The madness was still there, the blood lust, and at that moment he looked like the Blade Kin who howled around her.
He’d become a predator, and she felt as if she were still prey. Her skin crawled at the thought of being near so many of these men, of having the Blade Kin brush her as they passed.
She’d spent weeks hunting for Tull and this is what it had brought her, only shame.
Fava had not imagined such a reunion.
Tull fought three more times over the next five hours. As a big Tcho-Pwi, he stood taller than Neanderthals, and he was broader of shoulder and more powerful than any of the humans.
He did not finesse his opponents, and instead opted for speed and power. He did not give them time to think, but charged across the arena sands as soon as they let him out of his gate.
He slit two men open with ease, but engaged in a longer fight with the third.
In late afternoon Tull looked as if he had begun to tire.
In the last encounter of the day, fought in the gloom of a setting sun, as the final six pairs of combatants all approached one another carefully, calculating.
They used longspears for this round, a weapon Tull did not fancy.
He showed it in the arena, taking the spear and breaking it over his knee. He threw the halves to the ground and beckoned his opponent with open hands, lulling the man into a false sense of security.
Tull’s opponent was small, a human with speed and deftness, and he attacked too quickly, feinting a lunge.
Tull grasped the end of his opponents spear quicker than the little man could believe, ripped it from his hands, and drove the butt end into the man’s chest, burying it two feet, then he flipped the little man high into the air, tossing him over the arena walls into the crowd.
The Blade Kin rose to their feet, chanting Tull’s name, over and over. Tull marched around the arena twice, and then stopped before Fava. He looked up past her head as he took the spear, cut off a tip of his own ear, and tossed it into the stands.
Fava thought he had thrown the thing to her, but it landed in the crowd behind.
Tull stalked back down to the dungeon looking refreshed, invigorated. He was a man reborn.
Fava watched the final two rounds in silence.
As the crowd rose to depart, Wertha ventured, “Tomorrow Tull will win a place among the Blade Kin. When all the others lie slain, he will be standing.”
“I think Thakunka will best him,” a man said from the crowd behind, interrupting their conversation. “Tull has strength and speed, but Thakunka has more skill and versatility.”
Fava began to rebuke the stranger, but Darrissea took her arm, calming her.
Darrissea suggested, “Perhaps Tull would have more skill and versatility if his thumbs had not been broken before the fight. I’d have liked to have seen him fight without being hampered.”
The man grunted, and Fava looked up. It was an old Neanderthal with a deep voice, a black cloak and a patch over his eye.
Wertha pounded his chest in salute, and Fava followed his lead uncertainly.
“Omnipotent,” Wertha mouthed.
The Black Cyclops waved his hand, muttering for them to be at ease, but Fava could not unbow her neck. She was far too aware that this man was supposed to be her lord, her master, and she feared that he would recognize her as a stranger.
“I caught Tull in the Rough,” Mahkawn said, “and believe me, too many of my men have seen him fight unhampered. He is a good warrior—as is Thakunka. I will grieve when one of them dies.”
He pulled something from his robe, a bit of flesh, and Fava realized that it was part of Tull’s ear, the small piece he had tossed into the crowd. Tull had thrown it to the Omnipotent.
“What of Tull’s family?” Fava asked. “Has he spoken of it? Does he have younger brothers or sisters of such size and caliber that might be brought into the brotherhood? Perhaps a child that he has sired, even one still waiting in some woman’s belly?”
“No,” Mahkawn answered, “I fear not. I would pay well for such offspring.”
He raised his head, as if he had just gotten an idea. Without a farewell, he turned and departed through the crowd.
***
Chapter 14: Secret Agents
Tantos summoned Mahkawn to his chambers that night, only hours before dawn. Mahkawn had ridden the Death’s Head Train and was surprised that at two hours before dawn, Tantos did not sleep.
It was sometimes rumored that Tantos never slept, that his symbiote allowed him to stay awake for weeks on end.
Whatever the truth, Mahkawn waited in the chambers while Tantos informed him of strange attacks upon Blade Kin in the wilderness, of men and women found bled like cattle within the city.
“The attacks have been stepping up, becoming more common. We have found manlike creatures in the countryside, eaters of blood.
“We’ve even brought back the bodies of some. Our surgeons have examined the corpses, hoping to devise tests.
“The blood eaters can duplicate almost any human or Neanderthal form, but their faces are filled with bladders. If we lance them, they deflate. I have had the Secret Arm of the Brotherhood watching day and night, and we have found that we can usually discover the identity of the blood eaters quickly.
“Still, if we give them time, they will learn. Given enough time they could infiltrate every level of our society. Because of this, I have quarantined the city.
“We know the general direction of where the Creators lie, and I am gathering forces in preparation to attack. We should be able to leave within the next four weeks.”
“Very good,” Mahkawn said. “How can I serve you?”
Tantos inclined his head, turned to the general as if his thoughts had been disrupted. “As I said, I’ve had my spies working overtime, and we have found something. After defeating the Hukm, we took in numerous Okanjara prisoners north of the city, and some of them have been quite clever at remaining hidden, posing as slaves.
“Now it has come to my attention that a certain Blade Kin woman has been searching for Tull Genet, sending messengers to the mines. This is the same Tull Genet who fought in the arena today.”
“I see. Have you identified her?”
“Yes. One of my men followed her to the arena, where she cheered enthusiastically for the man.”
“Have you questioned her?”
“Not yet. She has accomplices supporting her, and we want to round them all up at once. Indeed, that is why I summoned you tonight.
“It is reported that you spoke with her today at the arena. What is your involvement with the woman?”
Mahkawn stepped backward, perplexed by the accusation. “I spoke to no one! I sat between two of my Dragon Captains during the entire display.”
“You spoke to her as you were leaving.”
Mahkawn suddenly remembered exchanging comments with some man and a couple of women. “Yes, I remember her now. She asked if Tull had mentioned any family, or offspring. I thought she hoped only that his battle prowess had bred true.”
“Could she be his family member, someone who escaped at Smilodon Bay?”
“His wife perhaps,” Mahkawn said. “He had a wife, and a small adopted son.”
“She shows unusual courage, trying to free him this way. But there is a more important element to the whole thing. It seems that with Phylomon dead, some of the Thralls believe that the time has come at last when the ‘undying blue sun is broken.’ They believe that Tull is fulfilling Pwichutwi’s ancient prophecies of the Okansharai. Even today, when Tull came out of the earth in the arena from between the legs of the Mother of Evil and splashed his audience with blood, some Thralls whispered that he fulfilled the prophecies.”
Mahkawn laughed.
“You laugh,” Tantos chided, “but the Thralls believe. You broke Tull’s thumbs before the duels, but that has not slowed him. Tull must die tonight.”
“I do not believe he can win tomorrow,” Mahkawn ventured. “His competition i
s too good, especially given Tull’s incapacity.”
“And I believe that this has gone too far,” Tantos growled. “You will kill him tonight. I want you to drive the sword into him yourself.”
“But he has freely given his ear! By all of the old laws, he is almost Blade Kin!”
“I will not have Tull glorified by these proceedings!” Tantos shouted, and Mahkawn stepped back. He had never seen the Lord show such wrath. “You will kill him by your own hand tonight! And you will take Atherkula to witness the deed! He has been clamoring for the slave’s blood—let him be gratified.
“As for the wife, I have already sent troops to round up her and her cronies. They have been taken to the dungeons. She too shall witness the murder. Let her see the end of her Okansharai! You will handle this matter. Handle it!”
Tantos stepped forward, pulled the golden scourge from Mahkawn’s belt. “Your softness has displeased me. I shall give my favor to Atherkula now. You are dismissed.”
“Yes, My Lord,” Mahkawn said. He bowed low, left the room. He stopped outside the door, felt at his belt where the scourge had been.
I have lost my lord’s favor. He has a right to be disappointed, Mahkawn thought, yet he realized that, given time, he could win that favor back. I should not have let my sympathies for this slave cloud my judgment. I should have never let him live so long.
***
Chapter 15: Healer
Wertha had stayed late in the market, buying food for Fava and Darrissea. He was not used to feeding so many, and with little money to pay, he forced himself to shop just before nightfall, so that he could bargain cheap for scraps of meat or stale vegetables that might otherwise go to waste.
Disguised as a Blade Kin, he did not need to worry about curfews, and so when the bells tolled, he ran among the stalls, then tossed his cheap foodstuffs in a cloth bag and hurried home.
His path took him through the twisting heart of Thrall town, where the poorest of slaves lived aboveground in wooden boxes and makeshift tents.
These were the old and infirm—men and women whom the Lords were not yet ready to cull—people who worked hard every day in the fields or at the docks or at some new factory just to prove their worth to their Slave Lords.
A hard day of drudgery bought two feedings of stew, a crust of bread, some wood for the cooking stoves.
Some among Thralls were so sick that their masters no longer cared to give them the proper quarters or food. These lay on pallets in the open, waiting either to recover or to die. None here held any delusions about their own worth.
Wertha passed a pallet where a child lay, a young girl whose legs had been crushed in an accident, and they were poorly bandaged. She reached her dirty hands out to him, asked only for water. He stopped, gave her a drink and bread from his bag.
A cool wind blew, flapping the ragged tents, blowing smoke from the cooking fires wildly. No one was looking.
Wertha could feel the healing power in him strong today, surging like the wind, waiting to be un-leashed.
He grabbed the girl’s feet and pulled the leg bones out straight. The girl did not cry in pain, but clawed, grasping a handful of icy mud from the ground on each side of her pallet.
“Do not worry,” Wertha said. “Nothing that I do will hurt you.”
He touched her legs, felt the pus and swelling beneath the skin, felt the bruises down to the bones. He let the power flow from him then, a warmth that spread from his fingertips.
“Kwitcha, my ally, be near me,” Wertha begged the goddess of healing. “Make your power one with mine.” He closed his eyes and felt the cool touch as a spirit filled him, shaking him like a sheet in the wind, but the healing did not come from his hands. Instead, a voice sounded behind him.
“Hoard your powers tonight,” a man said. “Don’t be in a hurry to go home. You are being followed.”
The man was a Pwi with pale orange hair, blue eyes, a fresh brand on his hand.
“Who are you?” Wertha asked.
“I am Fava’s father, Chaa,” the Pwi whispered. “I will see you again soon. Follow your heart. Watch behind you!”
Wertha peered at the man’s feet, at his black moccasins sewn with silver thread. The image of a crow.
Chaa ducked quickly away, weaving through the crates and shacks of Thrall town, seeming almost to disappear.
Wertha’s spirit ally left him, like a cool breeze that whispered away, and Wertha studied the girl. He touched her only lightly, healing the fevered infection in her legs, leaving the broken bones to mend in their own time.
He fed the girl more from his stores and watered her again, then wandered through Thrall town aimlessly.
Do not be in a hurry to go home, Chaa had said, and Wertha moved stealthily, wending his way north. Soon after nightfall, the streets came alive with Slave Lords on their way to parties.
Wertha skirted a procession where a woman on a hovercraft was dressed like a swan, all white feathers and pearls and silk and glittering.
Fifty elegantly clad Neanderthal body guards ran beside her bearing torches, naked swords, and guns. Their eyes glittered dangerously, as if they suspected any straggler on the street to be an assassin from some other family.
Best not to stand in their way, best not to become a target for trouble. Wertha ducked into an alley till the woman passed, then headed back out.
As he returned to the street, he glanced behind, noticed a man on the catwalk beside the road. The fellow slipped into a shadow, expertly blended into the night. The Invisible Arm of the Brotherhood.
Wertha crept through the streets and alleys. He fled his pursuer when the time was right.
When he felt sure he was alone, he headed for home, but stopped several blocks away and climbed to the roof of a building. From there he watched the streets in front of his house and witnessed the arrest of Fava and Darrissea.
Perhaps thirty Blade Kin in black armor stood in the streets around the house. They dragged the women out in silence. The women did not cry or scream or try to escape. Instead the just trembled, stood with pale faces, trying so hard to appear brave.
When the Blade Kin dragged them off, one man holding each of them by the arm, Wertha began to follow the group discreetly.
***
Chapter 16: A Decent Execution
Mahkawn walked out of Tantos’s palace into the night and peered skyward. All three moons were up; the night was bright in spite of the clouds.
On such nights Mahkawn often had trouble sleeping. A great-horned owl hooted, hunting over the fields. Let the mice take care, Mahkawn thought, recalling lines to an old children’s poem.
Mahkawn leaned his head back, breathed deeply the fresh night air. It was just below freezing. Cool, but still comfortable.
He spread his arms and imagined that they were wings. The thing that I do tonight it is not evil, he told himself. It simply is. The owl and the hawk should not befriend the mouse. Just as I should not have befriended Tull.
Friend. Mahkawn thought about the word for a long time. It had been many years since he had thought of someone as a friend. The Blade Kin were allies, but he did not enjoy their company. Pirazha, now, she was a friend, though he hardly dared admit it.
Still, if I were held captive in some prison in Craal, would Pirazha travel through the wilderness to rescue me?
The idea seemed laughable, but for some reason Mahkawn could not put it back on the shelf of his mind. He considered for a long time as he walked to the Death’s Head Train, climbed aboard.
I doubt that she would come, he told himself. She would resist the impulse, if the idea occurred to her at all. She is, perhaps, more of a Blade Kin than she realizes.
Once inside, he sat in his dark metal capsule on a plush couch and let the train take him home to Bashevgo.
The single lantern in his compartment swung on its rung in the ceiling, and Mahkawn thought carefully about how he would carry out the murder, planned it in his mind.
It would be important
to please Tantos and Atherkula, but Mahkawn found that he also wanted to please Tull, serve the man his death with some dignity.
No gory mutilations, no sadistic torture. As for Tull’s wife, though she was obviously a Thrall, she deserved some courtesy, too. People with so much courage deserved honor.
When Mahkawn reached the depot, he disembarked, went to the Temple of the Carnadine Sorcerers and woke Atherkula.
It was nearly dawn by the time the sorcerer dressed and accompanied him to the arena’s dungeon.
A squadron of four rough guards accompanied them down.
In one antechamber that they had to pass on their way to the cells, Mahkawn and Atherkula found two pasty-faced women that he recognized.
They had been locked into this outer cell. One of them was a dark-haired human, while the other was a Pwi with a missing ear. Their faces were pale, and they trembled at the very sight of him.
Mahkawn almost laughed, for no Blade Kin would have shown such fear. He wondered how they could have fooled anyone.
“You,” Mahkawn said nodding at the two, “are Thralls. You shall be branded and put into service.” Mahkawn motioned. “Fava, come with me.”
He opened the cell door with his master key, and it groaned on its hinges.
She rose from the floor, woodenly, and he took her hand, trying to comfort her. It was a technique that often worked with Thralls. They believed that if you were nice to them, then you would not hurt them later.
“I am honored to meet you,” Mahkawn told Fava, and Atherkula walked along behind, plodding silently, his black robes swishing, while the guards tromped behind. “I admire your courage in coming here, seeking to free Tull. Few women would show such devotion. Still …” he mused, “I suppose that it was reckless.”
Mahkawn waited for her to speak, and she muttered something that he could not make out, then said, “I … fear I do not know what you are talking about.”
“You have nothing to fear from me,” Mahkawn assured her. “Tull and I have become quite good friends. Close friends. You saw him throw his ear to me in the arena? If he were to win his battles this morning, then I would become his commander. Do you understand this tradition among Blade Kin? So you see, you are the wife of a friend.”
Path of the Crushed Heart: Book Four of the Serpent Catch Series Page 9
