"Free!" came the loud rasp from Laiti's throat. "Not alone!"
Then, all of a sudden the creature became very still. Slowly Laiti's body raised itself to a standing position. Though her movements were by no means graceful, they were more sure than they had been before. Her eyes no longer seemed to flicker in her head as much, and she turned to look steadily at Isic. When she spoke, her voice was bereft of the harsh rasps and choking sounds Jeina had heard before. Indeed, it seemed almost normal.
"So," began Laiti's voice, "once again the man creature calls us, and brings with him his nasty green fires and cursed metal. What would you have of us, Lohidim?"
"What in the hells is happening?" asked Tobin. "Why can it speak like that all of a sudden, and what does Lohidim mean?"
"I don't know," said Isic. "But I have a feeling we'll find out." The smith then turned to the gröljum and said, "Our people are at war upon the land above. We come seeking your aid, we seek an ally."
A soft and unnatural chuckle came from Laiti's mouth. "Ally? Is that your new word for slave? Have you forgotten, Lohidim, how you once clapped our necks in the very chains you hold in your hands now? How you possessed us, half-starved and pent up in cages, our only source of food the blood of those who displeased you? We have not forgotten! Our last meeting caused us great pain, pain that has taken many birth cycles to heal. You are unwise, Lohidim, to return here. Apparently, you did not learn from the many deaths you suffered when we escaped our bonds."
"I know nothing of what you speak," said Isic. "We come seeking your aid, and have no wish to harm you."
"The chains you hold in your hands say otherwise, Lohidim. You offer us freedom from the threat of bondage in return for our aid. What sort of alliance is that?"
"A mistake, I…I did not know how to approach you. But rest assured, we have more to offer."
"Why should we trust you, Lohidim? You, who once enslaved so many of us?"
The smith looked puzzled. "Why do you call me Lohidim? I am called Isic, and I give you my oath that I have never before harmed your kind, nor even so much as encountered them."
"Yet you have his cursed metal, we can feel its taint even now. We killed many, yes, but surely there are those in your hive who can recall the great wrongs you have done us."
"Hive?" wondered Tobin, "What is this creature on about?"
"I am not sure, your majesty. But it seems to have certain insect-like qualities, does it not? A sort of communal consciousness. The creature we see before us may have never interacted with humans before, but perhaps one or more of their 'hive' have come into contact with men at some point. That may be why it can now speak with such ease."
Turning back to the gröljum, Isic explained, "There may once have been men who wronged you. We are not those men. We have very little memory of your kind, and whatever may have happened in the past, I assure you that we do not mean to repeat it. We are prepared to offer you great rewards for your aid in our cause."
As he spoke the last words, Isic again gestured with the skin filled with blood.
The creature seemed to consider.
"No memory…interesting. It must be so, or you would remember that before you first enslaved us, you baited us with the very same promises."
"This is no bait," replied Isic. "It is a bargain. Join us, and you shall have all the blood you require."
"No," hissed the gröljum, "this time you must give us more."
"What is it you want?" asked the smith.
A strange and nightmarish smile lit up on Laiti's face. "You must give us some of your own, Lohidim. The man creatures, and woman creatures too—alive. After all, warm blood is the sweetest, and we have found many other uses for the man creature's body."
Jeina could see Isic frown, and pause to consider this new condition. Tobin, however, did not give it a second thought.
"Then you shall have them!" exclaimed the Mountain King. "Whatever enemies we may capture as we restore the Mountain people to their homes and glory, I do pledge to you, to do with as you please. It is a fate they justly deserve."
Laiti's head tilted back for a few moments, eyes closed and lips slack. After a few seconds had passed, her face came back to life and she said, "Yes…that is acceptable."
"Do we have a deal then?" asked Tobin.
"Very well," came the voice from Laiti. "We will fight in your war in exchange for the lives of the enemies you capture. And, to celebrate the bargain this part of us you may keep—in exchange for the two woman creatures you have with you. Their blood juice is by far sweeter than the man creatures."
"Certainly you may keep the one," said Tobin a little confused, "and many more like her to come. But there is only one woman with us this evening."
"Do not speak falsely," hissed Laiti. "There are two with you, we can smell it!"
Peering through the crack in the rock just a stone's throw away, Jeina's heart caught in her throat.
"I swear," said Isic, as he motioned to the body of Laiti, "this is the only woman we have brought."
The gröljum straightened a bit, rearing its head back as it seemed to test the air.
"The other is not walking among you," it hissed. "The other is a short distance away, over…there."
As the creature said "there," Jeina made up her mind and began to dash from the opening, plunging herself into the darkness of the tunnels behind her as fast as she could. She heard shouts from behind her, and Tobin yelled, "Get her! Whoever she is, I want her found and brought to me."
Throwing open the slats on her lantern, Jeina paused for the briefest of moments to orient herself. Though it had been months since anyone had last been allowed in the mines, her twine was still there, a hint of color amidst a sea of grays. Following the twine, Jeina moved as fast as she could through the tunnels she had scoured for months. Soon, she had left the shouts of the soldiers behind as they, in their hurry, lodged themselves in corners and corridors they had only managed to slip though earlier with the greatest of care. But though the tunnels became silent once again, Jeina did not waste a second making her way to the surface. As she plunged ahead she prayed that her twine remained intact, that she would not take a wrong turn along the way and find herself trapped in a dead end. Jeina tried not to think of what would happen if she was caught, but images of the gröljum re-animating Laiti's crumpled body sent chills down her spine even as she ran for her life.
After what seemed an eternity, Jeina felt the change in the air that meant she was nearing the surface. She began to recognize the pattern of turns in the tunnel, and knew that in just a few moments she would be able to see the rose of the dawn sky in the distance. A terrible shriek from somewhere close-by pierced her ears, however, and something seemed to grip at the back of her neck, flooding her senses with a terrible fear. With horror, she realized the gröljum had come after her, and unlike the men, its body was made to navigate the tight confines of the mountain caves.
She heard the crunch of stone behind her and forced her tired body to move faster, but the panic surging through her left her legs unsteady, and she faltered and fell to the ground as she rounded a tight corner. With a cry of despair, she shut her eyes and braced herself for the creature's attack, but though she heard the gröljum's footsteps stop just around the corner, and the faint hissing of its labored breath, it did not appear before her. As Jeina slowly opened her eyes, she could see for the first time that she was bathed in the pinkish light of the morning, streaming down from the tunnel entrance somewhere above. The sharp curve of the tunnel that had precipitated her fall meant that mere paces away from where she lay would still be shrouded in darkness. She thought of the milky, lidless eyes of the gröljum she had seen, illuminated by the strange green light of the smith's staff. Perhaps the creatures could not abide the light of day? If it was so, she might still be able to get out of the tunnels alive. If the creature was delaying for some other reason, however…
All thoughts of why the creature had stopped fled from Jeina's mind as sh
e saw two of the gröljum's long tendrils begin to snake around the corner and start towards her. In a flash, she was up again, running as fast as she could towards the light, her ears ringing with the gröljum's shrieks of frustration as it realized it had lost its prey.
Never before had she welcomed the frigid morning air of the mountains more than when she burst into the open. It was if she had just awoken from some dark, horrible nightmare, and all of her problems had vanished in the light of day. As relief washed over her, she felt torn between an urge to shout with joy, and to break down in tears. She did neither. Instead she let forth a scream of pure terror as a hand fell on her shoulder and a hoarse voice asked, "Going somewhere?"
The campmaster's face was flushed and his breath stank of liquor, but his shoulders were rounded, and his eyes had none of the fire Jeina had seen when he was about to deliver one of his beatings.
"Going somewhere, pretty one?" he repeated, brushing his hand along Jeina's face in a clumsy caress.
"Please," she whispered. "Don't."
"Don't what?" he asked, almost whimsically.
"Kill me," said Jeina. "I promise I'll go straight back to the camp and never leave again."
The campmaster shook his head. "He'll know," he said.
"Who?"
"The smith. You can't hide anything from him, and if he knows, you can bet the King will know too. And if Tobin knows about you…he'll want your life. And mine as well, most likely, for not keeping you penned up properly. That's our King for you. He takes whatever he wants, if only so that he can destroy it."
Jeina was surprised at the bitterness in the campmaster's voice as he spoke of Tobin.
"Whatever he wants…" continued the campmaster, producing a flask from somewhere and taking a long swig. "He may be the King, but he's still just a spoiled brat who's gotten his way since he came out squealing from his mother's belly. Well, except for the war, of course. Sometimes I'm half glad those mudmen stormed his gates and seized his city."
"If you dislike him so much, then why work for him?" asked Jeina, a vague hope that she might yet escape re-kindled in her heart.
"I never thought he'd come here," said the campmaster. "Not for more than a day, anyway. I mean, I figured as long as I kept on shipping him silver, I was free to run my camp as I pleased. And I did! I ran my camp like a dream. I kept my little hens and roosters fed, saw to it that they behaved, and collected my silver eggs at the end of each day. But then what happened? Monsters! Ghosts! All of a sudden that eerie smith was here, and the King not far behind. That was it. They took over my camp. And now I'm just…I'm just a…"
The campmaster took another swig, then looked up at Jeina, his eyes odd and foggy. "That boy Tobin," he said, "who knows what he'll do to you. He's a cruel one, he is. I may have beat a girl or two in my life, but I've never done what he…here," he said, suddenly, taking off the thick cloak he wore around his shoulders.
Jeina's eyes widened. "I can go back?" she asked. But the campmaster shook his head again.
"Not back to the camp. Once they come back, they will find you and that will be the end of that. You don't really stand a chance out there," said the campmaster, motioning to the snowy woods around them, "but they say freezing to death isn't so bad, and it'll be better than what the King will do to you if he finds you."
"But I can't just go into the woods!" protested Jeina, "I'll die."
"Probably," said the campmaster. "But you only have three choices. Get caught by Tobin, take your chances in the woods, or…" he hesitated, and then looked directly into Jeina's eyes as he said, "or I could kill you, right now. Save you from having to deal with Tobin's…tastes. I promise I'd be as gentle as I…"
The sound of voices floated up from the entrance to the tunnel, and the campmaster fell silent. He pressed the cloak into Jeina's arms, and pushed her towards the woods. Jeina, not knowing what else to do, found herself mouthing "thank you" to a man she had always hated, and hurried quickly into the cover of the forest. When she was almost out of sight of the clearing, she could not help but glance over her shoulder to see if she was pursued. She saw the figure of the campmaster, gesticulating drunkenly at two figures she did not immediately recognize. The campmaster was pointing in the direction opposite the one she was traveling, while one of the other figures seemed to question him angrily. Jeina winced as one of the men punched the campmaster squarely in the jaw, knocking him to the snow before he headed off in the wrong direction in pursuit of Jeina. Still puzzling over the motives of her unlikely savior, Jeina took a deep breath, threw the cloak around her shoulders, and plunged into the maze of snow-covered evergreen that lay before her.
Chapter 17: Xasho
"If not cuhr vrast, I am sure that you will be given a place at the command of our greatest army," Xasho said to Boskaheed as they made their way to the city walls the next morning. "You are well known to Sidhir and have many battles to your credit."
Boskaheed grunted. "Hmph. The winners of tournaments choose themselves through hard work and skill. And while the honor of being chosen as cuhr vrast is a great one, my skills are needed elsewhere. I may still have my strength, but I am old, not so quick as I once was, and lack stamina. There was a time when I could have my spear at a man's throat before he even had a chance to react, but no more. Many a younger man can move far quicker than I, but…" Boskaheed stopped and gave Xasho a meaningful look. "But not as quickly as you, Xasho. I never paid much attention to your fighting. I suppose I did not have time to properly oversee your training. But watching you lately, I have been impressed. Beneath your grimaces and cries of rage there is an undeniable…elegance to your movements, a rarity in one so young and unpracticed. That is why today we are going to enter you in the khavasana to be Sidhir's cuhr vrast."
Stunned, Xasho could not think of what to say. The Johalid's cuhr vrast? Only the strongest and finest Curahshena warriors could dream of such an honor. The idea was almost laughable, but Xasho had never heard Boskaheed make a joke about anything, and the way the man was looking at him just now left no doubt in Xasho's mind that he was absolutely serious.
"But, I could never…I will do nothing but bring shame upon myself. I am no great warrior, and have no great deeds to my name. They likely will not even deem me worthy to enter the khavasana. My name is known to no one."
"It is known to me," said Boskaheed. "I will vouch for you when the time comes. Your name may not yet be known to many, but mine is. As you said, I have a string of many victories to my credit. I served for ten years in the Sidhira Sandguard, and commanded the guard for ten years more. When Hesa embraced Savi Mhiloj, Sidhir's former cuhr vrast, I was next in line. But the plague and the coming of the armies from the west brought chaos to our people, and such an honor was never conferred. I am now too old to serve in such a capacity, but I am confident that my service to the Johalids and our people has not been forgotten. If I give you my support, Sidhir will let you fight in his khavasana."
Boskaheed's tone was neutral, but as he spoke the last words, his eyes told Xasho that Boskaheed took a great deal of pride in what he was saying.
"I could not accept your support," said Xasho, "for then not only would I bring shame upon myself, but upon you as well."
"Nonsense," snapped Boskaheed. "Do you not think I know a warrior when I see one? Or is it that you do not want the honor of serving Sidhir and the warriors of Vraqish in the great battles that lie ahead?"
"No!" protested Xasho. "Of course I would welcome such an honor, but I could not—I am not worthy of such a responsibility."
Boskaheed's visage was stern when he said, "Listen to me, when weeks ago we made our attempt to recapture Sidhira, I made a terrible mistake. In my eagerness I led my company into a death trap, where all but two lost their lives like rodents—smoked to death beneath the earth. Only two men survived, and this was not by luck. The gods spared us, Xasho, because there is work left for us to do. They have given us the strength and wits to escape death's grasp. Of this I have no
doubt, for when you fight it is as if the rage of Vraqish himself flows through your body. Think of all the men in our company who died, Xasho. Killed not in honorable combat, but through a coward's tricks and deceit. You have a chance to avenge your fallen brothers, you have a chance to avenge our people, who were set upon only when disease had crippled their limbs and robbed them of their minds. We are not just fighting to restore our cities and lands. We march against a foe without honor, without any respect for what it means to be a warrior."
Boskaheed's words tugged at something inside Xasho, and for the first time vague visions of himself as a hero of his people flitted through his mind. The sensation grew inside of him, and he realized that he wanted it. He wanted to face the men who had snuffed the life out of his fellow warriors, who had filled his ears with the sound of their screams and his nose with the smell of their fear. He wanted to walk through the streets of a city and have people stop to look at him, and tell stories to their children as he passed about how he had brought justice to the cruel invaders from the west who had once treacherously subjugated their people. But, a nagging voice in his mind kept bringing his thoughts back to his immediate reality, and he remembered.
"But I do not even have a suitable weapon. I cannot fight with these blades."
"True," agreed Boskaheed, "but that is easily taken care of. We will find you one today in the city. A weapon worthy of a true warrior."
All objections momentarily dispelled from his mind, Xasho said, "Very well."
Inside the walls of the Heart of Sand, the city was bustling. Thousands of men and women from every corner of the desert were weaving in and out of the stalls that merchants had set up wherever there was space. In just the small area in front of the gate, there were several merchants selling jewelry, wine skins, charms to ward off plague, goat's milk, and a myriad of other things. Some sellers had erected small brightly colored canopies over themselves and their stock, others merely spread their wares upon intricately woven mats, and sat beside them in the dirt, calling out loudly.
The Weight of a Crown (The Azhaion Saga Book 1) Page 16
