He withdrew from her and fell back. Her face, arms and all other areas that should have been exposed skin were sweat-matted fur. Small dark stripes ran through the brown and black coloring of a forest animal.
Slender hands with sharp, black nails reached up and stroked his chest. Behind him, Mallaloriva’s sweet laughter sliced through Voskov like a sharp knife through an uncured hide.
“Did no one tell my general his bodyguard is a spiritshifter? How careless of Bringer. I must chastise him.”
Voskov sat back on his ankle. Chenna made no move to cover herself, but her eyes stayed fixed upon his face.
Am I some shepherd relieving myself on livestock?
Chenna drew part of the sleeping fur up, her face losing its animal shape faster than her fur melted back into her skin. The hurt look in her eyes was all too human.
“I came to congratulate you on your victory,” Mallaloriva said, “and perhaps show you a queen’s appreciation. As you’ve gone to your servants for this, I’ll leave you in peace.”
With a dry chuckle, Vishtanatar dropped the tent flap into place. Mallaloriva’s laughter carried clearly as she descended toward Raven’s Crag. Voskov’s arms twitched from the sudden shift of excitement to surprise.
Chenna’s fully-human hand stroked his arm. He expected her touch to sicken him, but it didn’t. He could do nothing more than hold his place.
“I thought you knew.” She pushed her shirt down. “This is what I am and why they set me to guard you.” She pushed back the furs and crouched near him. “I’ve never made the change when I’ve been with a man. You fired my blood like battle.”
He didn’t have to see her face to imagine her look as he rolled away. “This will take some thought,” he said.
Chenna left the tent in silence.
Even with his release denied, the stress of the day dragged Voskov to sleep.
But his dreams weren’t of victory. Nor did he suffer the more common dreams of reliving a brush with death only to wake in a sweat.
These dreams ended with his father and Vishtanatar intruding on him with Chenna. The iron in his father’s eyes matched the iron-gray of his beard as he shook his head in shame. “This is how a would-be emperor lives? Surely your horse must be jealous.”
Chapter Seven
Karro sniffed the late afternoon air. Old smoke held a hint of burned flesh under the scent of burned wood. He nodded to Talodan. The tracker dismounted and slipped into the light woods bordering the road.
They had to be near the tower of Carranos the Scholar. The tower remained the first and only bastion of the True God in the Mist region, as well as being a storehouse of knowledge. The smells of death and destruction were a bad sign.
Karro soon lost sight of Talodan. No snapped twigs or rustled branches gave away his location.
Good, he’s cautious. Over the past several days of scouting the low hills, the bereaved tracker had taken foolish risks in pursuit of the trail of the undead. Finally, Karro threatened to go his own way rather than let Talodan get them killed. Dying did not concern the tracker, but possible failure brought him to his senses.
Their efforts at picking up the undead raiders’ trail had failed. When Talodan’s considerable skill yielded no results, the frustrated tracker agreed to Karro’s suggestion of going to the tower of Carranos in the Mist lands. If Hykori undead roamed the high hills, news of it would be freshest at the tower.
Their journey led them deep into the lands of the heretics of Mist. These Tuskaran inhabitants were descended from the priests of the slave religion. Their ancestors had frustrated spread of the word of the True God and urged submission to the Masters―until the Tuskaran rebellion’s success became certain. For years, the Mist had been a barely tolerated minority. The abundance of fetishes and charms in Tavma’s Cross, however, warned of a resurgence of this sad, shameful reminder of the past.
Misguided though the Mist heretics were, their skills were beyond doubt. The farms and vineyards of the hilly Mist domain were as productive as any in the rich Plains.
Karro gave the tracker a reasonable time to move through the woods screening them from the approach to the tower of Carranos. Dodging a nip, Karro took up the reins of Talodan’s ill-favored horse and urged Vision forward. At the crest of the hill, he slipped the shield onto his left arm and pulled the lance from its socket at his right stirrup.
He had never visited this tower of Carranos before. The burned stone cylinder that met his eyes clearly was once a work of art. The polished granite walls and arches still standing seemed to grow from the earth. The blackened and tumbled sections reminded him of a proud oak blasted in two by lightning. The Mist town beside the tower fared even worse.
Dozens of laborers and warriors in the Mist heretics’ black and “glorious” yellow clothes milled around the ruin. Along the road, a series of trenches had been dug. One trench was heaped over with freshly dug soil and a team of workers lowered bodies into a second.
Two guardsmen in boiled leather cuirasses and open-faced iron helmets met Karro before he reached the burial party.
The older of the two sketched a short bow. “Enlightenment upon you, Knight of Auros. Orders bid us to always welcome holy warriors, even those worshiping debased Macmar gods.”
Enlightenment! Why not ape the Masters completely and wish Glory upon me?
The second guardsman snorted. “More welcome you would’ve been yesterday at dawn. Unenlightened or not, your sword could’ve brought down those beasts where an Enlightened mortal warrior would fail.” The man would not meet Karro’s eyes but shook his head as a gust of wind pulled at the black and yellow painted reeds decorating his helmet. Soot stained his face and scraggly blond beard as well as his armor. Both guardsmen looked as though they hadn’t slept in days.
Karro turned in his saddle and waved toward the brush lining the crest of the hill. Talodan seemed to materialize from thin air. He trotted at an easy pace to join them. He took the reins to his horse but didn’t mount. While the Mistmen studied Talodan, Karro remembered his manners.
“I am Karro, servant of the True God through Auros. My free companion is Talodan, a tracker from my family’s holding. What passed here?”
The younger heretic spoke first. “Death happened here. Dead men who walked and killed, vile sorcery. There were even highland Hykori dressed as warriors. Murder and useless destruction passed.” He spat the last out bitterly.
“Your pardon, Knight,” the older man said. “Surkran’s intended died in the attack. He is right about the attackers including dead men and Hykori. I fought one myself, some poor Macmar with his face and throat caked with dried blood. He had the face of a man looking into the deepest Dark as he tried to cut me down.” He shuddered before placing a hand over his forehead in the sign of Enlightenment. He looked up at Karro and resumed his story.
“We were attacked shortly after dawn. A group of highland Macmar miners came to the tower; many were badly injured―we thought from a mine collapse. When we opened the gate and brought out our healers, these injured men attacked us and scores more poured out of the woods from all directions.
“I thought they were bandits until I faced that poor wretch. They seemed driven against their will and fought poorly. But they kept the gate open long enough for the others to enter.
“It was like those tales of the ancient Empire. Beastmen raged through the healers in the yard. There were even Hykori warriors with animal-shaped helmets like in the days of their empire. We never stood a chance.” The man looked back at the tower. “They knew exactly what they wanted. While we fought the bulk of them in the yard, a sorcerer—a Shusk, on my life—and some of the beastmen cut their way into the main tower and the library. They killed all three of your Students of Carranos and fired the books.” The older man spoke of the lost books with the same intensity as his fellow had spoken of his intended bride.
When the older man could not continue, the younger took up the tale. “All that mere men could do, we di
d. If a Defender of Sivek, or one of Auros’s favored had been here, it might have been different. The hellspawn killed and burned as they wished. My own―” He wiped at the soot covering his face.
“Knight of Auros,” the older took over, “we would not send you from us hungry or tired. As in the ancient days, no man or woman of Tuskaran blood goes hungry here. Go to the tower.”
Poor fool. Under the Masters, your ancestors had plenty while the rest of us had only enough food to keep us working.
Karro reseated his lance and placed his hand over his chest in a gesture of thanks. “You and your men did well. We’re hunting the same creatures you drove off. They attacked my family’s holding and killed people close to us both. Be assured, the judgement of Auros is against these vile things.”
“I’ll see them all laid low or die in the trying,” Talodan said.
Talodan remounted and the pair proceeded to the tower at a trot. As they passed the work party, Karro studied the bodies of women and older children awaiting burial. Many had limbs gnawed to the bone. Those undead creatures hadn’t left in a great hurry.
“By Auros’s own bloody sword, how many times can you see something like this, Karro? To me, every auburn lass has Borla’s face. Is not caring some part of Auros’s price for immortality?” Talodan spoke the last little above a whisper.
Karro reined Vision up short. “When I train a rank of apprentices to Auros, it’s a pitiful collection of bodies like those that’s in my mind. I’ll join or lead any honest band of men under arms to stand between a peaceful village and a scene like the one behind us. If I ever reach a point that I don’t care about the defenseless, I pray that Auros releases me from my burden.” He kicked Vision into a canter up the rise toward the tower.
Talodan’s right. Those bodies or even the ones back at Kulkas Hall don’t enrage me as in the past. Have I seen this too many times?
Much of the tower’s stonework was scorched or smoke-blackened, but it had little structural damage. Work teams dragged debris through the gate facing the road. Piles of charred timber and furniture flanked the gateway. A small collection of bodies lay near the midden at the far side of the tower area.
Talodan caught up with Karro as the Knight turned from the road and approached the bodies. No human bodies should have smelled like these, less than two days after a battle.
Talodan’s horse stopped well short of the bodies. Karro ignored the tracker’s efforts to make his mount follow Vision. Soon, the sound of boots hitting the rocky ground carried to him.
Karro dismounted by the rotting corpses and examined them. “Tell me, Talodan, what is strange about these men?”
With a ragged cloth over his mouth, Talodan approached the pile of corpses. Karro had no trouble understanding the muffled response. “No fly will land on this offal.”
I hadn’t noticed.
“Not a one has been dead less than ten days. Only two have Hykori features.” The tracker completed a circle around the bodies. “They’re hacked to pieces, not a one has less than three killing blows and most are missing limbs.”
Karro nodded. “These bodies are wrecked beyond recovery. Useless to a necromancer. Only these were left behind.”
“Oh, aye. Not exactly running from the yellow-jackets, were they?” Talodan turned to go after his horse and then spun around and raced back to the bodies. This time, he stepped among them, turning over the largest pieces with a stout branch. “One other thing, Karro. None of the Macmar have decent warding tattoos.”
“In what way are they wrong?” The swirling tattoos seemed little different from Talodan’s own markings.
“Well, different from Ervistellan’s patterns. Simple circles with luck symbols and clan signs.” The tracker brushed the hair back from his neck. “These are cheaper to make and look much like any other. Oh, aye; they hurt less too.”
Close isn’t good enough.
A thoughtful look on his face, the tracker took his horse’s reins. “When I had these placed, it was to gain a lass’ attention, not to turn a nightman’s.” He shook his hair loose, covering his neck tattoos.
He and Karro led their horses back to the tower and entered the gate. In the enclosed yard, the racket of hammers and axes echoed off the stone walls. Karro had to shout to get the attention of the woman in charge.
Though slender, she had no hint of frailty. Her iron-colored hair retained much of the vitality of her Hykori ancestors, but her darker-than-tan skin betrayed more than a little Shushkachevan in her blood. Her expression made it clear that she had little time for visitors, though she greeted them politely enough. “Peace of the True God be upon you both. Which community sent you to aid us, Knight Karro?”
Karro bowed in return. “We came looking for word of the undead. We seem to be on the right trail. If you can spare fodder for our horses and a meal for us, we’ll continue the hunt by dusk.”
“Leave us? A Knight of Auros wouldn’t leave a place in peril. Those creatures will surely return for more blood. With so many Mist soldiers killed, our only Scholar gone up to Raven’s Crag and the other Students dead, you will find no place more deserving of your protection.” She waved away the cluster of workers bringing her questions. Karro felt the pull of her request.
“We’ll stay long enough to investigate what brought those things here. If they got what they came for, they would have no cause to return. If Voskov is leading them, they’ll do nothing without a solid reason behind it.” He dismounted and waited while Talodan followed suit.
“Voskov?” The matron’s face clouded briefly. “He disappeared when his rebellion fell apart. The travelers say you struck him down yourself. How could he be the sorcerer who attacked us?”
A deep voice from the gateway startled Karro. “Certainly, it is possible, Scribe Minateva. A Knight might cut down a sorcerer, but they aren’t fully drilled on making sure of a kill. This destruction could well be the result of some Unenlightened lack of precision.”
Karro turned to see a Defender of Sivek. The man sat on a chestnut mare. Like every other Defender, he wore an iron helmet with twin crests of yellow and black horsehair, splinted mail and the inevitable “hammer of correction.” His yellow teardrop shield bore the device of the war-god, Sivek, the crossed hammer and scroll in black. It was the opposite pattern of the colors worn by a sect of the Masters. While this supposedly mocked the Masters, the people of Mist held too much reverence for the race which had enslaved the Tuskaran people. As the Defender tilted his head to one side, the reed and feather vooreega giving magical protection to his helmet bobbed.
Talodan’s face flushed. His speech took on a heavy Macmar flavor. “Oh, aye, fine talk from a Defender of the Mead. Had any of your fine selves been there on the Plains, at that battle, I’m sure Voskov would be as dead as your last fat meal.” Talodan shook his shoulders as if casting aside anger. He turned to Karro. “Not protecting the wide world, not even defending his very own folk here. That steel bee has no cause to question your skill, Karro.” Talodan clapped Karro’s shoulder. After glaring defiantly at the Defender, the tracker looked at his hand in shock and drew it away.
First time you’ve ever touched a full-blooded Tuskar with anything but a fist?
The Defender made a display of dismounting without facing Karro.
“You fought Voskov?” The Scribe seemed to forget all else. Her hands twitched as if longing for quill and parchment.
“Um, yes I did. But I didn’t finish him,” Karro admitted. “You knew the man leading these undead was a sorcerer. How?”
“I came with aid after the battle. I am Scribe over the village of True Word, a quarter-day east. The soldiers here say he made hand-passes to start the fires in the library. when he broke open a talisman and threw the pieces at a rank of soldiers, workers and women, they all simply died. I examined the bodies. Their hearts burst.”
She drew several pieces of bright glass and a wire frame from a pouch on her belt. Karro laid them on a stone block. He unknotted and r
eformed the sections of the broken frame. When the shapes in the frame became distinct replicas of men and women coupling, his lip curled in disdain. Minateva let a scandalized gasp slip. Taking his water bag, Karro dripped a few drops of water on one of the larger glass pieces and it dissolved into blood.
Disgust faded from Minateva’s face as her training took over. She examined the debris. “He made this … this thing from the fires of passion. It’s evil, but not necromantic.” She settled on another stone block and thought for a moment. “Some twisted human lust—it had to be the same as shown in that despicable frame—was taken to the edge of endurance for all of the parties. Just before the acts were completed came the slaughter and containment with a minor demon to bind the whole. When he broke it here, our peoples’ hearts were pushed past breaking. Turning the trapped power into a weapon would be simple enough for anyone with the skill to do the containment.” She shuddered and looked into Karro’s eyes. “That skill and the will to gather it in the first place.”
The Defender stepped in to examine the pieces. Minateva moved aside respectfully. “Humph. Nasty toys and dead men as soldiers, is that what the Unenlightened can’t control? I will take over the defense of this place. Of course, any man willing to fight will be welcome, under my command.”
Talodan snorted. “Well then, your safety is absolutely assured, Lady, so you’ll not be needing us.”
Karro glared at Talodan then turned to Minateva. “I want to see if Voskov came to do more than burn your books.”
Minateva and the Defender exchanged surprised looks and she preceded Karro to the stairway up to the library. Not as thorough as they like to think. The Defenders and the rest put too much reliance on their silly charms and fetishes.
He followed the Scribe up the stone steps and through a shattered doorway. Most of the well-seasoned, ironlimb door had been removed.
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