INBORN (The Sagas of Di'Ghon)

by Lawrence, J.

  Lars Telazno’s heart skipped a couple beats the moment he saw the blood stained door swinging back and forth under the wagon. Gabril darted forward and stuck his head into the compartment. The man popped back out a half second later with a snarl. The compartment was empty.

  “Harkanin.” Gabril growled.

  “Come on out Jorel. This aint a time for games.” Harkanin slid off the wagon bench and landed on the stone street. He was pretty lithe for a man of his size. When his face appeared under the wagon, his eyes immediately locked on the door.

  “Where are they?” Lars demanded.

  Harkanin looked like he swallowed a lizard.

  “They were in there. I swear on my mother’s eyes they were.” He said, wringing his pant legs with white knuckled fingers as he backed away from both of them.

  “Tell me everything.” Lars said, “Now.”

  “The First is here.” A tremor broke in Harkanin voice as he added, “They’re looking for Thaniel.”

  “The First? Ontar’s First?” Gabril asked.

  “They have the girl… Elycia. But they didn’t find the boys.”

  The First was well known for being a ruthless band of soldiers. Their duty as far as Lars knew was to protect the ruling family, the Ontars. He really had no idea what they were doing down here but they weren’t to be taken lightly.

  “One of them had her tied up on his horse.”

  “Why?” Gabril asked, his eyes already scanning their surroundings, then back to the ramphyr.

  “I don’t know. You don’t just go asking the First anything.” He said a bit acidly.

  “If Thaniel knows they have her he’ll give himself up before he lets any harm come to her.” Gabril was right. Any fool could see the way that boy looked at her all moon-eyed. Sometimes his body even went limp around her. There was no doubt about it. The boy was lost.

  “They searched the wagon.” The trader flicked water off his face with a fat finger. “He was right under their noses and they didn’t suspect a thing.” Harkanin grinned slyly as he added, “They weren’t the first patrol I snuck something by. If I let every tax collecting bastard take what he wanted I’d be a beggar in a month.”

  “Then where are they?”

  “I told you, I don’t know.” The wily trader insisted. “The last thing I saw was the door closing.”

  “Where did they stop you?”

  “At the slope,” Harkanin’s skin seemed a little pale, “along the edge,” his eyes flashed backwards, searching, pupils wide, “not far from the entrance.”

  Lars Telazno stared at the man, letting his eyes take in every detail.

  “What else. There is something you’re not telling me.”

  Gabril stepped closer. There was a complete lack of movement on his part, as if he was a human spring, coiled for action, awaiting his master’s release. His eyes split their time between tracking the ramphyr and Harkanin.

  “Those soldiers from Ontar,” Harkanin licked his lower lip, nervously searching for words.

  “What?” Gabril rushed him, not really looking at him.

  “Bigger, they’re bigger than normal men.” Harkanin climbed back into his wagon.

  “You mean like soldiers,” Lars thumbed over his shoulder at his wide backed protector. “Like Gabril?”

  “No, I mean… I don’t know… bigger.” The man looked back the way he came, trying to focus through the gloom. The hand he took the reins up with was trembling.

  “We can handle them.” Gabril waved him on, unconcerned about a few soldiers, even the mighty First.

  “Wait for us on the other side.” Lars waited for the wagon to lurch away before he turned to Gabril.

  “We have to split up.” Gabril said.

  Lars nodded, not liking it, but knowing it was the truth.

  “You take the soldiers. I’ll take the ramphyr.” Lars said.

  “No.” Gabril’s nostrils widened. “The ramphyr is mine.”

  “That thing’s too dangerous.” Lars said and knew it was a mistake when Gabril shot him an annoyed glance.

  “You’ve been wielding for a long time. You don’t have the strength.”

  Lars breathed, knowing the man was probably right. Searching for the ramphyr had drained him, not to mention the last week or so of being constantly on the move. Handling a few soldiers would be a simple thing. When most people saw someone use magic they pissed their pants and ran. Lars would bat them around a bit and they’d head for the hills. The ramphyr wasn’t most people. It wasn’t even human any more.

  “Be careful.”

  “Careful would be getting out of here and leaving the boy to the thing.”

  “Not a chance at that.”

  “He better be worth it.” Gabril’s eyes were smoldering coals of fury. “At least this time we know what we’re up against.”

  Encountering their first ramphyr had been more than a surprise. As a young man, full of faith and idealism, it was a life altering experience. Lars had always figured them a myth, born of people’s fears of the inborn. Like the mythical dragonseed the southern cities were so quick to believe in when crops failed, or if someone died of a mysterious illness. Back then Lars would never have believed that there were people who the Creator had entrusted with the power to control the fabric of creation that would willingly use it for evil, until he saw it with his own eyes.

  They were a week away from bringing in a new initiate to the Order. Someone inborn with the ability for water wasn’t rare. In fact, water was as common as air, but the girl would have grown up to be one of the most powerful inborns the Order had seen in centuries. Lars had imagined her wielding the Kra’Ghon to bring rain in times of drought. Instead, every time his thoughts strayed to her, all he could recall was the face of the ramphyr that took her. Her screams haunted his dreams for years after.

  Since that day they had learned more than they cared to know about evil.

  “Unfortunately, I believe he is.” Lars said, his eyes drifting off down into the lowlands, where a storm had already formed. From the higher vantage point and this far away, the storm looked more like a black wall someone had built to enclose the mountains of Anwar. It rose high into the sky. Even from here Lars could see it crackled with lightning. As the powerful strikes forked through the churning mass, it lit up sections of the system, exposing mighty columns and deep chasms of power.

  “I’d rather be hunting it than the other way around.” Gabril started moving.

  He was right. Having that thing on their trail was like trying to dodge the headsman’s axe while you napped with your neck on the block. The Guild’s chosen assassins were strong, fast, and deadly when you knew they were coming. But that wouldn’t be how it came. It would arrive in the shape of an old lady, or a cripple, catching them off guard. It was inexorably patient. It would wait until they were at their worst and it was at its strongest. It would strike without mercy. It wouldn’t sleep. It wouldn’t stop. It would go on forever until it accomplished its mission, or died in the attempt.

  “Do me a favor wizard.” Gabril called back over his shoulder, already heading for the scaffolding the thing had climbed down into, “If I come back with teeth for hands and no sense of humor,” the Circle flashed him a toothy grin, “put me out of my misery.”

  Chapter 51

  Sadistic

  Gabril ducked into a shadow. He found the ramphyr on a platform about twenty feet below him. Water rained down in sheets, but he had no trouble seeing what the creature was doing. The ramphyr threw its head back and roared in glee as it ripped its bloody hands free and tossed the pale limp husk of a body off the scaffold.

  Without pause the ramphyr launched itself over a derrick and landed right into the path of another workman. The man flinched, having almost run headlong into the teeth. To his credit, he recovered quickly. He didn’t even pause to look at the teeth. Instead, without any warning, the big workman swung a huge mallet right for the beast’s head.

  The creature lunged to
one side with unconcerned grace, easily escaping a blow that should have crushed its skull. Then, without reservation, it ripped into the man’s ribcage with hungry abandon.

  Gabril grit his teeth and jumped.

  The ramphyr had its head thrown back in rapturous delight when Gabril landed on the platform, both swords already flashing. It barely ducked under his first blade, but an instant later Gabril felt muscle and bones cleave as his second cut the ramphyr in two. The keen blade not only cut him from hip to hip, but took off one of its dreaded claws as well.

  Gabril’s face didn’t move as the creature toppled over, its torso going one way and its hips and legs the other. Its good hand popped out of the workman, fingers dripping with long strings of gore.

  The workman toppled backwards over the railing and disappeared into the spray.

  The ramphyr’s head came up with murder in its eyes. It lunged toward Gabril. Its fingers strained wide, palm open.

  If even one of those fangs so much as scratched him the ramphyr would have him. If he was lucky, the beast would feed on him and send him down the gorge like the others. If it decided not to finish him the alternative was much worse. The nonlethal touch of those teeth would not only transform him into another ramphyr, but he would be eternally linked to the one that touched him. The creature would own him, a bestial slave, meant only to satisfy the whims of its creator.

  Gabril leaped straight up, his feet alighting perfectly on the guard railing of the platform, just out of arm's reach. Below him, the ramphyr hissed like a cat, stretching for him with every inch it had.

  The right thing to do was to thrust his blade through its skull, the only way to actually kill it, right then and there, but Gabril wasn’t going to get another chance at some answers any time soon. There was no doubt who sent it. The things worked for the Guild alone. Yet, of all the years he and Telazno had been on the hunt, they hadn’t even managed to uncover even a single name of the elusive Guild of Night.

  Gabril stuck the torso to the wooden platform with a perfectly centered downward stab. A half second later he pinned the hand down as well with the other sword.

  “You want to live?”

  The ramphyr snarled at the two swords sticking up from its torso and arm.

  “End it.” It hissed in response.

  “I don’t think so.” Gabril leaned down closer.

  “Do it, Circle.” It roared.

  “Our masters aren’t here.” He paused. “The Guild doesn’t need to know who gave me the information I want and my master doesn’t need to know I let you live.”

  “Do you think I am stupid?” The creature stared into his eyes.

  “You tell me what I want to know and I will let you live. I’ll admit it. I will hurt you bad enough that you won’t be able to catch up with us. I’m thinking that I will have to cut half those…” He paused regarding the hand with its gyrating teeth… “What do you call that ugly thing anyway?” He waved it off and pulled out a long dagger. “I bet those are gonna hurt when I cut them out.”

  Gabril bent over and stabbed a dagger right in the middle of the gyrating teeth. The ramphyr screamed in rage.

  “You’re dead.” He roared.

  Gabril knew that venting rage was a good way to make someone think you weren’t in a lot of pain. He smiled at the ramphyr before he gave the blade a slow twist. A couple teeth broke off.

  “That looked like it hurt. Only two of them… Looks like you got a bunch more. You sure you don’t want to talk?” He bent over again, raising the dagger.

  “What assurance…” It started to say.

  Gabril stepped on its arm and dug the blade into its palm. The creature writhed in fury and agony as he ground the blade one way and then the other.

  Gabril used the tip of the dagger to roll six bloody teeth where it could see them.

  “You got any more questions?” Gabril asked with a smile.

  “You sadistic bastard.” It hissed, heaving in racking pain.

  “See, now we are getting somewhere.”

  Chapter 52

  Gloom

  Thaniel knew he was screaming Jorel’s name, as if he would hear it, and somehow fly back up out the maelstrom of mist billowing out of the gorge. The truth was that the gorge and the whizzing water wheel together were so loud that he couldn’t hear his own scream, let alone Jorel hear it. It was so loud that it felt like the entire gorge screamed with him.

  Tears immediately blurred the world away. Why didn’t Jorel even try to hold on? Didn’t he know that he only had him by one hand? If he had just reached up and grabbed anything Thaniel might have been able to lift him up. Instead, Jorel just stared at him like he had no idea at all who he even was.

  Blame settled on Thaniel like the Creator himself had assigned it. It came like the chains of the third hell, pulling him down into the murky depths of despair. Jorel’s death was his fault. It started and ended with him. If Thaniel hadn’t freed him in the first place, Jorel would be back at the hold delivering messages and getting his nose boxed in for stealing kisses from Malby.

  Thaniel felt someone haul him into the air and set him on his feet.

  He couldn’t really see too well through the tears and what was left of Jorel’s blood but he knew what, if not who, had hold of him. He was in the hands of one of the First. The crimson uniform filled all of his line of sight. Thaniel looked down at the huge hand that his was completely engulfed in. He was standing at full height and still only came up to the man’s chest. Thaniel’s eyes led the way from the man’s belly armor, shiny overlapping metal disks, to his chest, to the man’s grinning face.

  He never felt so small and insignificant.

  The soldier’s grin slid away, replaced with alarm. He spun Thaniel around, checking his entire body for wounds. The way the big man handled him effortlessly Thaniel felt like nothing more than a rag doll.

  Not that he resisted him. What was the point? His freedom had already cost Jorel his life. If he let them take him right here, at least Elycia would be free. Maybe one day she’d find her father or go to Di’Ghon like Jorel said she wanted. Thaniel tried to smile, wishing the best for her, but the corners of his mouth seemed weighted. She didn’t want him. She’d made that pretty clear the other night.

  The soldier was apparently satisfied that Thaniel wasn’t wounded. It had taken him a moment, but now Thaniel realized why the man was so concerned. Thaniel looked down at his clothes. They were covered in blood. Jorel’s blood.

  Tears fell anew, running in unbridled warmth over his cheekbones.

  Yet even in his deepest moment of guilt-born despair, something began to overpower the emotion. The little hairs on the back of his neck rose as alarm awakened his soul. Something was wrong.

  Thaniel instantly knew what it was.

  He stared slack jawed at the soldier who now knelt before him. He was definitely one of the First. Thaniel recognized him, sort of. He didn’t know him, but he’d definitely seen him before. One of Irkhir’s chosen ring. The First were hard men. Most bore a scar or two. Every single one of them was a tower of muscle. So was this one, but on a scale like he had never seen before. His flesh seemed too thick and his muscles flexed and relaxed in a constant state of movement.

  The great axes that swung at either of his hips were the same size he had always remembered. The bladed side arced to two points, forming a long crescent that ran nearly from one side of Thaniel’s shoulders to the other. The back side was a long spike he’d seen them drive through armor. On this man the intimidating weapons lost some of the fear they should strike into his heart. They looked… small. Small by comparison to the man who wore them. The man was so big that the mighty axe heads looked like mere child’s imitations instead.

  The soldier was a man. But he was so much more. His long powerful legs resembled armored tree trunks. His chest was too wide and way too deep. In fact, the armor didn’t cover nearly as much as it usually did.

  Questions bubbled up, demanding answers. What had hap
pened to this man? How could he have undergone such a transformation in a matter of, how long had it been, a week or so? Why? Why would he… do that to himself? The whole thing felt wrong. Unnatural. Like a goat he’d seen born with six legs.

  “How’d you get so big?” Thaniel’s head felt full of clouds. He was surprised he’d asked the man such a straight forward and awkward question.

  “The Code sings, Caller.” The huge soldier went to one knee and looked him in the eyes as he ran two fingers across the white lines tattooed on his forehead. His eyes were as big as duck eggs. Thaniel heard it a hundred times if he heard it once after he called their dreaded dra. The sign, dragging two fingers across his forehead, palms up, meant that the soldier owed him twice for what he was about to do or had already done. It was thanks and a pledge at the same time. If his palms were up it meant that the man owed him his life, indeed, everything he was. It was also to show that his right hand wasn’t grasping a blade. If the soldier had showed him the back of his left hand, instead of thanks, it would be a curse. And the pledge would be an oath of revenge in this life and the next. It was insult, injury, and death to everything you held dear. He breathed a sigh of relief at seeing the man’s big light colored palm. Thaniel nodded in response, finally letting the man look away. At least he wasn’t going to die here today.

  Thaniel knew what the man was already thanking him for. Calling another dra. Why else would they ride out here all this way? They had grand notions of some stupid glory the dra would bring. The whole thing was a crock of…

  Thaniel suddenly knew it wasn’t. He knew, he quaked, and he just didn’t care. He turned away from the man and stared at the long trail of blood, leading to the spot where Jorel’s limp rolling body flopped over the side.

  Thaniel had been so close. He had him by a hand. It was hard to believe Jorel was gone but no one could survive a fall like that. Even if they did, at the bottom of that gorge was nothing but rock strewn white water.

  “Caller, the Mistress needs you.” The big soldier placed a heavy hand on Thaniel’s shoulder.