by R. T. Kaelin
“This?”
Okollu sniffed the air twice and tossed his muzzle toward the pair of mongrels to his right, Rhohn’s left.
“Toss it there, smooth-face.”
Rhohn hesitated, trying to figure out what mongrels would want with a gemstone.
“The bag!” growled Okollu. “Now!”
A light moan drifted from the grass by his feet. Glancing down, he saw Tiliah stir, her hand rubbing the back of her head.
“The bag, smooth-face, or we kill the female.”
Rhohn glared at Okollu. He had no doubt the mongrel would follow through on the threat.
“If I give you the—”
“Now!” barked Okollu. Its eyes flashed wide, pleading with Rhohn to comply.
Wondering if he was mad for putting his faith in an animal, Rhohn tossed the bag toward the two mongrels to his left. The sack struck the ground with a solid thud.
Okollu turned to the pair and snapped, “Alege sus si avedea ce nauntru.”
The brown mongrel stepped forward and bent down to sniff the pouch.
Feeling a light tapping on his leg, Rhohn glanced down. Tiliah was sitting up now, staring at the four beasts before them. Without looking away from them, she spoke in a hushed whisper.
“What do we do?”
Okollu’s gaze snapped back to them.
“Silence!”
Tiliah complied, keeping her hand on Rhohn’s leg, her fingers digging into his injured calf. Rhohn squeezed the hilt of his sword just as tightly.
The mongrel inspecting the sack lifted its head, looked to Okollu, and growled, “Ese pitra.”
“Bring it here,” growled Okollu. The nostrils on its black nose flared. “Lussa, you stay there.” Eyeing Rhohn, it gave an almost imperceptible nod in the direction of the auburn mongrel, its hand slipping down to the dagger jammed in the harness.
Rhohn studied the lone beast to his right and guessed it was the female. Which meant the pair to his left were the males. Hoping that he understood Okollu’s intent, Rhohn offered a silent prayer to Ketus, the God of Luck.
The brown mongrel grabbed the bag in his hand, stood tall, and strode to Okollu. As he stretched out his arm to hand over the bag, Okollu grabbed his wrist and twisted, spinning the mongrel around and eliciting a sharp, surprised grunt from the creature. The remaining mongrels turned their heads, their ears pointed.
Releasing the male’s wrist, Okollu gripped a fistful of fur atop the mongrel’s head, yanked the mongrel’s head back, and drew the dagger fast and deep across the exposed neck. A plume of crimson squirted to the grass. Okollu shoved him aside, dropped to all fours, and rushed the gray male. A monstrous howl erupted from his throat.
The auburn female answered an instant later with a fury-filled growl of her own and sprinted after Okollu. Rhohn was already running forward and intercepted the female as she leapt over the bloody male. He thrust his blade at her exposed side, hoping to land a quick blow. The mongrel, incredibly agile, dodged the attack, coiling her body around the stab in mid-air. She landed, skidding in the mud, and whirled to face Rhohn, her jaws snapping at him, forcing him to backpedal.
With nostrils flaring and ears pinned back, she stalked closer, her yellow-eyed gaze dancing between his face and his sword. As she approached, she stood upright, her fists clenched at her side, a constant growl rumbling from her throat.
Rhohn lifted his sword, readying himself to fight even though he knew he had no chance to defeat the stronger, more agile mongrel. He was tired, hungry, and nursing an injured calf. This was not going to end well.
Continuing to backpedal, he turned his head to the side and shouted, “Run, Tiliah!”
“No!”
“Blast it, Tiliah! Get up and—”
“Hawk’s wing!” shouted Tiliah. “Red, back two!”
Rhohn’s step faltered. Her words were so unexpected that he nearly turned his back on the mongrel to stare at her. For the briefest of moments, he was back in the training yards in Gobas, lined up with fellow Dust Men, sword in hand, listening to a sergeant call out orders to teach the new soldiers proper fighting positions. “Hawk’s wing” meant to draw back his sword arm, putting his hand at his hip. “Red, back two” told him to place his left foot two paces behind his right. How Tiliah knew any of that was beyond him.
“Blast it, Rhohn!” screamed Tiliah. “Hawk’s wing, red, back two!”
The female mongrel was mere paces from him, lowering herself into a crouch, ready to pounce.
Putting his faith in Tiliah, he arranged his body to her shouted orders, sword on hip, one foot before the other. The moment he assumed the correct position, a high-pitched whistle cut the air. The auburn mongrel, ears perked up, stopped her advance and looked past Rhohn to where Tiliah lay on the ground. Taking advantage of the distraction, Rhohn stepped forward, swiveled his hips, and drove his sword forward with all the force he could, piercing the mongrel’s body where chest met neck. The blade sunk into flesh, ricocheted off the spine, and exited at the base of her skull.
Loosing a sharp yelp of pain, the mongrel grabbed the sword with her hands as Rhohn drew the blade back, twisting as he did. The edge bit deep into the beast’s palms, slicing them open and sending blood down her arms. When the blade stopped, catching on something in the mongrel’s throat, Rhohn yanked hard. The mongrel’s cries cut off instantly.
Rhohn ripped the sword free and hopped back a few steps, waiting for a counterattack that would never come. The mongrel stumbled backward, her mangled hands clasped around her throat and panic in her eyes. She worked her jaws, perhaps trying to speak, but all that came out was a sickening mix of choking, gasping, and gurgling. She collapsed to all fours, hunched over and gagging, suffocating on her own blood.
Rhohn almost felt sympathy for her. Almost.
Okollu rushed toward the female, a flash of brown and white fur. Upon reaching her, Okollu grabbed her shoulder, flipped her on her back, and plunged the dagger straight into her chest. He—Rhohn had decided Okollu was male—immediately pulled the blade free and jammed it back down again, a few inches to the side of the first thrust. Her body went limp in an instant. The second stab had ended her.
The world was suddenly quiet, filled only by the thudding of his heart and the light rustle of the grass in the breeze.
Okollu was kneeling beside the dead mongrel, his back to Rhohn. The Dust Man stared at him, tense and ready, wondering what to expect next. Chancing a quick look to where Okollu had fought the other male, Rhohn found a scene eerily reminiscent of the one in the house in Ebel. The gray mongrel’s throat was gone.
Looking back to Okollu, Rhohn waited for the mongrel to do something. Instead, Okollu remained in place, hunched over the dead female and unmoving. Keeping his eyes on Okollu, Rhohn stepped backwards until he reached where Tiliah was still sitting in the grass.
“Are you hurt?”
“My shoulder’s sore, but I’ll be fine,”
Nodding once, Rhohn said, “Good.”
“Rhohn?”
“Yes?”
“What in the Nine Hells is going on? That thing just saved us.” She glanced up at him. “Why?”
Rhohn was unsure how to respond. The truth would take longer to explain than he might have right now. He wondered if he should claim complete ignorance. Perhaps Okollu would let him and Tiliah walk away.
“Rhohn…? What aren’t you telling me?”
He stared down at her.
“What do you—?”
“End the show. I can see it on your face.”
“Now is not the—”
“Tell me, Rhohn!” demanded Tiliah.
Rhohn hesitated and glanced back to Okollu. The mongrel had yet to move. After hesitating a moment longer, Rhohn let out a long sigh and said, “It…he, I suppose—he and I…we’ve met before.”
The volume of Tiliah’s voice increased tenfold.
“You’ve met it?”
Okollu’s ears twitched and his head turned to the side ever s
o slightly.
“I am thinking Okollu is more ‘he’ than ‘it.”
Her eyebrows drew together.
“Okollu?”
Rhohn paused a moment.
“That’s his name.”
“You know its name?”
Rhohn pressed his lips together and stared back down to Tiliah.
“It is not how it seems. He and I…made an arrangement of sorts.”
Tiliah remained silent for several heartbeats, her deep brown eyes locked on his face and swelling with sudden distrust. Suspicion hung heavy in her voice as she asked, “What kind of arrangement?”
“On my honor, Tiliah, I promise to share everything—everything—with you.” He paused and glanced at Okollu. “As soon as we’re safe.”
She looked back to Okollu and asked, “Are you on his side? Or is he on yours?”
Rhohn considered the astute question briefly before answering.
“He’s on his, I’m on mine.”
“Then what happened here?”
“I just think our sides are overlapping right now.”
“Why?”
Rhohn shrugged.
“I said we have an arrangement, not an understanding. Please, I need you to trust me.”
A frown on her face, Tiliah eyed the surrounding carnage, turned to peer east a moment, and then looked back up to Rhohn.
“For now, Mud Man.”
Rhohn gave her a tiny smile.
“Thank you.”
She nodded once and stared back to Okollu, her brow furrowing.
“I think he’s going to pass out.”
Rhohn shifted his gaze to the mongrel’s back and found Okollu listing to the left. A moment later, the mongrel abruptly toppled over, tumbling to the ground.
Tiliah asked, “Is it—is he dead?”
“I don’t know,” muttered Rhohn. He studied Okollu’s prone form for a moment before saying, “I’m going to go check. Stay here.”
As he went to step toward the mongrel, Tiliah quickly rose from the ground.
“No. I’m coming.”
“Tiliah. It’s not safe for—”
Her eyes flaring hot, she interrupted him, saying, “You tell me you are conspiring with a mongrel and then expect me to let you go confer with him? Alone? Unless you stab me with that sword, Mud Man, I am coming with you!”
He held her determined gaze and sighed. There was no point in arguing with her. Turning toward Okollu, he murmured, “Fine. But stay behind me, at least.”
They moved through the grass, approaching Okollu slowly. As they neared, Rhohn spotted a gaping, bloody wound on the mongrel’s right shoulder. Okollu’s breathing was shallow and ragged.
“Well,” whispered Tiliah. “He’s not dead.”
Ending the mongrel now would be easy. Okollu was in no shape to fight back. Mongrels were Rhohn’s enemy, the beasts having already killed thousands of men, women, and children. Borderlanders. Rhohn’s countrymen. This particular one, lying at his feet, had murdered a friend of his. His heart thudding in his chest, he lifted his sword, readying to plunge it into the beast’s chest.
Okollu turned his head, turning his yellow eyes on Rhohn. Man and mongrel locked gazes and Rhohn stayed his hand. This mongrel had saved his life twice now. Rhohn wanted to know why. He needed to know why.
He lowered his sword, pointing the tip to the soft earth.
“Tiliah? Get the rope from the horse. And find the bag. We’ll need it for bandages.”
“Bandages?” repeated Tiliah. “For who? And don’t say him.”
Rhohn looked over at her.
“You need to bind his wounds.”
Her eyes went round.
“I need to do what?!”
He took a deep breath, wiped his blade on his pants leg—both sides—and slid his sword into his scabbard.
“We need him alive. For now, at least.”
Clearly agitated, Tiliah exclaimed, “Are you mad? Why?”
“I have some questions for him,” said Rhohn, turning his eyes back to Okollu. “The last time we met, there wasn’t time to ask them. Now, there is.”
“What sort of questions?” prompted Tiliah. “What exactly is this ‘arrangement’ you two have?”
“Blast it, Tiliah!” snapped Rhohn. “He’s bleeding out! Bind him and you can hear the questions when I ask them!”
She glowered at him, her eyes narrowed to mere slits. He was thinking she might refuse to help when she gave a short, decisive nod and spat a single word.
“Fine.”
She moved to the body of the dead horse, taking a wide, circuitous path around Okollu. As she bent down to untie the rope from the mare, Rhohn faced the mongrel, praying that he was doing the right thing. Holding the mongrel’s steady gaze, he demanded, “Why did you save us?” He waved his hand at the bloody scene around them. “Why did you do this?”
Okollu rolled onto his back and made to sit up, but halted instantly, his black lips curling into a painful snarl. Rhohn saw the shoulder wound actually continued to the middle of Okollu’s chest, deep and raw. Giving up, Okollu lay flat, wincing.
“The message you carry is too important, smooth-face.”
Rhohn glanced up quickly to find Tiliah glaring at them, having clearly heard what Okollu said. She stood, retrieved the burlap bag from the grass, and moved back to them, rope in hand, her gaze locked on Rhohn’s face, a thousand questions dancing in her eyes. Okollu turned his head at the sound of her scuffling steps. She stopped on the opposite side of Okollu, her eyes still skeptical.
“You are sure you want to do this?”
“I am,” answered Rhohn.
Tiliah nodded once and turned her full attention to the mongrel’s wound.
“If you promise not to bite, I can help you with that.”
“No!” growled Okollu. “Leave me.”
Tiliah lifted her gaze to Rhohn.
“You heard him, Mud Man. Let’s go.”
Ignoring her, Rhohn stepped closer to Okollu. Eyeing the meaty gash, he said, “You are losing a lot of blood. You’ll die soon if we do not bind it.”
“I murdered my pack mates,” growled Okollu, his ragged voice thick with disgust. “I deserve to die.”
Rhohn could not let that happen. He wanted answers. Drawing his Dust Man blade forth, he stepped forward and pointed the tip at Okollu’s neck.
“Let her bind your wound.”
Soft, puffing growls slipped from the mongrel’s throat. He was laughing.
“Go! Shove your blade into me! I want to die!”
Rhohn withdrew the sword tip from Okollu’s neck. He had not thought that through. He stared at the mongrel, wondering how to threaten a soul who welcomed death.
In a clear, calm tone, Tiliah said, “If he doesn’t want help, he doesn’t want help. Leave him to die and let’s go.”
Staring up into the sky, Okollu said, “Listen to the she-man.” His voice sounded weaker than just a moment ago.
Rhohn shook his head.
“No! I need to know about that message! And why you are out here, chasing us for a blasted gemstone?”
Okollu twisted his head to stare at Rhohn again.
“Stone? What stone?”
“The one in the bag,” answered Rhohn.
Okollu rolled his head to stare at the burlap bag gripped in Tiliah’s hand, hanging freely at her side.
“There is a stone in the bag?”
“Of course, isn’t that—?”
“What does it look like?”
Rhohn was confused.
“You were hunting for something yet you did not—”
Okollu whipped his head back around to glare at Rhohn, his eyes intense and burning.
“What does it look like?!”
Rhohn hesitated, sharing a quick look with Tiliah before answering.
“It’s black. Smooth and glossy.”
“Black?” replied the mongrel. That detail seemed to surprise him. “How big is it?”
&nbs
p; Rhohn frowned, wondering at the mongrel’s sudden interest in the rock.
“The size of my thumb.”
The bloody fur around Okollu’s muzzle twitched.
“Does it smell wrong to you?”
“I’m sorry…does it ‘smell’ wrong? It doesn’t smell like anything. It’s a rock.”
“Do you squirm when you look upon it?”
Rhohn’s face twisted up in confusion.
“What are you—?”
“Yes,” answered Tiliah. Rhohn glanced up to find her staring at Okollu, nodding, her eyes just as intense as Okollu’s. “It’s wicked.”
Confused, Rhohn asked, “What do you mean it’s ‘wicked?’ It’s a rock.”
Tiliah shifted her gaze to Rhohn and spoke with complete confidence, “Something is wrong with that stone.”
“What?”
“I don’t know, Mud Man,” said Tiliah, exasperated. “But…I just know that—”
Okollu interrupted her, growling, “I would like your help now, she-man.”
Tiliah stared down at the mongrel and snapped, “My name is Tiliah, not ‘she-man!’”
“Whatever your name, I would like your help now.”
Wondering at the mongrel’s sudden shift in attitude, Rhohn asked, “Do you know what the stone is?”
“No.”
“Then why—”
“I cannot answer your questions if I am dead, smooth-face! I want your help now, so give it to me!”
Pushing aside his curiosity for the moment, Rhohn pressed his lips together and looked back to Tiliah.
“Do what you can.”
Tiliah stared down at the mongrel and asked, “You won’t bite me, will you?”
“I will restrain myself,” answered Okollu. It almost sounded like he was being wry.
Letting out a tiny sigh, Tiliah moved closer to Okollu, kneeled down, and inspected the wound.
“Without the correct tools, I can only bind it. And it will hurt while I do it. A lot.”
Okollu nodded.
“I understand. Do what you must.”
She reached out to touch the wound, prodding the edges around the open slice. Blood and clumps of fur quickly coated her hands and arms. Without looking up, she said, “Come here, Mud Man. I need you to hold his flesh together.”
Rhohn sheathed his sword and crouched near Okollu’s head. Tiliah explained what he was to do as she tore long strips from the empty burlap bag, laying them on Okollu’s chest. Throughout their exchange, Okollu lay quietly, eyeing them both.
