by Jon F. Merz
The sound of a horse behind him made Ran think he was about to get killed. He turned and saw Yasseh urging his horse on to faster speeds. The portly merchant raced into the fray hacking and cutting with his sword. The clang of steel on steel sounded over the grunts of men being killed. For a moment, it looked like the Mung slavers might fall back in the face of the stiff resistance they’d encountered.
But then they surged back ahead, fueled by reinforcements from somewhere to the rear. Ran saw more riders joining, and, on a hillside to the left, three archers were sending arrows screaming into the midst of them all. One of them found the other guard that Kuva had dispatched, punching into the man’s eye socket and exiting the back of his skull. He dropped to the ground and disappeared under the hooves of the horses fighting nearby.
Ran winced and turned to meet another rider. The man cut furiously at Ran, who could barely block the assault. Using his long sword with one hand put him at a serious disadvantage. He let go of the reins and drew his short sword as well, using the two blades in tandem as if they were a windstorm. As his attacker’s sword came down, Ran parried it with the short sword and chopped down with his long sword into the man’s mail head-covering. Again, the superb Nehon blade made short work of the mail rings and cut into the skull. The attacker jerked spasmodically for a moment and then dropped to the ground when Ran’s sword came free.
They were losing, however. Ran knew they simply didn’t have the numbers to keep the Mung at bay. Worse, while the riders had kept Ran and the security team busy, other slavers had already begun assaulting the caravan itself. Screams of the dead or dying fell upon Ran’s ears. If they kept this up, the Mung would kill everyone here and be content with taking what Yasseh’s caravan carried.
Ran found himself near Yasseh. The merchant had an arrow jutting from his side and looked pale. Ran could see the shaft had gone deep; perhaps it had entered his lung. Yasseh’s eyes were losing their brightness. Another arrow shot past but plunged into the ground.
Yasseh gripped Ran by the arm. “We are lost.”
Ran shook his head. “We still have fight left in us.”
Yasseh tried to smile, but a bit of blood came from his lips. “End this. Surrender now and those left will live.”
What sort of life would it be? thought Ran. But Yasseh was right. If they didn’t surrender, the Mung would simply kill them all. As his mind whirled, Yasseh pressed something into his hands.
“The last of my family daggers. Take it. Hide it on you. You may yet get a chance to use it.”
Ran slid it down the front of his tunic.
Yasseh raised his right hand and called out then in a voice that was stronger than Ran expected. “Hear me! We surrender!”
A hush settled over the scene. Ran saw Kuva’s face curl into a huge frown of disappointment. Even though he bled from several wounds, the big man showed no signs of wanting to stop and seemed perfectly content to continue fighting until he died. Yasseh was his boss, however. Even here and now. So Kuva drew himself up short and waited.
From somewhere behind the black mail raiders, Ran heard a voice. “Throw down your weapons.”
Ran glanced at Yasseh, but the merchant had already ditched his sword. Ran looked at his swords. He might not have the same love of them that a Murai back in Nehon would, but the blades had served him well and he was loathe to let them go. He had no choice, however. With a grunt, Ran threw the blades off the left side of his horse. He saw Kuva do the same.
“Dismount,” came the voice again.
Ran sighed and slid off his horse. The ground was slick with blood, and he held onto his horse to keep from slipping.
Yasseh dismounted awkwardly and fell to the ground, punching the arrow shaft deeper into his side. Another gasp of blood erupted from his lips, this time bright and pink. Ran knew he didn’t have much time left.
The Mung raiders separated and another man rode forth. In contrast to the rest of the mailed riders, he wore only a cream-colored robe that draped over him like a large blanket. About his head, a turban of the same material hung low across his heavy brow. The texture of his skin reminded Ran of a brown snake, but his teeth were incredibly white, and he smiled as he approached Yasseh.
“My name is Iqban. Am I correct in thinking you are the leader of this caravan?”
Yasseh managed to get to his feet and gave a slight nod. “I am, indeed.”
“No longer,” said Iqban. “You have surrendered to me. I am sure you understand that you no longer have any control here.”
Yasseh clutched at his side and mumbled a quick “Yes.”
Iqban smiled again. “Are you hurt? I’m afraid I must apologize for the actions of my men. They sometimes get a bit too rowdy when it comes to securing for me the things that I sell.”
“People,” said Yasseh.
“Indeed,” said Iqban. He looked down at Yasseh’s side. Blood now ran freely out of the wound. “That looks terribly painful.” He gestured to the wound. “May I inspect it a bit closer?”
Yasseh wobbled back and forth and seemed unstable on his feet. Iqban didn’t wait for him to agree to the inspection. The slaver simply walked over and peered closer at it.
“Yes, I’m afraid that is rather a bad wound.” He stood up and clucked his tongue once.
Ran heard the arrow release, and a moment later it impacted Yasseh in the middle of his skull. The tip of the arrow punched out the back side of Yasseh’s skull. Incredibly, the merchant stood there with the arrow quivering in his head.
Iqban chuckled. “Amazing.” Then he simply placed one hand on Yasseh’s chest and sent him toppling backward. Yasseh landed on the bloody ground and lay still.
Ran frowned. “You didn’t have to do that.”
Iqban eyed him. “Actually, I did. He was nearly dead anyway. Isn’t it better this way? I put him out of his suffering. If you think about it, I was being rather kind. A bit more kind, mind you, than I normally am.”
Ran said nothing and waited for the slaver to finish surveying the scene. “Only four left alive?” He sighed. “That’s not exactly what I would call a good haul on a day like this.” He glanced at Ran. “What is your name?”
“Ran.”
“And that other man over there, the big beast? What is he called?”
“Kuva.”
Iqban nodded. “There now, you see? We’re getting along fine. At this point, we’ll be fast friends soon enough.” He paused. “Well, perhaps not friends. But you’ll certainly get to know me a bit better.”
Lucky me, thought Ran. Could he make his escape? There were at least twenty heavily-armed slavers around him. The chances of him being able to jump into the saddle and be away without taking a dozen arrows in his back were slim. Besides, if Iqban had taken Cassandra captive, then Ran needed to know where she might be so he could rescue her.
“Call your man over here.”
Ran looked at Kuva and nodded. The big warrior walked over and stood next to Ran.
“Shouldn’t have surrendered,” he whispered.
“It was Yasseh’s decision,” said Ran. “We still worked for him at that point.”
“No longer,” said Iqban. “Now you are my property. If you do what you’re told, I might treat you well. If you disobey any of my orders, then I will punish you. I can promise you this: my punishments are often far worse than what you might imagine.”
“Where are we headed?” asked Ran.
“North,” said Iqban. “But you needn’t concern yourself with your destination. I’m grateful you and Kuva are able to walk at least. Strong men like you are exactly what my customer needs for his rather interesting project.”
Ran sighed. After all of the trouble he’d gone through to journey west to try to find Cassandra, he was now heading north. Back to the place that his clan elders wanted him to investigate. It was almost as if the universe was telling him that he couldn’t fight against his destiny.
Wherever it might lie.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
As they walked north, the sky behind them was stained with a thick black smoke from where the Mung slavers had set the caravan afire. Whatever they couldn’t take they set ablaze, including the bodies of the dead—both theirs and those from the caravan. Ran cast a glance over his shoulder at the dark skies and shook his head. Such a waste of life.
Kuva strode next to him, constantly inspecting his wounds for any signs of infection. “Never know what the bastards might have tipped their arrows with. No doubt this lot doesn’t tend their weapons well, either. A man could get any sort of sickness from a touch of their blade.”
“You’re alive,” said Ran. “That’s something, at least.”
“Aye,” said Kuva. “But for what sort of life are we headed? You trust what this Iqban says?”
“I don’t trust anyone,” said Ran. “It’s easier going through life thinking everyone around is beholden to some sort of treachery. That way, when you do come across someone who betrays you, it’s not much of a surprise.”
Kuva grunted. “There’s a fair bit a wisdom in that, I suppose. Not sure how much I want to go around thinking everyone’s out to get me, though. Not much room for having a good time with that line of thought, I fear.”
“Granted. But neither is there room for surprise.”
The wagons the slavers had taken from the caravan trundled along the thin trail they’d been following for the past six hours. Iqban had immediately ordered the prisoners off the highway and into the hills. A few miles away, they’d come across a small track that they now followed. For all intents and purposes, it looked like little more than a game trail, but Ran suspected the slavers had made it and used it to journey back and forth among their clients.
In addition to Ran and Kuva, the slavers had taken two of the merchants prisoner. Ran had no idea who they were, but the men were both older and heavyset. Ran doubted how long they’d last walking to their new position in life. He wondered if Iqban would simply kill them rather than have them slow down the caravan. It would probably come down to a matter of value: could Iqban get more money for them or did it make better financial sense to simply kill them?
Gunj had apparently died back at the scene of the attack. Ran had last seen him clutching at the arrow he’d been shot with before the chaos of battle had forced Ran to leave him behind. In the wake of the battle, Iqban’s men had only pulled the two terrified merchants from the wreckage of the wagons.
Everything else was burned.
As they marched north, Ran kept his eyes glued to the sky. Ryu had to be out there somewhere. No doubt the falk would be wondering whay Ran wasn’t riding his horse any longer. Ran just hoped the bird had enough sense to stay away from the slavers. Still, he smiled at the thought that he had a friend out there.
“Still don’t know why we surrendered,” said Kuva. “We could have killed a few more of them, if you ask me.”
“We could,” said Ran. “And then we’d be dead right now as well.”
“Better to die than live the life of a coward. It’s a good thing none of my old friends were there to see it. I’d never live it down back in the halls of Suba.” He shook his head. “I have to say I never figured you being one for such a thing as surrender.”
Ran smiled. “There isn’t always shame in throwing down your blade. You get a chance to see if the gods have other plans in store for you.” Ran thought about how dishonorable the Murai of his homeland would find such an action, however.
“Are all warriors like that back where you’re from?”
“Not all,” said Ran. “The Murai who dominate Nehon would consider surrender a dishonorable act.”
“I agree with them,” said Kuva.
“Of course, they also think that ritual suicide is something that brings them honor.”
“What did you say?”
Ran smiled. “Ritual suicide. First they make a horizontal incision in their lower belly using a long knife. Then a vertical cut up toward the heart. I imagine such a thing takes extraordinary control. But they do have to this, mind you, without uttering a single sound. To do so is also considered dishonorable. So they have a second—usually a close friend—stand behind them with their long sword at the ready. When the second judges the pain is about to become too great for the warrior to handle, he cuts the man’s head off to save him from disgrace.”
Kuva eyed Ran. “You’re not funning with me, are you?”
“Not a chance.”
“And this way of taking their own life . . . They think it’s . . . honorable?”
“Oh, absolutely. The Murai are honor-bound to a code of ethics and morality. They’re amazing warriors, but a bit too strict for my liking in how they live their lives.”
Kuva stayed silent for a moment. “I guess maybe surrender isn’t entirely a bad thing.”
Ran nodded at the iron cuffs they wore, through which a thick chain had been threaded. “These present no real difficulty for me. But I have my own reasons for wanting to see where the slavers take us. There’s a good bet it’s going to lead me right where I need to be.”
“Which is where?”
Ran eyed the horizon. A line of imposing jagged mountains topped with arctic peaks rose out of the hills like an enormous wall. “I’m not entirely sure yet. But I’ll bet it has something to do with those mountains.”
“Those mountains.” Kuva sighed. “If we’re headed for those, then it’s a good bet we’ll die there.”
“What makes you say that?”
“I’ve heard stories. Some false, no doubt. But some true as well. And none of them has ever had a happy ending.”
Ran clenched his jaw. Was Cassandra somewhere in those mountains? Would he ever see her again? He glanced at Kuva. “I don’t intend to die anytime soon. Keep your wits about you, my friend, and there’s a good enough chance that we’ll both come through intact.”
***
Ran didn’t see Ryu for the next three days. With each successive hour of walking, the mountains ahead of them rose higher and higher until they started to block out the sky. A cold breeze swept over their frosted tips and blew headlong into the valley through which Iqban’s convoy traveled. Kuva shivered as they walked, and Ran wondered if the big man had the tenacity to endure the lower temperatures. Each time the wind blew, Kuva would grunt and mutter. It earned him a quick lash of a whip from a guard at one point.
“This damnable cold doesn’t bother you?”
Ran shrugged. “It’s cold, yes. But so what? There’s nothing that we can do about it right now. No fire to keep us warm. No real sunlight to warm our skin. So it’s bad. I just have to find a way to accept it and keep moving. That’s the only thing that’s going to help: if we get to our destination faster and out of this weather.”
Kuva shook his head. “I wish I had the same attitude that you do.”
“You can. Just acknowledge the cold weather and then forget about it.” In an instant, Ran was back in the mountains of Gakur. The wind howled and tore around him as he was led to the steep precipice. One of his instructors, Miyama, stood near the edge of the cliff, holding a thick rope. As Ran approached, he smiled.
“A beautiful day, wouldn’t you say?”
Ran shivered in the ankle-deep snow. “It’s freezing out here, teacher!”
Miyama had glanced at the sky. “Is it? I hadn’t really noticed.”
Ran shook some flakes out of his face. “Aren’t we always told to be aware of our surroundings?”
“Indeed,” said Miyama. “Unless that awareness intrudes on our inner peace.”
“I don’t understand,” said Ran.
“You will,” said Miyama. “Hold out your hands.”
Ran did, and Miyama quickly bound them. He stepped back and motioned for Ran to join him by the edge.
“The problem with awareness is that while it is a vital tool you must use every day of your life, we must also be able to reduce our awareness to the point that we can, at times, defy reality.” Miyama squatted down an
d tied a thick rope around Ran’s feet before standing again.
Ran glanced at his feet. “What do you mean by that?”
“Our awareness informs us, but it can also imprison us by placing limits on what we view as possible, given the reality that we see around us. This weather is a perfect example. Your awareness tells you that it is extremely cold, and, as a result, you should feel that cold. You should be shivering and trying to get warm. While it is true that it is indeed cold, there will be times when you must be able to shut off that awareness and free yourself from any limitations in order to survive.” Miyama nodded toward the edge of the cliff. “Now, if you would please . . . walk over the edge.”
Ran looked down at the rope around his feet and swallowed. Another gust of wind tore at his exposed skin, and his teeth chattered harder. He moved to the edge and looked at Miyama. “You won’t drop me?”
Miyama laughed. “Why would I do such a thing? The Nine Daggers have invested a great deal of time and effort in your training. We’re not about to simply lob you off the mountain. The rope will hold, I assure you.”
Ran sat down and then eased off into the empty space. As soon as he swung out, the rope caught at his feet and turned him upside down. Blood immediately rushed to his head, and the wind blew him perilously close to the jagged rocks on the side of the mountain.
Miyama’s face appeared down by his feet, above him on the cliff. “You are now suspended upside down over a cliff in the middle of a winter storm. That is what your awareness will tell you. It will no doubt also tell you that you are freezing to death, that you will be smashed against the mountain and die a horrible death.”
Ran’s teeth chattered so much he could only nod.
Miyama smiled. “Your task on this fine day is to shut your awareness off. To close out the distractions of reality and instead focus inwardly on your true essence. Find your hara. Find your inner peace. When you do so, the limits of perceived reality will fall away, allowing you to do things that you have never even imagined.”
