Chains of Mist (16 page)

Austin was only too glad to oblige. It had been a while since he’d gone on a hike of this length, much less one along such unforgiving terrain. The lighter gravity of Espir helped a little, but Austin was still a little woozy from his crash landing, and the climate in this part of Espir was significantly warmer than that of the Tellarian capital Tyen. His legs ached as though they were made of lead, and he was sweating profusely beneath his fiber armor.
When I get home, I’m sleeping for at least a week
, he promised himself.
Maybe two
.

The first half of their trip had taken them through the forest, which was choked with a weed that Katrina called the juraa. The vine-like plant grew by wrapping itself around the tree trunks and forming a vast web connecting tree to tree. The juraa
shoots were as thick as Austin’s forearm and were covered with dark thorns longer than his finger; Austin had quickly realized how lucky he was that his crash landing had not occurred atop one of those cruel spines. Their route avoided the worst of the juraa
network, and Austin had tried to make his way as carefully as possible through the maze of dagger-like thorns, but by the time they had emerged into open air his arms and legs were crisscrossed with angry scratches.

Katrina, who was more nimble and infinitely more adept at weaving her way through the undergrowth, was more or less unscathed by the ordeal.

The second part of the journey had been scarcely easier. The towering trees and the juraa
were gone, but in their place grew fields of a waist-high grass—the bo’al—which was covered with a thick, pungent sap that made wading through it an exercise in swimming as much as hiking.

On the bright side, they had encountered no carnivorous beasts along the way.
Probably none of them are stupid enough to live in such an inhospitable environment
, thought Austin dourly as he tried to wipe off his sap-covered hands on his pants and succeeded only in smearing the stuff deeper into every pore. “Are we almost there?” he asked, wiping perspiration from his brow.

“Almost.” Katrina pointed in the distance. “Just past that little hill. We’d better wait here for one of the scouts to see us, though, because if I take you all the way to the village Daddy might think you had captured me or something and he can get
really
protective. But I know all of the scouts, so this way by the time we get there Daddy will already know that you’re not an enemy. There should be a patrol coming through here pretty soon.”

Which could mean anywhere from a few minutes to an hour,
thought Austin, taking a water bottle from his rucksack and pouring a little on his wrists before taking a long drink.
I’m not sure the chip is translating her quantifiers correctly.
“Excellent.” He slumped to the ground, taking the opportunity to scrape some particularly tenacious thorns from his pant legs. “We’ll just wait here until they…arrive…” He trailed off, suddenly very still, eyes fixed very intently on a point about a meter in front of his face.

Where a man garbed in forest colors had appeared as if from thin air, wielding a bow with an arrow nocked and pointed directly at Austin’s head.

“I’ll tell you when I see them coming—” began Katrina confidently, then she noticed Austin’s plight and gave a squeal of indignation. “Hey—stop that!” she cried, and in a blink she was standing in between Austin and the scout. “Don’t even think about it Darayan! Put that down
right now
!”

The other man didn’t move, didn’t even blink, and the bow stayed right where it was. He was taller than Austin, with short-cropped dark hair and high cheekbones that jutted from his face like spurs of rock. He was long and lanky, all sinewy grace rather than thick-muscled power, but he was obviously stronger than he looked; the bow that he held casually as if it were a child’s toy was so long and heavy that Austin doubted he could have lifted it, much less drawn it. “Katrina, please move,” he said calmly. “You are in enough trouble as it is. Your father was worried sleepless about you—where have you been?”

“Just out exploring.” Katrina crossed her arms defiantly. “And it was a good thing that I did, too! Darayan, this is Aawst—
Austin
…uh…
Forgera
. He’s a
fai’la’if
.”

“Really?” Darayan, obviously less than impressed by Katrina’s assertion, cast a skeptical eye across Austin. “Where are you from, stranger? What tribe claims your family blood?”

“Oh, he’s not from around here,” replied Katrina. “He came from the sky, and he’s here to kill a very bad man who’s hiding in Kil’la’ril.”

“Is that so?” repeated Darayan. “From the sky? And I suppose he flew in from Lai’kair on wings of
bok’lava
, like Ja’nal after he killed the Demon Prince?” His expression darkened, and steel-gray eyes narrowed on Austin. “Stranger, state your name and tribe, and no lies. You may have been able to convince a child with this preposterous story, but you will find that not all of the Belayas are so easily fooled.”

“Uh…” Austin wondered how to respond. He had a wealth of experience in dealing with foreign cultures, and his mind quickly played through his options. If he said anything beyond his name—which the chip wouldn’t translate—Darayan would notice, just like Katrina had, that his words didn’t match his lips, and would probably assume that he was using magic of some kind. That could be good or bad—Austin wasn’t sure how their culture viewed the arcane. On the other hand, if he said nothing, he was unlikely to help his cause either, as Darayan would assume that he had something to hide. It was likely that Katrina would jump to his rescue again, but from the stony glare in Darayan’s eyes it was evident that the man wouldn’t put up with much more of the little girl’s impertinence.

Austin’s thoughts darted towards the pulseblade and par-gun in his pack. There was a chance that he might be able to grab one of his weapons before Darayan could react…but he quickly dismissed the idea. Darayan was a man whose entire livelihood depended on his reflexes—he was surely faster than Austin. Besides, even if Austin did manage to overpower Darayan, he would irreparably jeopardize any chances of negotiating with the Belayas. As was usually the case, violence was the least desirable alternative.
Which leaves me with…not much.

“Your name and tribe, stranger,” repeated Darayan, his voice cold. “I will not ask you again.”

“I
told
you,” asserted Katrina, “He’s Austin Forgera, and he came from—”

“Silence, Katrina! You are too trusting—the world is full of dangerous, greedy people, who will say whatever they need to in order to gain your trust. Have you not forgotten the man our scouts found last snowfall and brought back to the village, who claimed to be an outcast of his people? He tried to betray us to the Ghe’den’as—and almost killed your father! Have you learned nothing from that? You cannot believe everything you hear—there are many who would use you to get to your father. The daughter of the
Sho’nal
should know better.”

“I am
not
too trusting!” As Austin was wondering what a ‘Sho’nal’ was, Katrina reached out and grabbed Darayan’s bow, pushing it to the side. Austin, sure that the abrupt movement would cause Darayan to accidentally loose the arrow, felt his heart leapt into his throat. But the moment passed with all still unharmed. “If you shoot Austin, you’ll go straight to A’Lai Mar—Daddy told me that’s what happens if you interfere with a
fai’la’if
’s quest.”

“I am prepared to take that chance.” Darayan lowered the bow, but then one of the scout’s hands flashed out and dragged Katrina bodily out of the way, while the other drew a long, serrated stone dagger from somewhere beneath his clothes. “I will not compromise our people for your flights of fancy.”

Katrina struggled against Darayan’s grasp, but it was clear that she was not going to get free. Looking into Darayan’s eyes, Austin saw his own death mirrored there. Darayan would kill him without compunction, and Austin honestly could not fault him for doing so. There was only one move Austin could make.
Slowly raising his hands in a gesture he hoped Darayan would understand as surrender, he said, “My name is Austin Forgera. I wish to speak to your leader. If he does not like what I have to say, then you may escort me from your lands and I swear that I will never return.”

As Austin spoke, Darayan’s eyes grew wide, and a look of fear flashed across his face. The dagger faltered briefly in his hand, but the man quickly regained his composure. “Your words do not match your mouth, stranger. What magic is this?”

“Oh, he doesn’t speak our language, so he’s got something in his ear and something in his throat so he can talk to us,” volunteered Katrina helpfully. “I
told
you he wasn’t from around here.”

“Indeed.” Darayan thought for a moment. “You may speak, stranger, and I will listen—but know that I will kill you to protect my people.”

“I commend your dedication to your people,” said Austin, trying to copy the Darayan’s speech patterns as closely as possible without appearing to be condescending. “I swear that I mean you no harm—I simply wish to talk.”

“They all do—until they wish to kill.” But Darayan lowered the dagger. “State your business in Belayas land, stranger.”

“I came here from a great distance to kill a man who once betrayed my
people.” Austin took care to enunciate each word clearly—the translator technology was adept at interpreting unclear pronunciations, but Austin knew from experience that even a small misspeak could doom a negotiation. “He has gone to the mountain that you call Kil’la’ril, and he has taken with him one of my friends as his captive. Katrina found me and offered me the aid of her father in getting me safely through to Kil’la’ril—but I give you my word that I will not allow my quest to jeopardize the safety of the Belayas.”

Darayan frowned suspiciously. “Kil’la’ril is in the land of the Traika. The penalty for trespassing on their land is death. If this is your quest, then we cannot help you. Did Katrina tell you this?”

Austin nodded. “She did. However, she believes that her father might be able to come up with a solution. If you would prefer that I not trouble him with this matter, I will turn aside now and seek aid elsewhere.”

“No!” Katrina interrupted indignantly. “You
can’t
send him away, Darayan—Daddy will think of something, and you know it! You
can’t
interfere with the quest of a
fai’la’if
—if Daddy was here, he’d
order
you to take Austin before the
kat’ara
—”

“If your father were here,” said Darayan evenly, “He would make no such order, for he knows that it is not in his power to do so.
I
keep our borders safe, and my word is law.” He paused in thought, keen eyes re-examining every aspect of Austin’s appearance, silently judging his worth. Finally, he stuck the dagger beneath a cord of rope at his waist and released his hold on Katrina. “Do you swear by the blood of your people that you bring no evil into the land of the Belayas, and that you will leave without protest if the
kat’ara
denies you aid?”

“Yes,” said Austin.

Darayan touched his forehead briefly, a gesture Austin assumed was a prayer to one or more of whatever deities the Belayas worshipped. “Then come with me.”

* * * *

As they crested a final hill and came in sight of the Belayas village, the first thing Austin noticed was its extensive fortifications. Tall watchtowers made of what appeared to be baked mud ringed the entire village; there were ten in total, connected by high walls of thick reddish wood. Spikes of sharpened wood jutted from the walls like spires of bone, and thick ropes of hewn juraa were also fastened at regular intervals, their thorns whittled to needle-like points that glittered in the pale blue sunlight. A pair of sentries wielding long wooden spears tipped with carved rock stood guard over the lone entrance, a gap only a few meters wide. More of the juraa
rope lay in coils next to the sentries, and Austin guessed that it could be strung across the entrance at a moment’s notice. The village was located atop a slight plateau, with about half a kilometer between it and the nearest trees, and the bo’al
on the plain surrounding the village had been cleared all the way up to the forest line. It would be impossible for an enemy to sneak up on the Belayas undetected.

Clearly, this was a tribe prepared for war.

Darayan led Austin and Katrina up to the sentries. “I bring a stranger, here to see the
Sho’nal
,” the stone-faced scout said.

“He has been notified,” replied one of the sentries, a man a full head taller than Austin with a long scar running the length of his left arm. “Take him to the
a’kali’a
.”

“How has he already been notified?” whispered Austin to Katrina, as Darayan led them into the village. “I didn’t see anyone with Darayan.”

“Scouts always travel in pairs,” whispered Katrina back. “One stays back in case something happens to the first. I didn’t see him either. The other scout—probably Vakiar, they usually work together—heard everything we said and got back here before we did.”