This Crooked Way

by James Enge

  “Where's the corpse?” Morlock said.

  Roble pointed at the west end of the camp. Morlock didn't stir from where he was standing but, looking over at the body, said, “A snake-leopard. We must move at once.”

  “They're not so fearsome,” Roble protested. “And if—”

  “Why, Morlock?” Naeli called over, interrupting.

  “They are the skirmishers of the spiderfolk. Look!”

  Naeli and Thend went together toward the dead snake-leopard. It was hardly leopard-sized, somewhat larger than the predatory tree-cats in the woods surrounding Four Castles. But it wasn't really a cat: instead of fur it had the mottled scaly skin of a lizard, and its mouth hanging open displayed the forked tongue of a snake as well. Its slashed throat dripped greenish yellow blood. Wading in the blood were pale bugs, eight-legged like spiders, lapping up the still-warm fluid with long dark tongues.

  “Those are newborns,” Morlock said. “They grow taller than Roble. And they prefer red blood. The adults will be here soon, led by the snake-leopards.”

  “We'll put a pad under your backpack's strap,” Naeli said to Thend. “That'll be a better bandage than anything we can tie on.”

  Moments later, they were on the move, headed east.

  The Kirach Kund: a trench dividing the longest mountain range in the world into two unequal halves. The Whitethorn Range lay to the west, running all the way through the Wardlands to the perilous seas off the Broken Coast. The Blackthorn Range lay to the east, running beyond knowledge—some said it went to the eastern edge of the world. At the heart of the Blackthorns lay a kingdom ruled by the dragon-taming Khroi.

  Everyone feared the Khroi, and when they decided they had to cross the mountains (Thend was never sure when they had decided that, or why) Morlock recommended that they follow the western edge of the Kirach Kund. The Khroi feared the spiderfolk, and something about the mountains themselves, though Morlock never said what.

  Now they were fleeing from the spiders toward the Khroic side of the pass, and Thend knew they were nearing it when they topped a rise and saw, smoking in the valley below, the outstretched form of a dragon.

  This was alarming at first; even Fasra, who hadn't a lick of ordinary sense, looked concerned. But the dragon was obviously dead: a big steaming trench had been eaten out of its side; most of the smoke came not from the dragon itself, but from a smoldering fire its blood had started in the valley's thick grayish grass.

  There were no Khroi in sight, but lurking in the fire was a great wolflike beast, and surrounding it were a group of full-grown spiderfolk, attempting to drag it out of the fire with their silken threads. The fire withered the threads and the spiders dared not approach closer. But they, and their pack of snake-leopards, surrounded the fire: the wolf couldn't easily escape.

  “Maybe we should turn east again,” suggested Stador uneasily.

  “I don't think so,” Roble said, looking at Morlock. “You know what I'm thinking?”

  Morlock grunted. “My enemy's enemy…”

  “…is a fine distraction for my enemy,” Roble finished.

  “If you guys are planning on doing something,” Naeli pointed out, “we need to know what it is.”

  “Look,” Roble said, “suppose we go down there, drive off the spiderfolk—”

  “That may be too much to hope for,” Morlock observed. “If they're alone, they may stand and fight and we should be prepared to flee. But if others are coming, and they know it, they'll likely retreat and attack together in force.”

  “But by then,” Roble said, nodding concessively to Morlock, “we'll be gone. And if there are any spiderfolk on our trail, when they come this far, they'll become occupied by that wolf-thing down there. And if it's gone by the time they return, they'll have a split trail: ours and the wolf's.”

  “Werewolf's,” Morlock said.

  “Oh? I wondered how it could stand to be in the fire.”

  “Why do you have to run around killing things all the time?” Thend shouted at Morlock.

  This was hardly fair, but Morlock took the question seriously. After a moment's thought he said, “I suppose I'd rather see them dead than you.”

  “But—” Thend noticed his mother glaring at him and he shut up.

  Naeli turned to Roble and Morlock. “All right, if we're going to do this thing let's have some sort of plan. We'll all go into the valley, but Thend, Bann, Fasra, and I will hold back; you two and Stador will attack the spiderfolk and their snake-leopards. The rest of us will intervene only if necessary to help you escape. Agreed?”

  Stador looked flattered to have his life put at risk, Bann annoyed that his wasn't. Roble said, “Right!” and Morlock nodded indifferently.

  They ran together down into the valley; but at a certain point Naeli gestured, and Stador, Roble, and Morlock ran on alone.

  “What's so special about them?” Fasra muttered, angry at being left behind.

  “They're expendable,” Naeli said dryly. Bann laughed at this, and even Fasra smiled, but Thend didn't think it was funny. His uncle Roble was the closest thing he'd ever had to a father. If Thend wanted any one thing in life it was to be more like Roble: handsome, fearless, never at a loss for words or actions. Should someone like that be thrown away just so that someone like Thend could live a little while longer? Thend couldn't see why.

  Thend's feelings about Stador were mixed, but Morlock was another matter. If he wanted to lay down his life for Thend's sake, that was his business.

  The crooked man ran, just as he walked, with an odd loping stride. He clapped Roble on the shoulder and said something to him, then veered off straight toward the fire while Roble and Stador swung to the right and rushed the spiderfolk there.

  Morlock's monochrome sword glittered in his hand as he plunged into the line of snake-leopards and spiderfolk, kicking and stabbing. The snake-leopards yowled with dismay and the spiderfolk leapt aside: they had been intent on the werewolf hiding in the fire. Morlock ran straight to the border of the flames, where a stunted tree had partly collapsed into sullen embers. Morlock scooped up a fistful of live coals and scattered them among the spiderfolk nearest him.

  Thend had been appalled the first time he saw Morlock reach into a campfire for a handful of coals that he proceeded to juggle for their somewhat-horrified amusement. Even though he understood that fire didn't affect the crooked man the way it affected other people, it was still hard to watch.

  The spiderfolk screamed; one of them fell to the earth with a gooey sort of thump that was sickening to hear. The others retreated a ways, gathering their clouds of snake-leopards about them with wordlike hisses. Roble and Stador fell back and stood beside Morlock.

  “Looks like they're going to stand and fight,” Roble observed.

  Morlock shrugged and waited.

  The snake-leopards spread out in two wings, one of them charging straight toward each of the two groups.

  “Get back with the others,” Morlock snapped, and stepped into the fire beside the werewolf.

  Roble and Stador ran back and joined their family. They formed themselves in a ragged line with blades drawn, waiting for the snake-leopards to mass and attack. Thend held his sword grip with both hands to keep from trembling, and he was glad to see he wasn't the only one doing that.

  The snake-leopards massed together, but their attack never arrived. As they leapt toward the quivering line of blades, there came from behind the screaming hiss of the spiderfolk. Morlock and the werewolf were attacking them with fire, Morlock hurling fistfuls of live coals and the werewolf kicking up a steady stream of sparks and burning grass with its back legs.

  The snake-leopards went back to protect their spidery masters, and the whole group fled south and west over the ridge.

  Morlock and the werewolf stepped out of the fire on different sides. They said a few things to each other that Thend didn't catch. Then the werewolf stood there, a black smoldering wolf-shape with fire-red eyes, as Morlock turned and walked away.


  “So you speak Wolf, too, Morlock?” Naeli said as the crooked man rejoined the group. Thend admired her nerve in being able to talk to him. But then, there was something of the monster in Naeli too. (And in himself? He was her son. But he didn't like to think about that.)

  “Not really,” Morlock said. “My sister knows more. I think he offered me part of his kill.” Morlock gestured behind him at the fallen dragon. “I'm not sure if he was just boasting. He says he killed it last night while it was sleeping, and the spiderfolk took its rider: that would be your friend, I think,” he said, glancing at Thend, who flinched.

  To cover up his fear Thend said, “I'm surprised you didn't take any. I bet dragon meat is mighty tasty.”

  “Dragons think so,” replied that horrible old man and turned away.

  They went on out of the valley, north and east.

  The march went on and on. During one of their rare and brief halts the adults were discussing whether they should find a place to sleep for the night. Morlock didn't think it was safe to strike the lights they would need to travel after dark, but Naeli argued it was still more dangerous to settle in a place where their enemies might come upon them. But they were well toward the eastern side of the pass now, nearer the Khroi than the spiderfolk, and Morlock was saying it was a good risk to stop and rest.

  Thend stared away into the eastern sky, still hot and red with sunset1. There was a cloud of strange birds over there. It was as if their eyes were reflecting the sun, even though they were facing toward the night-dark western sky. After a while, as they got bigger and Thend was more sure that the evening light wasn't playing tricks with his own eyes, he pointed at them and asked, “What kind of birds are those?”

  Morlock glanced over and swore, “Sustainer!”

  “They're sustainer birds?” Stador asked, not understanding.

  “It is the dragon cavalry of a Khroic horde,” said Morlock, in something nearer his ordinary speaking voice. “My friends, I have led you astray. We must part company here. I will do my best to draw them away from you. Bear north as straight as you can and God Sustainer be with you.”

  “But they can't have seen us yet,” Roble protested. “Let's take cover and talk it over.”

  “We have no time to debate,” Morlock said. “If we can see them, they have seen us. It was my fault we didn't turn west after we left the werewolf. Save yourselves and go!” He shouldered his pack and ran off eastward, toward the dragons.

  Roble turned away from the fiery eastern sky, his dark face twisted with a dark emotion. “Let's go, then,” he said, “and save ourselves.” He said it like a curse.

  They went as fast as they could, but it felt like crawling. Whenever possible they kept to the shadows, hiding from those fiery eyes in the eastern sky. But they stumbled over stones in the dark, and they had to feel their way carefully over the broken ground, lest they fall into a pit or a ravine. They didn't dare strike a light.

  Soon they heard Morlock's voice shouting, “Khai, gradara!” Rising like a swift distorted moon over the line of rocks to the east, they saw a dim blue dragon fly upward, lit by its own smoky red eyes, snarling in triumph. The struggling shadow of a man was gripped in its right foreclaw. But the man still carried a glittering crystalline sword and, dealing it deftly, he cut the claw from the dragon's foreleg at its joint. The man fell out of sight, still gripped by the severed claw; the dragon screamed in pain and wrath and plunged upward, vomiting fire and smoke. Other fire-eyed, bat-winged, serpentine shapes followed the course of the fallen man to earth.

  Thend clung to the side of the rock face, stunned with the thought that Morlock was dead, or soon would be. He hadn't known it would hit him so hard. He felt somebody sneak her hand into his, and looked down to see Fasra looking up at him with a tear-streaked face. She shrugged as if to say, What can we do?

  There was nothing they could do except try to get away, and that was what they did, creeping along the dark side of every rock they could find to cover them.

  But it was all for nothing. The dragon cavalry flew over them and dropped nets and, when they were trapped, the Khroic soldiers came and knocked them out one by one.

  Thend struggled as best he could, but it was no use. He noticed, too, that the Khroi who clubbed him into unconsciousness had a purplish carapace marked by savage scraping near the neck. The point of a rock was stuck there in the Khroi's shell like a tooth.

  “I should have left you for the spiders!” Thend shouted; then the Khroi's club descended and darkness with it.

  Thend dreamed he was flying, and then when he woke up he found it wasn't a dream. He was hanging facedown in a wire net, hundreds or thousands of feet over the moonslit broken ground of the Kirach Kund. Twisting around, he saw the net was gripped in the claws of a dragon. He wanted to shout something defiant and insulting, but fear kept a grip on his throat: he had never been so high in his life and he didn't like it. He closed his eyes and pretended he was somewhere else, anywhere else.

  He must have slept or passed out. When he awoke he could hear the adults talking to each other in low voices. But he could hear other, inhuman voices, too, so he was spared the terrible, tempting illusion that their captivity was only a dream.

  Thend opened his eyes to see Fasra's frightened face in profile. If she was scared, then things were pretty bad. Beyond her Thend saw his brothers. On the other side he saw his mother and her brother, and beyond them Morlock looking rather beat up.

  Roble and Naeli avoided meeting Thend's eye, but Morlock looked him straight in the face, smiling sadly. “We meet again!” said the crooked man.

  “Unfortunately,” Thend said rudely, because he didn't know what else to say, and Morlock nodded in agreement.

  Things were unfortunate indeed. They were all sitting there in a valley, bound hand and foot with leathery rope. Even the werewolf was there, hogtied and snarling. Standing over them were huge Khroi warriors, of a type Thend had never seen. On one slope of the valley, rank on rank, sat a whole horde or tribe of Khroi. Facing them, on the other side of the valley, were dozens of fiery, bat-winged, serpentine forms in various dark colors: an irregular burning rainbow of dragons.

  Thend looked up to the sky. Chariot, the major moon, was eastering; and Horseman, the second moon, was high in the sky. Thend looked up at it, thinking that this was the last sky he would ever see. The thought was convincing but cold; he felt nothing about it. He wondered if this were part of dying: giving up interest in anything as the jaws of death clamped down.

  He looked at the valley. He saw the Khroi were of many different types. There were the strange gigantic warriors who stood over them, guarding them with spears. Nearby were the warriors, wearing spiked blades on their palp-clusters; they wore white ceremonial tabards with some kind of writing on them. Above them were ranks of Khroi wearing black surcoats. It struck Thend that they might be elders, Khroi who had aged out of the warrior class. Above them on the slope was a milling crowd of Khroi dressed in black and white rags. Some were dancing, others were lying on the ground, waving their palp-clusters and ped-clusters in the air. Highest of all was a lone figure who sat on the steps of an empty gigantic throne. He wore a tabard of white embroidered with red and black in a chaotic pattern.

  The dragons all spoke only to this Khroi who sat before the empty throne, never to the others, and all the other Khroi also spoke to him; he alone spoke to the dragons.

  There was some sort of discussion or negotiation going on; Thend didn't know if it was all about them, although some of it clearly was. He had thought that the dragons were merely animals that the Khroi rode, like a man riding a horse, but he saw now that he was wrong. There was some sort of alliance between the two races.

  The discussion appeared to be coming to some kind of conclusion when it was interrupted. Morlock interrupted it, rising to his feet (he must have untied the rope around his ankles), and, turning away from the Khroi, he spoke directly to the dragons in something that sounded a great deal like the langua
ge they had been using.

  The dragons responded heatedly, and a few edged closer to Morlock when the Khroi leader interrupted them with a harsh word.

  “If you have anything to say,” the Khroi leader called down the slope in Coranian, “you will speak to me, Morlock Ambrosius. I am both kharum to this guile of dragons and marh to this horde of Khroi. They speak to me, and I speak for them. But I tell you now, Destroyer: there is nothing you might say that I would wish to hear.”

  Morlock looked once down the line of dragons, left to right. Thend thought there was a smile on his face as he met the dragons' burning eyes. Then he slowly turned his back on them and many snarled in anger as he did so.

  Morlock called up the slope to the Marh, saying, “Your name? It seems you know mine.”

  “I have many names,” the Khroi leader said. “I was called one thing by the gods-who-hate-me in their thoughts before my first birth. That is ever my true name and I will learn it only in death at my final damnation. The Virgin Sisters called me another name after my second birth, when I ate my way clear from my dying host. As warrior-in-training I had a third name; as warrior-in-deed I won a fourth. In my time I became an elder and a seer, and I had names in both those avatars. Now I am Marh Valone, marh of deathless Valona's horde. Work your magic on my name at your peril, Destroyer: it has Valona's strength in it.”

  “I don't use binding magic,” Morlock observed, “or fear it. I greet you, Marh Valone. You call me Destroyer, but if you spare our lives we will spare yours.”

  Marh Valone fixed one of his three eyes on Morlock. He left his seat before the vacant throne and walked down the slope, never looking away. The dancing figures in black and white tried to restrain him, but he kicked them out of his way and continued down the slope, where the elders and warriors made a lane for him. He stood at last before Morlock, just beyond the hulking spear-carrying guards, and said, “What did you say?”

  “Perhaps I wasn't clear. I—”