The Missing Kin

by Michael Pryor

  The next morning, Adalon groaned while he strapped on his armour. Wincing, he climbed onto his riding beast. He stifled a yelp as the saddle connected with his bruised tail. The stories never tell of this sort of thing, he thought. Great deeds and high honour, yet never a mention of chafed thighs. He gritted his teeth, but shuddered when it started to rain.

  They found a ford and crossed the Dondor River. Soon after, they came across a small stream, one that did not appear on Simangee's map. It took them roughly north-east, so they were happy to move along its meandering banks. Adalon was uneasy, however. At first he blamed it on the rain, which was sending cold trickles down his neck, but soon he realised that they were following a path. He slowed and leaned from the saddle. It was more than a trail made by wildlife – this was a well-trodden way.

  He reined in his steed. Targesh and Simangee came alongside. 'Trouble?' Targesh asked.

  Adalon gestured at the path. Simangee dismounted and looked closely at it. 'Wheel marks.'

  That was enough for Adalon. 'We don't want to meet anyone. Let's look for a place to cross.'

  They pressed on, but the stream and the path began to curve southwards. The stream became a rough and roaring cataract while the path turned into a narrow, rocky ledge cut into the side of a cliff. Spray bathed them and their progress slowed.

  'Turn back?' Targesh shouted.

  Adalon shook his head. The stream took a sharp bend not far ahead and the path disappeared around a jutting spur of rock. Perhaps the way would be clear on the other side.

  Adalon eased his steed around the spur, wiping spray from his face. Ahead, the stream broadened, opening out into a lake surrounded by hills. He pulled up short.

  'Careful!' Simangee called. 'Move along! I can't get around!'

  Adalon urged his mount forward and the rocky path soon gave way to damp earth, then wound through grass and reeds. He shook rain from his eyes, then stared, pulling up his riding beast. Simangee let out a snort of impatience. 'What is it now?'

  'Is this on your map?' Adalon pointed. Through the misty rain, large dark shapes hulked in the water. At first, Adalon thought they were small islands, but then he realised they were too uniformly spaced and too similar in shape.

  Wind sprang up, driving away the stubborn rain. Feebly, the sun emerged and the large basin of the lake was revealed, an expanse of dark, uninviting water surrounded by rounded hills that glowered over the scene like unfriendly neighbours. The outcrops that jutted from the lake were evenly scattered, some only a stone's throw from the water's edge. They had once been substantial, impressive, but most were now tumbled piles of stone, glistening dully in the watery sunlight. 'Ruins,' Adalon said.

  Targesh sniffed the air. 'Someone lives here.'

  Adalon smelled it too and then he made out the numerous, thin plumes of smoke rising from the collapsed buildings. He wondered who'd be living in a drowned city like this.

  Simangee edged her riding beast closer to the water's edge. 'I can see saur out there.'

  A trickle of water ran down Adalon's neck and he shivered. He wondered how hospitable these saur could be, living in such a bleak place. He took off his helmet and scratched his chin.

  Targesh stood in his stirrups and shaded his eyes. He growled. 'Horned Ones.'

  'What?' Adalon stared at the ruins. Horned Ones were notoriously suspicious of water, much preferring to keep to dry land. Targesh was not a swimmer, and Adalon had never been able to coax him into a boat, not even one of the old rowing boats he and Simangee played around with whenever they visited Sleeto.

  'Let's break our journey here for a while,' Simangee urged. 'Horned Ones look after travellers, don't they, Targesh?'

  Targesh nodded, slowly. 'The Way of the Horn says to bring strangers into the herd when in need,' he said, but he frowned, uncertain.

  'Then let us help them achieve their duty,' Simangee declared. She waved her arms in the direction of the lake. 'We're willing to be your guests, Horned Ones!'

  Adalon saw that the ruins were already springing to life. Horned Ones were appearing in gaps in the stonework, hurrying down what once had been stairs, and bustling toward a flotilla of canoes. Soon, the water was thick with them, the brawny arms of the Horned Ones driving the narrow boats toward the shore.

  'You're certain they'll be welcoming?' Simangee asked Targesh.

  'They are Horned Ones,' Targesh said firmly. 'They must be hospitable.'

  Adalon eyed the approaching canoes. Here, in the middle of the wilderness, he found it natural to be suspicious, but if Targesh was convinced . . . 'Stay mounted, all the same,' he said to his friends. 'If they're startled by our appearance, we can move off and leave them.'

  The leading canoe reached the shore. Without hesitating, a dozen Horned Ones dropped into the thigh-deep water and waded to where the three friends waited for them. Adalon saw how Targesh watched this with a mixture of fascination and nervousness.

  By the time the leader of the Horned Ones had stumped close, two score or more canoes had drawn up alongside the first. Soon, the friends were faced by more than a hundred stolid Horned Ones. Adalon noticed how their leather leggings were short and their feet were bare, as if they spent much time in the water. He expected them to be curious, but they stood silently, placidly, as if they met three metal-clad warriors every day of the week. They even took in the sight of a Horned One on a riding beast without a murmur.

  An old female stood forward, and cocked her head. She was large, like most Horned Ones, with piebald skin. Her neck shield was scalloped in a way that Adalon hadn't seen before, every second indentation a deep, angular one. She had two nose horns. She drew herself up and put her hands on her hips. 'We'll take you to the Old One.'

  Adalon's unease grew. The female Horned One spoke with a flat, dull voice that made his tail twitch. He would have thought their appearance would have sparked lively interest, but the Horned One's eyes were like stones.

  'Old One?' Simangee said. 'It must be their leader, wouldn't you say, Targesh? It sounds like we're being honoured.'

  Adalon caught Targesh's eye. 'I don't know. Perhaps we should be getting on. We have a long way to go.'

  Targesh crossed his arms on his chest. 'These are Horned Ones. My people. They will treat us well.'

  He dismounted and stripped off his armour. Then he held out his hand in greeting. The female Horned One gazed at it miserably, then turned and led the way through the throng toward the canoe.

  Adalon hissed, in mild irritation. Targesh had left them little choice. He shrugged. His Horned One friend rarely led them astray.

  Adalon leaped from the saddle and removed his armour, bundling it neatly under his riding beast. He reached for his scabbard, strapped to the saddle. A squat Horned One reached out and slapped his hand away. 'No weapons.'

  Adalon stared, then looked at his friend. 'Targesh?'

  Targesh had been studying the canoe with great mistrust. He looked up and clacked his beak. 'Must be a local custom. Disrespectful to bring weapons to their home.'

  Targesh took a deep breath and then lunged at the canoe. He almost tipped it over, but the old female steadied it with a practised hand. Targesh hesitated, then half-fell into the wooden shell. He sat. 'Ready,' he said in a strained voice.

  Simangee finished removing her armour and hurried to join him, eyes bright. It was another grand adventure to her.

  Adalon sighed, then chuckled. If nothing else, he'd finally seen his friend in a boat, on water. It was worth it for that alone.

  The short journey across the lake amused Adalon greatly. Targesh gripped the gunwales of the canoe as if it were a wild riding beast waiting to pitch him into the water. He gave every sign that he regretted his decision. The Horned Ones wielded their paddles in unison, while the old female sat in the prow, unspeaking.

  When they neared the closest ruin, Adalon could see that it extended well below the water. 'How deep is it?' he asked the nearest Horned One. A blank gaze was his only reply and Adalon frown
ed. Could these saur be unfriendly and yet still hospitable? Targesh seemed to think so, and Adalon hoped his friend was right.

  Adalon looked up. The remains of what once must have been two slender towers loomed overhead. The sides of the building were obscured by lichen, moss and bushes that had somehow found root in the gaps between the stones, but Adalon could see what was left of intricate carving on the façade.

  They drew up to a crumbling set of stairs, slick with water weed and slime. The old female stepped out of the canoe and disappeared into a gap where stones had fallen from a narrow arch. Adalon nudged Targesh. 'After you.'

  His friend jerked and looked around. 'Careful,' he said, then he stood slowly, lured by the sight of a solid surface just one step away. He lunged toward the first stair, then somehow got both feet out of the boat in time to land awkwardly. He stood still for a moment, then turned and helped Adalon and Simangee.

  The canoeists stayed where they were, simply staring at the strangers. Adalon shrugged and led his friends up the stairs.

  The sky was dull and grey as the clouds were beginning to gather again, but it was bright enough that Adalon was lost when he plunged into the darkness after the old female. He stood a moment, hands outstretched.

  A shout went up. 'Seize them!'

  Adalon spun around and faced a Horned One charge. A dozen brawny Horned Ones were thundering at him. Shoulder to shoulder, their arms outstretched, the stones under his feet shook.

  Adalon remembered games he'd played as a young saur. He took a step backward and then rushed at the Horned Ones. With Clawed One speed, he took three steps then launched himself at the nearest Horned One.

  With speed on his side, Adalon flipped, pushing off the Horned One's shoulders. He then used his momentum and somersaulted right over the astonished villager's head, giving the ingrate a thwack with his tail as he went.

  Adalon landed in a crouch. But before he could congratulate himself, a second wave of Horned Ones charged at him.

  A shoulder struck him in the chest. He fell, and they had him. Ungentle blows made his head ring, then hard hands grasped his limbs and tail, holding him down. He protested, but in uncanny silence, he was bound with water-slick ropes. They stank.

  'Sim!' he cried. 'Targesh!'

  A blow to his jaw made his head rock back. He glared at his assailant, but received only a blank stare in response.

  The old female came close, holding a crude lantern. 'Bring them to the Old One.' Adalon struggled. 'Wait! Why are you doing this? Let us go!'

  'No!' Targesh bellowed. 'This is not right!'

  The old female turned away without a word.

  Two burly Horned Ones seized him. Adalon was dragged along, his struggles futile. When he tried to reason with his captors, he was buffeted with a casual blow from a fist the size of a melon. After this, he gritted his teeth and tried to see where he was being taken.

  Already thinking of escape, Adalon took note of dark corridors, uneven floors, ceilings that had once been highly carved and were now crumbling and shrouded in spider-webs. The dank smell of fish, mildew and rot hung heavily on everything. His captors used torches that were made of reeds. The smoke from these was foul and added to the atmosphere of grime and decay.

  Eventually, he was yanked upright in front of the remains of a massive doorway. Twin pillars stood on either side, both in the likeness of tree trunks. Doors made of solid slabs of timber had been added, and looked much newer than the age-wearied stone around them. Impassively, the old female stared into his face. 'The Old One is waiting for you.'

  Adalon twisted in his bonds and saw that his friends were propped up on either side of him. Simangee looked furious, but Targesh's expression was a mixture of shame and great sadness. He lifted his head and shook his neck shield at the old female. 'What of the Way of the Horn?'

  For an instant, the old female's eyes flicked wider. Then the dull mask fell into place again. 'The Old Way is the only way.'

  Before Adalon could say anything he was lifted off his feet again and thrust through the doorway into a vast open space.

  He was surprised at the light. Twisting his neck, he was able to see that much of the roof was missing. At first, he assumed it had simply fallen, but the perfectly circular gap looked too deliberate for that.

  Pulling himself around as much as he could, he tried to see where he was. Tiers of stone seats surrounded a flat area in the middle of the huge room, and these seats were filled with silently watching Horned Ones. Pillars stood evenly around the space, supporting the roof. He tried to guess the purpose of the place. A governing chamber? A hall of debate? A theatre?

  His heart pounded as he was dragged further into the room. In the soft light he could see that the floor gave out onto a wide, circular area like a gigantic well, its sides made of stone. He was thrown to the floor.

  Adalon strained every muscle to break free. He arched his back and sought for any slack in the ropes.

  The old female came into Adalon's vision, but she ignored him. She turned to the opening in the floor. She raised her hands. 'Old One! Your people have gifts for you!'

  She ascended the stairs, joining the rows of bleak-faced spectators. The timber doors boomed closed and Adalon heard the iron clanking of a large bolt being drawn shut. 'Targesh!' he called. 'Simangee!'

  'I'm here!' Simangee cried, a distance to his left.

  'Me too,' Targesh rumbled nearby on his right.

  Adalon squirmed until he could bring his thumb-claws to work on the ropes. They were hard to shred, the fibres being damp and dense, but he applied himself energetically. He didn't like being bound and helpless, unable to use his Clawed One speed or agility. He tried not to think of himself as a neatly wrapped present, but the thought refused to vanish. He ignored it as he hurried, certain that at any minute the strange Horned Ones would appear and bind him again.

  Finally, he used his teeth along with his thumb-claws. The rope was rank and sour in his mouth, but he managed to stop it slipping about. He worked his claws deep into the heart of the rope – slicing, sawing, his thumbs aching – until he was through.

  He struggled, shrugging the loosened ropes over his shoulders, then he was free. He winced at the bruises and rolled to his feet. They won't catch me again, he thought.

  Adalon's tail sagged. The Horned Ones hadn't moved. They remained in place, tier upon tier, gazing down at Adalon as if his struggles and escape were of no interest at all.

  For an instant, Adalon wondered if he were in a dream, so strange was this behaviour, then he shook off the feeling. His friends were in trouble. He hurried to Targesh, who was trying to bite the net.

  'Stay still,' Adalon ordered and in an instant he'd freed his friend.

  'Good,' grunted Targesh, climbing to his feet. He glared at the rows of blank faces. They stared back at him, barely blinking. 'What do they want?'

  Adalon rushed to Simangee, but she'd managed to free herself. 'How . . . ?' he began.

  She plucked a dagger from the folds of her tunic. 'I was prepared,' she snapped.

  'I thought we were supposed to leave our weapons behind.'

  'I thought a knife would be handy,' Simangee said. With a flick of her wrist it disappeared up her sleeve. 'I wish I could have reached it earlier. They would have regretted dragging me around like that.'

  Targesh growled, loud in the silent arena. 'Trouble.'

  Adalon turned and saw that his friend was standing on the edge of the well-like opening, looking at the water below.

  'The door, Simangee,' Adalon said. She raced to it. Adalon joined Targesh. His tail whipped from side to side as he tried to control his Clawed One blood. Flee or fight: choose wisely or you may never choose again, he told himself, reciting one of the lessons of the Way of the Claw.

  The shaft was a good stone's throw across; the water was two or three fathoms below the rim. Where the sun from the open roof struck, the water was murky green, churning, heaving and subsiding.

  'It's no good,' Sim
angee said. Adalon glanced and saw she was holding her useful dagger. 'The doors are bolted from the outside.' She stared at the banks of Horned Ones. 'What are they waiting for? What sort of Horned Ones are they?'

  Targesh growled. 'They're not true Horned Ones.' He managed to look distressed and angry at the same time. He clenched and unclenched his fists. 'Taking in strangers and treating them like this? It's bad.'

  Concerned by his friend's anguish, Adalon gripped his shoulder and sought to reassure him. 'Don't worry. They're rogues. We'll get out of here and put some miles between them and us.'

  Targesh shook his head. Adalon wanted to say more, to make things easier for his friend, but comfort was a stranger in this place.

  Simangee muttered to herself.

  'What is it?' Adalon asked.

  She grimaced. 'I think we're in another A'ak site.'

  At that moment, the water in the shaft surged upward. Then it dropped with a crash, bursting and sending spray in a fountain. Simangee cried out. Adalon slapped water from his face. Targesh bellowed with surprise and all three reeled back when a huge figure exploded from the depths, water and weed cascading from its rocky hide.

  For one horrid moment, Adalon thought the stone monster from the Lost Castle had pursued him. This creature, too, looked as if it had been roughly carved from stone rather than born, but it was larger – much larger. An enormous, featureless head sat on hulking shoulders. Its mouth was a ragged hole. It pushed itself up from the shaft until it projected through the open roof. Its massive arms and hands dangled by its sides.

  Adalon hissed and grasped for the sword that wasn't there. He stood on his toes, ready to move, to flee, to attack, to do something.

  'A'ak magic,' Simangee spat. She held her dagger in front of her, puny in the face of such a gigantic foe.

  The monster lowered its head, bringing its grotesque face to bear on them. Then it shook, dislodging mud and water. It groaned, a deafening sound that rattled Adalon's bones, then it groped for them with one misshapen hand.

  Adalon back-pedalled, barely avoiding one of the pillars that supported the roof. The creature grunted and leaned forward. Adalon feinted right, then moved left. The creature was puzzled, but caught itself and then swung, backhanded, at him. He threw himself to one side and the creature's fist whistled past.