“I found some of them, the enemy, what with the burns on ‘em,” the young braided one replied. “Ten of them.”
Rome dropped down into a squat. “Did they see you?”
The young man gave Rome a flat look that clearly said what he thought of being asked such a dim question. “If I don’t want to be seen, I ain’t seen. That’s all.” He took a long drink from a flask and passed it on. “They weren’t seeing any too good anyway. Dead, every one of them.”
“Dead? Who killed them?”
“Getting to that part,” was the laconic reply. The young man stretched out by the fire with a sigh, leaning on one elbow and staring into the flames. “They were ambushed, and ambushed clean. None of them burned ones got away. None of them drew blood. But they spilled plenty.”
“They were ambushed?” Rome was puzzled by that. Who else was out here, especially in a large enough group to kill ten men? “Did you track them?”
The brothers exchanged looks and a few heads were shaken. Their looks wondered: Was this man who led them a stone-faced simpleton? “Naturally. That’s what I do, isn’t it?” He wiped the knife on his leggings and sheathed it. “I tracked them back towards the Landsend Plateau. There was five of them. They moved fast and I couldn’t catch up.” More looks were exchanged, serious ones this time. The brothers already knew what Rome was about to find out.
“Well, who were they?”
The young man shrugged. “Only ones they could be, I reckon.” A few of the brothers shook their heads. “There was a broken arrow at the ambush, of a design we don’t normally see around here. And they headed north toward the Plateau, which being ruined and all prob’ly ain’t such a good home no more. From what I seen, I’d say the Takare have returned.”
“The Takare? But they’ve…” Rome trailed off. Of course they’d reappeared, now that the Landsend Plateau was devastated. There was still smoke rising from it and the occasional rumble.
The young man shrugged. “Now they come back.” He shook his head and his braids flew. “Prob’ly good I didn’t catch ‘em. They could give me some trouble.”
There were a few murmurs from his brothers, but they were murmurs of sympathy, not disbelief. Whatever else these brothers had, lack of confidence wasn’t part of it. Rome pondered this latest turn of events. What did it mean, having the Takare back in the picture? He could only assume they would be allies; after all, Kasai had destroyed their home and driven them back to the world they’d left behind after Wreckers Gate. What he needed was to talk to them.
“I want one of you to contact the Takare. Tell them I want to meet, to talk about allying against Kasai.”
The brothers chuckled over these words, though it was strange because they made almost no noise. When they had subsided, the gray-bearded one, Tem, said, “You don’t have enough liquor for that, Macht.”
“Why’s that? All I want you to do is talk to them. Are you afraid you can’t find them?”
“Oh, we can find ‘em all right,” Tem asserted. “We can find the lost gods if you give us time. But we ain’t fools.”
“They’re the Takare,” the tall, skinny brother said. “They find you. Not the other way up.”
“And you know this how? From ancient legends?”
“Them legends came from somewhere,” tall and skinny said. “They always do.” The others nodded at his words.
“You’re just gonna have ta wait for them to come to you,” Tem said, slapping the hand of one of the brothers who was reaching for the flask he was holding. “Ain’t two heads on this bear.” More nodding greeted his words.
Rome stared at them, knowing there was nothing he could say to change their minds. They were probably right, anyway. He was going to have to wait on the Takare and hope they saw things as he did.
“I want you men back out there tomorrow,” he said. “I still don’t want Kasai’s men to find us.”
“We’ll be back out, don’t fear,” the young, braided man said. “But now we’re getting paid for honey without any bees, ain’t we, brothers?”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means the Takare are back,” another brother said. He was missing part of his ear and this was the first time he’d spoken. “They’re killing the marked ones. Won’t be none left for us to bother with.”
“I hope you’re right,” Rome said.
“Sem’s always right,” the scarred one said. “That’s why he don’t talk much.”
Rome left while they were still nodding at each other, thinking how glad he was that not all of his soldiers were like those brothers. What he needed now was Quyloc’s clear mind on this. He realized that he didn’t really know where Quyloc was. In fact, he didn’t think he’d seen Quyloc all day. Bad time for his old friend to disappear. A thought struck him. Maybe T’sim could find Quyloc. He took a breath to bellow T’sim’s name and there was a soft touch on his elbow.
“Quyloc is up there, on top of that hill,” T’sim said, pointing at a hill about a hundred yards away.
Rome stared at the little man. “You are a wonder, you know that, T’sim?”
The little man bowed. “It is what I strive for, Macht.”
“I don’t know who, or what, you are, or why you’re here, but you are useful.” T’sim bowed again. “Don’t think I don’t know about the wigs, though,” Rome added. T’sim hung his head. “If the supply wagons ever catch up to us I promise you I will burn those things.” The supply wagons were back there, somewhere, making what time they could. They probably wouldn’t catch up in time to do any good, but they were coming.
“You may wish to look your best for the victory feast, Macht,” T’sim said.
“You think there will be one?”
“It’s all in the wind,” T’sim replied.
“And that means what, exactly?”
“Whatever you like, Macht.”
“Now you’re not being so helpful, T’sim.”
“It is a difficult job,” T’sim agreed.
Rome looked at the hilltop. There was no fire, no sign of movement up there. And he was tired. Time enough to talk to Quyloc tomorrow. Right now he needed sleep. He made his way over to where he’d dropped his gear. When he got there he saw that T’sim had laid out his blanket and arranged his saddle and tack neatly nearby. Rome unbuckled his belt and laid it on the ground, then reached for the black axe hanging on his back. He left his gear unguarded. Partly he trusted the men he led, but mostly he wanted his men as fresh as they could be. He didn’t want a soldier missing sleep to stand watch over his gear. None of it was that important. The axe, however, was a different matter. He carried it with him at all times. He wasn’t letting anything happen to it.
With a sigh, he lay down, noticing that T’sim had put his blanket on a soft pile of leaves and grasses. The little guy—or whatever he was—wasn’t so bad to have along after all.
Quyloc stood on the hilltop and looked down over the sleeping camp. He saw a figure walking the camp, stopping at fires as he passed and knew it to be Rome. Something about the way he walked and carried himself.
There was no putting it off any longer. He needed to go back to the Pente Akka again. He’d already gone three times since leaving Qarath, but so far he’d had no luck even finding the hunter. It was like the creature was avoiding him for some reason. He didn’t know whether to be relieved or worried. But he did know he needed to keep trying.
He took the leather cover off the rendspear. Since T’sim’s tap on the forehead that pushed him into the state of heightened awareness where he could see LifeSong, every time he touched the spear he went there. It was, frankly, a little tiring. Fortunately, he’d discovered that if he wrapped the spear in leather, it didn’t happen. He carried it that way most of the time now.
He lay down on the ground and clasped the spear to his chest. He visualized the Veil and when he opened his eyes a moment later he was standing in the borderland.
The last time he’d seen a black mesa in the
distance, beyond the edge of the jungle. It seemed to him a likely place to find the hunter. Tonight he’d start there.
He visualized the mesa, focusing on the base of it. When he passed through the Veil he found himself standing at its base. Its sides were hundreds of feet high and very steep. Black stones of all sizes littered the slopes. The scree looked loose. Climbing it would be difficult and dangerous.
Fortunately, he didn’t have to actually climb it. He picked a spot at the top and concentrated on it until he could picture it clearly in his mind. Then he passed through the Veil, pictured the spot, and passed back through the Veil, arriving at the spot he’d seen.
The hunter was waiting for him.
It was half again as tall as he was. Shadows moved across it like living things. It was shaped like a man, with massive, heavily muscled shoulders, long arms and fingers that ended in claws like knives. Its head was sleek and tapered, smaller than the neck, with protrusions that might have been ears jutting out to either side. There were no facial features other than its red eyes.
With a cry that was both horror and exhilaration, Quyloc charged the hunter, the spear whirling in his hands. He feinted at its chest, then reversed the weapon and slashed at its leg.
It swept its arm downward to block his attack. As it did so, a blade appeared, as long as a short sword. The spear clanged off harmlessly.
But Quyloc was still moving, spinning to the right, the spear dancing over his head. He struck three times in a heartbeat, slashing, stabbing. The weapon was a part of him, controlled by his desperation and ferocity. He had never been faster, deadlier.
Yet, as fast as he was, the hunter slapped all his attacks aside with ease. No matter what Quyloc tried, each time it thwarted him, as if he was no more than a child with a stick. He attacked again and again, using every trick he knew, but none of it worked.
Finally, he had nothing left and stood with the spear hanging loose in his hand, breathing hard.
A blade emerged from the hunter’s other hand, this one as long as a sword. Then it went on the attack.
It feinted left, then cut at his legs from the right. Quyloc parried the blow, just barely, but in doing so he left himself open to an attack from its other blade, which came whistling down at his head. There was no time to do anything besides get the butt of the spear up to intercept the blow and inwardly he winced, knowing there was no way the shaft could possibly stand up to such blow. The hunter’s blade was going to shear through it. Already it seemed he could feel the hunter’s blade tearing into his flesh, crunching through muscle and bone.
But the shaft held. The hunter’s blade clanged away harmlessly and the hunter seemed almost as surprised as Quyloc.
It recovered quickly and began to rain attacks on Quyloc. Sword and spear clanged together time and again, the hunter’s attacks so fast that Quyloc could not follow them. Yet somehow, each time he seemed to be able to anticipate them, or the spear did, twitching in the eye blink before each attack was launched. He twisted and fought, the spear alive in his hands as he spun and ducked, catching attack after attack on the spear. There was no thought of counter attacking. This was purely survival and he could not have explained how he survived as long as he did.
The hunter flowed around him like a shadow, attacking from one side, then the other. Their battle raged on and time lost all meaning. Quyloc might have been fighting the thing his entire life. No matter how he twisted or how hard he tried, it was always there, ceaseless, remorseless. Inevitably its attacks began to slip by his defenses and he felt lines of pain appear on his body, each wound burning like fire. He cried out each time, but he could not slow, could not do anything but twist and slash and dance as if he danced for death itself.
At last the thing stepped back. It walked a slow, wide circle around Quyloc, while he turned to keep it in front of him. He was unbelievably weary, his limbs leaden. He was a mass of small wounds, arms, legs, torso, even his face. He had nothing left. The next attack would finish him. The end had finally come.
But instead of launching another attack, the hunter pointed at him. Something shot out of its hand, like a small dart. It struck Quyloc in the chest, but there was no pain. He stared stupidly at it, then tried to raise his hand to pluck it free. But he could not raise his arm. Horrified, he watched helplessly as the spear slipped from his nerveless fingers and clattered to the ground. Next his knees gave out. For a moment he hung on, swaying, then he toppled over on his side.
His eyes were open. He could feel the stone, strangely cool, under his cheek, but he could not move. It was almost pleasant there. The battle was over. He had lost. There was no more struggle. The Pente Akka had beaten him. His only hope now was that Rome would honor his promise and kill him once he found his body.
He heard the heavy tread as the hunter approached but there was nothing he could do about it. With its foot it pushed him over onto his back so that he stared up at the leaden sulfur sky. It grabbed one of his ankles and began to drag Quyloc away. His head bounced over the uneven ground while his arms dragged uselessly behind him. No matter how he tried, they wouldn’t even twitch. He closed his eyes and surrendered to despair. Death was the only thing to look forward to now.
After a period of time that could have been minutes or could have been hours, the hunter stopped. Quyloc opened his eyes. Looming over them was a rectangular stone butte about fifty feet high. As easily as a man might climb a ladder, the hunter laid its free hand against the sheer face of the butte and began to climb up it, Quyloc dangling from one fist.
It climbed nearly to the top, then held him against the stone. Tilting its head back, it shrieked at the sky. From the sky spilled hundreds of black lines. They tumbled over each other, racing toward Quyloc, entwining, seeking. Within seconds they were on him, piercing his body in a hundred places, passing all the way through him and anchoring themselves in the stone underneath.
Quyloc screamed as his LifeSong began to drain out of him. Pulses of light flashed back up the black lines. As they met the sky, holes began to appear, small at first, then growing larger.
Through the holes could be seen the Qarathian army camp.
Forty-five
Rome opened his eyes to see T’sim standing over him, holding a small lantern. He knew instantly that something was wrong. He could feel it in his gut and deep in his bones.
“It is Quyloc,” T’sim said.
Rome came to his feet, gathering up the black axe as he did. A moment later he was following T’sim toward the nearby hilltop, just visible in the slim moon. Nicandro, who was sleeping nearby, woke up as Rome passed and Rome told him, “Get the FirstMother.”
Quyloc was lying on the ground with the spear clasped to his chest. Oddly, his eyes were open. Even in the poor light from the lantern it was clear that there was something terribly wrong with him. All his color was gone. His skin looked like wax. Swearing under his breath, Rome knelt beside him and put his fingers on the big vein in Quyloc’s throat. His pulse was very weak.
Quyloc jerked, once, twice. His face contorted in a grimace of pain.
“Quyloc!” Rome said, giving him a little shake. “Are you there? Can you hear me?”
There was no response. Rome passed his hand before Quyloc’s eyes, but they remained distant and unfocused.
The hunter had him.
Which meant… He didn’t want to think about what that meant.
He stood up and turned to T’sim. “Find me Lowellin. Fast.”
T’sim bowed. “He is not so well-hidden as he thinks.” He hurried away and disappeared into the darkness.
Rome looked down on his friend. “Just hold on, Quyloc. I’m going to get you out of there. I promise you.”
The next few minutes seemed to take forever. Rome kept checking Quyloc’s pulse and now and then he shook him. It might have been his imagination, but it seemed like Quyloc was fading away. He still felt solid, but he looked somewhat translucent.
Finally, Nicandro arrived with Nalene in to
w. She looked haggard, like she’d aged twenty years since they left Qarath. There were new lines in her face and dark bags under her eyes.
She took in the scene at a glance. “What’s wrong with him?”
“He’s trapped in the Pente Akka.”
“I only recently even heard of the Pente Akka. I sure don’t know how to save him from it.”
“Use your sulbit.”
“To do what? Kill him faster?”
“There has to be something you can do,” Rome snarled. “Can’t you do that thing, what’s it called, going beyond, and see what’s happening.”
“How do you know about going beyond?”
“We don’t have time for this right now. Do it!”
Nalene’s sulbit was nestled in her robe, peering out from her collar. She put her hand on it and her eyes took on a distant, glazed look. A few moments later she blinked rapidly and recoiled.
“What are those?”
“What are you talking about? I can’t see anything.”
“Of course you can’t. You’re as blind as everyone else. There are hundreds of black lines attached to him. His LifeSong is flowing up them.”
“Can you do anything about them? Can you break them?”
“I don’t even know how to try.”
“Use your sulbit, woman!” Rome said roughly, grabbing her arm.
“Take your hand off me,” she said icily. Her sulbit was standing up on its stubby little legs, its back arched, tiny mouth open, baring fine, needle-sharp teeth. “I won’t warn you again,” she added.
“Keep that thing under control,” Rome warned her. He held the axe poised in his other hand. “Or we’ll see how my blade works on it.”
Out of nowhere a breeze blew across the hilltop and when it died away a moment later T’sim and Lowellin stood there, T’sim holding onto Lowellin’s elbow. Lowellin yanked his arm away, practically spitting with rage. T’sim gave Rome a bow and stepped back.
Rome crossed to Lowellin in two quick strides, the axe gripped in both hands. “Quyloc needs help. Now!”
Guardians Watch Page 36
