Chosen of the Changeling

by Greg Keyes

  “Well,” Ngangata appraised, “I wondered if you had left us again.”

  “Soon enough, friend,” Perkar told him. “But not just yet.”

  A moment later they were back on the move, their mounts scrambling across the trackless ridge. Mang war whoops seemed to be everywhere, and Perkar watched the tightness gather in Brother Horse’s face. Difficult as it was, moving in and amongst trees, Perkar maneuvered close enough to the old man to hold a shouted conversation.

  “You’ve done more than anyone can expect of you,” Perkar shouted. “I urge you to leave us now. No one should have to fight his own people.”

  “I know what I am about,” Brother Horse snapped back at him, though he was plainly agitated. “Save your concern. I will not turn on you; I have cast my lot. If I am fortunate, I will not have to slay any of my kinsmen. But what goes on here is more important than any claims on blood.”

  “I never thought to hear a Mang say that,” Perkar admitted.

  Brother Horse set his face in a deep scowl. “If you search for an enemy among us,” the old man growled, “best to start in your own heart.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Perkar shouted.

  Brother Horse lifted one hand in a gesture of dismissal. “I don’t know,” he answered. “But the last few leagues have brought me uneasiness about you.”

  Perkar urged his mount ahead, angry and confused. How dare the old fool question him, when it was Mang who rode for the Changeling—the enemy of them all.

  Ngangata was pacing close behind; their horses broke from run to canter and back as the leaves slapped at them. Perkar was vividly reminded of the last time he had ridden these ridges, fleeing the Huntress. Then, of course, they had been fighting to escape Balat and its mysteries; now they strove to reach its heart.

  “Our pursuit is gaining more quickly than I thought they could,” Ngangata yelled over to him. “I think they split even before we saw them.”

  “How many, can you tell?”

  “Many. Hundreds, coming from possibly three directions.”

  “How far do we have to go?”

  “Too far, from Karak’s description.”

  Perkar smiled savagely. “How long have you known who our friend ‘Sheldu’ really is?”

  Ngangata laughed coarsely. “Almost since you have. I read it on your face. And you’ve gone fey again.” He stabbed his finger at Perkar. “You aren’t thinking of riding back against them?”

  Perkar shook his head. “No. I mean, I did think about it, but what would be the point? Most would just go around me. If there were a narrow pass to hold, or if I could reach their head—Moss, or that—thing …” He turned fiercely in his saddle. “I will warn you of this, my friend. If I see an opportunity to slay the creature from Nhol, I will take it. Do you understand that?”

  “No,” Ngangata replied frankly, “but I can accept it.”

  “Good.”

  Perkar spent the next hundred heartbeats fighting his way to the front of the column. Hezhi still looked dazed, but Tsem’s horse could not bear even her tiny additional weight, and so she rode up behind Yuu’han. In fact, the Giant’s massive charger quivered so that Perkar feared it would collapse any moment. Then what would Tsem do? Of course, soon all of the horses would be useless enough to any of them; even T’esh was near exhausted. And Sharp Tiger, pacing placidly and stubbornly behind him, would be no help to anyone.

  The howls behind him were drawing nearer.

  Even Karak seemed concerned, glancing nervously around.

  “You could stop them,” Perkar pointed out.

  “That isn’t my place,” the Raven answered testily. “We are too close to our goal now. I can almost taste our victory. If I reveal my power, if I uncloak myself here, now, Balati might notice all of this going on. Who knows what he would then do? I don’t.”

  “If we are all slain—” Perkar began.

  But Karak interrupted. “You and the rest could purchase some time for me and Hezhi,” he said. “She is the crucial one. Only she matters.”

  “There aren’t enough of us,” Perkar snapped. “They would flow around us like the River they serve. My companions and your men together would slow them down not at all.”

  “It will come to it soon enough. Then I may have to reveal myself,” Karak said. “But I won’t until I must.”

  “You mean until the rest of us are dead and you fly with Hezhi from here.”

  “Yes, now that you mention it, that is what I mean. But let us hope it doesn’t come to that.”

  At that moment, Ngangata raised his bow and shrieked, and his cry was echoed by a half score of Karak’s men. For a moment, Perkar feared that the Mang had caught up with them, but then he saw the truth; ahead of them, the trees bristled with spears and bows. The dark, lean forms of wolves coursed between the great trunks restlessly, and more warriors than could easily be counted. They stretched out along the ridge as far as Perkar could see, utterly blocking their way.

  Ghe dug his talons into his palms, calling on all that remained of his self-control. The outriders had discovered Qwen Shen and Bone Eel. He could be upon them in instants, if he wished, take himself up on pinions of wind. Yet Moss warned him not to, and with greatest reluctance he conceded the young shaman’s expertise. Though he felt that nothing could resist his power, Moss assured him that such was not the case—and indeed, whatever black arts Qwen Shen and her doltish husband controlled had not only concealed them and allowed them to steal Ghan away, but it had also made them exceedingly difficult to follow. Even now he could not sense where they were, though Moss assured him that they were not far, that before the day was done his army of Mang would encircle the whole lot of them, Hezhi and her pet demon included. Then there would be fighting enough.

  “What we cannot do,” Moss had insisted, “is allow our eagerness and anger to separate us. My spirits and I have woven a hundred spells to keep from awaking the Forest Lord and to protect us from the other things that haunt this wood. If you go off alone, you will only have your power to protect you. You have much raw strength, but there are gods here who have more, gods you will not easily dispense with. Together we have a chance, you and I.”

  So even though Hezhi was so near, he must cultivate patience.

  Death came to him on the breeze: Mang warriors, bravely daring the winding trail up which Qwen Shen, Bone Eel, and Ghan had fled. At the top, someone was defending the precarious pathway. He felt their lives flicker and go out, and amongst them—someone else dying—someone familiar.

  “Worry not, Moss,” he told his companion. “I’ll go no farther than the outriders. But there is something ahead I must see.”

  “Have a care,” Moss cautioned. “Whatever you sense, it could well be a trap.”

  “I know. But somehow I don’t think so.” He dismounted and, like a hound following a familiar scent, raced off into the scrubby, evergreen foliage of the slope. Whatever it was was fading, fading, and almost it was gone before he reached it. Yet it was stubborn, and when he found the source he knew he should have recognized it by that alone.

  Ghan’s broken body lay curled around a tree in a sort of reverse fetal position, his back bent completely the wrong way. One eye stared open and empty and the other was closed by the crushing of one side of his skull. Only within him was there any sign of his life, the filaments of his ghost even now fading and detaching from his ruined flesh. Ghe stared, wondering that he could feel any sorrow at all for such an annoying, dangerous old man, but he did. It was a sight that made little sense, the dignified scholar whose pen formed such esoteric and beautiful characters lying here, hundreds of leagues from any writing desk, in a forest, broken and arrow pierced.

  Gingerly he reached out and tugged at the strands, pulled them free of a body that would serve now only to feed beasts and the black soil. He took the ghost and settled it into its own place amongst the august company of gods, an emperor, and a blind boy.

  There, old man. At last I have you.
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  What? the spirit feebly replied. What has happened? Where is Hezhi? I just saw her …

  Hush, Ghe told him. Rest there, and I will explain all to you later. Then he closed up the doors on Ghan, for the fear and panic of the newly captured wore poorly on him, and he could not afford now to be distracted. But it would please Hezhi, he knew, that he had saved the old man. For her, he would even let the scholar speak to her through his mouth. Yes, she would be happy and grateful when he did that.

  He turned; Moss had come up behind him.

  “I’m sorry, old man,” the shaman told the corpse. “If you had only told me of them sooner …”

  Ghe smiled sardonically. “He kept one secret too many, and now he has none at all.”

  Moss shrugged, and then his eyes cleared and he gestured up the ridge with his chin. “My spirits have slain those who held the trail, and a third of my force is approaching the ridge from another direction. We’ll have them soon, unless something else goes awry.”

  “When we do capture them, Qwen Shen is mine,” Ghe stated flatly.

  “Well enough,” Moss answered, a slight edge in his voice.

  “What’s wrong?” Ghe asked.

  The shaman shook his head uneasily. “It seems too simple. The Blackgod must have planned more elaborately than this. I will trust nothing until we have Hezhi and have reached the River.”

  “And how far is that?” Ghe asked.

  “The Changeling? We are near his source, and he emerges into his upper gorge less than a league from here.” He closed his fist. “Once we have her, nothing must hinder us. If we but reach his waters, no god or power on earth will be strong enough to take her back from him.”

  “They seek his headwaters,” Ghe said. “Why not simply let them reach them?”

  “No, they must not go to his source. That they must not be allowed to do at any cost. And they will not. Fifty of my swiftest warriors went ahead, weeks ago, and I have but lately seen them with my eyes that travel. Should we fail here, they still stand between them and his source.”

  “How did you know that was what they sought?” Ghe asked.

  The gaan shook his head. “I did not. I gambled. I still could be wrong, but I don’t think so, not anymore.”

  “Then let us go,” Ghe said softly. “Hezhi awaits us.”

  The host in the forest regarded them but did not advance, and for fifty heartbeats, no words were spoken or moves made. Karak sat his horse impassively, and Perkar had no sense of what his reaction was. A wind sighed across the hill, and in the distance the calls of the Mang came closer with each moment.

  Perkar drew Harka. He knew whose horde this was, having been once slain by it.

  “Can you see the Huntress?” he asked the weapon.

  “No. But that is her host. And yet I sense no danger from them.”

  “No danger?”

  “I do not believe they are hunting you.”

  “Who then, the Mang?”

  “Wait,” Harka said, and then, “there.”

  Perkar let his eyes be drawn, and then he saw her, emerging from the massed might of her Hunt. When last he saw the Huntress, she had been in the aspect of a black-furred Alwa woman with antlers and the teeth of a cat. She had ridden a lioness, which he had managed to slay before she speared him.

  Her aspect had changed, but there was no mistaking her. The Goddess of the Stream had once explained to him that the gods took their appearance from contact with Human Beings, especially from their blood. The Huntress, Perkar knew, had tasted much blood, Human, Alwa, and otherwise. Her present guise was Human, more or less, a pale, lithe woman with thick black hair in a single braid that fell to the backs of her knees. Her eyes were slivers of deep brown with no whites, which gave her the appearance of a statue rather than a living creature. She was naked, and in her hand bore the same spear that had once pierced his throat. As before, antlers grew from her proudly held head, these backswept like those of a fallow deer.

  “Well, what a pretty host,” she sighed, and it was the same voice, the same cruel set of the mouth that Perkar remembered. She gazed on him and her smile broadened. “Few there are who escape me,” she told him. “You will not do so again, if I hunt you. I know Harka now, recall his virtue. Remember that, little one.” She walked farther from her beasts and wolf-warriors, her eyes straying to Karak and a silver laugh coming up from her throat. But she said nothing to him, instead advancing toward where Hezhi sat behind Yuu’han, watching her dully.

  “Well, child, are you ready? The final race is at hand now.”

  “They killed Ghan,” Hezhi said, and even as she spoke, Perkar could hear her voice awaking, transforming from shocked to fierce. “They killed my teacher.”

  Tsem dismounted and interposed himself between the Huntress and Hezhi, but the goddess merely stood there, nodding at Hezhi’s answer.

  “There will be no final moment,” Karak said, agitated, “if we are not on our way.”

  “As you say, Lord—Sheldu, is it? As you say.”

  “I did not expect you,” Karak went on.

  “I’m hurt,” she replied. “Hurt to think you would not invite me to such a hunt as this.”

  Karak did not reply. What was going on? What sort of games were these gods playing at? But then the goddess was approaching him again, and his skin prickled, remembering the languid glee with which she had once slaughtered him.

  “Well, sweet boy,” she asked, when he was close enough to see that she bore fangs like a cat and that her tongue was black, “will you ride with me or not?”

  “Ride with you?”

  “Against them,” she said, indicating the sounds of the Mang approaching behind them. “Someone must stop them, or your friends will never reach the source of the Changeling. But I will need help, I think—and I seem to remember your love for the hue and cry of the charge.”

  “I have never cared for it,” he muttered back.

  “You rode against me once, and you killed my mount, whom I loved. Now I give you a chance to ride with the Hunt. Few mortal men are accorded that pleasure—fewer still have ridden on both ends of the spear.”

  Perkar gazed around at his companions. Ngangata’s eyes clearly warned him no, but Karak was nodding urgently. Hezhi—he saw many things in her eyes, but was sure of none of them.

  “Very well,” he said. “Yes, very well. If you promise me the Tiskawa.”

  “You will find him no easy foe,” the Huntress replied. “But as you wish.”

  “Wait, then, just a moment,” Perkar said. He urged T’esh over to Hezhi and gazed levelly into her eyes. She met his regard fully, and he saw that she was indeed past her shock, eyes clear and intelligent.

  “If I don’t see you again,” he said, “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t go,” she said faintly. “Stay with me.”

  He shook his head. “I can’t. I have to do this. But, Hezhi—” He sidled T’esh closer and leaned in until his lips were nearly on her ear. “Watch Sheldu,” he breathed. “He is Karak, under a glamour. He knows what must be done to destroy the Changeling—but don’t trust him. And be careful.” And then he lightly kissed her cheek and rode to join the Huntress.

  “Come,” Karak grated, and the company started off as the host of the Huntress began to move, parting around them, opening their ranks so that the Raven and those who followed him could pass through. Only Ngangata remained with Perkar.

  “You have to go with them,” Perkar said. “You are the only one I can trust to watch after Hezhi. Only you know enough about gods and Balat to guess what must be done.”

  “That may be,” Ngangata said, “but I don’t want you to die alone.”

  “I have no intention of dying,” Perkar replied. “I’ve outgrown that. And I ride with the Huntress! What can stop us?”

  “Then you will not mind me joining you,” Ngangata persisted.

  Perkar laid his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I want you with me,” he admitted. “I’ve never told you this
, because I’m ashamed of the way I treated you at first. But there is no one I would rather have at my side than you, no friend or brother I could value more. But what I said was true. I fear for Hezhi, and I need you there, with her. Believe it or not, I somehow feel you will be in more danger there than here. I’m sorry. But I’m begging you to go with Hezhi.”

  Ngangata’s normally placid face twisted in frustration, and Perkar thought that the halfling was going to shout at him again, as he had done back on the plains. But instead he reached his hand out.

  Perkar gripped it in his own. “Piraku with you, below you, about you,” he told his strange, pale friend.

  Ngangata smiled thinly. “You know my kind accumulate no Piraku,” he replied.

  “Then no one does,” Perkar said. “No one.”

  The Huntress—far ahead now—sounded her horn, and Perkar released his grip on Ngangata’s hand and turned T’esh to ride with the host.

  “And afterward, you must take me to see the lands beyond Balat!” he shouted back. Ngangata raised his hand in salute, but he only nodded, and then he, too, turned and rode to join Hezhi and the rest.

  Perkar urged T’esh to a gallop. Wolves paced him, great black beasts the size of horses, as did fierce packs of rutkirul, bear gods wearing the shapes of feral men. A few moments at full gallop brought him beside the Huntress, who was now mounted upon a dagger-toothed panther. She nodded imperiously and then grinned a fierce, delighted grin. Despite himself—despite all of his doubts and fears—Perkar felt a bit of her joy, and the boy in him—the boy he had thought to be dead—that boy wondered what songs might be sung of this, of riding with the Goddess of the Hunt.

  And as the sounds of the foe drew nearer, he surrendered himself to a whoop to match the howls rising from all around him. They breasted one hill and then the next—and the air was suddenly thick with black Mang shafts. One glanced from his hauberk, and his belly clenched; but then he saw, in the fore of the vast array of Mang, the face of his enemy, the one who had slain his love, and a red veil descended over his eyes, fury washed away his doubts and most of his humanity.