“One of the taan will kill me,” she said matter-of-factly. “Maybe Qu-tok. Maybe another.” She smiled at his shocked expression. “One day I will move too slowly or I will spill the water or not keep proper watch on a child. They will kill me and that will be that.”
Raven felt such pity and anger that he could barely contain himself. What sort of terrible life was this?
“That is the fate of my kind,” she added. “I know this. It is useless to fight against it. In this life, I serve my god and that is enough for me.”
“Perhaps you will find a mate,” Raven said, struggling to offer comfort, although—to be honest—the girl did not appear to require it. “You will have children.”
“Half-taan cannot bear children, not with taan, not with humans, not with each other,” she said with a shake of her head. “Our god wanted us to have children, but even he, a god, cannot cause us to be fertile. I have never lain with anyone and I do not expect to, since there is no reason to mate other than pleasure and slaves are not permitted to have pleasure.”
“The taan don’t…well, use you for their pleasure?” Raven asked.
Dur-zor stared at him, amazed. “The taan would find no pleasure in lying with us. They consider us monsters.”
Raven began to have a glimmer of understanding. “The taan think human females are monsters, too, don’t they? The taan don’t find pleasure in them. They lie with humans only to subjugate them, to exert their power over them.”
“In the old world,” Dur-zor explained, “it was said that if the humans were permitted to do so, their population would grow like that of rabbits. They would soon outnumber the taan. The taan feared that and so they took measures to keep the human population in check. They needed humans for slaves, so they did not kill them. They abducted their women, forced them to bear half-taan children.”
“What would you like to be, Dur-zor? If you could be anything you wanted?” Raven asked.
“A warrior,” she answered promptly. “Becoming a warrior is one way in which a half-taan may gain some respect among the taan. It is even said that in another battle group, a half-taan has risen to become a huntmaster. That is far out of my reach, but I think I would make a good warrior. I have practiced with the kep-ker. I am skilled at it.”
“The kep-ker? That is—”
“What you humans call a staff, except that it has a wooden ball at one end and a stone ball at the other. The wielder grasps hold of the wooden ball”—she demonstrated with an imaginary weapon—“and swings the staff like this.”
Raven had seen the taan carrying such weapons. He had thought they used them like a quarterstaff, grasping the weapon in the center with both hands. He was surprised to learn this other method, but could see where it would have its advantages.
“They taught you to use a weapon?”
“Of course,” Dur-zor replied. “When the warriors leave for battle, the taskers and the half-taan are left to keep watch over the camp. We have to know how to defend the children, should the camp be attacked.”
This was something important to know. Taskers, he knew from Dur-zor, were taan who were not warriors, nor were they shamans. The taskers were those male and female taan who took care of the needs of the warriors: cooked the food the warriors brought in, kept the camp clean, tended to the young taan.
Although the taskers always treated the warriors with deference, the warriors respected the taskers, did not mistreat them as they did slaves or the half-taan. Still, Raven had never seen a single tasker carrying a weapon. He would keep this in mind.
He was about to ask more questions when Qu-tok, apparently thinking Raven had been tormented enough, called out. Dur-zor leapt to obey, but, as she was turning to run off, she said swiftly to Raven over her shoulder:
“Tomorrow is a god day.”
Raven jumped to his feet, lurched after her, tried to stop her, to question her further. His chain dragged him to a halt and he stared after Dur-zor with a frustration that highly gratified the watching Qu-tok, for he grinned widely and, laughing, pointed out Raven to his fellow warriors. Because he was in a good humor, Qu-tok did not strike Dur-zor, but merely kicked her as she knelt before him, dismissed her to go about her duties.
Raven slumped down beside his stake. He tried yet again to rend his chains—an exercise in futility and one that did nothing to relieve his frustration.
Tomorrow, a god day.
According to Dur-zor, on that day he would be sent off to some slave camp. Once that happened, he would lose the chance to gain his revenge on Qu-tok. He would die a slave, die in shame. He would never ride with the honored dead of his race, never join them to fight the battles of heaven as they had come together to fight for the soul of the dying knight. His fellow warriors would turn their faces from him.
He tried to think of a plan, but at last gave it up. He had no idea what was going to happen, what a “god day” entailed. Would he actually be confronting a god? Raven had no idea. He fell asleep, chained to his stake, resolving to be awake early on the morrow, watch for his opportunity, and seize it.
The entire taan encampment was up early on the god day, for next to fighting battles, these days were the high points in the lives of the taan. The warriors emerged from their tent wearing decorations of beads and feathers, skulls and scalps and every piece of armor they owned, polished to a high gleam. Those warriors who had not yet won glory in battle wore armor made of bones attached to a heavy leather backing or, in some instances, no armor at all, preferring instead to wear only a loincloth that showed off their ritual scarification and the gem stones that were lumps beneath their hide.
The warriors congregated together, male and female, and by their loud voices and hand gestures, Raven gathered that they were telling tales of past battles. The taskers and taan children, the half-taans and human slaves cleaned the campsite, even to the point of sweeping the ground with leafy boughs to remove rocks and sticks, gnawed bones and other refuse.
The shaman R’lt made an appearance, dressed in long black robes with the hide of a wild cat draped around his shoulders. He was attended by two young taan, who emulated his every move and gesture. R’lt joined the warriors, who were careful to make room for him and include him in their circle. The apprentices, if that’s what the younger taan were, squatted at some distance outside the circle, keeping watch attentively on their master.
The camp clean, the taskers set about cooking. The taan had killed several wild boar in the past few days and these were being roasted in a pit. Wild boar are strong food, Dur-zor told Raven, worthy of being consumed on a god day.
The smell of the roasting boar meat was tantalizing to Raven, who would not eat until sunset and then he would not be given any of the boar meat. That would go to the warriors first and, if there was any left over, to the taskers and the children. Slaves and the half-taan were given weak food: rabbit, deer, squirrel. He kept close watch on the camp, hoping to see Dur-zor, hoping to catch her eye.
His hope was a faint one, for Dur-zor had never before looked his direction as she went about her daily tasks. He was amazed when she glanced at him this morning and pleased beyond measure when she came toward him.
“Qu-tok sent me,” she said, placing a food bowl down just within Raven’s reach. “He wants you to eat this now so that you will look strong when the god’s chosen come to judge the worthiness of the slaves taken in battle.”
“Dur-zor,” Raven pleaded, “stay for just a moment. Tell me what’s going to happen.”
Dur-zor paused, glanced uncertainly in the direction of Qu-tok. “I have much to do—” she began.
“If you don’t stay, I will not eat,” said Raven, spurning the bowl of steaming meat. He disliked doing that, for he knew that if he did not eat, Dur-zor would be the one who was punished. She would probably be punished, anyway, but he had no choice. He was desperate.
“Very well,” she said, squatting down beside him. “This morning, the camp is cleaned and made ready for the pre
sence of the god or his chosen, if the god is too busy to come. When the sun reaches its height, the kdah-klks will begin.”
“What are those…things?” Raven could not have said the word kdah-klks without strangling himself.
“Contests between warriors. Long ago, in the taan home world, the nizam were chosen from the strongest warriors. To determine which was the strongest, the warriors would come together and fight for the honor of being chief of the tribe. The battle was to the death. If the loser didn’t die, he was cast out of the tribe, which meant almost certain death. Our god said that this was a wasteful practice, that too many strong warriors were being killed. He said that from now on, the kdah-klks would be ceremonial in nature. Now warriors fight each other for prizes given by the god, for weapons or armor, and for their own honor. Do you understand?”
Raven didn’t immediately answer. He was chewing more slowly, thinking. At last he spoke, “What will happen to me and the other slaves?”
“Usually our god or his chosen come to watch the kdah-klks, for our god always enjoys the contests. When the kdah-klks are ended, he will award prizes. He will then call for the slaves. The taan who captured slaves will bring them before our god, who will judge their worthiness, and then exchange armor and weapons for those slaves he wants to serve him. All the slaves he chooses are then taken to the mines or wherever else it pleases our god to take them. The human females will probably remain here. You are certain to be sent to the mines, for our god needs strong slaves to work there.”
Was it his imagination or did she sound a little sorry that he was leaving? Raven had been wondering if their daily conversations had meant anything at all to her, if she had enjoyed speaking with him or if he was just another chore. He had guessed the latter, but now he was beginning to think he’d been wrong.
He was silent, slowly chewing the last of his meat. Dur-zor kept casting worried glances over her shoulder at Qu-tok. Fortunately, the warrior was deeply engrossed in listening to another warrior’s story and appeared to have forgotten about them.
Finishing the last of his food, Raven reached a decision. He had no idea what this might gain him, but he could lose nothing by trying.
“Dur-zor,” Raven said, “I want you to tell Qu-tok that I want to take part in the”—he stumbled over the name—“the kad-kill.”
Her eyes widened in amazement. “The kdah-klks?”
“Yes, that thing,” Raven said.
“Impossible.” Dur-zor snatched at the bowl to try to retrieve it. “You are a slave.”
“No! Wait, Dur-zor! Hear me out!” Raven held fast to the bowl, would not give it back and she dared not come close enough to him to take it. “Tell Qu-tok that I want to prove my worthiness as his slave by fighting in the contest. I would like to fight Qu-tok,” he added and knew at once by the look on Dur-zor’s face that such an honor was beyond the realm of possibility. “But if I can’t fight him, I’ll fight anyone he chooses. I’ll fight any way he says, with a weapon or bare-handed.”
Dur-zor was shaking her head.
“Tell Qu-tok that if I win, I will be worth my weight in armor,” Raven continued.
“If you lose, if you are killed, Qu-tok will lose his prize.”
“That’s a risk he’ll have to take. I take a risk, so does he. Is Qu-tok a gambler, Dur-zor?”
Dur-zor chewed her lip. “Do you truly want this, Ravenstrike?”
“I do, Dur-zor.”
She sighed and he was afraid for a moment that she wasn’t going to go along with this, then, suddenly, she smiled.
“Nothing like this has ever happened in the kdah-klks. Still, there is a chance they will go along. All taan are gamblers. I will tell Qu-tok what you have said.”
Raven put down the empty bowl. Dur-zor picked it up and departed. Going over to the warriors’ circle, Dur-zor knelt in the dirt some distance from them until one of them should deign to notice her. The shaman, R’lt, finally saw her and called Qu-tok’s attention to the half-taan. He appeared highly irritated at being interrupted and, jerking her roughly to her feet, lifted his hand, about to strike her across the face.
Dur-zor spoke rapidly, gesturing repeatedly to Ravenstrike, who was standing on his feet, staring intently at Qu-tok.
The taan listened in astonishment. Several of the warriors began to laugh derisively, but not Qu-tok. Raven’s hopes remained high. Qu-tok appeared intrigued. Perhaps he was a gambler, capable of risking all for high stakes. Qu-tok said something and the laughter of the warriors changed to shouts of outrage and anger.
The shaman, R’lt, kept silent. So, too, did the chieftain, Dag-ruk. Qu-tok appealed to her directly. Dag-ruk asked a question of R’lt.
Raven couldn’t understand their language, but he could guess at the import of that question. Dag-ruk was asking her shaman if the god would have any objections. R’lt shrugged, shook his head. Dag-ruk looked at Qu-tok and gave a single nod.
Qu-tok was well pleased with himself. Raven guessed by the glum expressions on the faces of the other warriors that Qu-tok had gained some sort of advantage over them. Qu-tok gave Dur-zor a shove in the direction of Raven, then the taan warrior went back to his story-telling.
“Qu-tok agrees,” Dur-zor reported. “The huntmaster has given her permission. The shaman says that our god will have no objection. The huntmaster will choose the weapons and who will fight. Probably one of the young warriors,” she added, with a gesture to those young taan who wore no armor. Hanging about on the fringes of the warrior circle, they stared at their betters with undisguised longing and envy. “They would usually scorn to fight a slave, but they will want to gain favor with both Qu-tok and the huntmaster.”
“When will it happen?” asked Raven, eager and impatient.
“When the huntmaster decides,” Dur-zor replied. Her brows came together over her snout-like nose. “I know what you are trying to do, Raven.” She pronounced his name oddly, rolling the r’s.
“Do you, Dur-zor?” He eyed her, wondering if she would warn Qu-tok.
“You seek a quick death,” she said. She shook her head. “I do not think that will happen. No matter what you do.”
Raven relaxed, grinned. “Wish me luck, Dur-zor.”
“Luck.” She repeated the word with a shrug. “Luck is for the masters. For slaves and the likes of us, there is no such thing.”
When the sun blazed high in the sky, the kdah-klks began.
Acting under his instructions, R’lt’s apprentices made a large circle outside the center circle of tents. For the first time, Raven saw the taan use Void magic. Under the watchful eye of the shaman, the apprentices ran their hands through the grass and, wherever they touched it, the grass blackened and withered and died. When the outer ring had been formed and the shaman approved, the young taan moved into the center, killing all the grass inside the ring and tamping the dead stalks smooth with their bare feet.
Raven’s skin crawled in revulsion. He glanced around, thinking that some of the taan might be offended by the use of such heinous magic, saw all the taan watching with eager anticipation. It occurred to Raven that the taan were not shocked by the use of Void magic because that was the sort of magic they habitually used. The races on Loerem were skilled in the various magicks of creation. The taan, it seemed, were skilled in the magic of destruction.
For the first time since his capture, Raven thought of the rest of the people of Loerem, who would shortly be facing this army of savage monsters, skilled warriors and skilled wizards, dealing in death. How could the people of Loerem survive such an onslaught? He envisioned one proud city after another falling to these creatures and to their god, Dagnarus, the way Dunkar had fallen. The taan had beaten the Trevenici, the greatest warriors in the world. The rest did not stand a chance.
Once the circle was formed, R’lt took his place in the center and began to make a guttural hooting sound that might have been a chant, for his voice rose and fell. The taan gathered around the circle, the taskers holding onto small childre
n, the warriors standing together. The half-taan were permitted to attend, taking their places behind the circle of taskers and children. Slaves were present as trophies, their chains held by the taskers. The human women watched dully, hopelessly, not caring what was going to happen.
The huntmaster came forward to stand in the center of the circle and spoke to the battle group. Many times had Raven seen one of his own tribal elders standing in the same place, announcing the rules of a contest, and he was overwhelmed with a feeling of homesickness that came near to unmanning him. Banishing the memory, he concentrated on the proceedings.
There were not many rules, apparently, for Dag-ruk did not speak long. She left the circle. He tensed, thinking that he might be called to fight, but two taan warriors took their places. They each bore a strange weapon—a sword with two blades that formed a V shape.
Raven never knew which struck first, for the fight was joined in a blur of speed. He had trouble seeing from his vantage point, for the taan blocked his view. Hearing howls and the clash of steel and what sounded like a really good fight, he strained to see and cursed those who got in his way.
He assumed that the fight would be contained within the circle, for this is how contests were run among the Trevenici. But the taan circle was nothing more than a staging area, apparently, for the fight was soon carried outside it. The battling warriors broke through the crowd, knocking down a few children who did not move swiftly enough to get out of their way. No one seemed to mind, least of all the taan children, who scrambled to their feet and returned eagerly to watch the battle.
The combat raged through the camp, the two slashing at each other with the fearsome looking weapons, smashing tents, upending pots and once coming perilously close to the fire over which the boar was roasting. Both had drawn blood, for their hides were spattered with red.
Raven had a good view now and he watched with grudging admiration, impressed with the skill of the warriors in handling what looked to him to be a weapon that could be as dangerous to the wielder as to an opponent. He noted that one taan appeared to be weakening. His foot slipped. He went down on one knee and did not leap back up as swiftly as he might have. He snatched a moment to try to catch his breath.
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