The Ramshuk (Heirs of Legacy Book 3)

by Paul Lauritsen

  “We do not know that.”

  “But there is little probability of others being abroad. The chance that anyone wandering these mountains is hunting us is even slimmer. All of the Usurper’s forces are far to the north, fighting with the Sthan.”

  Garnuk hesitated, then relented. “Fine,” he said. “But if we get killed for it – ”

  “Then you can punish me as you see fit,” Tarq replied with a guttural laugh. The vertag set about gathering wood for the fire from the surrounding forest, never straying from Garnuk’s sight, watching over his wounded friend.

  When he had a good blaze going, Tarq sat down on the hard, frozen ground with a drawn-out sigh. “It is good to be on the move again,” he reflected. “Managing operations from Banta Kodu without ever taking part in the action was getting a little dull.”

  “Dull? When you were in the middle of a rebellion?”

  “Well, that was a highlight,” Tarq admitted. “But prior to that, when you were off killing the Sthan king, I would have given anything to trade places with you.”

  “It was not as much fun as you might think,” Garnuk said, remembering the lonely hours of running through the heart of enemy territory, the endless waiting leading up to the carefully planned ambush.

  They sat in silence, enjoying the warmth of the flames, until Tarq shifted and glanced at Garnuk again. “There is something I have been wondering, ever since we met that first day near Dun Carryl. Do you remember?”

  “I remember we nearly killed each other,” Garnuk remarked.

  Tarq nodded. “Yes, that would have been unfortunate. But when we spoke that day, you mentioned that your mate and cub had been made slaves.”

  “Yes,” Garnuk said, his jaw tightening, wondering why Tarq was bringing up such a painful subject.

  “We don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to,” Tarq murmured, half-apologetically. “I was just trying to pass the time.”

  Garnuk snorted. “I’d rather pass it by traveling.”

  “I know, but we can’t,” Tarq said. “So there is little to do but sit and talk.”

  “Then talk on,” Garnuk said, shrugging.

  “You’re sure?”

  “Better than nothing.”

  Tarq stared at him for a moment, trying to gauge whether Garnuk meant what he said, then forged ahead. “Anyway, what I’ve been wondering is, why didn’t the Usurper use them to get to you, after you fled from Dun Carryl? It would have been child’s play to lure you into a trap with them as bait.”

  Garnuk smiled quietly. “It would have been,” he agreed. “Had he known they were still at Dun Carryl.”

  “I’m not sure I understand,” Tarq said, frowning.

  “It was actually Kuvasse’s idea,” Garnuk admitted. “I wanted to take her and Akavu with me, but Akavu was too young for the hardships of the wilderness. And they would have slowed me down and gotten all of us caught in the end.”

  “But they couldn’t simply stay behind, they would have faced death or worse,” Garnuk continued. “Likely worse,” he added after a moment’s thought. “So Kuvasse took Akavu down to the dwellings of the field slaves, and there they blended in as just two more workers in a multitude of wretched souls. The Usurper never found out what happened to them, and I was free to run away through the Fells.”

  “Not entirely free,” Tarq said, shaking his head. “You’ve never forgotten them.”

  Garnuk acknowledged the point with a slight dip of his head. “You are right, of course. I could only run so far. I did not want to abandon them. I always meant to return, to free them if I could, but as time passed that hope started to fade. The Usurper never showed any signs of giving up the hunt.”

  Tarq nodded solemnly. “I know. I was hunted too. Did you ever go back and see them?”

  “From afar,” Garnuk replied, shrugging, gazing off into the distance. “I never risked speaking to them or staying too long. Their greatest protection was anonymity. I never would have forgiven myself if I had been the one to bring about their capture.” He looked up at Tarq, frowning. “Did you leave anybody behind at Dun Carryl? Anyone you cared about?”

  “No,” Tarq said. “And I have not had the chance to find a mate since. A life on the run is no way to raise a family.”

  “No,” Garnuk agreed, “It is not.”

  “Did any of the others ever tell you what happened after you left?” Tarq asked curiously.

  “Bits and pieces,” Garnuk said uncomfortably. “I know nothing good happened.”

  Tarq snorted. “You’re right. The moment you were gone, the Usurper seized power. Within a few hours, he had sent warriors to capture or kill anyone who had been a supporter of yours, or had contributed to your rule.”

  “How many in all?”

  “Over a hundred,” Tarq replied sadly. “Shadow Squadron is all that is left.”

  “I tried to warn them,” Garnuk murmured. “The vertag who warned me of the plot, Ervuk, was on his way to warn as many as he could when he left my cave. Until that night, he was a close associate of Hunon’s if I recall.”

  “He was,” Tarq agreed. “But he chose loyalty that night. And paid with his life almost immediately. When you were found missing, Hunon hunted him down personally and tortured him, hoping he knew where you went.”

  “He did not,” Garnuk muttered. “I told no one. I couldn’t trust anyone.”

  “He told them you went to Ishkabur,” Tarq said. “That was the direction the Black Hawks initially went. I only know because they ran across me. They demanded I tell them where you had gone, then one of them mentioned Ervuk and his dying words. During the night I slipped away and the Black Hawks, I assume, continued west.”

  Garnuk chuckled to himself. “Ah, Ervuk. He did well. The Black Hawks could not have been sent further from me. I do not know if it was chance or if he somehow guessed where I was headed, but I am grateful to him nonetheless. You see, I went east from Dun Carryl, then south. I stayed near the frozen bottom of the world for a few seasons, until I risked death from exposure. Then, I slowly crept back northwards, hiding in and around small villages.”

  “They sheltered you?”

  “Some,” Garnuk said. “Not everyone was bitter about my defeat, and there were many who had no love for the Ramshuk. Other villages didn’t know who I really was. I never stayed in one place very long.”

  “And all this time your mate and cub have been little better than slaves,” Tarq murmured, shaking his head. “They are very strong. You should be proud of them.”

  “I will be prouder if they are rescued,” Garnuk growled to himself.

  “When,” Tarq promised. “Not if. We will see it done. Even if no others will help us. That is what this war is all about, is it not? Ensuring the Usurper fails so there is chaos in Dun Carryl and you can slip in and rescue them?”

  Garnuk nodded. “Yes. I see you figured it all out.”

  “It was not hard,” Tarq said modestly, “But I know you better than most. I doubt your true motive would be suspected by any others.”

  “Except, perhaps, the Ancient One,” Garnuk mused. “He sensed there was something more to my plots then the preservation of our race.”

  “Yes, he was not the senile old fool the others painted him as,” Tarq agreed. “I think he may have contained more wisdom in his frail body than there is in our race as a whole. Our blood runs hot and thick, Garnuk. You know this as well as I. We are bred for battle, we live for war. Our strength and ferocity lead us to these pastimes. But we must adjust, and find a way to hide in the Fells if we are to survive.”

  “Therein lies the problem,” Garnuk agreed. “Even if I can contain our race in the Fells for now, eventually I will pass on and someone else will become Ramshuk. Over time, the memory of failed wars will fade, and finally some Ramshuk will come to power who will once more wage war on men. Such is the way of things.”

  “It has always been the way of our people,” Tarq agreed. “And it must soon change.”
/>   The fire sputtered, the flames wavering. It had burned low, unnoticed by Garnuk and Tarq as they talked. Tarq quickly remedied the issue by adding more wood to the fire, and soon had the flames dancing brightly once more.

  “Get some rest,” Tarq said, rolling his shoulders and setting his weapons close at hand. “I will keep watch over the camp while you sleep.”

  Garnuk scowled. “There is still daylight, we can cover more ground at some point.”

  “No,” Tarq said flatly. “You will rest for the afternoon. We will continue in the morning.”

  “I could order you to march,” Garnuk muttered.

  “Just try it,” Tarq said, folding his massive arms across his chest. “You are in no shape to be fighting, or threatening me, general.”

  Garnuk knew that his friend was right, but that didn’t mean he liked it. Muttering darkly about wasted time and the dire consequences which would surely follow, the Exile rolled onto his side, resting his head on his hands, and closed his eyes. Not surprisingly, he was asleep in moments.

  When Garnuk woke, the sun was dipping towards the crests of the mountains to the west, and a savory aroma was filling the small camp. He looked around, confused, and saw that Tarq had filled a small pot and had set it over the flames. He was stirring whatever was inside with a branch, sniffing at the mixture occasionally.

  “Are you trying to get us killed?” Garnuk demanded blearily, sitting upright.

  Tarq tilted his head. “No, I’m trying to keep you alive. The stew will help keep your strength up.”

  Garnuk, in spite of his disapproval, moved a little closer to the fire and peered into the pot curiously. The stew looked and smelled delicious, strips of meat floating in a thick, rich broth. He began rummaging in his pack for a bowl, his stomach rumbling. But as he went to fill the bowl, Tarq rapped his hand with the stirring stick.

  “Not ready yet,” he said brusquely. “Get up and stretch your legs a bit, don’t want those muscles to stiffen up from too much lying about.”

  Garnuk scowled at his companion, then set his bowl aside and did as Tarq ordered. His first few steps were lurching, staggering imitations of walking that threatened to pitch him head first into a snow bank. But gradually, he began to work the stiffness out and gained confidence. Tarq watched him the whole time from where he sat by the fire, his eyes noticing every detail, critiquing Garnuk’s strength.

  “That’s enough,” he said finally.

  Garnuk returned to the fire and sat, performing the action with much more grace than when he had risen moments earlier. “I am feeling better,” he admitted.

  “That’s good,” Tarq said carefully.

  “In fact, I was thinking – ”

  Garnuk realized that Tarq was staring at him, his expression hard and uncompromising. “We go no further tonight,” he said flatly. Garnuk held up his hands in surrender, and returned his attention to the steaming pot of stew.

  A few minutes later, Tarq deemed that the stew had finished cooking and filled their bowls to the brim. They ate with flat wooden blades that Tarq had carved while Garnuk was sleeping earlier. They were not as efficient as spoons would have been, but serviceable in the wilderness.

  Tarq had been right, Garnuk thought as he helped himself to a second bowl. The stew was good. Nourishing and warm as well. He could feel some of his old strength gathering within him, spreading outwards to his entire body. He continued eating with ravenous hunger, licking the bowl clean when he had finished. From across the fire, he noticed Tarq watching him with a bemused expression.

  “Worth the risk and the wait?” he asked innocently as Garnuk set his bowl aside.

  The Exile scowled with mock severity, then relented. “You were right,” he admitted. “Seems like that’s been happening more and more recently.”

  “That’s a good thing.”

  “Hrmph. We’ll see.”

  Tarq just smiled to himself and filled his bowl with clean snow, scrubbing the inside clean and pouring the water out when he was done. “I’ll take the first watch,” he offered, starting to rise and move to the edge of the camp.

  “No,” Garnuk grunted. “Rest.”

  “You’re not keeping watch,” Tarq told him.

  “No, but you need your strength too,” Garnuk replied. “We’ll both sleep. If anything comes near the camp it will wake us.”

  Tarq hesitated. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes,” Garnuk replied emphatically. “It’s a small enough risk here, far from anything and with all the Black Hawks dead. And, as you have pointed out multiple times today, sometimes the risk is more than worth the end reward.”

  The other vertag smiled to himself, then stretched out beside the fire. “Well, if you insist,” he said as he closed his eyes. Then he opened one again and glared at Garnuk fiercely. “If I wake up and find you standing watch after – ”

  “You won’t,” Garnuk promised, piling more branches on the fire so it would keep them reasonably warm for hours to come. “I have not the energy. And what energy I do have, I will need for tomorrow’s journey. Assuming I’m allowed to travel,” he added under his breath.

  Despite his frustration, Garnuk slept well that night, mostly free of pain. The cold did cause some discomfort, and the hard ground was a significant downgrade from the comfortable bed he’d had at Banta Kodu, but he enjoyed being in the wilderness again. There was something free and pure about the frigid mountain air, a wild and untouched aspect which could not be found in a city, even one as grand as the home of the Banuk. Unfortunately, it also reminded Garnuk of the years he had spent on the run, huddled in whatever concealed caves or hollows he could find, wondering if he would live to see the dawn. If he could shake that bone-deep fear, then he would feel truly free and relaxed once more.

  The following morning dawned bright and clear, the sky a blue so pale it was almost gray. The forested slopes of the mountain were still and silent, any disturbances muffled by the heavy blanket of snow that coated everything. Garnuk saw no signs of wildlife as he rose and stretched, adding some small twigs to the embers of the previous night’s fire, trying to tease the flames back into existence.

  By the time Tarq rose a few minutes later, the fire was going strong, fighting valiantly against the cold. Garnuk grinned at Tarq as the other vertag looked around, his mind muddled by sleep. Then, the captain glared at Garnuk suspiciously.

  “How long have you been up?” he demanded.

  “Not long,” Garnuk replied. “A good morning to you my old friend.”

  Tarq grunted and looked around. “Yes, it is,” he observed, breathing deeply. “Could do without this cold though. One of the many advantages of Banta Kodu.”

  “We have a fire.”

  “Yes, and it will keep one side of us warm, but not the other,” Tarq pointed out. “I have done this sort of thing before, Garnuk. We were all exiles for the last ten years.”

  “But I was the Exile,” Garnuk said, chuckling to himself. “No one foiled the Black Hawks more or escaped their clutches so many times.”

  Tarq bared his fangs in a savage grin. “Yes, the others would sometimes tell me tales of your exploits if we happened to meet up throughout the Fells. You built quite a reputation for yourself. You were hope, Garnuk. For all of us. Living proof that the Usurper might one day be defeated, and we might be able to reclaim our lives sometime in the distant future.”

  Garnuk nodded solemnly. “And that hope still rides on me and my plans, does it?”

  “On you, and on Shadow Squadron,” Tarq agreed, then winced. “What is left of us anyways. Having to leave Banta Kodu was a real blow.”

  “No,” Garnuk countered, “It is a new opportunity. We were too isolated at Banta Kodu. It was a good place to gather and train our forces, but now that we know everyone’s capabilities we can be a little more aggressive.”

  “How so?” Tarq asked eagerly.

  “That I do not know yet,” Garnuk said, chuckling weakly at Tarq’s disappointed expression. “But
I will figure it out. There will be much time for thinking over the next few days.”

  “You have accepted our slower pace then?”

  “For now.”

  Tarq nodded once, accepting Garnuk’s response. “I suppose that will do.”

  “It will have to.”

  They hiked for half the day, then rested through the afternoon again, recovering their strength. Garnuk still was not pleased by the crawling pace they were maintaining, but he continued to remind himself sternly that it was for the best. He and Tarq passed the evening pleasantly enough, enjoying another excellent stew and then sprawling beside the dancing flames for warmth.

  “What will you do, after the war?” Tarq asked suddenly, gazing into the fire.

  Garnuk tilted his horned head. “Is it not obvious?” he asked, surprised.

  “It should be and yet . . . it isn’t,” Tarq admitted. “I know you better than anyone, general, but even I am not sure of what it is you really want.”

  Garnuk shrugged. “I will reclaim my family. That is the extent of my ambition.”

  “You will not become Ramshuk?”

  “No.”

  “An advisor, then?”

  “I do not think so.”

  “Then what, you will isolate yourself and your kin in some small village.”

  “Perhaps,” Garnuk said. “That sounds peaceful.”

  Tarq snorted. “Banta Kodu has made you soft.”

  “No,” Garnuk countered, “It has given me a new perspective. The Banuk showed us a different way of life, Tarq. They were happy and peaceful with no ambition for what lay beyond their territory. They were content.”

  “And they have made you content as well now?” Tarq asked in disbelief.

  “Not yet,” Garnuk replied. “There is still work to do. The Usurper must be cast down, our people must be guided back towards peace and prosperity, we must find a way to keep from being discovered by men again . . . but when all of this is done, then yes, I will be content.”

  “You have changed, general.”

  Garnuk laughed, then grimaced in pain. “Not that much. I have had a long time to think though. I have seen the lands beyond these mountains, Tarq. I have seen a good portion of the Sthan kingdom. It is all flat, desolate, with little variety to it. There are no mountains, but there are forests and herds. Villages scattered here and there. But for all of that, I prefer the mountains. They are home.”