Wrath of the Forgotten

by Aaron Hodges

  Swallowing his anger, Romaine shook his head. “You’re right,” he admitted finally. “Scouting won’t hurt—if we’re careful. I’ll come with you—”

  “No,” Yasin cut him off. “You and your friend will stay here.”

  Romaine stared at the man for a long moment. “Yasin, I know the mountains,” he argued, trying to keep an even temper. “In the dark, on these slopes, even a single rock knocked loose could ruin everything.”

  “Then I guess I’d better not knock over any rocks,” Yasin said. Dismissing Romaine with a wave, he turned to his followers. “Set the camp. I’ll be back within the hour.”

  He disappeared in the direction of the valley. Romaine watched him go, still smouldering. If the man alerted Erika and her soldiers to their presence it would ruin everything. They had the Gemaho outnumbered, but their quarry could even that advantage if they had time to reach defensible terrain.

  “You know, I’m beginning to think he doesn’t like us,” Lorene commented as the other men began unpacking their sleeping rolls.

  Romaine grunted. “There’s something more to this,” he said, then glanced in the direction of Yasin’s followers. They were out of earshot now, engaged in their own conversations. He looked back at Lorene. “I think he has a spy in the Gemaho camp.”

  Lorene raised his eyebrows. “And how do you know that?”

  “They’ve been leaving markers for us,” Romaine replied. “That’s why Yasin was only able to track them at night.”

  “And you didn’t think to tell me this earlier?” Lorene scowled, gesturing in the direction Yasin had taken. “Here I was beginning to think the man must have some secret magic!” He hesitated. “You think he’s gone to meet his contact then?”

  “Could be,” Romaine mused. “Though that would risk alerting the others.” He shook his head. “The excuse he gave doesn’t make any sense either—if this was all a trap set by Nguyen, surely the spy would have warned us.”

  Lorene sighed. “You know, I’m beginning to miss the days when all I had to worry about were superhuman creatures thirsty for my blood. Simpler times, you know?”

  Romaine rolled his eyes. “No one forced you to come.”

  “Yeah, I’m seriously beginning to question my past self’s decision-making abilities.” He paused, then shrugged. “Ah well. We going after him then?”

  A grin crossed Romaine’s lips as he glanced at the others. Just like the past few days when they’d set camp, Yasin’s men paid them no attention. He gave a short nod and silently the two of them slipped away into the darkness. Together they crept back to where they’d spied on the Gemaho.

  “How do we find him?” Lorene whispered as they paused at the edge of the valley.

  “Not sure,” Romaine replied, looking down at the burning fire.

  He felt a sudden urge to ignore Yasin entirely and head for those flames, to draw his sword and rush the camp, to free Cara from whatever bondage Erika had placed her under. His fist tightened on the hilt of his sword and he drew in a breath. Pain dug at his chest, less now but still there. No, he couldn’t rescue Cara alone. But he could at least find out what Yasin was up to.

  Exhaling, he started down into the valley, heart beating hard against his ribs. In the darkness, they had to take extra care of the uneven ground, but over the past few nights both had come to perfect the art of stealth. The earth was steep, but there were sections where sheer rock rather than gravel allowed them to move without sound, though having only one hand made it difficult for Romaine to grip the stone.

  The light below grew brighter as they continued down the slope, but Romaine had a feeling Yasin would not go too close to the camp. There had to be a reason he was out here. Maybe Lorene was right and he was meeting with their spy. Romaine was still trying to work out the why.

  Straining his ears, Romaine caught the first murmur of voices from ahead. The Gemaho were still awake despite the late hour and the cold, though with a fire to warm them they would be far more comfortable than the queen’s men.

  “What was that?” Lorene whispered, reaching out to catch Romaine by the arm.

  Romaine frowned, but before he could reply, he caught another set of whispers—from their left this time. Away from the Gemaho camp, farther up the valley. Following his instincts, Romaine diverted towards the sound. As they moved, the sound of the camp fell away, but the other whispers rose and Romaine slowed, struggling to make out the words over the soft whistling of the wind.

  Finally a flicker of movement came from ahead, revealed by the growing moon. Romaine froze, lifting a hand for Lorene to do the same, before crouching and slinking forward into the shelter of a nearby boulder.

  “…didn’t tell me she was a God!” an unfamiliar voice hissed in the night.

  “Enough,” Yasin replied. “You already wasted enough time responding to my signal.”

  “Shouldn’t have come at all,” the spy hissed. “She’s a God—”

  There was an audible thump as something hard connected with flesh, followed by strained gasping. Romaine imagined the spy bent in two, struggling to breathe through winded lungs. Why he objected to Cara being a Goddess was still not clear. Romaine shared a glance with Lorene, and carefully they crept closer.

  “Listen here, you little bastard,” Yasin’s voice came again. “Queen Amina doesn’t care about your superstitions. You’ll do what you’re told.”

  The wheezing continued for another moment before the voice rose in soft defiance. “Please…”

  The crunch of stones beneath boots followed as one of the men shifted his feet, though this time there was no sound of blows being exchanged.

  “Look, lad,” Yasin said, sounding reasonable again. “I understand. You’ve found yourself caught up in the workings of monarchs and Gods. I’m trying to help you, but you need to do your part.”

  “But I don’t want any part of this!” the spy gasped.

  An audible sigh came from Yasin. “You should try not to think so much, you could catch your death.” There was a long pause at the threat. Romaine glanced at Lorene, but Yasin went on before either could speak. “Or perhaps you think the Goddess will save you?” Yasin chuckled. “She is not all-powerful, my friend, nor all-knowing. Perhaps she could save you from me, if I chose to spare your life just now. But if I do not return, things will go poorly for your wife and daughter. I hear the queen sent old Skheller to accompany em. Just between you and me, the man’s not particularly sane. Certainly not someone I would like minding my loved ones.”

  Romaine’s blood turned to ice at Yasin’s words. Their spy was not loyal to the queen at all. Her people had gotten to his family, were threatening to harm them if he didn’t obey. Images flickered in his mind, of his wife’s face, pale in death, of his son lying frozen in the snow. Slowly his hand dropped to his sword hilt. Steel hissed on leather as he dragged the blade free.

  “Romaine,” Lorene hissed as he stepped from the boulders, “Romaine, wait!”

  It was already too late. At the movement, Yasin had spun to face them. His eyes narrowed as he saw the blade in Romaine’s hand.

  “That’s enough, Yasin,” he said quietly. Footsteps came from behind him as Lorene followed, though Romaine didn’t risk a glance back. Yasin had his crossbow in hand, a steel bolt loaded in place. A second man dressed in the dull yellow of Gemaho stood beside the queen’s man, eyes wide in fright. The two stood close together on the slope, though behind them the earth abruptly fell away, the moonlight rocks turning to empty darkness.

  “Calafe,” Yasin said softly. “What are you doing out here?”

  “Let the man go,” Romaine said coldly, hand tight around his sword hilt. “He’s done his part.”

  Stones crunched as Lorene moved alongside him. He too held naked steel in his hand. Yasin’s eyes flickered to the scout before returning to Romaine.

  “Relax, the both of you,” Yasin replied, gesturing with the crossbow. “Our good friend here is just helping us out with your little Godd
ess. He’s going make sure she doesn’t get hurt amidst all the bloodshed.”

  Beside him, the spy seemed to pale at Yasin’s words. Romaine took another step towards them.

  “I said, let him go,” he repeated. “I’ll not work with anyone who threatens a child.” He lifted the shield strapped to his left arm and slid into a fighting stance.

  “Just do what he says, Yasin,” Lorene said softly. “No one needs to get hurt here.”

  The queen’s man chuckled at that. “Is that so?” he asked. Then the smile slid from his lips. “And by what right do you command me to do anything, Flumeeren? I am here on the orders of Queen Amina. Your queen, last I checked. Or are you declaring yourself a traitor, soldier?

  Lorene faltered, then bared his teeth. “I stand with Romaine.”

  A strained silence followed as the three of them stood facing one another. The helpless spy shrank away from the conflict, but Romaine only tightened his grip on the sword. He knew Yasin’s kind. The man was a killer—he would not back down from a fight—

  “Oh, very well,” Yasin said suddenly. Letting out a sigh, he lowered the crossbow. “Have it your way.”

  Romaine blinked, still staring at the man, unable to understand his sudden capitulation. He glanced at Lorene, but the scout seemed just as confused by the sudden turn of events.

  Twang.

  Before either of them could react, a crossbow bolt materialised in Lorene’s chest. The man staggered slightly at the impact, his eyes falling to the projectile. A frown crossed his forehead and belatedly he lifted a hand to the arrow, as though confused as to how it had gotten there. Before he could touch it, though, the strength fled his legs and he crumpled to the ground without a sound.

  For a second, Romaine stood staring at the body of his friend. Lorene didn’t move, didn’t speak, didn’t even groan. He just lay against the stone, sword still clutched in a pale hand.

  Laughter carried across the slope to Romaine. “You just going to stand there for me, Calafe?” The question was followed by the slow racketing sound of the crossbow being reloaded.

  A scream tore from Romaine’s throat and suddenly he was rushing across the broken stones, sword raised, eyes fixed on the killer. He might have lost his hand, but he was still Calafe. He would not allow his friend to die unavenged.

  Yasin grinned as Romaine rushed towards him. Without time to finish reloading the crossbow, he tossed it aside and dragged his sword from its scabbard.

  “That a boy,” he hissed. “Let’s see whether the last soldier of Calafe has any fight left in him.”

  Romaine’s answer was to attack. Muscles rippling across his shoulders, he sent a wild swing slashing for his foe’s face. Laughing, Yasin leapt aside, landing easily on the loose stone. His own blade flashed out and Romaine recoiled—though not before the sharp steel opened a cut on his forearm.

  “You know, I told the queen,” Yasin murmured, stalking sideways, putting himself on even footing above Romaine. “I told her you were the wrong man for this job. Too sentimental, I said. She was hopeful, though, seemed to think you could bring the Goddess to our side.”

  Romaine barely heard him. His mind was on Lorene, lying dead on the mountainside, slain because he’d cared, because he’d wanted to help a friend. Grief swamped Romaine but he pressed it down. On the slope above, Yasin snared down at him, but Romaine fought to calm his rage. He no longer had his axe, was no longer the warrior he’d once been. If he was to defeat the queen’s personal killer, he needed to be smart.

  “It’s a shame really…” Yasin was still talking. He slid sideways on the slope, seeking an advantage over Romaine. The Calafe retreated a step, eyeing his foe’s feet. On the treacherous ground, a single misstep could gift him the opening he needed. “Our inside man here tells me your Goddess friend has gotten right and cosy with the Gemaho. Just as Amina feared.”

  The words cut through Romaine’s rage. “What?”

  The man grinned. “Your little Goddess has betrayed us, Calafe,” he sneered. “No choice now but to put her down. Best thing for everyone, if you ask me. Can’t have Gods going around pretending they’re people. Especially if they side with our enemies.”

  Romaine tightened his grip around the hilt of his sword and tried to ignore Yasin’s words. The man could do nothing to harm Cara. She was a God, beyond his power to touch. Wasn’t she? Despite his faith, doubt assailed him. Hadn’t she suffered beneath Erika’s gauntlet, hadn’t the Tangata bruised her, stopped her? What would a crossbow bolt, delivered from the darkness, do to Cara?

  He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to focus on the battle at hand. Yasin would never have the chance to harm his friend. Drawing in a breath, Romaine sought calm, allowing the man’s words to wash over him.

  Yasin sighed when his taunts failed to bring a response, then without warning he surged forward, sword lancing for Romaine’s throat. Moonlight flashed from the blade as Romaine skipped back, his shield barely lifting in time to deflect the blow.

  Overhead, a cloud slipped across the moon, and Romaine cursed as the world was plunged into darkness. Pain radiated from the slice on his arm and he retreated another step, swinging wildly to deter any attack. To his surprise, the blade connected with a soft thud, though he hadn’t put much power behind the blow.

  Light returned as the cloud passed and he watched as Yasin staggered back, clutching his arm. Blood seeped through his jacket, but it didn’t appear to be a bad cut. Cursing, the queen’s man released the wound and hefted his sword.

  “You’ll pay for that one.”

  Yasin leapt to the attack and Romaine gasped as a blow slipped beneath his guard. The short sword slammed across his chest and only his chainmail prevented it from penetrating. Even so, agony exploded from his injured ribs, and groaning, he staggered back, trying to lift his shield to deflect another blow.

  To his surprise, Yasin did not follow. Instead, he smiled. “I’ll admit, you put up a better fight than I expected, Calafe. But it's time for this to end.”

  Before Romaine could respond, Yasin lurched forward. Lifting his blade, Romaine tried to counter the attack, but the warrior’s blow was only a feint, and instead Yasin lashed out with his boot. The kick caught Romaine square in the chest and he cried out as the pain redoubled. He staggered backwards, but his foot slipped as the gravel began to give way beneath him.

  Too late Romaine realised he’d been manipulated. In his rage at Lorene’s death and in the darkness cast by the cloud, he’d allowed Yasin to direct the battle, swapping their positions. Now he stood at the edge of the ravine he’d spotted earlier. A cry on his lips, he struggled to regain his balance, to claw his way back from the edge.

  Laughing, Yasin stepped forward and shoved him hard in the chest.

  And Romaine fell into the darkness.

  22

  The Soldier

  The sun dropped below the rooftop, casting the courtyard into shadow. Lukys snarled as he spun the stave, slashing it down into the face of an invisible enemy, then stepping back and throwing up a block to deflect a riposte. Air hissed around the wooden staff with each thrust. Had there really been anyone in the path of his blows they would have broken bones. As it was, Lukys only spun, continuing through the drill Romaine had taught him back in Fogmore.

  He had asked Sophia for the stave after their conversation. It had been a surprise when she’d actually brought one, though the guilt in her eyes told him why. It had no spear tip, of course, making it useless as a weapon against the Tangata. But that wasn’t the point.

  He needed a distraction, something to take his mind off their conversation, about the truth…

  The Tangata are nearly infertile.

  Memory of Sophia’s words whispered in his mind and gasping, Lukys leapt, launching an attack that would have impaled his enemy. His feet shifted smoothly through the stances his mentor had spent so long drilling into him. It felt good to be moving through the patterns again, to feel his body fall into the familiar rhythms.

/>   Less and less of our pairings can produce children.

  He fought on, teeth bared, spinning and slicing, desperate to fend off the unseen enemies, to forget the words that whispered in his mind. A thrust stabbed one foe through the heart, a kick hurled his corpse away, freeing the imaginary blade.

  The Tangata are a dying race, Lukys.

  A growl slipped from his lips as he moved forward in a series of thrusts, overhand blows, and blocks.

  That is why we must take human partners. The pairings are more…favourable. Without them, our species would have died out a generation ago.

  Now Lukys began to retreat, his hands moving farther apart on the stave and lifting high, then low, driving his opponent’s blade into the cobbles. A kick from his boot sent the imaginary assailant flying backwards.

  Zachariah and I, we were a fifth-generation pair—that is, there are five human ancestors in each of our lines.

  Grinding his teeth, Lukys’s hands tightened on the spear, his knuckles turning white. His breath came in gasps as he paused, spear held parallel to the ground, elbows bent. Slowly he straightened his arms upwards, as though straining to push away an enemy blade.

  Sometimes, a child is possible in such couplings. But after five years…

  Despite the cool evening breeze, sweat soaked his back. His heart thundered in his ears. Panting, he staggered to a stop. The staff slipped from his fingers, clattering to the cobbles. He blinked drops of perspiration from his eyes, slowly becoming aware of the crowd that had gathered around him. A sigh slipped from his lips as he struggled to recover his breath.

  I can sleep in the living room.

  The conversation had ended there. Still in a state of shock, he’d asked her for the staff not long afterward. She’d left the compound then, off to hunt deer or maybe pick coffee beans, or whatever she and the other Tangata did during the day. It was his fellow Perfugian recruits who watched him now. Talking to them was the last thing he wanted to do right now, but it didn’t look like he was going to have the option not to. He had to keep up the pretence of happiness.