The Ramshuk (Heirs of Legacy Book 3)

by Paul Lauritsen

  Then, a larger than usual gust blew down the slope of the mountain. The snow swirled thicker for a moment, then thinned in the wake of the wind. And through this thinner curtain of whirling white flakes, Garnuk saw a cluster of large rocks, just a couple dozen meters off to the right.

  He moved towards them quickly, Tarq hurrying along behind him lest he be left behind. Garnuk reached the boulders in less than a minute and smiled to himself. The rocks were large enough to shelter them from the worst of the weather, and a leaning fir tree was anchored next to one of the larger boulders. Snow was piled in drifts on the windward side of the trunk and the rocks, but on the leeward side was a slightly squashed circle, three meters across, of dirt covered by a thin layer of snow.

  “Perfect,” Tarq observed. “Now if we could only get a fire going, we’d have everything we could want.”

  Garnuk thought for a moment, then broke off several pine boughs and piled them by the rocks, out of the wind. Tarq produced flint and steel and crashed them together, producing a shower of sparks. A few caught and held on the slender needles sprouting from the limbs and Garnuk stooped quickly to shield the fledgling flames from the wind. Tarq struck again and more sparks showered over the sticks, some flying perilously close to Garnuk’s hands.

  “Careful,” the Exile growled, glaring up at Tarq.

  “Just trying to make sure we get it started proper,” Tarq muttered. He knelt beside Garnuk and held his own hands around the tiny flames as well.

  Garnuk snorted and bent his horned head, blowing gently and steadily, providing a constant stream of fresh air. The flames flickered, then licked hungrily at the pine branches. The soft glow from the fire strengthened, then flames began running along one of the branches. Garnuk and Tarq grinned at each other, then went back to nurturing the tiny fire.

  It took nearly half an hour to build it up to a point where they didn’t have to sit right on top of the fire to protect it. By that time, the two travelers had achieved a respectable blaze almost a meter high. A stack of broken-off branches lay to one side, ready to be added to the fire should the flames falter.

  “This is much better,” Tarq observed, hunching down out of the wind and holding his hands close to the flames to warm them. “I thought for sure we’d freeze for a few moments there.”

  “How have you survived these past years?” Garnuk grunted. “This is nothing compared to the deep winter snows that blow through the mountains.”

  “True, but I am usually smart enough to be holed up in a cave during those.”

  Garnuk glared at his companion and tossed another branch on the fire. “Well, there will be no warm comfortable caves on this journey,” he said finally.

  “I figured that out,” Tarq replied.

  An uncomfortable silence stretched between them, broken only by the crackling fire and the howling wind.

  “How much further is the lost tribe?” Tarq asked finally.

  Garnuk shrugged. “A few days. Maybe a week depending on the weather.”

  “Mmm,” Tarq replied, gazing into the fire. “I can’t help but feel we are going the wrong direction. After all, the action will be far to the north of here.”

  “Eventually,” Garnuk agreed. “But the war is in its early stages yet. A single raid does not escalate to massive battles over the course of a night, or even a few days. We have time to gather support and information. Time to make sure we have the best possible chance of succeeding in this venture.”

  “I hope you are right,” Tarq murmured.

  Garnuk looked around the mountainside, taking in the dark sky, swirling snow, and bleak landscape. “I’ll take the first watch,” he announced. “You might as well rest for a while.”

  Tarq nodded his thanks, then rolled onto his side with his broad back to the fire. Garnuk continued to sit upright, placing his bare sword beside him, within easy reach. He wrapped his cloak more tightly around his shoulders and moved a little closer to the fire, adding another branch. The flames flared hungrily, devouring the extra fuel.

  Hours passed. Garnuk woke Tarq for the second watch, then was woken for the third watch. The storm showed no sign of abating throughout. When morning came, recognizable by the slightest brightening of the snow-filled sky, they ate a pitiful meal of water and dried meat roasted over the fire.

  “Doesn’t look as though we’re going anywhere today either,” Tarq observed as he finished his breakfast.

  “We’ll see,” Garnuk replied, chewing thoughtfully. “The snow may yet subside.”

  But the weather kept up its onslaught through the morning and into the afternoon. It was only in the evening that things improved. First, the wind quieted, allowing the snow to drift downwards of its own accord. Then, the snow itself began to thin, until there were no more flakes riding on the air. By then, though, it was nearly midnight and Tarq was asleep.

  Garnuk shook him awake roughly. The other vertag sprang up immediately, crouching with his axe and shield in hand, a question in his eyes.

  “No trouble,” Garnuk told him, keeping his voice low. “But the storm is gone.”

  “You woke me for that?” Tarq grumbled. “I was finally getting some decent sleep.”

  “No time,” Garnuk said curtly, stooping and grabbing his pack. “We need to get moving again.”

  “Now?” Tarq protested. “It’s the middle of the night!”

  “Very observant,” Garnuk replied drily. “We can see just as well now as during the day, maybe better. Come on, pack your things.”

  “Now wait just a moment!”

  Garnuk turned slowly, fixing Tarq with an inquisitive glare. “Yes?”

  “Who do you think you are, ordering me around?” Tarq demanded. “I’ve accompanied you this far because you were once my friend, and because I want to see the Usurper brought low. But if this is what our adventure is going to be, endless racing through the mountains, uncompromising orders, and intolerant leadership, then I am going back to my hidden cave.”

  “You wouldn’t be going anywhere if you abandoned me,” Garnuk told him flatly. “Friend or not, you would be a risk. A possible threat.”

  “Our history counts for nothing?”

  Garnuk scowled. “The only reason I am alive, Tarq, is because I trust no one. We are all weak. Very few among our race would rather die than betray a friend. We love life too much. It is the curse of living. We do whatever it takes to endure, even if it means abandoning everything else along the way.”

  “Not all of us,” Tarq growled. “I remain loyal to who I am. To my kin and tribe, though they betrayed me. I remained loyal to you, and did not immediately take you to the Usurper for trial and death.”

  “Very generous,” Garnuk murmured sarcastically. “I am honored.”

  “You should be,” Tarq shot back. “There are few among our race who could command such loyalty.”

  Garnuk paused at this, cocking his head thoughtfully. “Flattery will not sway me.”

  “It is not flattery,” Tarq replied. “You were once my general. My friend. I respect you Garnuk, and I am loyal, but I will not trot at your heels like a servant or a lackey. I am a fellow soldier, devoted to the cause.”

  Garnuk nodded slowly. “If you are a soldier, then you will go where you are commanded?”

  Tarq’s gaze hardened. “Within reason.”

  “Good soldiers follow orders.”

  “Even if the orders are wrong?” Tarq challenged. “If you were a captain, and the Ramshuk told you to slaughter your entire squad for their failure, would you do it?”

  “It depends,” Garnuk replied.

  “That’s better than yes, I suppose,” Tarq muttered, taking a half step back.

  “What is your point?”

  “The point is, by your own admission, you would not always follow a wrong order,” Tarq explained. “We are rational beings, Garnuk, you more than most among our race. You were once a great soldier, and while good soldiers follow orders, the best are able to use their judgement to do the r
ight thing. Even if it is contrary to what their leader demands.”

  “And you think that staying here instead of moving forward is the right thing?”

  “I did,” Tarq prevaricated. “But after this discussion I think I would find it rather hard to sleep.”

  “Me too,” Garnuk agreed. “Then we continue on our way south?”

  “Is that the best we can do for directions?”

  “For the moment. The lost tribe is lost for a reason you know.”

  Tarq sighed heavily and thrust his axe through a loop attached to his belt. “So be it. We continue moving forward. I will follow, not as a good soldier, but as one of the best.”

  Garnuk snorted and piled snow over the fire and spare wood. “Come along then. Time is wasting, and we have little enough as it is.”

  Tarq nodded and scooped up the rest of his belongings, slinging his pack over one shoulder. Garnuk led off once more, stepping out of the small, sheltered area they had made camp in. Tarq hesitated, then followed obediently, scanning the surrounding mountains.

  A few hours after they left the solitary camp, a lone hawk could be seen upon the air, winging over the slopes of the mountains. It circled the space where Garnuk and Tarq had sheltered during the storm, then wheeled back north and west, having found no signs of life. There, it descended the treacherous air currents until it landed delicately on the leather-padded arm of its master, its wings brushing a shoulder plate bearing the insignia of a black hawk clutching a crimson axe in its talons. The hawk screeched once, a high, shrill sound, then fixed the cloaked vertag with one amber eye.

  “Nothing,” the hunter reported.

  The leader of the band scowled. “The storm has hidden them well. But we will still find them eventually.”

  “The Exile has evaded us for many years,” another hunter observed, his face hidden in the cowl of his thick fur cloak. “Perhaps it is time we changed tactics.”

  “How so?” the leader demanded icily.

  The vertag shrugged. “Split up.” He looked around the small, elite group. “There are eleven of us. Four teams of two, one of three. Keep in contact by tying messages to our feathered friends.” He stroked the back of the hawk on his shoulder as he said this.

  The leader scowled. “The Exile may get the better of two of our soldiers,” he warned. “He may even get the better of three or four. You should know this, since many of our brothers have returned to Dun Carryl only to be entombed there.”

  “Which is why we do not engage. We only split up until the Exile is found,” the vertag countered. “Once he is found, we all gather together for the kill.”

  The leader of the hunters considered this. “It will only work if nobody rushes in and tries to grab the glory for himself,” he observed, looking around at the others.

  The hunters shifted uncomfortably. He could sense their nervousness. The idea of facing the Exile with only a two to one advantage was not a comforting one. A cornered and desperate vertag was a dangerous opponent. And the Exile would be even more so, knowing his history as an elite soldier.

  “We’ll do it,” the leader decided. “Split into teams. Do not engage until everyone is assembled. Those who find the traitor will be rewarded.” He paused, then repeated himself just to be clear. “Those who find him, not kill him. It will take all of us to make the kill.”

  Heads nodded all around. The leader smiled with grim satisfaction, then gave his final order.

  “Hunters, move out.”

  Chapter 5:

  Search for the Lost Tribe

  The longer they stumbled among the rocky Fells, the more Garnuk thought the lost tribe would remain just that: lost.

  Four days had passed since the blizzard, four days of combing the mountains endlessly, wandering from valley to valley, moving ever farther south until Garnuk estimated they were halfway along the peninsula. Still, there was nothing. No sign of village or stronghold. No signs of hunting parties or other roving groups. Hardly any signs of life at all, really.

  Every day the Exile’s frustration grew. He knew the lost tribe was in the southern Fells, knew they were close. But where? It was just too large a space for him to search effectively, even with Tarq watching his back. The other vertag had followed him from place to place without complaint, having no better suggestions to offer.

  Finally, Garnuk changed tactics. Instead of wandering the valleys and foothills, he led Tarq up the side of one of the larger mountains. On and on they climbed, ascending into the heavens. The surrounding vegetation thinned to almost nothing, then disappeared altogether. Grass and roots were replaced by rock and dirt, rock and dirt by snow and ice. Only when they crested the peak of the mountain did Garnuk pause.

  The sun was setting to the west, the peaks of the Fells casting long, jagged shadows over everything. The Exile turned in a slow circle, trying to get his bearings, but these mountains were unfamiliar. He could not even see Dun Carryl from this distance.

  But he could see the surrounding land better. He had a bird’s eye view of every valley and vale, every slope, and many of the nearest mountains. Slowly, he began searching for any sign of settlement, aware of Tarq standing just behind him, breathing heavily from the exertion of the climb.

  “Quite a view,” the other vertag remarked finally, still gulping great lungfuls of air. “Do you see our goal?”

  Garnuk continued turning slowly to his left, scanning the lands below. They had to be somewhere nearby. They just had to be.

  “What is that?” Tarq asked suddenly, pointing in a direction slightly east of south.

  Garnuk turned so quickly that he nearly fell over, slipping on an icy patch. For a moment, his heart raced with excitement, thinking Tarq had found the lost tribe. Then, he saw what the other vertag was pointing to and sighed.

  “That, my friend,” Garnuk explained, “Is the Southern Sea.”

  Tarq frowned at the distant steel-gray waters, rippling and heaving under unknown forces. “It looks . . . dangerous,” he said finally.

  “You have never seen it before?” Garnuk asked, surprised.

  “I have never traveled this far south,” Tarq grunted, kicking at a loose stone. “Have you?”

  “Once or twice,” Garnuk replied with a shrug. “A long time ago. The sea is powerful. I do not fear it, but I do respect it. There are forces in this world which cannot be dominated even by our fierce race. The sea is one of those forces.”

  They both continued staring at the stretch of undulating water for another moment. Then Garnuk cursed himself for getting distracted and went back to the search for the lost tribe. But as his eyes drifted away from the sea, they caught sight of a curious shape not far from the coast.

  Squinting towards the sea, Garnuk took a tentative step closer, knowing with one part of his brain that this would not help in the slightest. The play of the light on the land made it difficult to be certain, but he thought he saw a regular, rectangular shape among the coastal mountains. A shape too perfect to be naturally occurring.

  “Tarq?” he asked uncertainly. “Does anything catch your eye near the shore?”

  Tarq frowned, turning slightly. “Not really. Just the sea I suppose. Hang on,” he added suddenly.

  “Yes?” Garnuk said eagerly.

  “I see . . . something,” the vertag admitted at last. “I can’t tell what it is though.”

  “What does it look like?”

  “A wall? Or perhaps a building?”

  Garnuk smiled grimly. “I thought so too. Shall we investigate further?”

  Tarq rocked back and forth on his heels. “You think this strange sight is a sign of the lost tribe?”

  “I think it could be,” Garnuk said, rubbing his horns thoughtfully. “Do you disagree?”

  “They’re not really well hidden,” Tarq observed. “Not from this height anyway.”

  “Ah, but that is the critical point,” Garnuk said eagerly. “Not from this height. From the ground, I imagine you would not see that building or wha
tever it is until you were right on top of it, or unless you stumbled into that valley. See how the mountains grow closer together there? See how few entrances there are? I can see a single pass that might be manageable.”

  “It would be guarded no doubt.”

  “No doubt,” Garnuk agreed. “But we shall explore it nonetheless.”

  “What, now?”

  Garnuk’s first impulse was to agree and begin racing down the mountain. But then, he thought about the situation more. “No,” he said finally, shaking his head.

  Tarq grunted in surprise. “Well that was certainly unexpected,” he observed. “Care to explain your reasoning, general?”

  “We are both tired from many days on the move,” Garnuk replied grimly. “We need rest. Tomorrow, we will resume our journey at dawn and take things slowly, conserving our strength. That way if we are attacked we will have a fighting chance.”

  “Will the lost tribe attack without challenging us first?” Tarq asked.

  “Who knows?” Garnuk replied. “Do you know anyone who has visited their stronghold recently?”

  “No.”

  “Exactly. We must move cautiously. Survival is the primary objective. If the odds of reaching the chief of the lost tribe are low, we will retreat and find another option. I will not die taking foolish chances.”

  “Well, that’s a relief,” Tarq muttered. “I was worried for a moment there.”

  Garnuk smiled. “Rest. Recover. There is no need to set a watch tonight.” He threw down his pack and began rummaging for food. “We have no enemies up here on the mountain.”

  “You are sure?”

  “Reasonably.”

  Tarq sat uneasily and began digging in his pack as well. The two vertaga ate in near silence, watching the distant sea and the setting sun. By the time the fiery orb had disappeared below the horizon, both had finished their meals. They rolled themselves in their cloaks and lay down, weapons close at hand.

  Dawn came. Garnuk rose at the first warm touch of sunlight, shrugging aside his cloak and yawning as he sat up. Tarq woke a moment later, rubbing at his eyes.