could do about it. So Zdain just crouched down, trying his best not to shiver from the cold.


    Then, suddenly, as the sense of the time that had passed was again completely blurred, the door at the top of the stairs creaked open. Zdain''s stomach churned with fear; would the beating continue? Or had the woman who had been playing Marta found them useless and decided to finish them?


    Zdain gritted his teeth. He would not show his fear to his tormentors. The son of an imperial governor would not die like a crying baby. And yet he groaned loudly, just by straightening his back as he hurried away from under Josel''s arm.


    The lantern flashed again, but Zdain could see that this time it was neither Fake Marta nor Lurk who had entered the cellar. It was only Toma.


    The servant dragged something down the stairs behind him, accompanied by a loud clatter. Something living, whimpering miserably as it clumped down the stairs.


    "You''ll have company," Toma croaked, hurling his victim to the front of the cage. The new prisoner in the cellar was very small.


    A child! Zdain felt anger and pity at the same time. Could not even the children be excluded from this monstrosity?


    "Where''s the chain..." the man muttered, and then found what he was looking for hanging from the child''s arm. Toma attached the iron chain to one of the bars of the cage. The key turned and the lock clicked shut.


    "The little beast can do well outside the cage. Maybe it''ll catch some rats. Or maybe the rats will eat it," Toma chatted to himself.


    Zdain and Josel had watched in silence, sitting on the floor of the cell. Then Toma''s lantern flickered, illuminating the face of the newcomer for a moment. The little prisoner was not a child.


    "The goblin!" Josel was the first to gasp.


    "Sharp thinking. Lurk brought this to the house as a gift. He had bought it at the market from a slave trader. A useless animal, but still entertains the mistress." Toma laughed and glanced at the goblin, its white hair stained with blood. The beaten little creature lay curled up, face to the floor. Toma got up to leave.


    "Can we have some water, please?" Josel asked as politely as he could.


    "Water? You''re going to die anyway. Go thirsty, it''s a lot easier than dying in her hands."


    With that, Toma and the light of the lantern retreated to the stairs. The door to the cellar closed behind the man and the prisoners were back in the dark - now the three of them.


    Are we going to die here, Zdain asked himself. His body ached all over, his throat burned with thirst, and despair took over his mind.


    "The goblin must be the same we saw earlier," Josel whispered with surprising fervour and stood up.


    Zdain was left shivering in the cold, leaning against the bars. His back and legs ached, but he decided not to complain. To say something, he asked: "I wonder if it''s still alive," referring to the goblin lying in the darkness - or whatever it was. Only the flicker of white hair told him that the creature was indeed in the cellar; the goblin made no more noise.


    "Of course it lives!" Josel replied a little too loudly and indignantly.


    Zdain remembered how fiercely his fellow traveller had reacted to the goblin at the market. It was as if caring for tiny creatures in distress was Josel''s life''s work.


    Tiny creatures - not the size of Zdain Monteilon. For some reason, the thought echoed unpleasantly. Zdain watched sourly as Josel groped his way through the darkness towards the goblin. He himself was too tired and sore to be so enthusiastic.


    Josel put his hand through the bars and shook the chain attached to the bar, one end of which was chained to the goblin''s leg. "Hey, wake up," Josel tried.


    The goblin did not respond. It did not move or make a sound, no matter how much Josel tried to persuade it. Frustrated, he eventually backed up next to his cellmate.


    Zdain dared not repeat his suspicion as to whether the creature was still breathing. Instead he said: "What the heck do Fake Marta and the others want from the goblin? If the goblins are even real. I wouldn''t believe a slave trader. Besides..."


    "I believe," Josel interrupted. "In my Dad''s books, it says that the goblins have a very old culture and a great deal of knowledge. The kind mankind can only dream of."


    "In the Troubadour Kharl books? Those are fairy tales!" Zdain exclaimed. It was impossible to remain calm when Josel was so annoying in his babbling. "I''ve never heard of a single place where the goblins live, even though my tutor was well versed in foreign cultures. I don''t believe in stupid goblins," Zdain added.


    "Then don''t believe it!" Josel snapped. "I''m sure your home teacher didn''t tell you about dreaders or fiend wings either. And look! We''ve seen both within a week."


    Zdain''s head ached and Josel''s stubbornness felt stupid. Yet he was also annoyed that the boy might be right, despite everything. Until a few days ago, even the dreaders had been a child''s tale, not real life.


    "Whatever. I''m not interested in the whole goblin thing," Zdain said without thinking, hoping the conversation was over. He was hurt all over and Josel''s ranting about the goblin was so childish. Zdain just wanted to rest and dream that his time in Marta''s cellar was a nightmare from which he would soon wake.


    But the careless words made Josel even wilder. "You don''t care about anything but your own upper-class ass. There''s a badly beaten goblin on the other side of the bars and you don''t give a damn about it!" Josel shouted.


    "I''ve been ''badly beaten'' too!" Zdain replied. How could Sandkan be such a jerk? Had his recent concern been just an act? Tears of disappointment wet the corners of his eyes, but Zdain quickly wiped them away.


    "I''m not denying it," Josel said half-heartedly, but he did not manage to sound conciliatory enough.


    "Whatever. You''re such a boor that it''s no use," Zdain muttered, trying to roll onto his side. It hurt so much that he groaned and returned to his previous position. Josel remained silent.


    The basement was filled with melancholy. Zdain''s throat was growing increasingly dry, his stomach growling with hunger and his fever seemed to be rising. The bruises from the beatings were also hellishly painful. He huddled on the cold floor, suffering in silence.


    * * *


    An hour must have passed. Zdain changed position and could not hold back a small sigh as he straightened his aching legs.


    "Why don''t you sleep?" was Josel''s question.


    "Why aren''t you! Maybe because I''m cold, hungry, thirsty and I''m sore everywhere," Zdain replied sardonically.


    After a while, Josel asked shyly: "Would it help if I came next to you? I''m cold too."


    Zdain swallowed, suppressing an angry reply. Josel knew how to surprise. It wasn''t an apology, but still... So he said: "Come on then."


    Josel moved on the floor next to Zdain but not so close as before.


    Coward, Zdain thought, curling up against the boy''s side. As infuriating as Josel was, it was much better to be next to him. The pain had not gone away, but the closeness soothed his groggy body.


    Josel did not say anything, did not ask how he was - for which Zdain was grateful - but just stayed there. If I die here in the cellar, at least I won''t die alone, Zdain thought. That made him feel a little better.


    Whether it was a spur of the moment or what, Zdain could not explain to himself, but he took Josel''s hand. The boy tensed and for a moment Zdain thought he would pull away. But he did not, and after a while Josel relaxed and wrapped his fingers around Zdain''s hand.


    The cellar was dark, the rats were gnawing at Marta''s body, the goblin lay supposedly dead on the other side of the bars, and at any moment Lurk might return with his cane and torture device. But Zdain Monteilon''s mind was elsewhere, for he had just realised something new and revolutionary about himself, something that both fascinated and terrified him.


    * * *

 Chapter 22

    "You Dimalis claim that the slave trade is a criminal activity. We Southerners call it a force that holds the states together.


    Who else would harvest the crops from our sunny fields? Who would lay the cobblestones in place, clean the fish catches and toil in the mine tunnels? Or entertain the aristocrats in the brothels? We free citizens? Do not even imagine such a thing.


    Saadda, Qoi-Tenqee and Mtuul would fall without slaves. You, in turn, would be deprived of our trade goods: dates, cocoa, spices, gold, ivory. Is that what you Dimalis want? Hardly. That''s why you close your eyes and let the slave galleys sail.


    For our compatriots, the arrangement is fine, because the slaves are Dimali - sometimes Afamatian and Malkanian too. A free Southerner could not even be a slave; the very thought amuses me.


    Are the workers in Andiol happier than the slaves in the South? Those grey drudges in your industrial plants or thousands of farm labourers. I doubt it. Freedom is often relative".


    - Letter from an elder of the Saadda Convention to an ambassador of Andiol Empire, undated


    * * *


    Jolanda


    Ipalos, Andiol Empire


    "How dare you bring the man here only now!" Jolanda Vargan shouted, pulling at her raven-black braid in a way that hurt. Jolanda was used to having her orders followed to the letter. At home, the servants would have jumped up and down at her command. Things had to be done her way. Always and everywhere.


    Unfortunately, the Shadow Cross of Ipalos did not seem to realise that Jolanda had supreme authority in the city. At first, the locals had thought of her as just a girl, despite the letter of command from her father. Well, after she had sold some of the worst insubordinates to a slave trader travelling south along the river Frothy, things had changed for the better.


    But now again! She had given the order upon her arrival, stressing its importance. And yet it had taken a whole day to bring the man before her. If she failed, as a result of such delay, the slavers would surely gain more merchandise.


    "Miss Vargan, I brought the cook here as soon as I heard about it. The procurator who usually takes his reports was out of town... well, making arrangements for the project, so..."


    Jolanda motioned for the commandant to stop. "Enough. I will find out if it is as you say, and if not, you know the consequences. You may leave."


    The commandant walked away with his tail between his legs, failing to hide the fear on his face. The sight made Jolanda happy, she had watched her father treat his inferiors from a young age. The lesson had been learned.


    Jolanda turned to the fat man who had silently witnessed the exchange of words. The cook wiped his sweating forehead with a stained shirt sleeve and looked everywhere but at Jolanda. Judging by his savage appearance, the potbelly might have been a tyrant in his kitchen, but here in the Main Hall of the Shadow Cross he trembled like an old grandmother when confronted by a shadow walker far superior to himself.


    "What''s your name?" Jolanda asked in a deliberately cold voice.


    "Spodd... dear Miss Vargan, if you please. I didn''t dawdle. I came straight over to tell you when..."


    "Silence! I only asked your name."


    The man was as stupid as he was ugly. Jolanda wondered what it would be like to stab him with a dagger and watch the blood splatter on the floor. In general, Jolanda was disgusted by ugly people, especially fat ones. How could anyone let themselves get into such a state? Well, supposedly you can''t expect much more from an employee of a snotty pub. Jolanda suppressed the urge to spit in his direction.


    "I''ve already heard your information, there''s no need to repeat it. Instead, I want to hear if you are absolutely sure of what you know. At this point you can withdraw your statement and you won''t get into trouble," Jolanda lied. She would throw the cook into the dungeons beneath the headquarters if he started to retract his speech. Even slave traders would not take such a hideous thing.


    "Miss dear, I speak as my subordinate tells me," the cook stammered.


    Jolanda could no longer remember his name. "So you stick to your story. You can go. Here''s compensation for your trouble. The Shadow Cross always rewards those who are worthy of its trust."


    She tossed him a purse, which he failed to catch in mid-air, of course. Jolanda watched with disdain as the cook picked up the coins from the floor and put them in his pockets. Now, instead of the fear he had just shown, the man''s face shone with greed.


    Jolanda scowled, she had never been interested in money herself. She had always got what she wanted. The pursuit of wealth was only a sign of boorishness and low civilization. She and her father aimed much higher, and while the others concentrated on gold, the Vargans reaped the rewards.


    Power was the only thing worth pursuing for Isendar Vargan, and Jolanda pretty much shared her father''s view. There was only one thing Jolanda wanted in the world besides power: Josel Sandkan.


    When the guards had escorted the fat chef out of the hall, Jolanda called the commandant back in. "Concentrate all the troops from the project in the Merchants'' Quarter. Without attracting attention. Have the shade commandos question and search every nook and cranny. Two boys can''t disappear unnoticed."


    "Miss, our best shade commandos are already searching the Merchants'' Quarter. You can be sure that the results will come soon."


    The commandant spoke confidently, the poor man had recovered too quickly from his recent grilling. Now it was time for Jolanda to shake off any illusions he might have had.


    "Great," Jolanda said. "You have served the Shadow Cross well. If you bring the boys to me unharmed, I will give you a promotion and a large piece of land with property. If you fail again, I will see to it that you and your wife leave Ipalos on the next slave galley."


    Jolanda watched with satisfaction as the confidence drained from the man''s face. Stuttering, he asked for permission to leave.


    The project mentioned by the commandant was, naturally, to overthrow the governor of Ipalos. Isendar Vargan had travelled to Dimalos, leaving the revolution in Ipalos to his daughter. It would be a good follow-up to the downfall of Paidos.


    Jolanda knew that its success meant everything to her father, but she was less interested in the matter herself. Jolanda''s thoughts were focused on a boy with golden hair, whose capture was her own secret project. Jolanda could hand over the governor''s son to the Shadow Cross, but she would never let Josel out of her sight again.


    * * *


    Franz


    His legs felt stiff after so many days in a prison cell, and Franz had to hurry his steps to keep up with the agile man. He did not want to return to his cell, so the mere thought of the shadow sentries pursuing them encouraged him to move his legs forward.


    The stairs leading down from the cell block into the darkness had soon ended and continued as a narrow, sloping passageway. The man had grabbed the last burning torch from the top of the stairs and was carrying it into the pitch black corridor.


    Franz could hear the water droplets dripping around him and he could smell the stale underground world. He was on his way to an unknown destination, with only a stranger for company. Even so, he knew no fear. Perhaps the man''s relaxed demeanour had something to do with it.


    The corridor had not branched off since the beginning, so there was no need to think twice about the direction. The underground tunnel was high enough, so they could walk with their backs straight. The man strode forward, his cap-covered head bobbing, humming a verse as he went.


    Franz tried to catch the tune, but he could not get to the heart of it. The melody was too tricky to follow, so he gave up and concentrated on listening. There was something strangely soothing about the man''s constant humming, as if it were meant to ward off fear.


    Although one dark tunnel did not scare Franz, he was still glad when the corridor finally started to slope upwards. Or so it seemed. In the torchlight alone, it was difficult to perceive the ups and downs of the ground.


    After perhaps a quarter of an hour, the path became steeper and the tunnel so shallow that they had to duck. At first there was only a faint glimmer around the torch''s flame. But little by little, the impenetrable darkness began to give way to the light. Then, suddenly, the mouth of the tunnel appeared ahead.


    At the border between light and shadow, the man slowed his pace to a crawl. For a moment they stood at the gateway to the underground and the outside world. The man listened, and Franz squinted his eyes, trying to get used to the light.


    Soon, the man seemed pleased and asked Franz to step out. Blinking, the boy followed his rescuer up the last few steps of the sloping embankment and climbed out of the narrow opening into the daylight.


    The place where the mouth of the tunnel was located was utterly strange to Franz. They had stumbled out of the ground into a forest of deciduous trees. The exit of the tunnel was hidden in the middle of a rocky outcrop. It was in such an inaccessible spot that it was doubtful that many people knew about the underground passage.


    The long walk and the lack of food that had preceded it suddenly ached in his legs, and Franz sat down on the nearest moss-covered boulder. His companion looked around, as if to make sure they were not in danger, and then set about arranging twigs and branches torn from the bushes to protect the mouth of the tunnel. Franz watched the man as he worked, observing his appearance at the same time.


    As in the cell corridor, the moustache was the first thing to catch Franz''s eye. It was impressive without being crazy, and it was easy to believe that a lot of time had been spent tidying it up. The cap on the man''s head, however, Franz thought was silly. It had turned out to be a forest green in the daylight, and Franz could not recall seeing a similar headwear in the streets of Paidos.


    The man''s other clothing also caught the eye. He was wearing a rather unusually cut dark blue coat, almost to his knees, with pockets in who knows how many places. The tip of a rapier could be seen under the lapel of the coat. On his back he wore an oblong case, which did not quite look like the sheath of a weapon.


    All the same, something about the moustached man''s appearance and manner of moving seemed strangely familiar to Franz, as if he had met him before. But where? There was an accent in the man''s speech that Franz could not place. In any case, he was not from Paidos.


    His thoughts were interrupted when the man told Franz to get up. "Where are we going now?" Franz asked uncertainly.


    The only response was a nodding invitation to follow him into the thicket. Franz got up from his rock and rumbled down the cliff. The man carefully bent the branches of the nearest trees so that they would not fall on Franz''s face. Still he said nothing.


    They walked about fifty paces through a dense thicket. While Franz snapped dry twigs under his shoes with each step, the moustached man walked as quietly as a cat. He must be an experienced ranger, Franz thought, trying desperately to remember where he might have bumped into the man.


    Soon the forest opened up into a small meadow, where two horses were grazing, tied up with tethers and already saddled: one grey, the other all white. The man ran up to pat the animals, who gave him a neighing greeting. As both horses seemed to be well-behaved, Franz also ventured closer.


    "The mare is for you," the man said of the grey horse. "Her name is Sowthistle. And my white horse is the brave stallion Gingerbread."


    As Franz took the mare''s reins, he noticed that the horses'' saddlebags were full to the brim. Everything suggested that the man had equipped them for a long journey. But what did Franz himself have to do with all this?


    Sowthistle mare whinnied briefly at her new host and tried to reach for Franz''s hand, as if to see if there was something tasty on offer. Franz stroked the horse''s neck reassuringly, feeling the warmth of the large animal under his palm.


    Questions were pouring inside his head like raindrops. Finally, Franz could no longer bear to be silent. "Who are you? Where are we going?" he demanded.


    The man''s answer was accompanied by an amused chuckle. "Later, later, my young friend. Now get some water so we can ride to the first stop," he said, pointing to the path that led from the meadow into the shade of the larger trees.Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    Franz found a canteen in Sowthistle''s saddlebag and gratefully took a big gulp. As he drank, the man had jumped on his horse, named Gingerbread, and was now sitting upright and alert in the saddle. Franz realised it was time to go and lifted his shoe to the stirrup.


    The effort must have looked clumsy, but Franz congratulated himself on getting on the horse at the first attempt. His only riding experience so far had been on the back of a mule from the Landez General Store, and the old drafter was certainly no racehorse. Still, he believed he could do it. After all, he was Franz Landez, born to survive.


    * * *


    Franz assumed that he had been on the horse for at least an hour. At first they had ridden slowly along the forest path, careful not to trip over the treacherous roots of the trees. Then the path had turned into a cart track and the man had picked up the pace.


    Franz had not been able to pinpoint their exact location. He was unfamiliar with the forest east of Paidos, but he guessed they were somewhere in its depths. If so, they had gone further underground than he had imagined. They were now well outside Paidos, and if Franz could interpret the direction from the glowing sun in the sky, they were heading away from the town.


    During the ride, the man had not stopped once, only occasionally slowing down as if to observe his surroundings. When they finally got onto the gravel road, the man urged his white stallion to run.


    They passed several houses and farms. Franz was now convinced that they were riding through the hamlets east of Paidos. The road was too narrow and badly maintained to be the major Southern Trade Route. So they had to be on a side road heading northeast.


    Was the man not planning to return to Paidos? Worry gripped Franz''s heart, but he quickly suppressed it. The Shadow Cross was lurking in Paidos, and anything would be better than being locked in the dungeon again.


    After riding a few more miles, the man pulled his stallion on the reins and beckoned Franz to ride beside him.


    "There''s time to ride and there''s time to rest. Now let us indulge ourselves in a drop of drink with a crumb of food," the moustached man said somewhat poetically, jumping down from the saddle. "Let''s get our brave horses out of the way. We don''t want the other wayfarers to take too much interest in us."


    What the man said made sense, despite his peculiar way of expressing it. Franz certainly did not want to be cross-examined by the shadow sentries riding past. Word of the escape would have spread by now, and search parties might well be on their way.


    He led Sowthistle behind the man''s horse into the middle of the bushes that lined the path. The horses began to eat the leaves from the trees, and Franz started to rummage his saddlebag. He was starving after days in captivity. Eventually, he found a paper wrapper that smelled like food. There were blood sausages inside, making his mouth water. Without bothering to check whether the sausages had been spoiled by the heat, Franz began to gobble them.


    It was only after he had devoured the entire package when Franz remembered that his travelling companion might have also wanted some. A glance in his direction, however, revealed that he was not interested in eating at the moment. He held a flute in his hands and was silently strumming it, moving his fingers over the holes as if practising a melody. At his feet lay an empty case, the one he had carried on his back all the way. And Franz had thought that it contained at least a rifle.


    Noticing his partner''s stare, the man raised his head and smiled kindly. "It''s a pity to be a musician without a tune, but I dare not play a single note until we are out of earshot of the shadow walkers," he said.


    Franz smiled vaguely because he could not think of a witty enough reply. It would probably be wisest to stick with the eccentric fellow for the time being. After all, he could always break away from him later and go his own way.


    The man put the flute back in its case. "Well, back on your horse, Franz Landez. Our overnight stop is a few miles down the road," he said cheerfully, leading Gingerbread back to the road.


    Franz followed on Sowthistle''s back because he had no choice. Perhaps there he would get the answers he needed.


    * * *


    The inn was a dingy grey building, slightly tilted, with a first floor made of stone and a second made of wood. It stood alone by the side of the road, far from the rest of the settlement. Franz found the place unattractive, but his companion had already made his choice.


    Leaving their horses in the care of the hunchbacked stableman, they entered the house where someone had painted the words ''Pale Wanderer'' in smeared letters on the front wall.


    Franz had not been to many inns, so he was not sure what to expect. The walls of the main hall were panelled with light wood, long since ruined by soot and dirt. Actually, filthiness was the dominant feature wherever you looked. The place was far from first class, and made no attempt to pretend otherwise.


    A dark-haired waitress sat on a high stool in front of the bar counter, tossing bits of food to a shaggy mutt spinning on her legs. Five or six older men were emptying pints at tables in the hall. Their heads turned curiously in the direction of the newcomers.


    Franz cursed in his mind as his companion waved his hand in a wide arc and greeted everyone loudly in unison. Was the man crazy or drunk? A moment ago on the road they had been avoiding attention, and now they suddenly had to announce their existence to everybody.


    The waitress wriggled lazily out of her chair, shoved the dog out of the way and, with a swift movement, swatted an old man''s hand away from her hips. As the girl approached, Franz found her attractive, which made one wonder what she was doing in a miserable shithole like the Pale Wanderer.


    The girl, who also worked as a porter, asked if the moustached man and Franz would be staying at the inn.


    "Just for one night, my heart''s desire, but for that time I will create a cheerful atmosphere in your establishment. Look, I am a musician - marvelous and invincible!" said the man, patting the flute on his back.


    She looked at him with one eyebrow raised and pursed her full lips. "Be what you are, but you pay the same price as everyone else. And you''ll pay for the boy, too," she said, measuring Franz with her gaze for a moment.


    A boy, she said! The waitress was no more than five years older than Franz and had the nerve to call him a boy. Franz straightened his back and crossed his hands defiantly.


    She raised her eyebrow irresistibly again, but Franz was not abashed. He was a man of the world and an adventurer, the kind of man who could not be fazed by a tavern wench.


    Then the man spoke again, now with a blissful smile on his face. "You may take my coins, but I''ll play and sing in the evening anyway."


    The girl rolled her eyes and met Franz''s gaze. He shook his head in response. His rescuer was indeed a madman, but undeniably a rather entertaining one.


    The man pulled out a couple of banknotes with the image of Emperor Saveir on them, which the girl verified against the light. Then she scurried behind the counter and returned with a key in a leather thong.


    "Your room is number four. Don''t expect any fancy amenities. The privy is at the end of the courtyard." Having said that, she went back to entertain the men emptying their pints in the hall.


    Franz watched as the girl''s hips swayed and her short skirt swung.


    "You''ll have time to woo her later," he said, turning the key in his hand.


    "Why would I?" Franz asked, annoyed that the man had noticed him watching.


    "Because all great adventurers have a strong tendency to charm women. And I don''t think I was wrong about you, Franz Landez."


    Franz looked around. "You could stop shouting my name. I don''t want to go back where we came from," he growled tightly.


    "I think you''re right, my dear comrade. How careless of me," the man said, slapping his forehead dramatically with his hand.


    Crazy, crazy, Franz thought, wondering if it would be best to announce that he would continue the journey alone the next morning.


    But the man calmed down and continued, whispering: "Caution is indeed called for, my young friend. This area is a solid Shadow Cross base."


    The words almost made Franz jump. "Then why did we come here?" he groaned.


    "Because a little excitement is always in order. We both like adventure, don''t we?" the man said, winking and tapping his moustache with his finger.


    Not just crazy, but completely insane. Franz did not say a word.


    "And there is another reason! I''m waiting for a message from an old friend. When we hear from him, we''ll be on our way again," the man added, leading Franz to the top floor of the inn.


    The room turned out to be just as barren as you might have expected. The wallpaper on the walls was yellowed with dampness, and the cobwebs in the corners had not been swept for years.


    Hopefully the spiders have eaten all the fleas and bedbugs, thought Franz as he sat down on the bed, which squeaked deafeningly.


    But nothing could dampen the good mood of the moustached man. With a casual whistle, he threw his long coat onto the bed and unbuckled his sword belt. The sword leaning against the bedpost looked sharp, and Franz wondered if the man really knew how to use it.


    Also the funny cap finally got to go. The lightness of the man''s neatly trimmed hair made Franz wonder. Was his new and unusual acquaintance not a Dimali after all?


    "I''m certainly going to play a song or two tonight," the man said to himself, tapping his flute.


    "Are you sure those down there want to listen?" Franz muttered half-heartedly.


    "Oh, absolutely. Even depraved souls crave the touch of art."


    The moustached man seemed so serious that Franz did not bother to question him. Instead, he asked: "Why did you save me? And how do you know my name?"


    The man''s eyes brightened and he became more serious, at least for a moment. "Answers, that''s what you need... I rescued you from prison because I will not abandon an innocent man. No great adventurer would. Unfortunately, I can''t help everyone, but I decided to save you."


    "Why me?"


    "I have heard things about you," he said. "Some from a friend of your mother''s, some from a market vendor, and the rest from a recruiter in the Imperial Army whom I helped escape from the Shadow Cross. He told me a story of an adventurous youth who had been captured by the Shadow Cross even though he was innocent. Your poor mother was so sad about your fate, and the recruiter mentioned you as an example of the kind of zeal he missed in his recruits. I was curious to see what this Franz-boy was like. Since I had my business in Paidos sorted out anyway, I decided that by releasing you I could teach the Shadow Cross a lesson. I guess I succeeded."


    He finished with a broad grin, which Franz joined. So the people of Paidos had not failed to notice his thirst for adventure. Still, something seemed wrong. The man had only saved him out of the goodness of his heart. It sounded very strange, but Franz decided to swallow the explanation as it was. There would be time to think about it later.


    "You seem to know a lot about me, but I don''t know anything about you. Who are you?"


    The question did not stun the man, but he ran a finger along his moustache and smiled enigmatically. "I am an incomparable player, an absolute adventurer. A veteran of a thousand roads, a knight of perilous paths."


    "None of this chatter tells me anything."


    "All in good time, my impatient young friend. Today we shall not worry about anything. Perhaps it is time to eat. I suppose dinner is served even in a hovel like this. And tonight I''ll play in the hall, I promised the girl. The one you were watching so closely," he said, winking at Franz.


    Franz rolled his head. The man was strange but friendly.


    Actually, it was not so bad to see where this path would lead. Finally, there was a chance to explore at least a bit of the world outside Paidos. So the best thing to do was to relax and enjoy what lay ahead. Franz chuckled contentedly and followed the man back to the ground floor.


    * * *


    Franz ate in silence at a small round table in the corner of the inn''s dining room. The food the girl had brought was neither bad nor good, but rather bland. Still hungry from his time in prison, Franz devoured his plate and asked for more.


    The moustached man had already finished his meal and gone to the outhouse. He had asked Franz to remain at the table, so Franz had naturally thought of running away. That was unlikely to succeed: even if he could somehow get Sowthistle out of the stable, the man would catch him.


    After giving up the idea of escaping, Franz had concentrated on his food, quietly watching the others in the hall. The girl was polishing dishes behind the bar counter, occasionally casting bored glances around the room. The men sat at tables with their wine glasses and beer tankards in front of them. There were four of them at that moment, all looking more or less like heavy drinkers. There was a slow conversation going on between them. It consisted mostly of gruff grunts.


    None of the four looked the least bit dangerous. But could they have handed Franz to the Shadow Cross for a bottle of wine without blinking? Surely. That''s why Franz kept his eyes on the door, waiting for the shadow sentries to march in at any moment.


    However, only the moustached man entered the hall. He walked casually up to the bar and ordered. It was not long before a mug of mulled wine was in front of Franz. "If you''re old enough to be an adventurer, you''re old enough to drink," the man said with a smile, and Franz found himself liking his companion a little more.


    The afternoon slowly turned to evening as they sat in the hall of the inn. The man chatted about everything between heaven and earth.


    Franz learned the tricks a swordsman used to win a duel, how to fool bandits, and how to catch a hare with your bare hands. The stories were vivid and told as if the man had experienced them himself. Franz did not quite believe it, but he had always enjoyed listening to entertaining stories. The kind that dealt with the unknown wonders of the Inhabited World that an ordinary city boy could only dream of seeing.


    As time went on, more people arrived at the Pale Wanderer. A cheerful group of farm workers returning from the fields filled a large table. Laughing heartily, they ordered drinks from the girl who was assisted by a waitress boy slightly younger than Franz.


    The moustached man was not disturbed, although as the hall filled up, a couple of already tipsy ranchers sat down at the same table. On the contrary, Franz''s travelling companion seemed delighted to have more listeners and began to concoct an implausible tale of a perilous escape from the clutches of murderers. The man was completely captivated by his own voice and did not notice as Franz sneaked away from the table and pushed his way out of the hall, dodging the noisy customers.


    As he left, he glanced over his shoulder at the waitress and was surprised to see her looking back at him. For a moment, Franz wondered if he should follow the man''s advice and start seducing the girl. But a tired yawn that escaped his lips soon changed his mind and he climbed up the stairs to bed. It had been a long and eventful day, which left the fledgling adventurer feeling exhausted.


    * * *


    Franz thought he had only just fallen asleep when there was a gentle knock at the door. Baffled and irritated by the disturbance, Franz cleared his throat. There was no answer, but the door opened. He was surprised to see the waitress pushing her way through the doorway. Sleep quickly slipped from his eyes.


    "I came to check that you''re alright," she said with a smile, raising an eyebrow in a way that Franz found increasingly tempting.


    What does she really want? Franz tried to clear his sleep-addled head. "Is the service always this good here?" he chaffed to gain time.


    "No, I only serve great adventurers this well," she said playfully, letting her eyes wander over Franz from head to toe.


    "Uh-huh," the boy gasped, feeling his cheeks heat up.


    "What shall it be?" she squeaked, putting a finger to her lips.


    Franz could answer nothing. He knew his face was flaming red and he felt a strong urge in his groin.


    The tavern girl had clearly seen the effect of her words and took a step closer. "Maybe I''ll show you," she said, and in a moment she was in Franz''s arms.


    After that, it was all a blur.


    *SOME PARAGRAPHS REMOVED*


    * * *


    When it was all over and the girl was dressed, Franz felt on top of the world. "Do you have to go already?" he asked.


    "The customers are waiting," the girl said, as she tied her dress.


    "Maybe you''ll come back?" Franz said, letting his hope shine through.


    "Maybe. It depends a bit..." the girl began vaguely.


    "Depends on what?"


    "On how much more your companion is prepared to pay me."


    "Pay..." Franz repeated, realising at the same time what she had meant. It was as if all feeling had died inside him for a moment.


    She must have noticed the frozen look on Franz''s face, because she said: "You didn''t... you didn''t think I would just... for free..."


    The words stabbed Franz in the heart. "Get out of here!" he roared and threw a pillow at her without hitting her.


    A look of regret had crossed the girl''s face, but neither that nor her apology had any effect on Franz.


    As she slipped out the door into the corridor, Franz remained naked on the bed. A thousand different emotions buzzed around his heavy head, which he buried in a pillow he had picked up from the floor.


    Franz felt betrayed. The moustached man had sensed his inexperience and his insatiable desire for the tavern girl. He had done Franz a favour without asking - at once humiliating and the best possible.


    He had lost his virginity. Albeit to a prostitute whose name he had not even bothered to ask. It was hard to be both angry and elated at the same time. So Franz decided to choose the latter, at least until he saw the moustached man again.


    * * *

 Chapter 23

    Josel


    A nudge to his side forced Josel to wake-up. "What?" Josel grunted and turned to look at Zdain, though the darkness made it difficult to see him.


    "The goblin! It''s alive," the boy said in a hoarse voice, coughing.


    Despite fatigue, thirst and hunger, a glimmer of excitement made Josel''s heart race. At the same moment, a small moan came from behind the bars. Josel crawled forward towards the sound. The creature moaned again, and from the darkness he could make out the goblin''s white hair.


    "Can you hear me? Don''t be afraid," Josel said, putting his mouth close to the bars. His throat was so dry with thirst that it hurt to speak.


    The goblin made a sound that sounded like a sob.


    Only now did Josel notice that the goblin was not lying on the floor, but sitting with its head hanging down.


    Ignoring his sore throat, Josel spoke: "We are prisoners, like you. I am Josel and this is Zdain. Do not be afraid." He tried to keep his voice comforting, but he was not sure he could. At least the goblin did not moan anymore.


    Despite his injuries, Zdain also dragged himself closer. Josel was worried about the boy''s condition. Monteilon desperately needed care, but unskilled and in the middle of a dark cell, Josel had no means of helping him.


    Feeling guilty, Josel focused his attention back to the goblin. "This is the cellar. We''re on the other side of the bars. What''s your name?"


    Whether the goblin understood the words or not, it raised its head. "Plinkinenkak, Qo-Xakinenkaiu Qo-Likkimeiu Plinkinenkak," the goblin said in a shrill voice.


    "What did you say?" Josel asked with astonishment.


    "That means Plinkinenkak Xakinenkai''s and Likkimei''s daughter Plinkinenkak," the creature pronounced in clear common language.


    "Plinkinenkak?" Josel double-checked.


    "Yes. Plinkinenkak from the southern land of Qoi-Tenque." The goblin was now staring directly at Josel from the darkness.


    "Why are you here in the realm of humans?" Josel asked.


    "Humans..." Plinkinenkak began, but immediately snapped back in a huff: "I''m not a goblin!"


    "You''re not?" Josel repeated without understanding.


    "Just because a woman is small does not make her a goblin," a sour voice said from the darkness.


    "How then...", Josel started, but was immediately interrupted.


    "Because I''m a little person, a midget, a dwarf, a runt ¨C whatever you want to call me! And a dark-skinned Southerner whose hair was dyed white by an asshole slave trader. Then I must inevitably be a fairytale goblin. That''s fine with you, you can pretend that the ugly dwarf isn''t a human, but a different species. It''s probably amusing to you morons. You have found a creature you can take to the circus and laugh and point your fingers at it. Whatever. Just sneer, roar and guffaw! We''re going to die here, so in the last moments of my life, I''m happy to hear laughter."


    Josel did not know what to say. "Sorry," he mumbled, embarrassed.


    "Do you think I care about your apology?"


    "How do I know?"


    "I don''t care. I don''t care if you shove your apologies where the sun doesn¡¯t shine. Haha!"


    The tiny woman''s words and her mocking horse laugh infuriated Josel. "I saw you at the market with the slave trader and I would have helped you if I could. But since you''re such a bastard, I''m glad I didn''t."


    Silence fell in the basement. Soon, the woman shook her head, in a way that made her white hair shimmer for a moment. "So, you were at the market. In that case, you must have felt sorry for the little goblin being beaten by the slaver. Just as you would have pitied a puppy. Should I be grateful that you consider me worthy of a smelly animal?"


    The words dripped with derision. That made a thirsty, hungry and tired Josel even angrier. So he did not mince his words either. "I was wrong. Just because you''re the size of a puppy and bark like a dog doesn''t mean you''re worth half as much."


    Unexpectedly, the stranger let out a long, high-pitched laugh. Zdain hissed also in surprise, and Josel did not know what to think. Had she gone mad?


    Then the little woman spoke again: "You have guts! For once, someone knows how to respond in kind. I think I''ll take back what I said about your apology after all."


    "Do you think I care about your refusals?" Josel said, letting the amusement be heard in his voice. It made the woman giggle again.


    "Okay, so I''m Plinkinenkak. You can shorten it to Plink, since you Dimalis can''t pronounce the long names of the South."


    "I''m Josel and..."


    "Dakaassu Zdain, lunkenpkeenk... plinetaak", Monteilon said in a foreign language - a bit tacky, but still.


    "Vat hakeentaa!" the woman replied, delighted at the darkness. "Lunkenpkeenk plinetaak, Zdain. Kos nak otkoon plantaak neetaat?"


    "Feeren ketenkuu", Zdain said, to which Plinkinenkak commented in common language: "Oh, that a friend taught you? Really?"


    Josel interrupted and asked Zdain: "From whom did you learn their language?"


    "That''s my own business."


    The answer was surprisingly rude, and Josel had to grit his teeth to keep from snapping something offensive back.


    Fortunately, Plinkinenkak''s question saved the situation. "Tell me, who are you and how old are you?"


    Josel began: "I''m sixteen years old, and Zdain is probably..."


    "I''m the sa-same," Zdain tried to say, but most of it was buried in ragged coughs.


    "He sounds ill," Plinkinenkak said.


    "They beat him up badly," Josel said as Zdain gasped in pain. It was miserable to listen to.


    "I was also beaten up by those motherfuckers. I guess they were disappointed that I wasn''t the goblin from legends. Then they threw me in here to die," Plinkinenkak said. "The bitch smells funny. It''s like there''s something seriously wrong with that woman. I have a good sense of smell. And sharp eyes and ears. I guess that''s compensation for being short, haw, haw!"


    Josel told Plinkinenkak about the woman upstairs and the fact that the real mistress of the house was hanging dead on the cellar wall. He did not say why they had come to Marta''s house or what they had talked about, but he mentioned the attempt to leave in the night, their capture and the assault on Zdain. Plinkinenkak interjected with a few laughs and indignant grunts.The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    "How old are you?" Josel asked next.


    "People think I''m ten because of my size, but to the surprise of many, I''m twenty-six. It''s sometimes hard to prove it when you feel like ordering something stronger in a wine house. But for me, wine is the best liquid for messing up my head. The advantage of being small is that you don''t have to drink much to be in a good mood, haha!"


    Josel rolled his eyes in the dark. He was not used to hearing that from a woman.


    Plinkinenkak was not finished yet. "Sixteen¡­so you are wet behind the ears. Can you even drink? Beardless youngsters rarely do. I do, by the way."


    "Are you growing a beard then?" Josel tried to be funny.


    "Lucky me, my jaw is bare. Girls in this country seem to have more problems with excessive hair growth than we do in Southlands. Too bad, I''ve never had a white girl."


    "Had a girl?" Josel repeated, quite thunderstruck.


    "Yes," Plinkinenkak said. "What''s the big deal? Oh, you northerners have strange ideals about sexual intercourse. In the South, we don''t look at gender when we''re surprised by lust. You miss a lot."


    Josel did not bother to pursue the subject, but asked: "Does everyone in Southlands talk so dirty? "


    "At least the younger ones, though sometimes I''m too chaste. I come from a good family," Plinkinenkak confessed with a chuckle.


    It took an hour, maybe another. Josel tried to kill time by asking Plinkinenkak about her homeland and how she had travelled across the sea to Ipalos. The small woman spoke at length about the wonders of Southlands, which Josel had only read about in books. Everything seemed different in the South: the forests were dense jungles, the air was so hot and humid in both summer and winter that the heat was stifling, and many animals were so strange that it was hard to believe they existed.


    "How did you get caught by the slaver?" Josel asked.


    Plinkinenkak smiled and began to tell. "Quite a common situation. The parents are well-off and the daughter would have enough money, soft bedding and glittering jewellery. But the girl wants something else. She wants to see the world outside her own backyard. So, I said goodbye to my family. Or rather, I ran away and took a boat across the sea to Andiol. I had a few months to wander around before that devil Burh snatched me up and brought me like a freak of nature to be gawked at by the market folk."


    "Did the slave trader really think you were a goblin?" Josel wondered.


    Plinkinenkak snorted. "That swine would think a perch was a toad if someone bought it as one. But this time he decided to fool his audience. That''s why my hair is smeared white. From what I have learned about Isaak Burh, he is the greediest, most savage male creature in the world. I really don''t want to see that bastard again. Or if I meet him, I''ll kill him, hehe." The woman laughed harshly and then fell silent.


    But Josel did not want to give up so easily. "Do goblins really exist?"


    "How do I know? I haven''t bothered to find out. I''ve heard enough about the fucking goblins in the last few days," Plinkinenkak said, and Josel knew it was not wise to ask more.


    * * *


    The hours crept by. Josel chatted with Plinkinenkak from time to time, but nothing very interesting came out of her. He was puzzled by a little Southerner who talked about weird things but spoke the common language of the North surprisingly well. As if something did not add up.


    As fascinated as he was by Plinkinenkak, Josel was more concerned about Zdain. The boy had taken no part in the conversation at all since the beginning. He just huddled on the floor of the cell without saying or doing anything. Only the occasional croaky coughs told him that Zdain was awake.


    "Are you okay?" Josel whispered, touching the boy''s sleeve.


    "No," came the choked reply, but Josel could do nothing to help.


    He hoped that Monteilon had not lost his will to fight. Watching the beating had been horrifying; then Josel had feared that Fake Marta and her henchmen would kill Zdain. But they had not, and that kept hope alive. Perhaps they were being kept alive for some purpose.


    They sat in silence until Plinkinenkak''s voice was heard again from the other side of the bars: "We have to get you out of here. This cellar is no place for little boys."


    "I''m not a little..."


    "Yeah, right! Do you want to get out of here, little boy?"


    "Of course I do, but you know as well as I do how impossible that is."


    "Nothing is impossible for Plink," the woman boasted, then asked: "Do you have anything sharp? A metal spike or something?"


    "What are you doing with that?" Josel muttered, but she made no reply. After a moment''s thought, he said: "How about a belt buckle, it''s got a spike in it?"


    After Josel had handed his belt to Plinkinenkak, there was a faint rattling and grunting from the other side of the bars.


    "This lock is easy, but I usually have better tools," Plinkinenkak said as she fiddled with the shackle attached to her leg.


    As she continued to pick the lock, Josel held his breath, hoping. This was their only chance. Their captors would not release their prisoners, as the rotting corpse of the real mistress of the house proved.


    "Ha!" Plinkinenkak suddenly squealed in triumph and jumped up, letting the chain hit the floor. Now free, she moved to the cell door and began to rattle the lock. Only now Josel realised how small Plinkinenkak was: certainly not much more than four feet.


    "Rusty... still... not... phew... about... no," the woman huffed, shaking her white-haired head.


    After that, nothing much happened for a while. There were muffled clangs as Plinkinenkak turned a metal spike inside the lockcase. Time passed and Josel began to fear that she would not be able to open the lock. He realised he had not thought about escape beyond getting the locks open. Was the door at the top of the stairs also locked? And what was behind it? Would they step through the door into the arms of Fake Marta and her underlings?


    Then Plinkinenkak let out a barking laugh and pulled open the barred door. Josel gasped with excitement and rose from the floor so fast that his head was spinning.


    "Out of the cell. Help your friend!" Plinkinenkak whispered.


    Josel leaned towards Zdain. "Hey Monteilon, let''s go. Let''s get out of this creepy cellar," he said, shaking the boy lying on the ground.


    Zdain coughed and tried to get up, but could not.


    Josel took the boy''s hand to lift him up. The touch made Josel flinch. Zdain''s skin felt burning hot.


    "You have a fever," Josel said worriedly, still feeling Zdain''s forehead.


    Plinkinenkak was waiting at the cell door, tapping her foot impatiently on the stone floor.


    Josel yanked Zdain up by his armpits and pulled him to his feet. The effort was enough to take his legs out from under him, and he had to lean on the bars for support. Luckily, Zdain stumbled to his feet and Josel half led, half dragged him out of the cell door.


    "We''ll never get past the guards," Josel said to Plinkinenkak.


    "You''re right. That''s why we''ll break the window," the woman replied, pointing to the opening in the back wall of the cellar that let light in.


    The window was high up, almost at the roofline. Josel had no idea how they could break it. With Plinkinenkak ahead of him, Josel groped his way through the darkness towards the back wall of the cellar. Zdain seemed almost unconscious, and had to be supported at every step.


    The pale light from the window was not enough to illuminate Plinkinenkak''s face. As close as she stood to Josel, only the white glow of her hair could be distinguished. Zdain leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. It was clear that he would not last long on his feet.


    Fortunately, Plinkinenkak was quick to explain how they should proceed. "All right, you brats. This is how it''s going to work: you lift me up so I can break the window. Then we''ll help each other out of this fucking trap."


    "How are you going to break the window with?" Josel asked.


    "With these chains, so let''s get to work! You have to lift me, Josel-boy, if you can with those bony arms."


    "My arms aren''t bony!"


    "Lift me up, don''t argue," Plinkinenkak commanded.


    "Keep your mouth shut and I''ll lift."


    "No, you can lift better when you''re angry. Get to work, you scrawny kid!"


    Without answering, Josel bent down, grabbed Plinkinenkak by the waist and began to push her up the wall towards the window. The woman would get a verbal thrashing in retaliation for her foul language, Josel decided. But only when they were safe and far enough away from Marta''s house.


    Lifting Plinkinenkak was more difficult than Josel had first thought. The time in the cellar without food or water had sapped his strength, and the position was not the best either.


    "Higher!" Plinkinenkak rushed.


    Josel tried and managed to push the woman a little closer to the window. They could not give up, they had to keep going. Maybe together they could make it. "Monteilon! Come and help!"


    "Why?" Zdain asked in a very weak voice.


    "If you want to get out of here, come."


    It helped that Zdain grabbed Plinkinenkak by one leg. When they pushed together, the woman rose higher. Judging by the painful grunts, the effort was hurting Zdain.


    If only Monteilon could hold on a little longer, Josel hoped, and told the boy to push as hard as he could. Soon Plinkinenkak shouted that she was high enough. Josel heard her above him, banging furiously on the window with the chains. The glass shattered almost instantly, splinters falling to the basement floor.


    Josel tried to keep his grip firm, though his hands were shaking with fatigue. Monteilon gasped for breath and had the shivers, but he did not loosen his grip.


    Plinkinenkak whispered something in her own language. Perhaps something encouraging. A light breeze of fresh air told Josel that the route did indeed lead outside, and not into other parts of the house. That gave him the strength to hang on.


    When Josel was sure that they could not hold Plinkinenkak up any longer, the weight on his arms suddenly eased. The woman had cleared the window opening of sharp glass shards and was now climbing through the frame into the open air.


    "Chop-chop!" Plinkinenkak called out and crawled out of the window.


    With a hoarse cough, Zdain slumped against the wall. It was impossible to imagine him supporting anyone with his arms. Thus Josel decided to let Plinkinenkak pull Zdain by the arms, while he himself would push him by the legs. But he did not even have time to hurry Zdain before it was too late.


    * * *

 Chapter 24

    Josel


    The cellar door clicked open. Josel''s eyes, used to darkness, were blinded by the light.


    "What the fuck!" Lurk shouted, his voice squeaking with emotion.


    "The little rat has escaped! Toma!" Josel heard Fake Marta screeching in the distance.


    Lurk was on them quickly. The hunchback swung his cane wildly as Josel did his best to defend himself and dodge the blows. The cane struck painfully at least in the shoulder, side and back. Zdain was even clumsier at dodging and soon fell to the stony floor, whimpering miserably.


    For a moment, Josel imagined that Lurk would beat them to death, but then, Fake Marta''s scream rang out in the cellar. "Enough!" she ordered.


    Lurk abruptly stopped pounding. The man''s disgusted face showed anger and disappointment in the lantern light.


    "You will suffer," Lurk whispered, gritting his rotten teeth. His foul-smelling breath made Josel sick.


    The woman hurried her assistant away and looked at her prisoners. She pointed to Zdain, still lying curled up on the floor, and ordered Josel: "Pick up your friend."


    Josel had no choice but to pull Zdain up, even though the boy seemed to be almost at his last gasp. Wobbly Zdain remained standing next to Josel. The light allowed Josel to see his comrade''s face after a long time. Lurk''s stick had made a wound in Zdain''s temple, which was now oozing blood. His eyes were open, but his gaze was glazed and feverish.


    The woman who called herself Marta said: "If we had come a little later, you would be rejoicing under the starry sky of Ipalos. But you were too slow and missed your last chance." She sneered, a malicious look on her face. "I''d love to hear how you managed to get this far?"


    "If they don''t remember, I can refresh their memory," Lurk squeaked, brandishing the now-familiar torture device in his hand.


    "The goblin opened the locks," Josel said quickly.


    Fake Marta looked at Josel mockingly. "Blah, that gnat has nothing to do with goblins. You''re as stupid as the Lurk, who thought he was bringing me a precious gift from the market, but instead brought me a filthy dwarf." With that, the woman looked scornfully at Lurk, who crouched before his mistress with a servile expression on his ugly face.


    Soon Fake Marta spoke again: "Let the dwarf try, but it will be in vain. Toma will catch the little rat. And then..." She sliced through the air with her index finger and smacked her lips.


    Josel could only hope that Plinkinenkak could run faster than her stubby legs suggested. He and Zdain, however, had no hope.


    Lurk shined them with his lantern. "The beautiful brown-haired boy looks weak," he said, twisting his mouth into a nasty, teeth baring grimace. "Will Your Mighty Greatness allow me to enjoy him while you tell them your business? If he struggles, I''ll find a way."


    A cold sweat ran down Josel''s back as Lurk pulled a pair of scissors from the stash in his dirty robe and used them to cut the air.


    Lurk took a step towards the boys. Scissors in hand and wheezing breath, he continued his sickening rant. "The blond cutie will be drooling next to me as I take his friend''s cherry." A snort, vaguely reminiscent of laughter, escaped the man''s throat.


    Zdain retched loudly and almost fell on Josel as they stumbled backwards. Too soon, their backs were against the wall.


    Lurk approached, waving his scissors and pushing his ugly face forward. Josel now smelled the stench of the man''s breath. The scissors came closer. Josel decided to fight back, he was not going to surrender to these assholes.


    Then the woman''s voice cut through the air. "Lurk, away! You don''t deserve any prize. You tried to trick me with that so-called goblin."


    Lurk''s face fell. He glared at the boys and retreated with a hiss.


    Fake Marta turned her attention back to the prisoners. "You must remember Marta," she said, turning her lantern so that the corpse hanging in the corner was obscured by the light. "You see the shapeless body, of course. You can''t tell from that what Marta looked like when she was alive. But I can show you. Turn this way, you scoundrels."


    The woman lifted the lantern to her face. She began to smile. "Look at me carefully. Marta looked exactly like me. Can you believe it?" A disgusted chuckle escaped Fake Marta''s lips.


    In his tired head, Josel could not understand what she meant.


    "You don''t get it, you worthless scum. Hehe, only few people do until it''s too late. That moment of horrified surprise is probably what I enjoyed the most. So watch!" the woman said, bending down to put the lantern on the floor.


    Nothing happened for a moment. Then the woman started to look strange. Her cheeks narrowed and bulged, as if she had sucked in air and blown it out. Woman''s whole face melted away. One by one, her features were erased.


    Josel gulped, not in astonishment but in sheer horror. Yet he could not take his eyes off the woman who was no longer human.


    Marta''s yellow dress ripped off her. Underneath it was not the woman''s body, but a yellowish, slime-covered torso. Legs and arms lengthened before Josel''s eyes from human limbs into something else entirely. Unnaturally long fingers, dripping with yellow slime, grasped the air. The creature''s waxy face also began to take shape. Two nostrils opened where the nose had been, and the mouth revealed a row of dagger-like teeth. Dark pits spread out above the nostrils, revealing a pair of bulging yellow eyes. The monster''s posture bent into a crouch, and it let out a frog-like croak.


    Josel shouted loudly. He had encountered such a creature before, in the pages of the Troubadour Kharl books. It was a snagost, one of the most disgusting beasts in horror stories.


    Horror stories, not real life. Witchcraft - this is bloody witchcraft! Josel was not able to think clearly. A faint groan escaped Zdain''s mouth.


    Now the snagost''s features began to melt. The slime peeled away from the snout, the razor teeth disappeared, the nostrils became a nose, the forehead straightened and hair appeared on the head. The snagost''s body remained the same, but its face was now manlike. Josel realised he was staring into Toma''s eyes.


    "You hardly knew this was coming," Toma''s face said in his honky voice.


    Josel''s teeth were chattering. "W-w-what are you?" he stammered at the creature that had the body of a monster, but a human head.


    "I suppose I could tell you; couldn''t I Lurk... Lurk, don''t look so scared," Toma''s voice croaked as the snagost''s hand, dripping with slime, reached for the man who stood a safe distance away.


    "Your Greatness!" Lurk gasped. "By being afraid, I show my respect for you."


    "I like that," Toma''s mouth replied. "Let''s get back to me - us, to be precise. I am everyone, but still no one. I can be Marta Donthav, a slimy snagost or Toma. Sometimes I do better, sometimes worse. What do you think, Josel, was I a believable Marta?"


    Josel hesitated, not daring to say anything.


    "Answer me!"


    "Yes," Josel finally managed to croak.


    "I thought so, my performance went down well with you. Your friend seemed to be more suspicious. At least from what I overheard of the conversation in your room. Marta''s husband wisely installed sound-transmitting pipes in his guest room. It''s a pity I never met him. I would have loved to surprise the lady of the house by pretending to be her late husband," the Toma-faced creature said with a smile. "But now we are getting off topic. Who am I? Many will hear the answer to that question before they die. As if in exchange for the fact that the death I offer is never easy, or at least never painless. Fair enough, right?"


    It gave Josel the shudders.


    Toma''s face continued to tell the story, now in a deep voice and in a narrative tone: "Ni-gaalsdaa, shapeless, the Southerners say of us. Faceless is the word in your language. We have existed since the beginning of time, long before man. We have seen human empires fall and rise. Yet we are not mentioned in the old stories. If only because we prefer to operate in the shadows. I have personally destroyed many sources that could have threatened my species. It is hard work. Often it is not enough to murder a historian or shred his manuscript, but to burn libraries and slaughter entire families that have spread the story of the Faceless. On the other hand, there are not many of us left. Some of us made a mistake and sought power. They fell with their allies. It is foolish, for we can be killed, even if we are not otherwise mere mortals. Lurk knows this, but he dares not try. He is a coward, and he knows that killing me would be useless. Without me, Lurk would be nothing more than a very ugly and insignificant servant of the Darkness. Isn''t that so, Lurk?"


    The man nodded vigorously in agreement, but took a step back from the Faceless.


    The Toma-faced creature watched Lurk''s truckling with a smile. "I have chosen a different path from my fellow species. I don''t seek fame or glory, but I do get involved in politics from time to time. Right now, I''m keen to stick my nose into the Blue Moon''s affairs. Getting Marta out of the way was therefore a fun little task. At the same time, I was able to pursue my main hobby. Do you know what that is? Aaahh, of course, hurting, murdering, butchering... and eating people."Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    "Hahaha," Faceless laughed at its own words. "Don''t look so pale. Once you''ve tasted human blood, you never want to give up the pleasure. I have thousands of years of experience with it. Too bad I don''t have time to teach you how to enjoy murder. Or would I spare one of you? Perhaps I''ll let you choose, Josel, which of you will die. Your little friend or you? Many mothers have begged me to kill herself to save her child. I will never grant such wishes."


    The creature took a step closer with its snagost legs. Toma''s jaws opened into a huge red abyss, revealing a row of milk-white fangs. They bulged out of the maw, upper and lower teeth completely tangled and intertwined.


    Josel''s throat felt tight. It was a terrible nightmare with no way out. Zdain grabbed Josel''s shoulder and grunted something very indistinct.


    Teeth gnashed against each other as the beast gasped for air in front of Josel and Zdain''s faces. Saliva oozed from between the needle-sharp teeth and a deep growl came from somewhere in the recesses of the monster''s throat.


    The boys backed up against a stone wall. "No, no, no!" Josel heard his own voice scream. He clung to Zdain, hoping for a miracle to save him.


    However, Faceless was not yet willing to finish off its prisoners. Suddenly, it backed away and began another transformation. The snagost''s limbs landed on the ground and became the paws of an animal.


    In an instant, the creature dropped to all fours. Brown hair began to grow on its skin, and a whip-like tail protruded from its tip.


    Brown fur covered the animal''s neck and head, from which two erect dog ears emerged. Nevertheless, the creature''s face did not stretch into a snout, but Josel witnessed how Toma''s fanged face was replaced by another human face, like an unnatural mask on a dog. It was a slender female face, almost pale white, with a malevolent expression.


    The pretty rosy red mouth twisted into a wicked smile when Faceless spoke again: "Marta was hanging on the wall by her chains and was still alive until I tore open her belly and gutted her. She died because she had become useless to me. She knew relatively little about the Blue Moon and began to repeat herself badly during interrogations. For example, information about the location of the Blue Moon headquarters had not been confided to Marta. At least I got some of the confidants killed, such as baker Mommes. Similar deaths have recently occurred in other towns in South Andiol."


    Faceless'' laughter echoed metallically. "Of course, the Blue Moon was not idle when it saw its members dying like flies. Two scouts were sent here in the three weeks I have been appearing as Marta. Both of them tasted delicious! The Blue Moon has suffered its worst setback in decades. I have untied a knot that will probably be hard to fix. Much of the credit goes to Toma, who betrayed his mistress to the Darkness. It was funny to watch Marta''s shock when she realised her beloved servant was a fallen, wandering deep in the Darkness."


    "As for you two, I''m running out of patience. I want to hear all about your connections to the Blue Moon and the whereabouts of your parents. Let young Sandkan begin, or I''ll have to beat Zdain to death in front of you."


    The will to fight had completely vanished from Josel. He decided to speak. "My father was going to help the Monteilons to Five Hills and meet us here at Marta''s. I don''t know the location of the Blue Moon headquarters, and neither does Zdain."


    Faceless smiled. "Five Hills. Yes, of course. Still, I''m sure Zdain knows more. And now that information is being beaten out of him. Lurk!"


    The vile man was ready to obey. He stepped towards the boys, weapon raised. Josel quickly pulled Zdain behind his back, putting himself between his cellmate and Lurk.


    "Don''t touch him. You''ll see how sick he is," Josel pleaded, trying to conjure defiance in his tired voice.


    "How amusing it is when a human defends another. Yet so pointless," Faceless said, smiling mockingly.


    That was all Faceless had time to say before the door at the top of the stairs slammed open and Toma stumbled in. "Your Greatness, intruders! They''re attacking the house," Toma panted, trying to catch his breath.


    A frustrated cry escaped Faceless'' throat. "Lead the way! Lurk, keep watch!" it shouted and - still in the form of a dog - sprinted up the stairs and out of the cellar ahead of Toma.


    What intruders? Josel stared at Lurk as he feverishly tried to think of the various possibilities, the last ones they had left.


    "I know what you''re thinking, blond sweetheart. That you could beat old Lurk. There you are grossly mistaken," the man pointed out in a squeaky voice. "The Greatness did not forbid me to touch you. Now I''ll do what I like. You dirty boy will be the first. You may sing all your little secrets while Uncle Lurk takes you hard. Come here!"


    Lurk raised his weapon. Josel tried to dodge, but tripped and fell to the floor. Lurk struck with his weapon, but instead of Josel, he accidentally hit the standing Zdain in the side. A blue light flashed, Monteilon let out a heart-rending cry.


    It confused Lurk for a moment. Josel reached for the lantern Marta had left on the floor. Then he leapt up and swung the lantern at Lurk. The shards of glass cut the man''s face and the spilled lamp oil burst into flames. Lurk howled and began to wipe his burning head with his sleeve.


    Josel did not stay to watch the man''s agonising struggle against the fire. He took hold of Zdain, who was lying unconscious on the floor.


    Lurk screamed. He tried to fight the flames, but could do nothing to stop the boys from escaping. With what strength he had left, Josel dragged Zdain up the basement steps. Not knowing what to expect, he pushed open the kitchen door.


    The room was empty. The stale air in the kitchen smelled heavenly after the stinking cellar and Josel drew it into his lungs with gusto. He laid the unconscious Zdain on the floor and quickly bolted the cellar door behind them.


    There would be no more danger from Lurk, but Faceless and its other henchmen were prowling somewhere in the house. We should leave right away, but first...


    Josel looked around, squinting his eyes. There was a jug on the table! Without further ado, he grasped the jug and tilted it to his lips. Wine! Josel took a greedy sip, then another. Had anything ever tasted better?


    He would have emptied the whole jug had he not remembered Zdain. It would have been wiser to flee immediately, but Monteilon had to drink too. After all they had been through, Josel owed it to Zdain. Josel bent down beside his companion and saw how weak he looked. The boy''s face was grey and bloodstained, his lips were chapped and he was breathing very faintly.


    Surely he was not going to die? Not after all this! Josel hastily tipped the wine jug and tried to pour the liquid as gently as possible into Zdain''s mouth. Most of the wine, however, trickled down the sides of his mouth and onto the floor and chest.


    Oh, if only Zdain had opened his eyes just a little. Or screamed, been angry, done something!


    It did not happen, so Josel did not dare force the boy to wake up. He stood up and listened. It was very quiet. Which way should they go? There were two doors leading out of the kitchen, but no windows. One door would lead into the hall, the other somewhere at the back of the house. Was there a second way out of the house? It was not worth counting on it. The only sensible choice was to take an extreme risk and try the main door.


    Josel bent down to lift Zdain up. Monteilon was in urgent need of care, and Josel had no idea how he would manage to carry him outside the house. Just lifting him felt almost impossible, even though the slim boy could not have been very heavy.


    After gaining some grip on Zdain, Josel began to stumble towards the door. There was no sound from the other side, so he ventured to open the door. The dining area behind the kitchen was deserted and dim. The dark view from the windows told him that it was night outside.


    Could he open or break the windows? Breathing heavily, Josel dragged Zdain further into the room. There was no knob, no pull or other lever to open the windows. Time would soon be running out, Josel felt it at the back of his mind.


    Light shone from under the door in the hallway. Would Faceless, Toma or the other fallen ones be standing guard? Josel was too tired to reconsider. With Zdain in his arms, he took a few faltering steps towards the door.


    At the same time, a few quick footsteps came from behind it. Josel''s heart leapt into his throat. He looked around: there was nowhere to hide. There was no escape, all was lost.


    The door swung open with force. Neither Faceless, nor Toma, nor either of the big men rushed in. A man Josel knew from before darted into the room, a bloody sword in his hand and a murderous look on his face. It was Marl.


    Marl stopped in his tracks when he saw who was in the room. "I found the boys," he called over his shoulder, lowering his sword. Josel was completely stunned, unable to say or do anything. Would Marl kill them on the spot? Was he one of Faceless'' many henchmen? Josel was no match for the big man, he knew that.


    But Marl did not raise his sword to strike them dead. From behind him, another person Josel knew dashed into the room. With a pistol in her hand, Melgy looked as taut as a bowstring.


    "Good," the gray-haired woman said, pushing past Marl. "Is the boy alive?" She asked Josel, pointing at Zdain.


    "He lives¡­are you going to kill us?"


    The corner of Melgy''s mouth lifted up. "You have some strange fantasies about us. You''ll come with us for now."


    Josel nodded languidly, staggering with his burden.


    "Marl, take the boy. Let''s go," Melgy said.


    "Go?" Marl grunted questioningly.


    "Yes. Zal couldn''t find what he was looking for. It''s gone."


    Marl muttered something in reply, sheathed his sword without wiping off the blood and took Zdain from Josel.


    "Can you run?" Melgy asked Josel, who replied in the affirmative. "Good. Follow me and don''t try anything stupid or I''ll really kill you." With that, Melgy and Josel headed for the hall. Marl followed, Zdain in his arms.


    When they reached the entrance hall, Josel was no longer surprised to see Zal descending the stairs from the top floor. The same stairs Josel and Zdain had tiptoed down a couple of nights earlier, hoping to escape.


    "There was nothing of note up there," the old man replied, seeing Melgy''s questioning expression. Then Zal let his eyes wander between Josel and Zdain, who was hanging limply on Marl''s lap. "The young fugitives are among us again," he said wryly, indicating to Melgy that it was time to leave the house.


    Outside the door they met Ragart on guard duty, holding a rifle-like weapon in front of him, but with a shorter barrel. The man wore a black, wide-brimmed hat on his bald head. The pot-bellied merchant looked tense, but at least he nodded to Josel and gave Zdain a serious look.


    "Did you find Marta Donthav?" he asked.


    Zal shook his head, to which Josel replied laconically: "She''s dead."


    "Dead," Ragart repeated, rather impassively. "I knew her husband. Amdus Donthav was a competent merchant." Then the fat man fell silent and turned the barrel of his gun back into the night.


    Only now did Josel look around to see two bodies lying on the pavement in front of the house. The closer one, lying on his stomach, was easily identified as Toma, and the larger corpse must have been one of the two thugs that had dragged them into the cellar. Something or someone was missing, however, and that worried Josel more than anything else.


    "Faceless?" he voiced his concern aloud.


    Surprisingly, Zal seemed to know what he meant. "It has escaped. I don''t know where, which is why we should leave as soon as possible."


    Josel could not even imagine how Zal was aware of what the Faceless were. It was something the books did not tell.


    Suddenly, somewhere far away, the bells of the fire brigade began to ring out. They all looked in the direction from which the bells were tolling. A reddish glow lit up the skyline, and along with the sound of the fire bells came banging that reminded Josel of his last night in Paidos.


    "Shooting," Ragart said. "The Ipalos governor is a dead man."


    "That was to be expected," Zal replied.


    At the same time, they heard a rapidly approaching hoofbeat. There must have been several horses. Ragart beckoned everyone to follow and started to run, only to be cut off by the sound of words coming from the darkness.


    "The house is surrounded. Stop or you will be shot!" someone shouted into the loudspeaker.


    Everyone looked at Zal, who waved his hand in a reassuring sign to stop. "Fox, you speak," he whispered to Ragart as the four riders approached out of the darkness.


    As the horses reached the illuminated circle of the streetlamp, Josel studied the newcomers, wondering which of them might be Faceless who had taken on the new character.


    Three of the riders were men with rifles, easily identifiable as shadow sentries by their clothing. The sight of the fourth made Josel gasp and his heart beat wildly. On a white horse sat a beautiful young woman with long black hair. Jolanda.


    * * *

 Chapter 25

    Franz


    The anger inside Franz boiled over again when he returned downstairs and saw the girl picking up dishes from the tables. But he sought the real target of his annoyance, the man with the moustache.


    Upstairs at the inn, Franz had been trying to sort out his tangled thoughts for perhaps half an hour. He had come to no clear conclusion. It was a shame to be deceived, but at the same time the recent experience with the girl had been the most enjoyable of his life so far.


    It was late in the evening and the crowd in the Pale Wanderer had grown considerably. Most of the guests had turned their eyes to the back of the hall. There, sitting on a high stool, was the moustached man Franz had been looking for, preparing to play the flute. Franz grunted to himself. It would attract unnecessary attention to yell at him with the whole inn watching.


    There was no empty table to be found. The only free seats were at a table where a scruffy-looking old man was staring forlornly at his beer. It would be all right to sit with a drunken, sulking loner. Franz was in no mood to chat with any cheerful company. So he sank into a chair, crossed his arms over his chest, looked up at the ceiling of the inn and imagined he was somewhere else.


    After a while, Franz began to calm down. The raucous chatter that had been going on in the hall had died down, drowned out by the lilt of the flute. It seemed that even the noisiest drunkard in the hall had calmed down to listen to the music.


    Even Franz, though still upset with the man, could not help but feel enchanted. The notes of the flute rippled as sweetly as the girl''s lips on his cheek a moment ago. The soft, low notes tickled his spine and made his neck tingle. It was as if the moustached man had just played for Franz, to wash away the resentment with his music.


    Franz lifted his gaze from the table to the musician. Of course, the man happened to be looking at him at the same time. His eyes laughed, and suddenly a realisation echoed in Franz''s head: Troubadour Kharl! The man is Troubadour Kharl!


    At some point, the playing stopped and the man left the stage to wet his whistle in the bar. Franz shook his head. What had that been all about? The music had been too beautiful for a shabby hostelry like the Pale Wanderer. And finally, where had that crazy idea come from in Franz''s head? There was no Troubadour Kharl. There was only the story created by Josel''s father and its hero who plays the recorder. But the moustached man certainly resembled him.


    "He played well. Always plays," said a hoarse, drunken voice near Franz.


    Only now did Franz take a closer look at the man sitting at the same table. He was bearded and dishevelled. His potato-shaped nose was red and, judging by the protruding lump, once broken. The hair was tangled like a bird''s nest. The clothes were made of coarse woolen cloth, full of holes and patches. Franz also noticed the pungent stench coming from the man.


    A foul-smelling drunkard, he considered, and did not bother to reply. When the man started to pick his nose, with hairs gushing out of his nostrils, Franz looked away in disgust.


    The audience, momentarily sensitised by the music, began talking again and emptying their glasses. Franz''s tablemate had also emptied his tankard, and the waiter boy ran to fetch it. Luckily not the waitress, thought Franz, still a little sour.


    "Pints, for both of us," the drunkard muttered as he slipped a dirty note into the boy''s hand.


    "I didn''t ask for anything," Franz protested, but the waiter was already on his way to deliver the order.


    "Shut up," the unkempt old man sizzled. "You''re in the mood for a beer and you don''t have any money, do you?"


    Franz shrugged his shoulders, he really had nothing better to do than get drunk. Besides, all great adventurers had a taste for spirits, even Troubadour Kharl from Josel''s father''s books. Whether the moustached man unknowingly or deliberately, resembled the character in the book, Franz could not say.


    After the beer mugs arrived, it started happening again on the stage. The moustached man - or Kharl, as Franz decided to call him from now on - was preparing to perform once more. This time without an instrument.


    Kharl cleared his throat and said in a loud voice that he was going to brighten up the audience he loved so much with a few little songs. This was followed by cheers and the clinking of mugs.


    "He sings well, too," remarked the untidy drinker.


    Franz nodded slightly; he had no desire to make the old man''s acquaintance.


    That''s when Kharl started the song. It was called ''Wild Flowers'', a lively tune about a girl, a boy and summer flowers, familiar to everyone in Paidos. The man''s melodious, musical voice was a perfect match for the upbeat, pitch-changing song. Unwillingly, Franz found himself humming along.


    "As twilight whispers, the curly-haired lad on a steed rides free.


    Before him looms a meadow''s embrace, where linden trees veil a flower field.


    Yet he doesn''t ride to pick flowers, not to pick flowers, not at all.


    He has a girl in his heart, the maid of beauty, bright as rays.


    She picks wild flowers, wild flowers, wild flowers.


    Why pick flowers when the boy wants a kiss?


    Just wild flowers, just wild flowers, just wild flowers.


    The maiden plucks the blooms, the knight appears in sight.


    A tousled lad, with curls that dance, he''s bound to get his girl, just wait and see.


    She tucks her gown with such grace, oh my groom, you''re so brave!


    No more she''ll gather petals fair, when he rides forth on his horse.


    She picks wild flowers, wild flowers, wild flowers.


    Why pick flowers when the boy wants a kiss?


    Just wild flowers, just wild flowers, just wild flowers."


    Kharl had not yet finished his performance when a racket came from the foyer of the inn. It caused the guests to turn their heads towards the noise. Franz peered over his shoulder too and saw a group of shadow sentries in their grey and black uniforms striding into the hall.


    Blood rushed to the beating heart in his chest. Franz pressed himself against his chair, trying to be as unnoticeable as possible. If the shadow sentries picked him out of the crowd, it would all be over. The adventure would perish before it had even begun and Franz''s young life would come to an ugly end.


    One of the gunmen remained standing in front of the door, seemingly relaxed, while the other five marched over to the bar to talk to the waitress. Out of the corner of his eye, Franz saw a couple of the shadow sentries let their eyes wander around the crowd. Horrified, he ducked his head even more.


    "She picks wild flowers, wild flowers, wild flowers.


    Why pick flowers when the boy wants a kiss?


    Just wild flowers, just wild flowers, just wild flowers."


    At that moment, Kharl let the last words of Wild Flowers escape his lips and the hall erupted in applause. It was not particularly raucous, though, probably because of the presence of the shadow sentries. However, the uproar drew the attention of the shadow sentries from the audience to the performer, and Franz was able to take a deep breath for a moment.


    The waitress cleared a seat for the shadow sentries at the table next to the bar counter. They sat down, except for the man standing at the door. Franz knew he could not slip out of the hall without passing the man. The only alternative was to remain still, hoping that the shadow sentries would leave before the hall began to empty.


    What would great heroes do in such a situation? Marl Gaidok would surely have rushed headlong into battle against the shadow sentries, slashing them to pieces with his sword. Unfortunately, Franz lacked the strength and skill of brave Marl, he did not have even half of it. He cursed silently and took a strengthening sip of ale.


    Meanwhile, Kharl had already started a new song. Franz was unfamiliar with the melody, but the message of the song sent shivers down his spine. It was about a boy running away from some evil villains. In the chorus, the singer urged the boy to be as quiet as a mouse.


    "That''s daft. Shadow dogs can figure it out," the drunkard snarled, and suddenly he did not sound drunk anymore.


    "Figure out what?" Franz stammered, feeling the stale stench of man''s breath in his nostrils.


    "You, of course."


    "What do you think you know, old man?" Franz hissed, trying to sound fearless.


    "Shut up and drink!" the man ordered, and Franz saw one of the shadow sentries walking around, watching the crowd.


    "Hold the mug to your lips and look at the table," the old man whispered very quietly.


    Franz obeyed. Whoever the old drunkard was, he had clearly been acting more intoxicated than he really was and somehow knew that Franz was running from the Shadow Cross. If the old man had guessed from Franz''s startled gestures alone, he was far more cunning than he appeared.


    * * *


    Nothing happened for a while. Kharl started a song, then another. People left and a few more came in. The door was still guarded by one of the shadow sentries while the others were sipping drinks at their tables. But Franz''s worry had not gone away. He could not think of a way to escape. The only option was to rely on Kharl''s wit, but so far the moustached man had done nothing but continue his performance. Besides, Franz knew that they would both be in danger if Kharl sat down at his table after he had finished singing. The shadow sentries might well come to talk to the musician and his companion.This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    To make matters worse, Franz''s fears that the shadow sentries were indeed after him were soon proved to be true. A waitress was collecting empty glasses from a neighbouring table and whispered in Franz''s ear as she passed: "They''re looking for you."


    Franz shivered, but managed to whisper back: "Can you help?" Although she knew the shadow sentries were looking for Franz, she had not blown his cover. She could help, she had to!


    "I can''t," she said, shaking her head apologetically and hurrying past the table. Then the old drunkard suddenly grabbed her arm with his gnarled hand.


    "Now you listen, hussy," the old man grumbled, waving two large banknotes in his hand.


    When the girl''s eyes went from him to the notes, the look of disgust on her face was complemented by something like greed.


    That was enough. The old man scrambled out of his chair and pushed the girl towards the back wall of the hall. As he went, he shot a piercing glance at Franz, who was glued to his seat, waiting uncertainly to see what would happen.


    The scene between the old drunk and the waitress had caused a few heads to turn, but then Kharl turned the chorus louder than necessary, and the attention of the people shifted back to the singer. Franz observed that the shadow sentries were still in place.


    The old man returned to the table quite soon. The banknotes had disappeared from his hand. Back in his pocket? Wasn''t the company of a smelly old man good enough for the girl, Franz wondered.


    He got the answer immediately. The old man spoke in a low voice: "The whore took the money, but I didn''t get laid. But she''s helping us."


    "Us?" Why on earth would a stranger involve himself in Franz''s problems?


    "That''s right, whelp!" the man barked. "Be quiet, but follow when I give the signal." He rubbed his bumpy nose, turning his head to get a better look at Kharl.


    The show went on, but Kharl was nearing the end of his last song. The chorus praised the victorious Imperial Army. There were both enthusiastic cheers and jeers for the emperor from the intoxicated audience.


    Publicly insulting the emperor was, of course, strictly forbidden by law. Nevertheless, the inn was located at the shadow walker''s support area, and the governor had fallen in Paidos, so no one cared.


    The song ended and Kharl was greeted with loud applause. Someone even threw a handful of coins towards the stage as Kharl bowed to his audience. To Franz''s surprise, the old drunk pulled a shiny pocket watch out of the folds of his rags and used it to keep time.


    "That lousy stable lad should be done with our horses by now," he muttered so quietly that only Franz could hear.


    "Horses?"


    "Are you retarded when you don''t understand anything!" the old man snapped, but continued more calmly: "We''re leaving. The girl has brought your equipment from upstairs to the stables."


    A wonderful bubbling excitement filled Franz''s chest. Good or bad, either way something was going to happen!


    "Follow me when I give the signal. And when I tell you to run, you whelp, you run!" the old man added, still growling.


    When the signal came, Franz rose from the table, his back bent and his face turned away from the shadow sentries. He started to walk after the old man, towards the foyer. Folding the flute back onto his back, Kharl walked along the bar in the same direction. The girl, on the other hand, was leaning against the shadow sentries'' table, seemingly negotiating something with a flirtatious gesture. Franz noticed all this before shifting his gaze to the doorway and the shadow sentry watching it.


    The middle-aged man was big, tall and scruffy. Not exactly mean looking, but undeniably powerful, probably dangerous too. The heavy baton he held in one hand added to the impression. Franz knew he would have no chance in a duel. The old drunkard would hardly make a good fighter, either.


    With his head down again, Franz approached the door. His neck tingled and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Some of the men were leaving the hall, but they were not stopped by the doorkeeper. Perhaps there was hope. Franz sent a mental plea to the ancient gods he did not believe in and prepared to encounter the shadow sentry.


    They had just reached the doorway when something unexpected happened: the old drunk tripped. The old man slumped on the floor, looking as if he was completely intoxicated. The shadow sentry grunted a harsh curse and turned his attention to the stumbling drunk in front of him. Franz knew his moment had come and decided to slip past the shadow sentry towards the exit.


    He could have succeeded, but the shadow sentry turned his head and snarled: "Wait a minute!"


    That was it, Franz thought, feeling paralyzed in his place. But the man''s large hand did not catch him. The shadow sentry let out a shrill howl, unexpected for such a large man, and suddenly collapsed to the floor. The man flopped on his side, his hands clawing at his kneecaps. Franz saw that the man''s fingers were covered in blood.


    "To the stables!" the drunkard commanded, scrambling up from the floor with a knife in his hand. The shadow sentries at the table shoved aside the tavern girl who had been entertaining them and were about to charge the door.


    Franz forced his legs to move, dashing across the foyer to the front door. The evening was dark, but he remembered the route to the stables. From the inn behind him came a shout, a thud and then a shot. But Franz did not look back, he ran as fast as he could.


    The lantern-lit courtyard was deserted. Probably the old drunkard had paid the stableman to stay out of sight. Without hesitation Franz pulled the handle and the door opened with a squeak.


    The smell of dung and hay wafted into Franz''s nose as he peered into the dark stable and stepped inside. A horse whinnied somewhere nearby. "Sowthistle!" he called hesitantly, but the mare did not answer. Either she did not recognise her own name, or she simply did not care to answer. Franz did not know much about the habits of horses.


    He pushed the door further open to let the light from the lantern into the stable. In the nearest stall stood a large dark horse, certainly not Sowthistle. Franz went on, hoping for the best. There could not be much time left. Had it been foolish to come to the stables after all? The Shadow Cross would soon be here to smash his face in.


    At the same moment, Franz heard footsteps behind him and someone yelling in a voice as rough as a grater: "You miserable wretch! Get out of the stable, we''re in a hurry!"


    The ragged figure of the old drunkard stood in the stable yard. Somehow he had managed to find his way out of the inn.


    "Horses..." Franz began.


    "Have you no brains? The horses are already saddled outside!"


    Cursing his own stupidity, Franz followed the man to the back of the stables. There they met Sowthistle, Kharl''s Gingerbread stallion, and a sorry-looking nag that must have been the old man''s horse.


    Franz was not very familiar with horses, but the shaggy, scrawny animal looked anything but rideable. As freaky as its owner, he thought.


    "Get on the horse!" the old man insisted.


    "What about... him?" Franz asked, pointing to Kharl''s masterless stallion.


    "Unlike you, he can take care of himself," the drunkard snapped, and like Franz, climbed into the saddle.


    Franz patted Sowthistle encouragingly, hoping they would leave soon. There was still some noise coming from the direction of the inn. The shadow sentries had certainly not given up.


    Smacking his lips, the man lured his horse in motion. With one hand on the reins, he led Kharl''s stallion, which followed without jibbing. Franz gritted his teeth on Sowthistle''s back. Why couldn''t they just let the horses run and get away? Was the old man a complete fool, or was he drunk as a skunk?


    Still, Franz did not dare to take his horse and gallop away. The old man had saved him at the inn, so perhaps it was wise to trust him once more. Even if it might cost his own life.


    Franz felt like screaming out loud when he realised that the drunkard was leading them straight back to the Pale Wanderer. "Not that way!" he whispered hoarsely into the darkness.


    The old man turned in his saddle, but made no reply. It was too dark for Franz to see his face. Most probably he was angry.


    There was no choice but to follow. Fortunately, the old man did not lead them straight into the death trap at the inn''s front door, but turned around the back of the house in the dark. Franz could make out a couple of dim human figures at the front door, but it was hard to tell if they could hear the horses clattering past.


    Franz did not understand the old drunkard''s gamble. Were the shadow sentries really all dead, since the man was in no hurry to escape? But the people here were loyal to the Shadow Cross, Kharl had told Franz. That meant they were in danger, regardless of the fate of the shadow sentries. This was sheer madness!


    The old man stopped his horse behind the Pale Wanderer. The night hid them in its gloomy cloak, but Franz still did not feel safe. Even if there were no people around, someone might come to check the backyard at any moment and they would be in deep trouble.


    "Why are we here?" Franz asked impatiently.


    "We are waiting," the old man said, his eyes measuring the wall of the inn.


    Now Franz was sure that the old man had indeed downed a bottle of spirits somewhere in between. What else could they expect here? Certain death at best! Although Franz hated waiting more than anything else, and the tension of the situation made it twice as unbearable, he forced himself to control himself once more. Where would he go alone? Ride back to Paidos or what? Surely not. For that reason, and that reason alone, he was putting his life in the hands of a stranger.


    Nothing happened at first. It was just a murky night, three horses and an old man staring stubbornly at a featureless wall of a house.


    Shortly, Franz pricked up his ears. A rustle! It came from inside the inn, from upstairs. Franz fixed his gaze on the two windows upstairs. Both were equally dark. At the same time, there was a scream and a thud that stopped the scream.


    It was very quiet for a while. Then the window above them banged open and a single foot emerged from the opening. The foot was followed by another, and soon Franz could see a figure above him. Even without daylight, it was easy to recognise him from his goofy cap as Troubadour Kharl.


    "Yoo-hoo!" Kharl shouted and jumped down from the window without warning. Like an acrobat, he leapt to his feet without hurting himself - even though he had jumped with a flute case in one hand and a rapier in the other.


    Franz shook his head in amazement as Kharl bowed to them like a circus performer who had finished his act.


    "What an idiot," the old man snorted.


    It just made Kharl smile. "The problem was solved according to all the rules of the art. I led the last two shadow sentries up behind me and finished them off. So the way is clearer than your head, my friend," Kharl told the old man, laughing gleefully at his own joke.


    "Let''s see how you are after I''ve twisted your legs into a knot," the old man said in his gruff voice.


    Kharl was amused by the threat, and the old drunk let out a sort of throat-clearing cough - whether it was laughter, Franz was not sure.


    "Always good to see you, old chum," Kharl said cheerfully as he sprang nimbly into the saddle of his stallion.


    "The pleasure is not mine. At my age, I''m not in the mood for brawls like I used to."


    "Don''t pout, my friend! Think of your future adventures with me - and with Franz-boy," he said enthusiastically from his horse.


    "I have not promised to take part in anything, and the whelp is of no use at all."


    "Oh you are wrong, he will be of great use. Don''t pay any attention to this sourpuss, Franz fellow. We''ll make a great trio, worthy of many songs," Kharl said, painting the air with his flute case in a grandiloquent gesture.


    The drunkard was hardly convinced by Kharl''s words as he steered the conversation back to the shadow sentries. "You killed those shadow dogs up there, didn''t you?"


    "I didn''t think of that. They are unconscious now. Why kill them when you can knock them out just as well?"


    "I knew it!" bellowed the old man. "Now we''ve got the whole Shadow Cross after us. Damn, what laziness and lack of intelligence!"


    "A man of honour does not kill in vain!"


    "Honourable men die before dishonourable ones," the old man grumbled, and Franz found himself agreeing with him. If there was a choice between the two, Kharl was definitely the crazier one.


    "I, for one, am very much alive," Kharl asserted emphatically.


    The old man groaned fretfully. "Not for long, if we don''t get moving."


    Those were the words Franz had been waiting for. He wanted to get as far away from anything remotely connected with the Shadow Cross as quickly as possible.


    "All right, all right. Lead the way," Kharl said.


    "Follow me then, the whelp after me," the old man ordered, urging his nag forward.


    Franz stamped his stirrups and Sowthistle darted after the old man''s horse. Not a single person came to stop or even showed themselves as they sped through the village at night in a northeasterly direction.


    At a bend in the road, Franz turned once more to look at the Pale Wanderer Inn, the place where he had lost his virginity. Or rather, the inn was nothing more than a small glint of light, but there it was anyway. And so was the tavern girl, whose name Franz had not had time to ask.


    What adventurer could remember the names of all his women, he thought, and found himself smiling after a long time. Even though the road was dark, it was leading them somewhere. Franz did not know where, but ''that something'' smelled of adventure.


    * * *

 Chapter 26

    Josel


    The escape route from Marta Donthav''s house was blocked. When the shadow sentries raised their rifles to aim, Ragart responded in kind. Melgy also drew the pistol she had hidden in her clothing. Jolanda''s horse snorted, and Josel watched in fascination as she made a spectacular turn on it in front of them.


    When she had stopped her horse, Jolanda nodded to Josel. "Josel," she said with a smile.


    "Jolanda," Josel replied huskily. His cheeks were hot and his legs felt sluggish.


    They looked at each other for a moment before Jolanda spoke again. "Josel, I''ve come to take you home."


    The others were also looking at Josel. Zal coughed significantly and Ragart opened his mouth.


    "Blessed be the sky above me!" Ragart exclaimed. "Shadow sentries! I am a merchant who faithfully pays my tithe to the Shadow Cross. As a shadow walker myself, I was attacked by these thugs, who now lie on the ground. They served the cursed governor, and I had to waste many precious bullets on them. Could you perhaps inspect this house for me? There must be more of these greedy bandits..."


    "Shut up, fatty!" Jolanda snapped. "I''m sick of listening to your ramblings. The boys are coming with me. I can let the rest of you go if you give them up voluntarily. Otherwise, you will all be on trial not only for these murders, but also for kidnapping."


    Immediately after Jolanda''s words, a loud voice grated on Josel''s ears. It was a strange mixture of a crackle and a shrill screech.


    It took Josel a moment to realise that it was Zal. The old man was blowing into a small wooden whistle, which emitted a whine that made Josel cover his ears with his hands. It was amazing that such a small object could make such a loud noise.


    Jolanda tried to shout something, but her words were muffled until Zal suddenly stopped blowing. "...my patience. If this goes on, we''ll have to shoot you."


    "The Shadow Cross has no legal authority to shoot anyone in Ipalos," Zal said calmly.


    "What do you think you know, old fart? The governor is defeated," said Jolanda.


    "Illegal rebellion does not make power legal."


    "I didn''t come here to listen to moralising, but to collect the boys who are to be handed over to me when I meet them, on the orders of Isendar Vargan, the Shadow Cross regional director for Ipalos and Paidos."


    "I don''t think we can reach an agreement," Zal replied.


    "The boys are mine. You big lump, put that boy down," Jolanda commanded, pointing at Marl, who was carrying limp Zdain in his arms.


    Zal looked at Jolanda appraisingly. "I guess you don''t know who you''re talking to," he said.


    "I''m talking to four intruders who are defying the explicit orders of Isendar Vargan."


    "As you wish, missy."


    Jolanda scowled at Zal''s words and turned to Josel. "Josel honey, come here and let''s go," she said softly, waving an inviting hand.


    Josel bit his chapped lips, weighing the situation. Jolanda had been nice to him so far, so why shouldn''t she be in the future. Besides, any option won the Faceless'' basement.


    "He''s not coming," Melgy''s hoarse voice suddenly echoed. She wrapped her arm around Josel''s neck and pressed the pistol to his temple. "Stay still and you won''t get hurt," the woman whispered.


    Josel felt like he was short of breath. Just one pull of the trigger and it would all be over. To Melgy and her company, a teenage boy''s life means little if it buys a way out of the shadow sentries'' blockade.


    While Zal smiled approvingly at Melgy''s trick, Jolanda looked furious at the turn of events. She motioned to her companions not to shoot. Meanwhile, Zal raised the whistle to his lips for a second time and blew sharply.


    "One more time and you''re dead," Jolanda snapped, probably trying to decide whether Zal was being stubborn or foolish.


    Ragart intervened again. "We could negotiate, my dear lady. The boy seems to be important to you. Perhaps some sort of bargain would be in order. I am a merchant by profession, I know the law of supply and demand. What are you offering to spare the life of this young man? For starters, of course, we want safe passage out of the city."


    Jolanda was not impressed. "You are in no position to make suggestions. You don''t even know how many rifle barrels are pointing at your potbelly. But since I''m a generous person, you can keep the other boy for yourself, as long as Josel is mine."


    Josel did not like the way the conversation was going. Were they going to hand him over to Jolanda? What would happen to Zdain if they were separated? Would Zal and his comrades throw him into the gutter to die?


    Then, out of the corner of his eye, Josel caught sight of something unusual in the sky. He lifted his gaze, though he dared not turn his head with the pistol on his temple. The sky was dark except for the stars and the moon, so Josel could not see clearly. But something was approaching fast, behind Jolanda, towards Marta''s house. Melgy seemed to have noticed too, for she hissed a warning to Josel to be quiet.


    Ragart continued to babble, but Josel paid no attention. Something was moving closer to them, but Jolanda, arguing with Ragart, did not seem to notice. Instead, the horses sensed a threat. They stamped the ground nervously, which eventually caught the attention of the shadow sentries.


    "In the sky! Birds!" cried one of Jolanda''s men.


    Then Josel saw: a huge flock of birds was flying towards them like a thick black thundercloud. Hundreds, if not thousands, of simultaneous wingbeats drowned out the sound of the fire bells. Suddenly the birds were upon them. They split into separate flocks and swooped towards the riders. A crow-like cawing filled Josel''s ears.


    The frightened horses squealed and got up on their hind legs. The riders tried in vain to restrain them. But the birds - Josel guessed they were jackdaws - were too much for the horses. It was hard to tell if they were really attacking the riders or just buzzing around them.


    The end result was still the same: Jolanda and her comrades were knocked from their saddles and covered in a flock of birds. The horses bolted off. Judging by the sounds, the same happened to the shadow sentries besieging the house in the darkness further away.


    Zal''s entourage, however, was untouched by the winged strikers. On the contrary, they left a bizarre empty space around them. One bird was an exception. A large, black-feathered bird, far too large to be a jackdaw, flew around Zal''s head before diving back into the flock.


    "Follow me! Ragart, you''re last!" Zal ordered, running into the formation of the jackdaws. For they were jackdaws, except for the large bird.


    Melgy pushed Josel after the old man. Keeping his eyes on Zal''s back the whole time, Josel dove into the middle of the jackdaws. Melgy and the others followed close behind. Amazingly, not a single bird, not even a wing, flapped at them, and the path through the flock remained completely clear.


    It was not long before they were outside the flock. Josel glanced over his shoulder, but saw only birds darting around. Somewhere out there among the jackdaws was Jolanda, alive or dead. There was nothing to be done about it, so Josel turned his head and picked up his pace.


    They ran through the gloomy streets of the Merchants'' District. Fire bells were still tolling and frightened-looking citizens were peering in their windows; word of the Shadow Cross'' actions had spread. In one of the yards they passed, homeowners were hurriedly packing wagons. They were obviously trying to escape the clutches of the Shadow Cross before dawn.


    Josel had no idea of their own destination. But Zal seemed to know where he was going, for he never once hesitated at street crossings. Josel was struggling to keep up, even though the pace had slowed since the beginning. The time spent in the cellar had taken its toll, and he did not think he could maintain even the slower pace for very long.


    The wide boulevards of the Merchants'' District were being turned into narrower lanes, and single-family houses by multi-storey tenements. The sound of the fire bells faded away. Still, there were other passers-by in the night. A child in a hooded tunic scampered across the street before disappearing into the darkness. A bored-looking prostitute was leaning against the wall under a gatehouse. A few times the shutters closed with a clatter as Zal''s armed group marched past.


    Josel glanced over his shoulder and saw Melgy trotting right behind him. Marl, still carrying Zdain, and heavily panting Ragart were stomping from a short distance. If only Monteilon could hang on a little longer, Josel hoped.


    At the next street corner, Zal stopped and gathered his troops. "We''re almost there," the old man said, confusing Josel. The city gate could not possibly be in this direction. Did Zal try to hide from the shadow sentries within the walls of Ipalos?


    No answers were offered to Josel, as Zal again motioned for the others to follow, and they set off at a walking pace. They passed one intersection, then another. Zal looked around as if expecting something or someone.


    Yet they were almost taken by surprise. As they were passing an opening leading into a narrow alley, a group of men armed with swords burst out of the darkness.


    Zal yanked Josel by the hand and shouted the order to run. They only had time to take a few steps before a loud banging blocked Josel''s ears.


    He looked behind and saw Ragart standing there with his rifle. The merchant''s gun was spitting bullets. The attackers fell to the ground, screaming in agony, and the battle was over in an instant.


    "Shadow sentries, they''re after us," Josel heard Melgy''s call from behind him. This prompted Zal to encourage his companions to run again.


    It must have been almost morning, for more and more people appeared as the journey continued. There were women in nightgowns opening curtains, workers trudging to the manufactories at dawn, and wily-looking men who certainly did not have good intentions. Ragart''s rifle was enough to keep them all at bay.


    Shortly, the street opened up into a large, lantern-lit square, with an ever-increasing crowd of people heading for the other side. Many of them were carrying bags and a few women were holding babies.


    Zal meandered through the crowd, the others following. Josel looked around, puzzled. Where had they come from? What were these people doing here so early in the morning?


    At the same moment, a large figure emerged from the darkness. A ship - no, several ships! They had come to the banks of the river that flows through Ipalos. A mass of people was moving towards the quay.


    "The passenger harbour of Ipalos. Don''t try to escape," Melgy hissed.


    In vain, because Josel had no intention of running away. Not without Zdain.


    Zal resolutely headed for the nearest ship, which looked ready to leave. It was an elegant looking paddle steamer, already unhooked and the paddle wheels were turning sluggishly in the water. But the gangway to the ship was still in place, and a desperate crowd had gathered beside it. These people were eager to board the ship at any cost, and many of them, judging by their appearance, seemed to be able to afford not only the fare, but the purchase of the entire ship.


    A huge, bald, tattooed man, his upper body covered with nothing but an open leather vest, effectively prevented anyone from attempting to board the ship without permission. He shook his head at one of the citizens and grunted in a deep voice: "This is a riverboat, we aren''t doing charity. Try other boats."


    "They''re full. I need a ride. Your ship is empty. I''m sure there''s room for me," the man whined loudly, pushing a wad of banknotes towards the giant.


    "The captain only expects certain passengers. No others will be admitted."


    "The Shadow Cross will execute me! Have mercy!" begged the man offering his money, almost crying.


    Judging by the expression on his face, the bald-headed hulk was about to say something rude to the desperate man. When he heard the Zal-led party approaching, the giant''s face lit up.


    "At last! We''ve been waiting since your luggage arrived. Step aboard, please." He briskly made room for Zal and confirmed: "There are six of you?"


    "Yes, as I told the captain beforehand," Zal said, and walked to the gangway, ignoring the people pestering for a ride.


    "You next," Melgy ordered Josel, before pushing him onto the swaying bridge.


    "A beautiful lady is always welcome aboard," the giant stated when he saw Melgy.


    "Thank you, Thombs," Melgy said with a small smile and walked after Josel to the ship.


    After making sure that Marl was following with Zdain in his arms, exhausted Josel collapsed to the wooden deck of the ship.


    Once they were all safely on board, Thombs pushed the crowd back with a heavy hand and stormed to the ship. Before anyone could follow, he had pulled in the gangway. At the same moment, the ship broke away from the wharf. People were swarming on the quayside looking disappointed and, judging by the splash, someone was even pushed into the water.


    "The boy needs a bed and care. Is there a medic on board?" Zal asked Thombs, pointing to Zdain hanging limply in Marl''s arms.


    "No, but we have some herbs."


    "Melgy, the boy will be under your responsibility," Zal announced. She nodded gravely.


    Thombs agreed to lead the way and Melgy and Marl, carrying Zdain, followed him into the ship''s interior. Ragart, still breathless, leaned against the rail and muttered something about the futility of running.


    Zal looked around and then turned to Josel, who was sitting on the deck. The old man had no time to say anything before a commotion on the quay drew his attention.


    "Shadow sentries, we left just in time," Zal said, smiling ruefully.


    It made Josel pull himself up. He craned his neck to see armed men pushing their way into the crowd. The result was immediate: some of the people rushed headlong in every direction, and suddenly all the ships were in a hurry to set sail. Ropes were untied, engines whirred to life and funnels belched black smoke into the air. Their own vessel sped out of the harbour, paddle wheels churning, upstream on the river Frothy.


    Josel, Zal and Ragart watched in silence as the dock receded into the distance. A command from the loudspeaker forbade anyone to leave the harbour area. Many of the ships had not had time to weigh anchor before the arrival of the shadow sentries. Josel wondered what fate awaited those who had tried to escape from the hands of the Shadow Cross.


    The harbour drew farther away, disappearing from sight. Sunrise was yet to come, so the darkness quickly enveloped the ship. The river was wide and its banks indistinguishable. Only glimmers of light here and there told them that they were still inside the city of Ipalos.


    Would the Shadow Cross be able to stop them after all? But there was no sign of pursuers, nor did the expressions on Zal''s or Ragart''s faces suggest any concern as they stared into the blackness of the night.


    Josel took hold of the rail and sniffed the air, which smelled of tarred wood and smoke from the ship''s funnels. No rotting meat like in Marta''s cellar. Josel knew he should have been grateful to be rescued, but his mind would not let him rest. Where did Faceless lurk? Was it raging somewhere in the darkness as a snagost, or something even more terrifying?


    The very thought sent shivers down Josel''s spine. He started to feel cold. Would he ever sleep or eat again? The hunger squeezed his stomach so hard that he felt pain. And what would happen to poor Zdain? Would anyone on board be able to help him? Or even want to?


    Josel gritted his teeth and decided to be brave. To give up would be to betray his father. A father he was unlikely to see soon, if ever.


    Footsteps on the deck interrupted Josel''s sombre reflection. A man of average height, probably in his forties, approached them. He was dressed in an elegant long-sleeved jacket and tight trousers. The lantern hanging from the bulkhead gave them a bright blue colour. The handsome face was adorned with a chin beard and a small, well-groomed moustache. His hair was dark and carefully combed to the side. Despite the furrows on his forehead, the foppish man looked youthful. His gait and demeanour reflected confidence and sheer contentment with life.


    "Lord of the Jackdaws, I am honoured to have your company aboard my ship," the man greeted Zal with a smile and an exaggerated bow.


    "Timos, you mean you''re honoured to have my money aboard your ship," Zal said, the lines on his face smoothing out for a moment.


    "Oh, you can also read minds now!" the man joked, not letting his smile fade.


    The answer brought a short bark from Zal''s lips and the men shook hands.


    "I remind you that we''re talking about my money," Ragart interjected, pretending to be sulky.Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    The newcomer spread his arms as if he had just noticed the fat merchant. "Well, the slyest fox on the trade routes!" he yelled with joy.


    "Exaggeration," Ragart replied, wiping his bald head. "I am merely the most cunning of the southern and eastern trade routes. And the sturdiest fox too!"


    The stranger shook with laughter, and Zal chuckled alongside him, at least half amused.


    Josel felt like an extra and wished that no one would pay attention to him. But it was an empty hope.


    When the banter died down, the stranger fixed his eyes on Josel. "Fifteen... no, sixteen years. Was I right? Ha-ha, I''m good at this. With that cute face and blond hair, I bet you''ve got a lot of girls doing great things for you. Thank your lucky stars - or mourn your misfortune - that I don''t go for young boys. Otherwise you''d be spending the rest of the night in the captain''s cabin."


    The man winked at his words and grinned at Josel''s dismay. "Well, joking aside. I am Timos Soldeimon, captain of this ship called Princess."


    "Josel," Josel replied curtly.


    "Oh, you''re not much of a talker! Tell me, how does it feel to travel with such famous people?"


    "Timos, he doesn''t know anything about us," Zal interrupted.


    "Always so secretive, Zal," the captain laughed, stroking his beard.


    That''s when Marl showed up. Captain Soldeimon turned to him and respectfully touched his temple in greeting. "Brave Marl Gaidok, it''s been a long time."


    "Timos, shut up!" Zal huffed.


    "It''s been a while, Timos," Marl grunted, glumly as usual.


    Josel wondered if he had heard correctly. Marl Gaidok? It was a name known throughout the Andiol Empire. Marl Gaidok, Marl of the Silver Castle, the admired hero of the Battle of the Farthest Pass, the man who crossed Swallowing Marshes and Starveds'' Desert for love alone, the bravest warrior and adventurer of the last decades, without equal.


    Gaidok was said to be dead. He had not been seen for ten years, according to stories. Nor did the silent, gray man look anything like a great hero. Could it be someone with the same name? But why would Zal then have told the captain to keep his mouth shut?


    Ragart and Zal had seen Josel''s stare and exchanged an irritated look. This at least confirmed that Josel had hit the mark. He was indeed facing a celebrity, the greatest idol of Franz and many other adventurous boys.


    Morose Marl remained silent, as always, with a sullen frown on his face. Captain Soldeimon, on the other hand, looked apologetic and suggested that Zal and his company might like to see their cabins. So they followed the captain and moved from the deck into the ship, Josel with the others.


    "Melgy stayed with the boy," Marl said to Zal as they stepped over the threshold into what Josel guessed was the ship''s dining room. Was this what they called a mess? It was empty, as the crew were working in various parts of the ship.


    "The crew sleep in the forecastle down there," the captain said, pointing down the narrow stairs.


    Ragart chortled. "We paid for the cabins. Don''t you dare, you skinflint."


    "Fox is always so vigilant and Timos Soldeimon always so generous. Your cabins are this way. Three cabins, divide them as you wish," the captain hastened to say, nodding to the doorway leading from the mess to a corridor. Having said that, Captain Soldeimon wished them a good start to their journey and said he was returning to the bridge.


    The cabins were located along the corridor, two adjacent to each other and one a little farther away on the opposite wall. The door to the last cabin opened and Melgy poked her head out. "Oh, you''re here already," she said.


    "How is the boy?" Ragart asked.


    "Badly. I think I''ll be sharing the cabin with him."


    A startle went through Josel. Could Zdain die? The thought was absolutely horrible.


    Zal interrupted Josel''s unhappy musings with a blunt announcement: "Son, you''re going to be Ragart''s cabin mate. Go inside, we''ll talk soon." He gestured towards the open door and closed it behind Josel like a guard in a dungeon.


    The cabin, lit by an oil lamp, was larger and cleaner than Josel had expected. In addition to the bunk bed, there was a table, two stools and a small recess for washing. The cabin also had a round window with a curtain in front of it. Beneath the window was a collection of thick copper pipes. After a moment''s reflection, Josel realised that this was a water-circulating radiator, which carried heat to the cabin in winter.


    As the cabin was quickly searched, Josel sat down on one of the stools and sighed. He was a prisoner, on a strange ship, with strange people. His beloved Paidos was getting farther and farther away, and his comfortable life seemed gone forever. He had to sigh again to keep him from crying.


    The door opened and Josel unhappily lifted his eyes from the floor. Ragart entered, carrying a tray with a few slices of buttered bread and a lump of corned beef. The mere sight of the food made Josel''s stomach growl. Fortunately, Ragart pushed the tray in front of him and told him to eat.


    "Get a grip boy, Zal wants to talk to you. It''ll be easier for you if you answer the questions as honestly as possible. Zal may look old, but he can be tough and ruthless. Much tougher than I am." The merchant patted his flabby belly but did not smile.


    Josel, who was chewing bread, made no reply, but kept his gaze on the wall.


    Ragart slumped down on the bottom bunk with his rifle in his lap. A moment or two passed in silence. The paddle wheels pounded in the background and the waves gently rocked the ship. Having satisfied his hunger, Josel would have liked to sleep, but he was not allowed to.


    Zal opened the cabin door, walked in without saying a word and sat down on the empty stool. The sad lines on his face deepened as he watched Josel through his glasses.


    When the old man finally opened his mouth, his words were angrier than Josel had expected. "I don''t know who you are or whose side you''re on, but I''ll find out."


    Josel gulped. The conversation did not start well.


    "I expect only one thing, honesty. I don''t know how Faceless interrogated its prisoners, but I can be nastier, believe me. So speak up!" Zal groaned.


    It was an order. This was worse than Josel had feared. Had he escaped from Faceless and the Shadow Cross only to fall into the clutches of the fallen?


    But there was no choice. Josel did not trust the threatening old man one bit, but he was still pretty sure that Zal would smell nonsense in a heartbeat. So he decided to tell the truth, but to protect his father as much as possible.


    "I''m from Paidos," he began.


    Ragart hissed noticeably between his teeth while raising himself up on his bunk. "That accent... I bet on Paidos myself," the merchant opined, but then let Zal continue.


    "What''s your name?"


    "Josel Sandkan."


    Hearing the answer, Ragart clicked his tongue a little, but Zal asked blankly: "Sandkan... is that a common surname in Paidos?"


    "It''s... quite common," Josel lied, afraid the conversation would lead to his father.


    "You''re lying!" Zal bellowed. "I''ve been to Paidos several times and I''ve never heard of more than one Sandkan. Lie again and I''ll give you a strap." Zal showed his belt under his shirt collar. It was decorated with a row of metal rivets, the sight of which made Josel wince.


    "Does this look familiar?" Zal asked, pulling a small pistol from the pockets of his loose coat.


    Josel furrowed his brow before recognising the object. "Yes," he said vaguely.


    "It is extraordinary to find such an exquisite weapon in the hands of two ordinary young fellows. What is even stranger is that I happen to know the owner of this pistol, Curtus Jerovann," Zal said.


    Josel stared in shock for a moment before answering: "He''s dead."


    "Dead!" Ragart exclaimed.


    "Did you kill Curtus?" Zal asked in a hushed voice.


    "Curtus, no! No, he..."


    Ragart interjected again. "Curtus would never give up his gun willingly, it was his most cherished possession, so I''ve heard."


    "He gave me a pistol when he died," Josel said.


    "For you? Haw! Hardly! You clearly know that Shadow Cross chick and pretending to be young Sandkan. No use trying to fool Fox. Get the strap, Zal!" Ragart shouted, looking very angry. "Now it''s a question of whether you''re on the payroll of the Shadow Cross or the Black Flame," he snarled from his bed, raising his rifle so that Josel flinched backwards on his stool.


    "Patience, Ragart," Zal said, gesturing with his hand to silence his raging companion. "Speak, boy, but speak the truth," he said to Josel.


    "I didn''t kill Curtus. How could I ever have. He gave me the gun after a dreader killed him."


    "Oh, a dreader! Don''t take us for fools," Ragart growled, shaking his big bald head.


    Josel was too exhausted to fight back. "I''m telling the truth, but if you''re not interested in the truth, then kill me here!"


    "I''d like to hear more about this dreader," Zal said, leaning forward. "Where did you meet one?"


    Josel did not know if there was any point in talking, but staring at the floor he began to tell. "It was the night the Shadow Cross seized power in Paidos. We fled the town on horseback, Curtus, Zdain and I."


    "Zdain?"


    "He who is with me."


    Zal urged Josel to continue.


    "We were riding towards Ipalos, the road following the edge of the Veilwood. Suddenly we noticed that something was not right. Or I guess the horses noticed it first. It was a strange feeling, like a creeping fear," Josel described, noticing that Ragart had also fallen silent to listen.


    Next, Josel told how the dreader had appeared out of the darkness. How they were all gripped by panic. How the horses had been frightened and how the dreader had glided on. He described the gunshots with which Curtus had stopped the monster. Josel ended his story with Curtus lying on the ground, dying, and offering his pistol.


    The men exchanged glances. Zal''s scrunched face was unreadable, but Ragart looked openly impressed. "He''s seen a dreader," the merchant said quietly.


    "And claims to be Josel Sandkan," Zal said in a pensive voice.


    "A well-trained shade commando or a fallen doing his job could impersonate him," Ragart pointed out.


    "I''m not a fallen!" Josel gasped.


    "We''ll find out," Zal replied. "Tell us more about yourself."


    After glaring at the old man for a moment, Josel began to speak. Reluctantly at first, but with Zal''s nods, more confident and encouraged. He spoke in general terms about school, Dad, friends, Curtus - all sorts of things about Paidos.


    Finally Zal asked for silence and said: "I believe him, he is Andreuz Sandkan''s son."


    "Then..." began Ragart. "Then his mother..."


    Zal coughed loudly. "Yes. Josel''s mother, Idalae Sandkan, is dead."


    Ragart closed his mouth and murmured his condolences.


    Mom was not a pleasant subject to talk about. Besides, Josel had other questions on his mind: "Do you know my father? Where is he?"


    Zal nodded, then shook his head. "I haven''t seen him for a long time, and I don''t know where he is now."


    Josel looked at the old man in frustration and slumped down even more.


    Then it was Ragart''s turn to ask the question: "What about your friend, who is he?"


    "Zdain Monteilon," Josel said, not caring if the information was worth to withhold.


    "A relative of the deposed governor of Paidos, I suppose?" Zal asked.


    "His son."


    The answer seemed to please Zal. "Well, you could be useful to us. It''s a good thing I didn''t leave you for the forest spirits to eat."


    "Useful?" Josel repeated worriedly.


    "Yes, useful for our purposes."


    "Whose side are you on?" Josel asked, cautiously.


    "Side?" Ragart chuckled. "The boy is starting to learn. Everybody''s always on somebody''s side, or at least against somebody."


    Zal furrowed his brows. Then he replied: "Being on someone''s side is always relative. Alliances come and go. We even have contacts among hardened criminals. In fact, with their help we found your trail to Marta Donthav''s house. Many would frown upon such connections, but that''s not my concern. I am mainly on my own side against those on the wrong side. Why get involved in other people''s messes when you can achieve your goals better by being loyal to yourself?"


    Noticing Josel''s doubtful look, Zal continued. "I give you my word that I will deliver you and Monteilon boy to your parents. The destination of our journey will be Five Hills. If we find your parents there, fine. If not, then you may choose where to go. Until then, you will stay with us. Even though you are Andreuz Sandkan''s son, you are still a kid, and it is not safe to be alone on the roads these days. Especially when the Shadow Cross seems to be after you. Who is that dark-haired shrew?"


    Josel pressed his lips together and fell silent. He did not want to say anything about Jolanda.


    "Answer me or you''ll meet the strap," Zal said in a calm voice.


    A violent madman, Josel thought, but he did not dare try the old man''s patience. Shamefacedly, and as briefly as possible, he told his affair with Jolanda Vargan.


    "Ah, young love, so fragile and treacherous," Ragart sighed. Josel''s glare silenced him.


    "Yes, Vargan knows the means. Sends his girl on a mission when he can''t get the information any other way. Well, maybe this little romance will serve us well in the future," Zal mused, keeping a straight face. "That''s enough for now. The boy needs some sleep," he finished and got up to leave.


    When Zal closed the door, Ragart let out a big yawn. "Boy, hop on the top. Fox is no longer supple enough to climb anywhere," the merchant said, yawning again. Apparently Ragart had found Josel harmless, for he finally let the rifle drop from his lap to the floor beside the bed.


    Josel kicked off his shoes and socks and climbed a narrow ladder to the top bunk. The bed was hard and not very wide, but he did not complain. He was exhausted after a terrible night. Josel rested his head on the pillow and immediately fell into a deep sleep, undisturbed even by Ragart''s thunderous snoring from below.


    * * *


    It was well into the afternoon when Josel woke up. For a moment he did not know where he was, but then the events of the previous night flooded his mind. Faceless, Jolanda, the escape, the ship called Princess, the interrogation¡­ A lot had happened, too much in such a short time.


    According to old Zal, Josel was safe now and on his way to Dad. But that did not mean that the man could be trusted. Likewise, Faceless, posing as Martha, had claimed on the Blue Moon side. Were Zal and his strange companions telling the truth? Especially as they were reluctant to say anything about themselves or their intentions. No, Josel did not dare to trust Zal.


    Then there was Zdain. Josel had not forgotten his fellow traveller. Who knows what poisons Melgy had put into Zdain''s mouth to cure him. He had to see for himself how Monteilon was doing. But if Zal or anyone else tried to stop him, well... there was nothing Josel could do.


    He got off the bunk bed and found that Ragart had left the cabin. There was a bowl in the wash recess, so Josel splashed water on his face and armpits. It made him feel a little more refreshed. At the same time, he was very thirsty and hungry. He emptied a water jug left on the table, but there was nothing to eat. He decided to go looking for some food.


    After stopping at the toilet, Josel found his way to the mess hall they had walked through earlier. There were two sailors sitting there, one of whom Josel recognised as the giant who had guarded the ship during the night.


    The tall, bald man stood up and introduced himself as First Mate Thombs. He showed Josel to a seat at the end of a long table and said he was going to get something to eat from the galley. The other sailor gave Josel a quick look, but then concentrated on his meal.


    Inside, the rattling of the paddle wheels could also be heard clearly. Josel had no real idea of the mechanism that moved the ship. Judging by the whirring and the funnels, there must have been an engine room somewhere in the bowels of Princess. In general, though, Josel knew almost nothing about ships. There were no major rivers near Paidos, and the lakes in the area were nothing more than ponds. So he had never been on the water in anything bigger than a rowing boat.


    When he was ten years old, Josel had travelled to the sea with Dad, Mom and Curtus. It had taken two days each way, but the Great Ocean had been a sight worthy of the name. He remembered the foam-crested waves hitting the shore, the screeching flocks of seagulls, and the open water that stretched to the horizon. There had been plenty to tell his friends back home.


    What would Franz and the others have said about the paddle steamer ploughing the river? Surely they would have been amazed, even though the riverboat was nothing like the great steamships, those new queens of the seas.


    In a short space of time, steamships had replaced traditional sailing ships in intercontinental trade, teachers had explained at school. It would be a thrill to be aboard one. Josel imagined a steamship battling a storm, its engines roaring. Towering waves would crash against it, and people would fear for their lives in the crazily swaying cabins. You didn''t get that on a steady riverboat, which was perhaps a good thing.


    Thombs returned with a tray. Josel took a deep breath as he smelled the stew. The tray was placed in front of him, with a large glass of water, pickles and a hefty chunk of rye bread in addition to the stew.


    "Eat to get stronger," the first mate urged, before returning to his seat opposite the dining sailor. Josel thanked him and began to shovel food into his mouth. Oh, how good it tasted!


    After eating, he thanked Thombs again, who was deep in conversation with another sailor. With no one to stop him, Josel walked out the mess onto the deck.


    It was like entering another world. There was no sign of the city anymore. The river flowed calmly and incredibly wide through the wooded landscape. The trees growing along the banks hung over the water, but could not reach the middle of the river, no matter how hard they tried. They would not have reached even ten ships sailing side by side, so wide was the river Frothy.


    Princess steamed on, her two funnels puffing. Not slowly, but probably not at top speed either. A large paddle wheel spun at a steady pace a short distance from Josel. The water gurgled and splashed against and around the wheel. It was impressive to watch, so Josel walked closer to get a better look.


    "Isn''t it beautiful?" a voice asked behind him.


    Josel jumped. He turned to see the foppishly dressed captain - Timos Soldeimon was the man''s name, he remembered.


    "Yes."


    Captain Soldeimon grinned so that his jaw twitched. "Still so quiet," he said.


    Josel decided to defend himself. "I''m among strangers on my way to who knows where. You wouldn''t be very talkative in that situation either, Captain"


    "You may call me Timos, as Lord of the Jackdaws and his comrades do."


    "Why do you call him that... Timos?"


    "You obviously know nothing about Zal," the captain responded. "And I''m not authorised to speak about him. But I heard how you were rescued from the Shadow Cross in Ipalos. That should give you a clue to the meaning of his nickname."


    "The birds! And the whistle."


    "Yes, Zal will tell you more one day."


    "I doubt it," Josel grumbled. "He hasn''t said anything yet."


    "Zal''s trust has to be earned. Once you have it, he is the most loyal of friends."


    Seeing Josel''s disbelieving expression, the captain continued. "Well, go to see your companions. They were just on the afterdeck. You can slip behind the paddle wheel, though hardly dry!" Captain Soldeimon said with a laugh.


    The captain''s words proved to be true. Despite Josel''s best efforts to get past the wheel as quickly as possible, the cool river water splashed over him.


    Shaking his wet sleeves, Josel thought about what he had just heard. Was Zal supposed to be "the most loyal of friends?" Maybe to his own friends, but not to Josel.


    The group of four were clearly working on something shady or even sinister. Josel was sure that asking questions would not clarify the matter. He sighed and stepped around the corner to the afterdeck.


    "...the faceless, the dreader and the Shadow Cross coups. There is too much here to be mere coincidence," Josel heard Ragart say.


    Zal, Melgy and Ragart had gathered in a tight circle. None of them seemed to notice Josel appearing around the corner.


    Marl stood a little farther away, staring sombrely at the white wake that lay in the river behind the ship. Josel still found it hard to believe that the grim-faced man was the famous Marl Gaidok.


    But Zal''s words brought him back to reality: "Yes. The Blue Moon needs more proof, those morons! This time I won''t go to Five Hills empty-handed. If the fools at the Blue Moon don''t listen to me, I''ll make them believe with the help of someone else".


    "Who do you mean?" Melgy asked.


    "Izaskar," Zal replied, turning his head suddenly. "Well, the boy has finally woken up," he said in his usual voice.


    "Short sleep, high salary. So they say among traders. On the other hand: high salary, fat belly - take your pick," Ragart chattered, patting his stomach.


    "Are you hungry?" Zal asked Josel.


    "The ship''s cook is one of the best, on a par with the chefs of Vendum," Ragart pointed out.


    Josel shook his head in annoyance. The old man and the merchant were deliberately wanting to mislead with their babbling; they had just been talking about something important.


    The Blue Moon had been mentioned, but what did it mean to Josel? Cursed Zal was full of secrets. If the four claimed to be on the same side, why couldn''t they trust Josel?


    "I want to see Zdain," he said.


    Melgy was the first to speak. "The boy is very weak. You are of no help to him," she said coldly.


    "I want to see him, he''s my friend!" Josel snapped, realising what he had said. A friend? Is Zdain Monteilon his friend?


    But he did not have time to think about it, because Zal intervened. "Melgy, let Josel see his friend quickly, it won''t do any harm."


    "All right," she said, looking sour. "Follow me!" she added to Josel, and began to walk briskly across the deck.


    "Son, we''ll talk tonight," Zal announced before Josel hurried after Melgy.


    They entered the corridor from the other side of the ship. Melgy led the way without a word. When they came to the right door, she told Josel to go in, but not for long.


    The cabin was about the same size as the one Josel shared with Ragart. The difference was that instead of bunk beds, there were two narrow beds on opposite walls. A small round window brought light to the cabin and to the bed on which a boy so familiar lay.


    Josel approached cautiously. Zdain''s face was pale and his eyes were closed. He was wrapped in a thick blanket, leaving only his bare shoulders visible. They were marked with a few nasty looking bruises and nicks.


    His hazel hair stuck to his forehead, wet with sweat, and Josel looked around for a cloth to wipe his face with. After searching without luck, he found himself sitting on a stool beside the bed.


    Josel listened, at least Zdain was breathing. Surprisingly calm, considering how sick he must be. The boy''s mouth was slightly open and appeared to be in a deep sleep.


    What could Zdain be dreaming of? Maybe Paidos and an easy life in the governor''s great palace. Or maybe warm summer days with a beautiful girl. Zdain must have had a girl in mind as well. Or how could he know, for Josel hardly knew Zdain at all. And he might never get the chance to get to know him. That''s how weak the boy looked.


    Finally, he could not resist the temptation and touched Zdain''s forehead with his fingertips. It was burning hot. Josel felt bad, worry gripping his chest. What if Monteilon is really going to die? After all they had been through together. Zdain would never wake up to the realization that he had been rescued from captivity.


    I wish there was something I could do to help, Josel thought discouraged. He did not know anything about treating the sick. There was no choice but to rely on Melgy''s nursing skills and hope for the best.


    Josel turned his gaze back to Zdain''s face. He felt the need to say something, despite knowing the boy could not hear. Or maybe that''s why he wanted to do it.


    "Zdain, it''s funny... you know, I just called you my friend on the deck, even though we''re not. You don''t like me at all, and I don''t really blame you. I must have been a total asshole. So... sorry for everything. Get well soon."


    It sounded stupid, sure, but saying it made Josel feel a little better. He sat still, watching sleeping Zdain. Finally he pushed the stool back and stood up. Outside the cabin, Melgy was already looking impatient, tapping the floor with the toe of her shoe.


    "Is he getting better?" Josel dared to ask after closing the door behind him.


    "The bruises, contusions and two broken ribs are healing. He should recover, but it seems likely that the fever will kill him before that," Melgy replied, somewhat emotionless.


    Josel nodded blankly at the woman and made his way back to the deck. On purpose to the other side of the ship where Zal and his companions had stayed. He sank down beside the board, pressed his face into his palms and wept silently.


    * * *