Raven noticed that only Karmana and the pale-skinned warrior, Moonshadow, stared at her, and greeted her as an equal. She was pleased by this. She walked among the slaves, her green eyes flashing bright, her full lips parted and moist as she greeted them with smiles and murmured words of thanks that so many had survived. When she came to face Karmana she stopped, drew the blooded sword from its slings and held the green-jewelled pommel towards the smaller girl. Karmana, without thought, kissed the jewel.
“Welcome to freedom,” said Raven.
Three
“A common enemy makes a powerful bond. The bond will not necessarily survive the destruction of the enemy.”
The Books of Kharwhan
They stripped the bodies of the slavers and looted the carts of all items that were either functional or of some value. While this was being done, Raven climbed the high rocks above the gorge until she reached the very top. She stood there for a while, her long hair streaming in the slight desert wind, her figure braced and strong, legs apart, thin shift rippling about her body. She knew she made a good sight, and when she glanced down she could see several of the men staring at her.
The man with the moon-coloured eyes, he who called himself Moonshadow, was also staring at her, solemnly, thoughtfully. He seemed puzzled by something, and Raven felt herself intrigued to know what. After a few moments Moonshadow turned away from her, bent to help drag a corpse out of the gorge. They had decided to rest here for the remaining daylight hours, and the cool night which would follow. Several of the newly-freed men and women were tired and it would be difficult to lead them back to the waiting ship in their condition.
Raven already knew who she wanted to join her, and when she glanced down at Moonshadow she felt a vague stirring deep inside her that made her smile. There were so many men whom she had met, and who had ridden with her; so many fine warriors, string in limb and desire, from whom she could have chosen and who would have gone to her without hesitation. Why was it always when she sensed a man of cold heart, a man who would be unconcerned about loving with her, why was it only those men who made the lust stir in her own loins?
That was not strictly true, of course. She stared across the hills, and the scattered patches of drifting desert, and thought of Spellbinder, and her heart stammered, her lips tasted his lips and she smiled at the memory of him. He was far away by now, and would be far away for too many days yet.
Silver was working his way up towards her. Raven felt a moment’s resentment that her contemplative mood was to be shattered, but Silver looked up at her, smiled, and his eyes twinkled in that mischievous way of his, and the mood of irritation passed.
He stumbled over the body of a rock-rider, and kicked it down the ridge into the gorge below where it was dragged away and covered with sand. Silver grinned at Raven as he arrived beside her, skin wet with sweat, his breath ragged and loud as he recovered his strength.
“Apart from the two women from Kragg,” he said, “they seem a find bunch. Provided they’re all proficient with swords I see no reason why they can’t all join us.”
“How proficient were you when you joined me a few days ago?” asked Raven, meeting Silver’s gaze evenly.
The man made a face. “I’m improving. But our band is growing large enough that we can select, we can be choosy. Don’t you agree?”
“I do,” said Raven, staring down at the free men below. “But I won’t select on the basis of skills held now. Argor, who trains men to perfection, will train all our recruits, no matter how good or bad with weapons they are at the start. What I search for now is strength of a different kind, a more deep-seated strength. And there are only two of yonder slaves that I want.” She glanced at Silver. “Do you follow what I mean?”
Silver nodded. “Do I have that strength?” he asked. He seemed unhappy as if he was assuming that he had been selected by Raven merely because he was strong in arm and leg.
Raven rested her hand on his shoulder. “Dear Silver, you have many strengths. I would not be without you.”
“Of course you wouldn’t,” said Silver, more cheerful. “I am indeed strong, and indispensable. I wish you would test all my strengths, Raven. All of them.”
Raven laughed, shook her head. “Never mix sword play with…sword play,” she said.
Silver shrugged. “Maybe Karmana will be more accommodating,” he said, staring at the woman who had covered her nudity, now, with a shift cut from the slaver’s black silk robe.
“She may accommodate you with five inches of Tirwand steel,” said Raven soberly. She stared thoughtfully at the girl below. “Did you not hear that she suffered the desires of a Weaponmaster?”
“I heard,” said Silver.
“Do you not know what that can do to a woman? There is no such thing as freely given love to a Weaponmaster. Unless they can brutally rape they have no interest in love.”
Silver shivered for some reason, still staring at the girl in the gorge below. “Besides,” he said, “she is of the Seven Tribes.” He looked at Raven. “And I, dear leader, am of the Five Valleys. And that make us mortal enemies.” Again he stared down into the ravine. “Our peoples have fought and killed each other for generations. To teach of us the other’s name is the foulest word imaginable.”
“There may be five valleys,” said Raven, “and seven tribes, but there is only one Raven, and those who fight for her fight as allies. If you cannot accept this, Silver, there is no room for you at either of my flanks.”
Silver grinned broadly, thinking certain transparent thoughts. He said, “I accept that readily, Raven. But will she?”
He moved away from Raven, climbing back down to the floor of the gorge. Raven watched him go, glad that he had not been embarrassed by the brief talk of the Weaponmaster’s vile habits. Silver knew, as all who rode with her knew, that Raven had suffered similar treatment at the hands of one of the animal-like warriors, and though she wished that it never be forgotten, Raven did not desire that the subject would ever cause embarrassment among those who followed her.
She climbed down after Silver.
Night fell swiftly, and a fire was struck upon wood from the broken up body of a cart that would not be needed. Among the supplies that Shigarra had been taking to Yr there was found a handsome stock of salted meats, and fresh fruits kept cool in thick leather containers. The band, and the slaves, ate their first feast in many long months, and Raven too enjoyed the sensation of a full belly, and a reluctance to reach for more of the plentiful spit roast.
They slung canvas across the narrowest part of the gorge, and made a wide, high cave beneath which they sheltered from the falling night rains. The cold air rose from the desert and they used the unraveled silk and cotton of the slaver’s rich garments to make a fairly functional floor covering, upon which they sprawled or sat and waited out the night.
The fire burned bright, yellow flame licking hungrily at the air, the wood crackling and crisping and lending a peaceful, hazy atmosphere to the resting warriors.
Raven went to the fire, crouched by it and poked at the edge of the embers. Above her the stars were bright and she let her gaze follow the rising grey smoke until it was lost against the infinite void above.
Someone walked up to her and sat down beside her. When she looked she saw the dark-haired northern girl, Karmana.
For a while no word was spoken. Both women were content to be aware of each other. When Karmana spoke it was succinct and poignant, arousing a thousand unpleasant memories in Raven, and making her shiver with something that was not cold.
“I am in pain.”
“The pain will pass, as does all pain.” Raven felt that her words were merely that, words: designed to be encouraging, but probably annoying in their predictability. She decided that she would talk honestly with this handsome tribeswoman, for Karmana was one of the freed slaves that she desired to join her. “The pain will pass from your body as all pain passes: the memory? That is pain too.”
“The memory shall
never pass. The agony shall always be with me…until I kill him.” The girl was bitter. In the flickering light of the fire her knuckles showed white as they clenched on the Tirwand straight-bladed sword she had taken from a slaver.
“Even killing the source of the agony does not lead to cure,” said Raven quietly. She sensed Karmana’s eyes upon her, and turned to meet the dark gaze. “I am still haunted by what happened to me.”
“Were you raped as a slave?”
“I was the best sort of slave to be. Not free, yet free enough. I was in the household of a good man, a compassionate man. But one day he fell into debt with a Weaponmaster, and he gave me to that…that vile animal for his own pleasures. By the All Mother!” Raven clenched her fists and closed her eyes as painful memory of those agonising hours came back to her. How many nights would it be like this, the stench of Donwayne in her nostrils as he covered her softness with his bulk; the pressure of him on her, and then inside her, threatening to split her open; the endless hours of movement, animal thrusting, this way, then that, every muscle in her legs and face aching as he satisfied some inhuman desire, some alien insatiability upon this beautiful eighteen-year-old girl who had been given to him.
She shuddered as she tried to shake the memory from her head. “When he had finished with me I Was put back in the slave pens,” she said. “I was selected to be taken to the Altanate, but someone helped me escape, and I ran. As I ran I made a pledge that I would not rest until I had killed the Weaponmaster. I did kill him, but the memory is still with me. I wish I could kill him again.”
“You give me scant hope of peace.”
Raven shook her head. “Peace there is, and it is good peace. You will understand more as time goes on, but you should know that I want you with me, fighting with me.”
“That I should enjoy,” said Karmana. “Fighting was my trade in the Dubthag.”
“Where is that?”
“The Dubthag? It covers the coastal plains, some ten days’ ride south of the northwater river. Seven tribes live there, and the woman train as warriors from as early an age as the men. I am skilled with sword and dirk; I have killed twenty swordsmen with only a speak in my hand. I notice that you do not wear an Ishkarian sleeve shield, and yet your arm is marked as if you are used to wearing one. I too am skilled with such a weapon, only my shield was deadlier than the Ishkarian shield, a far more potent weapon.”
Raven held up her arm and saw the marks of the leather bindings. “You have a hawk’s eye that doubles your value to me.” She drew the shield from where it was strapped inside her boot. The pointed metal plate, patterned and gouged by use, gleamed in the firelight, as deadly a piece of weaponry as any sword. “I only wear it when I really need to.”
“Where do we go from here?” asked Karmana, abruptly changing the subject.
“To Ghorm,” said Raven. “We shall sneak into the city in the early morning and make our way to the quay. Two ships, specially chartered, await us there. We shall only need one. It will take us eastwards and northwards to friendly shores where we can plot anew, and take the measure of the balance of power around the great Ocean. We go where our swords are needed, and already I sense trouble. A friend of mine will be waiting for us there, an interesting friend with interesting talents…”
Karmana was troubled. “I would love to ride and fight with you, Raven.” She looked at the sheen of the silver blade she held. “But there is something I must do now that I have my freedom.”
Raven immediately understood. “How will you find this Weaponmaster? They move like the wind. They owe no allegiance, are as much mercenaries as are we. Their skills are a thousand times greater than a common soldier’s…” She grinned. “And at least twice as good as ours. A Weaponmaster never remains long in the same place, you should know that. How will you find him?”
“I shall find him. His face is emblazoned on my eyes. His name she never be far from my lips…Donwayne. I shall not rest until his blood covers me as his—”
Raven’s cry of anger cut her short. “What name? What name?”
She had jumped to her feet, and in an instant the sleeve shield was on her wrist and its deadly point waved threateningly at the dark-haired girl as she herself struggled to stand.
“What name did you say?” cried Raven. Her eyes were twin slits, filled with hate, filled with anger. Karmana was terrified for a moment; to end the relationship so soon with this splendid woman was frightening to contemplate. She kept her sword angled down, allowed Raven’s fury to radiate across her.
“Donwayne,” she said. “He was called Karl ir Donwayne.”
“Impossible!”
It was impossible! She had killed Karl ir Donwayne herself only months ago. She had chased him, and found him, and challenged him and had taken his life. It had been her greatest triumph and had left her freer in mind than she had ever believed possible, even though the memory of him haunted her still.
She closed in on Karmana. “It is not possible that this man was Karl ir Donwayne. I struck Donwayne down myself in the game pits of the Altanate. He whimpered as he died. Every drop of his blood drained and soured in the sand. It could not have been Donwayne!”
“I know only,” said Karmana, angry herself now, “that he was called so, that he was big, and dark-haired, and carried certain trophies on his belt, something that no other Weaponmaster does to my knowledge.”
“A lock of hair from his victims,” said Raven, knowing that she was right.
“Blonde, and brown, dark and fair,” said Karmana. “His lustful score is marked out around his obscene belly, yes.”
Raven’s anger subsided to be replaced by pure confusion, and an intense hatred reborn. “How is this possible?” she said to no one in particular.
“He must have survived you,” said Karmana.
“Impossible. I struck him dead. There were a thousand witnesses to the act. It is impossible that he survived.”
“Then perhaps he tricked you. Perhaps you did not kill Donwayne at all.”
Raven’s eyes burned in the darkness; the fire, reflected in them, seemed to burn in her very skull.
“I must find out,” she said. “I must find out at once.”
Silver had come up beside her. “You don’t intend to go into Lyand, surely?”
Raven’s glance was bitter and derogatory. “Where else shall I seek him?”
She rode across the desert, her hair streaming behind her, a sun-kissed corona of golden silk. A great dark shadow moved towards her, following, its shape changing slowly as its vast wings shifted to ride the desert winds.
A hoarse cry pierced the moaning of the winds, brought the rider to a halt, staring upwards.
Raven waved.
Above her head the great bird circled twice, watching her with red and fierce eyes, its curved beak open, its razor talons extended and glinting in the sun’s glare.
Wings folded, and the dark body dropped swiftly toward her, faster, faster, so that it seemed it would crush her into the ground. At the last moment the wings unfurled, dark feathers cracked and rippled as the creature glided gently down to settle on her shoulders, claws digging deep, but not cutting, into her flesh. Its wings remained outstretched, easing the weight on her. Its head turned to regard her knowingly.
An enormous bird, it could have struck her dead in an instant. She bore the burden of it soundlessly, stared at it as it cried loudly, the voice of her guardian.
“I need no protection, my fine black-feathered friend,” said Raven reaching up to scratch the horny skin of its feet. “If I had needed protection I would not have prevented Karmana from coming with me to take her share of the revenge I seek in Lyand.”
And how Karmana had wanted that revenge! But the girl was weak and exhausted after the walk across the desert, and she would have been useless to Raven, even a hindrance. Even so, it had taken all of Raven’s powers of persuasion to keep the girl in safety, recovering her strength.
She raised her arm so that the great b
ird flapped its wings for balance. “Go, my friend; I shall join Spellbinder and the others later.”
The bird closed its beak, cocked its head and glanced around at the heat shimmering dunes. For a second Raven thought there might have been danger, but she could see nothing. Distantly, in the direction that she rode, light coloured spires rose into the haze, the tall spires of Lyand.
“Worry not,” she said. “I shall not be rash in my inquiry. I shall seek this second Donwayne with care.”
The bird croaked. It was angry, or expressing angry words. Raven understood. They were not the bird’s thoughts, but the words of Spellbinder.
You are no longer Su’aan; you are no longer an Ishkarian slave. You are Raven, Chaosbringer. The Chosen one.
“Even a chosen one has a slave’s right to revenge,” she murmured.
What had Spellbinder told her? There will always be tricks, there will always be illusions, and delusions, to draw you from the path you tread. Be wary, Raven, be every wary, be ever watchful. Your lust for Donwayne’s death is a weapon that can be used against you. Once he is dead there will always be others, other angers, other fears, other emotions that can tear at your heart as surely as a blade of carboned iron can rend the fabric of your body.
“But I must make sure that the girl was mistaken. I must. I could not bear to live if I thought that somehow Donwayne had survived the duel.”
She spoke to the desert, but the words were for Spellbinder and would be carried by the bird.
Wide wings beat against the air; the painful grip of claws upon her tanned flesh was released, and the dark shadow covered her for a moment before it passed to the north, towards Lyand. Was Spellbinder still within the spired city? Raven kicked her horse to a killing gallop, aware that the beast would last no more than ten kli or so before it keeled over and died. She rode it hard, and rested it briefly, allowing herself no water from her leather canteen, but rather letting the horse drink its fill at every moment’s stop.
A Time of Ghosts Page 4
