“Well,” he said slowly, “hope means that we want something to happen. I hope it will rain, for example. Or I hope that a big rock will fall on Qu-tok’s head—”
Dur-zor smiled at that, although she glanced guiltily over her shoulder before she did so. They did not have long to speak together. The taan had finished breaking their fast and feeding the slaves. They were packing up their camp, a job that did not take long. Everything a taan owned he had to be able to carry with him. This included his tent, his weapons, and supplies. Each taan bore his own burden, could not delegate it to a tasker or a slave. The most renowned warrior lugged his own tent. Dag-ruk, their chief, toted her own gear.
“Hope is something more than that, though,” Raven added, as Dur-zor rose to leave. “It’s not only a want. It’s a need. A need to believe that our lives will be better. A need to believe that something will happen to change things for the better. You hope to be a warrior. That’s what keeps you going, isn’t it, Dur-zor? That’s why you endure Qu-tok’s beatings. We all have to have hope. It’s like meat or drink to us. Without it, we die.”
“But you want to die. You ‘hope’ to die.” Dur-zor used the new word with pride.
“I hope to have my revenge on Qu-tok. If I die in the process…” Raven shrugged. “I could accept that. But it doesn’t look like I’ll have the chance.”
From across the camp, Qu-tok gave a bellow. Dur-zor snatched up Raven’s empty food dish and raced back to Qu-tok, who rewarded her tardiness with a buffet to the head that knocked her to the ground.
Raven watched her pick herself up and continue on about her duties. He couldn’t count the number of times she had come to him with the side of her face bruised and swollen, her eyes blackened, her lip smashed and bleeding. Small wonder she had no hope for anything better. As far as she knew, there was nothing better. One day Qu-tok would hit her a little too hard and crack her skull and that would be that.
The taan ordered the slaves to line up and start moving, kicking and whipping those who did not obey quickly. Qu-tok sent two young warriors to fetch Raven. Qu-tok would not march with them today. He joined other warriors on point, walking about a half-mile ahead of the caravan, scouting for danger.
Raven could not imagine what danger the taan anticipated, for there was nothing in this godforsaken part of western Loerem. Dur-zor told him that their god Dagnarus warned them that gangs of giants lived in this area, but Raven scoffed at that. Exceptionally lazy and none too bright, giants preferred to live in populated areas, where they could plunder villages for food. A giant living out here would starve to death, for Raven saw no signs of civilization anywhere. Either this god of theirs knew nothing about giants or he’d said that to keep the taan on their toes.
Raven ignored the young warriors, who amused themselves along the route by jabbing him in the kidneys with the butts of their krul-uts—a weapon similar to a spear, except that it has three blades instead of one.
He plodded along glumly. He had grown stronger over the past month, had grown used to the weight of the iron collar so that he barely felt it. The taan had removed his ankle manacles, for the chains slowed the slaves’ pace, and the taan were eager to reach their destination, receive their reward and get back to the fighting. The young warriors eventually lost interest in their tormenting Raven, for what fun is torment if the subject doesn’t respond?
So absorbed was Raven in his thoughts that it took him some moments to realize something was wrong.
Shouts. Shouts coming from in front of them.
Raven looked swiftly to Dag-ruk, the chieftain. She raised her hand, brought the caravan to a halt. Silence fell among the taan, everyone listening. The young warriors on either side of Raven were tense, alert. Glancing about, Raven sought Dur-zor. If she had been near, he would have asked her what was going on, but she was far from him, marching in the back of the line with the other half-taan.
The landscape through which they traveled consisted of a series of rolling hills. The caravan was down in a depression of one of these hills. Another hill rose ahead of them, to the west, and another hill to the north. A small grove of trees was on the south. Qu-tok and the other warriors who had been scouting ahead of the group suddenly appeared at the top of the hill. Running full speed, they brandished their weapons, pointing to the north.
Pandemonium broke out among the taan. The two young warriors next to him let out hair-raising howls that sent a thrill up Raven’s spine. Other taan began shouting and gesturing. Cursing his inability to understand what was going on, Raven kept his eyes on Dag-ruk as she snapped out commands. She was accustomed to strict obedience and her orders were immediately carried out. The taan warriors fanned out, forming a circle. Taskers and children and the valuable slaves were herded into the woods, to places of safety. The half-taan were left to fend for themselves. Some grabbed weapons. Dur-zor picked up the kep-ker, the staff she’d been practicing to use.
More shouts came from the other side of the ridge. Raven could not see anything, for at Dag-ruk’s command the two young warriors seized hold of him and dragged him into the woods. They threw him to the ground, then raced back to take their places with the warriors on the perimeter. The enemy was bearing down on them from the north and, to judge by the racket they made, there were a lot of them. The slaves strained to see. They began to shout excitedly that this was Dunkargan cavalry, riding to the rescue.
Raven didn’t think so. He’d never heard Dunkargans make such god-awful sounds as those coming from over the rise. The taan around him began to call out challenges. The enemy answered and that gave Raven an idea of what was happening.
The enemy topped the ridge and Raven saw that his suspicions were correct. An army of taan waving weapons and carrying the taan version of shields poured down the hill. The taan warriors under Dag-ruk’s command raised their weapons, held their ground, and waited for the enemy to come to them. At the top of the hill, commanding the troops, stood one of the Kyl-sarnz—a Vrykyl.
The shouting and clashing of weapons stirred Raven’s blood. He longed to at least see the battle and it was then, and only then, that he realized that the young warriors had forgotten, in their haste, to attach his chain to a stake.
Raven was free.
He was out in the middle of nowhere, with no idea where he was, surrounded by more taan than he could count, caught up in the middle of a fierce battle between forces who looked to be intent on killing each other and he had never known such joy. So heady was his elation that he gave a wild war whoop that would have made a taan proud. Rather late, he realized that he shouldn’t call attention to himself. Fortunately, the taan had their own problems.
Raven lifted the heavy chain in his hands and slung it over his shoulder. He slunk along the fringes of the crowd, making his way stealthily to Dur-zor, who had taken up a position among the taskers.
He touched her on the shoulder.
Startled, she whipped around, raising her kep-ker to attack. Her eyes widened in astonishment, then narrowed at the sight of the chain dangling around his neck.
“Dur-zor,” Raven said urgently, “tell me what’s happening. Who are these taan? Why are they attacking?”
She turned away to watch the coming battle. She was probably wondering if she should report him or chain him back up. The front ranks of the taan met with a crash of weapons and howls of fury. She glanced back at him.
“There are taan who do not believe in our god Dagnarus. They say that he led us from our homeland and our old gods in order to use us for his own ends. He spills our blood for his gain and at the end he will betray us. These rebels set an ambush for us. They plan to steal our slaves and convert us to their way of thinking.”
“Convert!” Raven repeated, amazed. The taan warriors hacked savagely at each other, taan blood ran freely. “Funny way to convert—”
He halted, sucked in a breath.
“Oh, no, you don’t!” he shouted in fury. “He’s mine.”
“Raven! Stop!” Du
r-zor cried, but he ignored her.
Pushing and shoving his way through the crowd, Raven sent taskers flying, knocked children aside. He paid no heed to the frantic calls of the slaves, who begged him to cut their bonds, cursed him as he ran away. Raven did not see the enormous Vrykyl standing on the top of the ridge, looking down on the battle. Raven had one objective. He heard nothing else, he saw nothing else. Nothing else mattered.
Nothing except fear that an enemy taan was going to slay Qu-tok.
Qu-tok faced off against another veteran warrior, a taan who had more scar tissue than flesh. Both warriors used the tum-olt, a gigantic two-handed sword with a serrated blade that was most effective in slashing open a taan’s thick hide. The combatants met with a crash and howls. The sharp-toothed blades locked together. Fighting with the tum-olt is a test of strength, as well as skill. The combatants struggled, each trying to rip the sword out of the other’s hand.
Digging their heels into the ground, Qu-tok and his opponent heaved and shoved. The enemy taan kicked at Qu-tok’s knee, trying to unbalance him, but Qu-tok knew that trick and he used the enemy’s move against him, almost upsetting him. The enemy taan was quick and agile. He managed to regain his feet and keep his hold on the sword at the same time.
No other taan interfered in this contest. Taan fight one-on-one at the start of a battle, each taan selecting his opponent. The winner is free to find another enemy or to assist a fellow taan if he is in trouble.
Raven ran across the battlefield, ducking and dodging, intent upon Qu-tok. The taan paid little attention to him. He was a slave, after all.
Raven reached the combatants. Qu-tok, grunting and groaning, shoved against his opponent’s sword. The other taan struggled against Qu-tok. Their blades locked tight, sharp teeth biting into each other. Muscles bulged. Their feet churned up the earth. Blood streamed down Qu-tok’s right arm. The other taan had gashed knuckles. The first taan who broke would die.
Grabbing hold of the chain in both hands, Raven began to whirl it around and around, then hurled the chain with all his strength at the struggling taan. The chain wrapped around their locked sword blades. With a single jerk, Raven wrenched both swords out of the hands of the taan.
The expression on Qu-tok’s face was almost laughable. The other taan was also taken aback. Both stared, dumb-founded, to see their swords flying up into the air and away. Shrieking insults, swinging the chain, Raven waded into the fray. The two taan stared at him. They looked at each other and then both laughed.
“Derrhuth,” said the enemy taan in disdain.
Reaching out a massive hand, the taan caught hold of the whipping chain that was still attached to the iron collar around Raven’s neck. The taan gave it a jerk that dragged Raven off his feet and nearly snapped his spine. He stumbled to his knees. The enemy taan aimed a crushing blow at him. Raven saw his death coming. He couldn’t move, the taan had a tight grip on his chain. Raven had failed, but at least he would die with honor…
A staff whistled past Raven’s head, so close that it scratched his cheek. The butt of the staff struck the taan in his solar plexus. He doubled over, groaning.
Dur-zor stood protectively over Raven. As the taan fell, she bashed him hard on the head, knocking him to the ground. Another jab from the end of the kep-ker at the base of the skull broke the taan’s neck.
Dur-zor grinned in elation. “I am a warrior!” she cried. “And you have hope. Fight your fight. I will watch your back.”
Raven leapt to his feet, turned to face his enemy.
Qu-tok had been waiting for the other taan to dispatch the annoying slave, so that the true battle between equals could be resumed. Astounded beyond measure to see Dur-zor—a lowly creature—step in and slay his opponent, Qu-tok’s astonishment mounted swiftly to fury. There would be those among his rivals who would be quick to take advantage of this, those who would say that Qu-tok had been losing his battle and that a half-taan had saved his life. And as if that were not insult enough, now he was being challenged to fight by his own slave. Nothing was more valuable to a taan than his honor and Qu-tok’s honor had been besmirched.
Raven saw Qu-tok’s eyes flash. Finally, Raven had gained Qu-tok’s full attention. Seeing the spittle fly from the taan’s gaping mouth and the fury in the taan’s eyes, Raven knew that this time Qu-tok meant to kill him.
Snatching his knife from his belt, Qu-tok lunged at Raven, striking for the heart. Raven stood his ground, the heavy chain his only weapon. Swinging the chain, Raven struck Qu-tok’s hand, trying to dislodge the knife.
The chain split open the hide on Qu-tok’s fingers, but did no other damage. Still gripping the knife in his right hand, Qu-tok reached out his left, thinking to seize hold of Raven by the hair and then slash his throat.
Raven ducked the taan’s grab and hurled himself bodily at Qu-tok. The two fell to the ground. Qu-tok landed on his back with a grunt. Raven jumped on top of him. Qu-tok tried to heave the human off him. Raven straddled the taan, locked him with his knees. Clenching his fist, he punched Qu-tok a blow on the jaw that would have killed a human.
Qu-tok did not even blink. Struggling to free himself, he slashed at Raven with the knife.
Raven caught hold of Qu-tok’s knife-hand, slammed the taan’s fist into the ground. Qu-tok rolled over, landing Raven on his back. Both of them grappled for the knife.
Dur-zor stood above Raven, holding the kep-ker with both hands, wielding it skillfully to ward off interference. At first, no one had paid any attention, but then the sharp-eyed Dag-ruk noticed what was going on. She shouted and surged forward to kill the rebellious slave.
Dur-zor cracked the huntmaster on the arm. Dag-ruk snarled in rage and advanced on Dur-zor, who proudly clutched the kep-ker and waited to die.
A voice rang out across the battlefield, a voice that was cold and deep and dark as a well of darkness.
“Intiki!”
The command brought the battle to a standstill. All taan from both sides halted in mid stroke, looked up in fearful respect. The taan Vrykyl stood atop the hill, his hand raised in command.
“Intiki!” he shouted again.
Two alone did not obey him. Raven did not hear the Vrykyl’s call and would not have understood it if he had. Qu-tok heard, but he was too consumed with rage to listen.
The terrible eyes of the Vrykyl fell on Dur-zor. She dropped her staff and prostrated herself on the ground. Dag-ruk, standing beside the half-taan, did the same.
Behind them, Qu-tok and Raven rolled and grunted and kicked, bit and flailed and snarled and struggled for the knife.
“Intiki!” the Vrykyl roared again. “Let them fight!”
The taan lowered their weapons, but did not sheathe them, each taan watching his enemy warily, even as they looked to see what battle had drawn the Vrykyl’s attention.
The slaves tried to see, but the taan were massed so thickly around the combatants that they could catch only glimpses. One gave a cheer, but the others immediately shushed him, not wanting to draw attention to themselves.
Raven knew nothing of any of this. His body was smeared with blood, his shoulder slashed open to the bone. His fingers were mangled. His arms were covered with welts from the chain and scratches from Qu-tok’s talons. Raven felt no pain. All he could feel was the living flesh and bone and sinew of his enemy beneath his hands.
During their vicious struggles, the long chain wound around both warriors, binding them in links of iron. The chain wrapped around their legs and tangled their arms. Their flailings carried them over the ground. The watching taan backed up hastily to give them room. Raven spotted a large rock half-buried in the ground. He seized hold of Qu-tok’s hand, that still clung to the knife, and brought the taan’s hand down hard on the rock.
The knife flew from Qu-tok’s fingers and Raven knew a moment’s elation, a moment that ended when Qu-tok’s strong hand grasped hold of the rock and wrenched it out of the ground. Wielding the rock, Qu-tok aimed a blow at Raven’s head. The chain impe
ded his movements. He could not put much momentum behind the blow or aim it very well. Raven took the blow on the fleshy part of his upper arm.
Qu-tok brought his arm back for another strike and it was then Raven saw his chance. Qu-tok had left himself wide open. There was only one problem. Raven could not position himself and duck the next blow. He would have to take it. Seizing hold of the chain in both hands, Raven formed a loop in the chain, looped the chain around Qu-tok’s neck.
Teeth grinding in fury, Qu-tok struck Raven with the rock.
Pain splintered through Raven’s head, starbursts flared in the black night that began to fall over his eyes. He reeled from the blow and fought with all his being to retain his hold both on consciousness and on the chain.
Fortunately, Qu-tok had not been able to put his full muscle behind the blow. If he had, the taan would have smashed Raven’s skull like a zarg nut. As it was, Raven’s head throbbed, blood streamed into his left eye, but he did not lose consciousness. He was able to think and to act. Holding the loop of chain in each hand, using his last ounce of strength, Raven wrapped the chain around Qu-tok’s throat and gave it a sharp yank.
Bone crackled beneath the chain. Qu-tok’s eyes bulged; he gargled, choking on his own blood. Dropping the rock, he tried frantically to free himself of the chain that was crushing his windpipe. Raven continued to pull. He kept his eyes on the eyes of the dying taan and when he saw the light start to fade, he pulled harder.
“Die, damn you!” he said over and over. “Die!”
Blood drooled from Qu-tok’s mouth. His heels drummed on the earth. The taan’s body stiffened and then went limp. Qu-tok ceased to struggle. His eyes rolled back in his head. His arms and legs twitched and then he was still.
Not trusting him, Raven continued to pull on the chain.
“It is finished,” said Dur-zor.
Raven didn’t hear her. He let loose of the chain only because he was too weak to hold it any longer. The battle rage drained from him and Raven felt the pain he had not felt during the battle.
Guardians of the Lost Page 48
