The room fell silent for several long moments. Danur let his audience think on what he had said, glancing at Garnuk every so often. When the Exile felt that enough time had passed, he leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest to let Danur know to move on.
“Those of you who wish to join us, step forward and receive your assignments,” Danur said quietly. “Those who do not, you may go. We have no further business with you. Keep this matter a secret though. There is no telling who could be an enemy to the Banuk, even within our hallowed sanctuary.”
There was a short pause, then a few vertaga began shuffling towards the front of the room. One or two left without an assignment, and those Garnuk marked down for future reference. He would have them followed for a few days just to be sure they didn’t talk to anyone they shouldn’t.
But the rest of the vertaga in the room, roughly three score in all, moved to the front to receive their assignments. Danur had only spoken of the meeting to those who were capable warriors and good scouts. Those basic qualifications alone would make them serviceable followers. But as they left, Garnuk studied their eyes. And there he saw different things. Some burned with a fervor that surprised him. These were the ones who truly believed. Others were hard and determined, ready to assist their tribe.
There was a third group as well, a group in whose eyes Garnuk saw resignation. These vertaga would serve, but not with the willingness or zeal which the others did. These rams were shouldering a burden, not supporting a cause. They would bear watching, for if anyone was to turn traitor it would be a ram from this group.
Finally, each recruit had received their orders and been ushered from the room. Danur saluted the last ram on his way out the door, then shut the portal and threw the bolt, breathing out a heavy sigh of relief before turning to face Garnuk and Brunn, still hidden in their alcove.
“The meeting went well,” he observed to no one in particular.
Garnuk nodded thoughtfully. “A great success. I am impressed you were able to find so many on such short notice, Danur.”
The warrior shrugged. “I did what I could, general. I only hope they do their jobs properly and are of some help to Shadow Squadron.”
“And that they don’t expose us,” Brunn added worriedly. “Don’t you think their absence might be noticed? Sixty vertaga leaving at the same time? It’s not as though Banuk parade forth in those numbers from the outer gate every day. In fact, that gate is rarely opened.”
“Which is why they are leaving through the tunnel to the coast,” Danur grunted. “And at different times over the next three days. This way there will not be a sudden mass departure. Our spies will leave at the appointed time, blend in with the traffic to and from the boats, and quietly sneak away through the pass near the coast and make their way to their positions in pairs.”
“And they will return the same way,” Garnuk added. “Rotating who watches and who travels with each trip. We’ve been over this before,” he added, looking at Brunn meaningfully.
Brunn nodded. “I know. I am just being thorough.”
“You are being a worried old cur,” Danur countered, curling his lip in disdain.
“No, I – !”
“Silence,” Garnuk rumbled. “There are no cowards here, Danur. We are all brave and true vertaga, prepared to fight for and defend our kin. Brunn just treats risk a little less . . . analytically than you and I do.”
Danur snorted softly, his lips twitching in an almost smile. Brunn shrugged and nodded almost imperceptibly, knowing this was a fairly accurate assessment of the situation.
“Then what now?” he asked finally.
“Food,” Garnuk grunted. “It’s near enough to nightfall that we might as well take our evening meal.”
“There is a place near the stronghold many of our warriors favor,” Brunn offered. “The meat they serve is always tender and delicious.”
“Raw or cooked?”
“Either, whichever you prefer.”
Garnuk rose, stretching, and returned his sword to its scabbard. “That sounds good. But one of you will have to go in and get food for all of us. I should spend as little time as possible in public.”
“Then where will we eat?” Brunn dithered.
“Up on the mountainside,” Garnuk replied. “Where we can feast and talk free of eavesdroppers.”
“What is there to talk about?” Brunn grumbled. “More plans and preparations?”
“Always,” Garnuk replied sternly. “If we are not planning ahead, we are falling behind.”
The three vertaga left the room then, and descended back into the lower levels of the Banuk stronghold. As they did, Garnuk noticed several squadrons of warriors headed towards the front entrance, their faces grim and determined. Their weapons were held ready for use.
“What is Carh up to?” Garnuk wondered aloud. He quickened his pace, making for the front of the stronghold. In moments, they emerged onto the front steps, sandwiched between two squads of twelve.
“Exile!”
Garnuk spun around, grabbing for his sword. He recognized the voice as Carh’s, and there was a fierce note to it that did not bode well. He spotted the Banuk chief and stepped out of the flow of traffic to join him, Brunn and Danur skulking along reluctantly in his wake.
“Where have you been?” the Banuk chief demanded. “I sent warriors to find you.”
“Did you?” Garnuk asked, glancing at Brunn and Danur. “We must have missed each other then. The three of us were just headed to find food. How may we be of assistance?”
“You can start by fixing the problem that you created,” Carh snapped.
“Another one?” Garnuk asked.
“The Black Hawks,” the Banuk chief said ominously. “They are here, at our gates.”
Garnuk froze. “Here?” he asked incredulously. “They have found Banta Kodu?”
“Our Sentinels report that they are closing in,” Carh said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Your plan has failed, Exile.”
“My plan?” Garnuk retorted furiously. “My plan, great chief, was to pull everyone back into the city and leave nothing for the Black Hawks to find. And now we have Sentinels reporting on their movements? How could that come about if everyone was in the city?”
“A few were left – ”
“And now are retreating straight to the gates, leaving a trail for the Black Hawks, faint and difficult as that trail may be to follow,” Garnuk snapped. “If you had followed my plan, Chief Carh, this would not have happened.”
“You would do well to remember to whom you speak,” the Banuk chief said flatly, the head of his war club rising a little bit.
Garnuk’s hand dropped to the hilt of his sword casually. “You may be a chief, but I am no easy target. Just ask the Black Hawks headed for your gates.”
“I could give you to them,” Carh suggested. As he spoke, several warriors behind him took a half step forward, anticipating his next command. “I’m sure they would be very happy to see you.”
“You would give up the secret location of your home in the process,” Garnuk pointed out mildly. “Not a good strategy. Certainly not if you want to maintain your isolation.”
The warriors exchanged uncertain glances. Carh glared at Garnuk and sighed heavily.
“I suppose you have yet another plan for me?” he asked, exasperated.
“Not yet,” Garnuk admitted, shaking his head. “I have to see the enemy first before I can plan to defeat them.”
“To the wall then,” Carh announced. “All of us. Let us see what can be done to send these foul hunters back where they belong.”
“Far away from here,” Danur agreed with a fierce grin. “If they wish to do battle with us, they will answer to the spirits by nightfall.”
“Too risky,” Garnuk warned. “Battle is the path least certain to protect this valley. Let us explore our other options first, if we have any.”
The number of warriors clogging the streets increased the closer th
e small group came to the wall that sheltered Banta Kodu. The gate was sealed tight, several squads of spear-wielding rams formed up on the inside in case it was breached. On the walls above, squads of vertaga crouched out of sight at regular intervals. Carh led the way up a long flight of stairs to the ramparts, then shoved his way to the edge of the wall, taking hold of a small protrusion.
“This is a spyhole,” he murmured to Garnuk. “Through it, we can see without being seen.”
The Exile nodded wordlessly. Carh waited for the nearest soldiers to fall silent and stop moving, then tugged on the lever. A small plate swung smoothly inward, revealing a hole in the wall. The Banuk chief put his eye to it, gazing out into the forest.
Nothing happened for a long moment. Everyone stayed as they were, silent and unmoving. Then, Carh leaned back and beckoned Garnuk closer, covering the opening with his massive hands.
“You can hear them,” he hissed. “They are drawing close.”
“What are they saying?”
“Listen and find out,” Carh grunted. “And let me know when you have a plan.” He shifted slightly to one side, allowing Garnuk space. The Exile quickly put his eye to the spyhole, watching and listening.
Through the spyhole he could see a surprisingly wide stretch of the forest, dim and gloomy with the dying light. Everything was liberally dusted with snow and ice, the occasional boulders rearing from the ground slick and shining. And out of that still, tranquil scene drifted voices.
Garnuk could barely make out the words, so the hunters were still a fair distance away. Not an immediate threat, in any case. He continued to listen, straining his ears, until the voices rose in volume so that he could hear them. Not because the voices were getting closer, he realized with satisfaction. But because they were arguing.
“We should push on,” a voice snapped irritably. “The birds led us to this area, after all.”
“Where we found nothing,” another Black Hawk shot back. “Whatever happened to Taron and Rull, it is long gone. There are not even decent tracks to follow.”
“There are tracks,” another voice announced. “But not like those we found in the clearing the hawks led us to.”
There were quick footsteps in the snow, as though the group were gathering around the one who had spoken. “See,” the voice continued. “Three sets, headed south. Deeper into the forest.”
“Not the traitor then,” the original voice grunted, clearly frustrated.
“Not unless he has gained a few followers,” the tracker agreed.
“We’re close,” another vertag said urgently. “I can sense it.”
“Ridiculous,” the leader replied. “Sense it? Show me some tracks or other signs that we are in the right place. But I have no time to waste on senses. The traitor continues to elude us, and if he is not caught soon it will be all of our heads.”
“Not likely,” the tracker mused. “If Norkuvad killed the lot of us, he would have no one to track down the Exile anymore.”
“Stop calling him that!” the leader commanded. “The Exile? Giving him a title like that makes me wonder if you admire that murdering coward.”
“I do not admire him,” the tracker replied calmly. “But he is an adversary worthy of respect. He is highly skilled, Norgen, and dangerous.”
There was a pause, then Norgen’s voice came again. “So, what do you recommend, oh great hunter?” he asked sardonically.
The hunter either missed Norgen’s belligerent tone or ignored it, replying calmly and thoughtfully. “I think we have wasted enough time here. Taron and Rull could just as easily have been found by a bear as slain by the Exile. And he would not take their bodies with him. No, some other misfortune befell our comrades. The Exile is not here.”
“Then we move on,” Norgen growled. “And stick together this time. Clearly, groups of two are not powerful enough to keep even warriors of our skill safe in the Fells.”
There were several grunts of agreement, then Garnuk heard the footsteps retreating. He saw movement in the trees, vague shadows moving amongst the trunks.
Then, one of the shadows paused and looked back, directly at the wall. Garnuk could not make out the expression on the vertag’s face, but he felt as though the hunter was searching. As if he knew something was there. The hunter lowered his hood and shaded his eyes to see better, and in that moment, Garnuk recognized him.
The Exile shifted slightly on the wall, his right hand grabbing for his sword as fear and anger coursed through him. This hunter would not get away. This cursed Black Hawk would pay for his crimes.
But, just as quickly as the rush of emotion had come, it was tempered by reason. The hunters were a good way off, and to attack would be to expose the Banuk and to risk everything that he was working to build. Everything that Garnuk would use to destroy the Usurper and his Black Hawks. With an enormous effort, Garnuk released the hilt of his sword and went back to observing, breathing heavily and fuming inwardly.
Finally, the hunter turned away and followed his brethren back to the north, away from Banta Kodu.
Garnuk shivered and sat back from the spyhole, pondering what he had witnessed. Beside him crouched Carh, close enough that he might have been able to hear as well. The Banuk chief reached past Garnuk and closed the spyhole.
“Did you hear any of what was said?” Garnuk managed, glancing at the chief.
Carh nodded gravely. “We were extremely fortunate. They gave up just in time.”
“I’m not sure they all gave up,” Garnuk muttered. “But Norgen wants to go north, so north they will go.”
“Who is this Norgen?” Carh asked sharply. “Do you know him?”
“I know of him,” Garnuk replied, shrugging. “He’s an extremely capable warrior. Perhaps the best the Usurper has. But he is nothing next to his lieutenant.”
Carh leaned in closer, his eyes boring into Garnuk. “And who might that be?” he asked softly.
Garnuk took a deep breath to steady his racing heart. “If I am right, that was Hunon Three-Claw, the most cunning vertaga ever to roam the Fells.”
Carh tilted his horned head back and forth, considering this. “How do you know him?”
Garnuk raised his gaze from the stone walkway of the wall, looking out across the city, his mind thousands of miles and many years away. “Because Hunon is the only vertag ever to outsmart me,” he said at last. “He helped the Usurper orchestrate the plot which nearly ended in my death, ten years ago.”
Chapter 12:
Gathering Shadows
The day after the Black Hawks appeared, another snowstorm hit the southern Fells. The winds shrieked through the skylights in the roof of Banta Kodu, bringing with them gusts of powdery snow that dissipated over the city. Other than the keening wail of the winds, the storms did not bother the people of the Banuk tribe or Shadow Squadron. But Garnuk fervently hoped that the Usurper’s hunters had been caught in the storm and were even now freezing somewhere in the wilderness.
The thought of so many of his old adversaries so close by made him nervous and jumpy. Even when he was moving through the Banuk stronghold, Garnuk started at odd noises and saw phantom foes lurking in the shadowy alcoves. Memories of the days when he was betrayed haunted him, and the faces of his enemies appeared repeatedly in his dreams. Particularly the face of Hunon Three-Claw.
There were other Black Hawks he feared and respected of course. Their leader Norgen was not to be trifled with, and there were other fine warriors amongst them. But Hunon troubled Garnuk above all the others. He was not a leader and did not command vast armies, but he was dangerous.
Hunon, Garnuk remembered, had always been cunning and intelligent. But he was also highly secretive and viewed any position of power or fame with distaste. He was content to stay in the shadows, staying on the winning side, protected by powerful vertaga with many warriors to back them up.
What bothered Garnuk most was that he did not understand what motivated Hunon. Survival, certainly. But beyond that? Hunon obviousl
y was not constrained by honor or such ties as friendship. He had betrayed Garnuk to the Usurper, after all. He had no family that Garnuk could recall. Did he have any loyalty to a tribe? To vertaga as a whole? Or was he merely a mercenary, content to serve whoever could preserve his life and pay for his services?
Perhaps, Garnuk realized, his lack of understanding was the reason that he had never bested Hunon. He knew of Hunon of course, knew how he had lost all but three fingers fighting one of the hellish wolves of the south. Garnuk knew of Hunon’s many successes over the years, the various masters he had served and the positions he had held. He had even commanded Hunon himself at one point. But, after all that, he was no closer to knowing precisely who the three-fingered vertag was.
Hopefully, he would never need to know. With any luck, all the Black Hawks were frozen solid in the storm and the vengeful mountain spirits of snow and ice had already buried them. But Garnuk knew better than to trust in luck, and in the back of his mind he knew there was no way a warrior such as Hunon would be brought low by something so trivial as a snowstorm.
One vertag Garnuk saw little of in the days after the encounter with the Black Hawks was Chief Carh. The Banuk leader had stayed away from the base of Shadow Squadron, and had not sent for Garnuk in nearly two weeks. The Exile hoped this meant the chief had forgiven him for the issue of the Black Hawks and they would move forward as allies. But Garnuk was still reluctant to seek out the chief himself and ask for additional resources.
And so it happened that Garnuk and his two guards spent the two weeks doing very little. They rose early and breakfasted in the command center, using the ring-like desk as an extended table. During that time, they updated each other on progress if there was any. Then, they went their separate ways until evening. Garnuk often retreated to his room to think and plan, a frustrating exercise that often left him with a tremendous, painful pressure behind his eyes. There were just too many possibilities to keep track of, too many factions working against each other, and too many unknowns.
Brunn and Danur spent the time resting for the first week and a half. But by the end of the second week, reports were beginning to filter in from all parts of the Fells. There was little to make note of at this stage, just the fact that the teams of two vertaga were each setting up their camps and had reached their assignments in one piece. Still, it was progress.
The Ramshuk (Heirs of Legacy Book 3) Page 11
