Beyond the sentry, Garnuk saw a small, dark opening, only large enough for one vertag to pass through at a time. The opening was neatly concealed by the cliff as well, and would be very difficult to find accidentally. Garnuk belatedly searched the end of the canyon for any more sentries. When he found none, he carefully crept back to the right, passing out of the sentry’s line of sight once more.
“What is it?” Lun hissed urgently. “What did you see?”
“A sentry,” Garnuk replied in an undertone. “Guarding a cave. The butcher is likely inside.”
“So we wait for him to come out?”
Garnuk glanced at Vars, then shook his head. “No, we go in after him, see what he is up to.”
“And wave to the sentry on the way past,” Vars grunted.
“No,” Garnuk replied impatiently. “We knock out the sentry and Lun takes his place. Then you and I go into the cave and see what’s there.”
“Why does Lun get to stand guard?”
“Because the caves will be more dangerous, and you are annoying me,” Garnuk replied grimly.
Vars scowled. “I just don’t see the point of risking all of our horns on this venture.”
“The point, is that we need information,” Garnuk reminded him. “The butcher is the premier warrior the Usurper has at his command. I want to know why under the silver moon Arasnak is being kept in an isolated cave, away from the fighting. What greater purpose he could possibly be serving.”
“Greater than carving paths through hordes of Sthan soldiers?” Lun mused. “That would have to be some kind of purpose, general.”
“Precisely,” Garnuk agreed. “So, here’s the plan. We circle to the right and take out the sentry. Lun, you take his place. Vars, you follow me in as quietly as possible, and follow my orders without question. Is that clear?”
Two horned heads nodded, one more reluctantly than the other. Garnuk nodded curtly in acknowledgement, then began moving slowly to the right, circling around to close in on the unsuspecting sentry.
The Exile trod as carefully as he could, but inevitably there was some noise as the three of them moved. Their boots squeaked and crunched in the snow, occasionally thumping on rocks and packed dirt. Their armor and clothes rustled with each movement as well, and once Garnuk’s shield grazed a tree trunk, producing a dull bonk!
Twenty meters from the cliffs, Garnuk held up his sword horizontally above his head, signaling the others to halt. Lun and Vars froze instantly. Garnuk continued on alone, back to the cliffs, inching over the snow-covered ground. His breathing sounded impossibly loud to his ears, and he was certain that the sentry could hear him approaching.
Finally, he drew level with the outcrop that he knew the sentry to be sheltering behind. Garnuk took a deep breath, reversing the grip on his sword, then lunged around the outcrop, bringing the pommel of his sword up and around in a crushing blow.
The vertag on sentry duty never stood a chance. One moment, he was shivering in the elements, bored and half-asleep, the next a hard object was slamming into his head, just in front of his left horn. The vertag grunted in surprise, stunned, but not unconscious. Garnuk hit him twice more in quick succession, and the soldier slumped sideways, fetching up against the cliffs to one side. The heavy spear toppled in the other direction, landing with a muffled thump in the snow.
Even before the spear had fallen, Garnuk was signaling the others to join him. He ripped the oversized shield from the sentry’s arm and passed it to Lun, along with the spear. Then, he glanced down at the sentry’s still form and realized that disguising Lun would do little good if the body of the previous guard was lying out in the open like this.
“Vars,” he grunted. “Grab an arm and help me hide this.”
“Where?” the other vertag replied, looking around.
“Out of sight of the trail,” Garnuk muttered, dragging the unconscious sentry towards a cluster of boulders. “He doesn’t have to be hidden well.”
Vars grabbed the fallen sentry’s other arm and began dragging as well, lightening Garnuk’s load considerably. They stowed him behind the largest of the boulders, and gagged him with his sword belt.
“That won’t hold long,” Vars observed. “Do we have anything to tie his arms and legs?”
“No,” Garnuk said, shrugging. “We’ll just have to be quick. He should be out for at least an hour.”
“I hope you’re right,” Vars said doubtfully.
“Me too,” Garnuk agreed. “Let’s get moving, we’ve wasted enough time here.”
The two vertaga slipped back to the cave entrance, where Lun stood sentry duty, trying to strive for the same bored and disinterested air that the last sentry had maintained.
“Keep up the good work,” Garnuk told him. “But if we come running out of there, be ready to move.”
“But if the butcher is chasing us and you have a clear shot, take it,” Vars urged. “He may not see you until it is too late, hidden in the cliffs like you are.”
“Not bad,” Garnuk said, casting an approving look in Vars’ direction. “I’m almost tempted to draw the butcher out this way now to see if your idea works.”
“Stealth is better,” Vars said quickly. “If they don’t know we have the information, it is that much more valuable.”
“And doesn’t involve risking a fight with Arasnak,” Garnuk said with a shrug.
“There’s that as well,” Vars admitted.
Garnuk gave the other vertag a knowing smirk, then turned and led the way into the cave.
Initially, the passage was wide enough for only two vertaga to walk abreast, and Garnuk wondered if they had, in fact, found the right place after all. Then, the tunnel widened out sharply to a vast hall. To the right and left, doors had been built over the entrances to other caves. Flickering torches hung between the doors, partially illuminating the rough and rocky passage.
“There’s a lot more here than just the butcher,” Vars murmured from behind Garnuk.
Garnuk turned angrily and held a finger to his lips. Vars shrugged silently, gesturing for Garnuk to proceed. The Exile did so, striding confidently down the center of the passage, acting as though he not only belonged here but owned the cave complex. Vars hesitated a moment, then followed.
The hall was roughly thirty meters long, with five or six doors on each side. Garnuk was tempted to open a few and see where they led, but that was a dangerous risk. For now, he would scout the larger passages. If they didn’t find anything, then maybe a judicious search of some of the rooms was in order.
As they approached the end of the hall, Garnuk noticed that the caves seemed to widen out even more beyond the rough arch that separated the hall from the next room. He was beginning to wonder just how much of this complex was natural and how much had been carved out when he caught sight of the next cavern and froze.
Just as Garnuk had surmised, the caves widened out even further here. But he had not expected the ceiling to soar twenty meters above his head, or for the far wall to be more than twice that distance away. More doors led off of this central room on all sides, concealing what Garnuk did not know. In the center of the room, taking up most of the space, actually, was a deep central well. Garnuk could see large, heavy doors in the wall of the pit as well, but these were of a much sturdier construction than the mere wooden portals around the upper level.
“What is going on here?” he murmured, intrigued. He started to move forwards, towards the edge of the pit, then stopped as a door to his right banged open and two vertaga emerged.
Immediately, Garnuk and Vars moved into the uncertain shadows around the edge of the hall. They had to move closer to the pit to do so, and as they did Garnuk caught sight of a wide, sandy floor. An arena of sorts? What for?
“We just need more time,” a voice whined to Garnuk’s right, from the direction of the door that had just flown open. “If the Ramshuk would just allow us to – ”
“The Ramshuk does not . . . have . . . TIME!” a second voice roared
. The last word was punctuated by a heavy impact, immediately followed by a pained gasp. “If we do not succeed, and soon, it’s all of our horns!”
Another heavy impact, then a vertag entered Garnuk’s field of vision, scrabbling backwards on all fours, looking up at some unseen antagonist.
“But, master,” the vertag pleaded. “We are doing everything we can and so are you! What more could the Ramshuk expect from us?”
“He expects success,” the other growled, stepping forward and looming over the downed vertag. “And is absolutely intolerant of failure.”
Garnuk sucked in a quick breath as he recognized the hulking figure. Arasnak, the butcher. The downed vertag he did not recognize, but that was not surprising. He was likely just a minion of the butcher, and a hapless and unfortunate one at that. Then, realizing that they could be discovered standing here at any moment, Garnuk turned quickly to Vars, who was crouching to make himself as small a target as possible.
“Stand up,” he snapped. “Act like we’re supposed to be here.”
“How?” Vars demanded fearfully.
“Look bored and nervous,” Garnuk replied. “But never show surprise or horror. That would be a dead giveaway.” And, demonstrating what he desired, he slowly straightened then leaned indolently against the wall, watching the pit incuriously. Vars hesitated, then followed suit, idly rubbing the blade of his axe with a thick finger. Garnuk nodded approvingly, then went back to observing.
“In any event,” Arasnak was saying, “We must try again. I am convinced that these devils can be tamed.”
Garnuk frowned involuntarily, thinking over that statement. Devils? Tamed?
“Release one,” Arasnak commanded, striding to the edge of the pit resolutely and staring down into the arena.
“But, master!”
“Do it!”
The underling growled to himself, scratched his horns, then shouted across the pit to a small cluster of vertaga around a curious device with many levers and chains attached. One nodded gravely and heaved on a lever. One of the chains began to reel in, lifting a locking beam from a gate in the pit. The gate swung slightly open, and a growling snapping noise reached Garnuk’s ears. He thought he recognized it, but was not sure.
Then, a howl ripped through the chamber and the Exile’s blood turned to ice.
Chapter 17:
The Pit
A black and gray blur shot out of the cave that the door had sealed, its jaws snapping at empty air, racing in a confused circle as it sought prey. After leaping in great bounds all the way around the pit, the beast stopped and looked up at Arasnak and his followers, black lips pulled back in a snarl, hackles raised, fangs dripping as it slavered.
“What is that?” Vars whispered from beside Garnuk, terrified. “Some kind of wolf?”
Garnuk shook his head slowly. This beast was far too big to be a wolf, and far too savage. This was a creature out of legend, one which he had not believed existed.
“It’s a varloug pran,” the Exile murmured finally.
“What?” Vars yelped. “Those are myths! They don’t actually exist.”
“Tell that to the beast down there,” Garnuk said, nodding to the oversized wolf, “And see what he thinks.”
The varloug pran suddenly leapt for the edge of the pit, causing Arasnak’s followers to shrink as one from the edges, shouting in fear. The butcher himself stayed where he was, staring dispassionately down at the creature. Vars swore under his breath as the beast leapt again, falling just short of the edge.
“If that is one of the varloug pran the legends speak of, then what else about them is true?” Vars wondered. “Are they really demons? Vengeful and ferocious spirits? Or are they something else?”
Garnuk shrugged. “Who knows? I don’t think they are demons though. If anything, it looks like an animal to me.” The varloug pran leapt for freedom again, howling with frustration as it fell short once more. “A cornered, trapped, and very angry animal,” he added.
“How did they find one, what do they want with it?” Vars muttered agitatedly.
Garnuk turned and stared at his wide-eyed companion. “Relax,” he said quietly. “It is not after us. It cannot escape the pit. And there are plenty of meals between it and us.” His lips twitched in a slight smile. “Perhaps it will take care of the butcher for us as well.”
“We should be so lucky,” Vars muttered, pressing himself back against the wall as though he wanted to disappear. “Let’s get out of here.”
“No,” Garnuk said curtly. “I want to see what Arasnak does. He’s keeping the beast here for a purpose. But what is that purpose?”
They watched the butcher carefully, but Arasnak made no movement, merely watching the leaping, snapping beast in the pit below. Gradually, the varloug pran settled down, realizing it could not escape the pit. It resorted to pacing back and forth, looking for a way out, growling to itself occasionally.
After a few minutes of this, Arasnak moved closer to the edge of the pit. Not tentatively or cautiously, but purposefully, almost as if –
Garnuk blinked in surprise as the butcher dropped into the pit with the beast, landing heavily. The varloug pran howled to the ceiling and turned to face him, snarling. This time, other howls answered, muffled by the gates around the edge of the pit. The sound sent shivers up and down Garnuk’s spine until he wanted to run from the cave, from the Fells even, and put as much distance between himself and these beasts as possible.
“Is he mad?” Vars whispered, watching the butcher as he slowly paced towards the varloug pran.
“He must be,” Garnuk muttered, wondering why Arasnak would put himself in such a position.
The varloug pran suddenly bounded forward in a terrific leap, jaws wide open to devour Arasnak, front paws ready to rip the butcher to pieces. But Arasnak was fast and strong, with lightning reflexes and a savage, fighting spirit. In a way, Garnuk mused, these were two similar beasts in two very different bodies.
The butcher ducked and rolled, passing underneath the massive paws easily and coming up behind the varloug pran. Garnuk expected him to strike out at the beast, then realized that Arasnak carried no weapons at all, not even a shield. His only defense was his own natural ability and his clawed hands.
The varloug pran landed with a frustrated snarl and turned quickly, snapping at Arasnak. The vertag twisted out of reach of the gnashing fangs, then ducked behind the wolf’s head and grabbed it around the neck. The varloug pran shook itself irritably, trying to dislodge the butcher, but Arasnak hung on grimly.
Around the rim of the pit, the other vertaga were watching in nervous anticipation. Several held short, powerful bows or throwing spears, presumably in case the demonic wolf gained the upper hand. Another group of vertaga was armed with knotted ropes, easily long enough to reach the sandy floor of the pit. They would be responsible for getting Arasnak out if he was in danger.
But for the moment, the butcher seemed to have the upper hand. His grip was strong and the varloug pran was struggling to throw him off. Nor, Garnuk realized, could the beast bite or snap at the butcher. Arasnak was just out of reach of its fangs, no matter how much the creature twisted and squirmed in his grip. The varloug pran lashed out with its front paw, nearly catching Arasnak’s leg, but the butcher jumped just in time, throwing his full weight against the neck of his captive.
The wolf snarled as it was knocked off its feet, its paws flailing at the air, still snapping and writhing valiantly. Arasnak had it well pinned though, both of his scarred, muscular arms wrapped around its neck. A murmur of interest was running through the onlookers now, and Garnuk wondered with a detached part of his mind if the butcher had succeeded in getting to this point before. So far, he had masterfully handled the fierce beast. But to what point? Some bizarre form of training? Was being renowned as the best vertaga warrior not enough?
The varloug pran’s bids for freedom were weakening. First the paws stopped flailing. Then, the snarling and snapping turned to panting and ga
sping. Then, finally, the convulsive heaves and lurches ceased and the beast lay still, save for tremors running through its exhausted muscles. Arasnak still held it though, pinning the beast to the ground.
“Is it dead?” Vars asked quietly. “Or unconscious?”
“Neither,” Garnuk replied, noting how the beast still twitched and how the eyes kept moving, burning with a malicious fervor. “Just beaten temporarily. It’s probably trying to think of some new ploy that might succeed.”
Even as he said the words, Arasnak was changing his grip on the varloug pran, shifting so that he gripped its body with his legs, even as his arms maintained a restraining hold on its neck. Then, ever so slowly, the butcher released his hold on the beast’s neck, quickly twining his hands into the thick fur on its back.
“What is he doing?” Vars demanded.
And suddenly, Garnuk understood.
He had seen Sthan soldiers ride horses, and before them the Orell. It had looked something like this, although the men usually had leather pieces around the horses’ middles to help them keep their seats in battle. Arasnak was obviously attempting to ride the wolf demon in a similar way.
“He’s taming them,” Garnuk replied in a whisper. “Or, not taming, but training,” he amended. Such beasts would never be truly tame.
“To fight?” Vars asked incredulously. “To obey commands? To act as steeds in battle?”
“Yes,” Garnuk replied, swallowing nervously. Then, he sucked in a short, sharp breath as the varloug pran lurched to its feet.
Let it turn on him, Garnuk thought to himself. Let it rip the butcher limb from limb, scatter his bloody carcass over the arena floor. Let this attempt fail as well, and let the idea of domesticating wolf demons fail by extension. He sent a prayer up to the spirits, hoping they were listening.
The Ramshuk (Heirs of Legacy Book 3) Page 17
