Free Chasers of the Wind by Alexey Pehov Page A

thought that some clever lads had managed to do Ness in after all. But now … now I’m beginning to think that he did everything right. At the time when our friend supposedly died, a very notorious assassination was carried out. The target was destroyed by an arrow. It was a masterful shot. Perfect. The archer was located in such a spot that he could have only made that shot if his hand was guided by Melot himself. I know only one archer like that, and that’s Ness.”
    “So Gray hit his target, duped everyone, grabbed his wife, and disappeared?”
    “That’s about it. By the way, he and his wife work together.”
    “Am I wrong or did it seem to me that you were more afraid of her than of your miraculous archer?”
    Whip frowned petulantly. Midge was right. Sometimes this lad annoyed him to no end.
    “She could boil your brain faster than you could pull your knife from its sheath.”
    “All women can do that.” Shen laughed.
    “I’m serious. She’s the only one in our line of work who has the Gift. Everyone thinks that Layen can only talk without opening her mouth, but when I worked with Gray I saw her blow up this one man’s head.”
    “How’s that work? Is she a Walker or something?” asked his companion.
    “No.”
    “An Ember?”
    “Why are you bugging me? No one knows. She has the Gift and that’s that. What difference does it make what kind? That’s enough talking. They’re waiting for us.”
    They stepped out onto the street and headed toward Ness’s house. Shen was thinking quietly to himself and Whip was beginning to wish that he’d held his tongue.
    “So who was the target?”
    The leader looked at his companion uncomprehendingly.
    “Who did Ness swat down that he had to flee so quickly?”
    “A Walker,” said the assassin dryly and, ignoring the dropped jaw and the look of utter shock on the face of his subordinate, he walked on.
    *   *   *
    Pork shuffled along through the forest, delightedly gnawing on a piece of honeyed gingerbread. The pockets of his torn trousers were bursting with sweets. The half-wit had bought the treats with the money that had been given to him by that kind gentleman. The one who rode on a knight’s horse but wasn’t a knight. But he was nice. And his horse was nice, too. And his sword. Also, he was Pork’s friend. Uh-huh. They were the best of friends. Pork would do whatever Uncle wanted. He’d even treat him to a bit of gingerbread. One he had nibbled on a bit. Or not! Maybe even a whole one! Then the village children wouldn’t say that he was greedy and stupid. Lies! All lies! They were always mocking. So he wasn’t going to give them any of his tasty treats. Never! Why should he share with those wolves anyway? All it’d get him was a dirty shirt and mud flinging again. And they won’t let him play knights. So when Pork ran away from home and became a knight, he’d show them all. They’ll be jealous!
    Now he was walking to his favorite glade. There, next to the swift river, he could eat up in peace and quiet, unafraid that someone would notice. Or even worse, start badgering him. Pork, let me try it. Just a piece, hey, Pork? There’s a good lad!
    Oh! The clingy leeches!
    In a fit of pique the half-wit kicked at a mushroom near his foot. Its cap flew into the air, slammed against a tree trunk, and burst apart into many pieces.
    “Whoo-hoo!” said Pork rapturously.
    He never would have guessed that mushrooms could fly and smash apart so well. This was so much better than old Roza’s turnips. The fool twisted his head around, searching through the grass for the prominent red caps, but there weren’t any nearby. Huffing in frustration, he walked out into the glade, but then he immediately retreated under the cover of the trees.
    He petulantly puffed out his lips. What crap! His favorite spot was already taken! Ann, the wife of the carpenter, was standing next to the old oak. What was she doing here? He’d just have to eat another piece of