The Shadowy Path - 18. 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' Quarter."

"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.

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 he 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 the 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.

* * *