Emerging Legacy (2 page)

Captured.
But they had nothing of value to
steal--nothing but the recently acquired nightfox pelts and the small
collection of less significant pelts and dried meat. They had nothing but...

Themselves.

Kelyn lifted her head to look at them with revulsion, and
the man who’d spoken gave her a nasty-toothed grin. “Figuring it out, are you?”
he asked in her own language, sitting on Mungo’s rump as though it were a
pillowed throne. Mungo himself was still dazed, or the man’s impudent
self-confidence would have been ill-rewarded. “
You’re
our prize. All
of you.”

Frykla gave him a startled look. “What?”

“Slavers?” Gwawl twisted beneath the man who had his knee
in the small of his back, trying to see how the rest of them faired.

“
Here?
” Iden pulled against the rough ropes that
already bound his wrists and ankles together.

In the lowlands, yes. Slavers and reivers, both — people who
preyed on the misfortune and weakness of others. But here in the craggy
reaches of the Keturan mountains, surrounded by the unfamiliar dangers of
climate and predator? Neither was forgiving — it was the very reason they forged
young hunting packs into strong, capable warriors, independent but respectful
of community.

Strong, capable...

“You came here just for us,” Kelyn said, her voice low with
the horror of it. The man who’d tied Iden moved on to another, whipping
another short length of coarse rope from his belt with the speed of long
practice.

The man rubbed his nose. It didn’t help; the nose remained
dirty and ugly. “Not you in particular. Just whichever of you was up here
this year.” He pointed at her, then gestured at the fire circle. “Come in
here.”

She thought about running. If she flung herself back out of
the narrow aisle between the sentry rocks, they’d never catch her — and they
probably wouldn’t leave the others behind to even try. She could make it to
safety, but their village community would feel the loss for years, if it even
survived. Life here was too precarious, too close to the edge.

She couldn’t face that. She couldn’t good-bye to her
friends, never to know how they fared; she couldn’t break the news to their families.

With care, Kelyn got to her feet, closing her hand around
the staff to bring it with her. The men instantly came to alert, and the one
who sat on Mungo’s rump sprang to his feet, a short spear to hand. “Leave
that!”

She gave it a surprised glance. She’d reached for it out of
entrenched habit; she rarely went anywhere without it. It served her on the
rocky paths and it served her as a weapon. She wielded it with more grace than
anything else in her life. She depended on it. And now she gave the man a
deeply puzzled look. “It’s just my mother’s old walking stick. I hurt my leg.”

Frykla lifted her head for a startled look.
Just a
walking stick?
And then she glanced quickly away, trying to hide her
reaction, to cover it with scorn. “She’s a clumsy oaf, that’s what.”

Just as startled, Gwawl opened his mouth — but Frykla widened
her eyes at him, the best unspoken warning she could give him.

The dirty-faced slaver frowned. “What?”

Iden gave a sudden curse and began fighting his ropes,
flipping around like a snared rabbit.
Distraction.
The man who’d tied
him grinned, exposing just how few teeth he had, and moved on to tie Frykla.
One man still sat on Gwawl, his fingers tangled in Gwawl’s dreadlocked hair and
a thick-bladed knife at the back of his neck, and another stood by with his
arms crossed, watching Iden’s futile struggles in twisted amusement.

Kelyn took advantage of the moment to move to the center of
the rock-enclosed site, limping heavily, using the staff for support as
obviously as she could without over-doing it.

Perhaps she over-did it after all, for as Iden’s timely
struggles ceased the man who seemed to be their leader said, “You don’t look
like you can keep up with us.”

The man still standing by Iden said something short and
sharp in whatever harsh language they called their own, and the leader raised
an eyebrow at Kelyn — as hard as it was to see through his brushy hair. “He
wants to kill you. He thinks you’ll slow us down and die along the way.”

Kelyn’s hand tightened around the staff just as her skin
prickled all the way down her spine. She hadn’t considered —

“She can keep up,” Frykla said in a low voice, one that
already had a little cringe in it. “And she’ll heal fast.”

The man snorted. “One would almost think you wanted to be
slaves.”

“I’m not ready to die,” Kelyn told him, blunt...and
preparing herself to run. The skin between her shoulder blades twitched,
anticipating the impact of that short spear.

“You prefer slavery to death?” The man snorted. “No...you’re
just foolish enough to think you can escape.” At Kelyn’s sullen glare he
shrugged. “It serves me well enough if you choose to think so. Just don’t be
so foolish that you think you can escape from
me
. It’s never happened.
It never will. Now sit down.” He pointed, choosing a spot where Kelyn could
reach none of her friends, or even so much as exchange a discreet word. Then
he gestured at one of the men, who dug into the satchel at his side and
produced a folded packet. Kelyn eyed it warily as she took her seat, making
sure she leaned heavily on the staff.

The man took up the cook pot left by the side of the hearth
and dipped it into the hot spring. Into the water went a careful sprinkle of the
powder that had been contained by the paper...and Kelyn understood then that
they’d be drugged. At least for the night...possibly for the days. But as the
rope-wielding man took up her ankles and wrists, binding them just freely
enough that she might use the staff, she felt the surge of determination
overcome her fear.

We’ll escape.

We’ll be the first.

~~~~~

The next morning, the aftermath of the bitter herb still
gripped them even in the bracing chill of the morning air. It was all Kelyn
could do to lift her muzzy head and keep an eye on their progress along the
steep, rocky trail. She limped and lurched without having to play-act the
injury to her leg, and her natural tendency to stumble reasserted itself at
every inconvenient opportunity.

But she knew where they were going and so did the others; at
every rare chance, they caught one another’s eyes, and Kelyn saw the knowledge
there. And though the slavers spat vicious words at the first sign of the huge
rock fall that had destroyed the entire slope stretching before them, neither
she nor her pack mates found it a surprise. Kelyn caught everyone’s gaze with
her own, holding long enough to give it significance, until within moments they
all stood a little taller...waiting.

I have an idea.

She might be clumsy, she might regularly deal herself
bruises and stumbles, she might never truly be her father’s daughter, but Kelyn
had no shortage of ideas.

The leader looked at the captives, found them passive and
unsurprised by the avalanche damage, and it enraged him. “You knew of this!”

They said nothing. They might have inched a little closer
to one another.

The leader stalked up on them in two long strides and
snatched Frykla, hauling her over to the edge of the trail. “You knew of this!”
he repeated. “You know of other ways out, too — and you’ll show us!” He gave
Frykla a little shake, and she froze in terror, her eyes pleading. Pebbles
dislodged by her scrambling feet rolled over the sharp drop and pinged their
way down the slope for a very long time.

Fight him!
Kelyn thought at the younger girl. Bite,
kick, scratch — anything!

Except she quickly realized the man had Frykla so close to
the edge —
over
the edge — that along with threatening her, he was also the
only thing keeping her alive. She hesitated, fuzzy-brained, and felt the
others draw closer around her.

“You’ll help, or she dies,” the leader repeated, sneering
the words. “And then another of you, and another. You’re of no use to us if
we can’t get back to the marketplace.”

One of the other men spoke up, a short phrase accompanied by
an expression Kelyn hadn’t seen before and didn’t like. The leader laughed. “Grolph
reminds me that we will, of course, use each of you most thoroughly before you
go over the edge. We’ve been a long time away from home, and the only reason
you haven’t entertained us before now is that it’ll reduce your value. Doesn’t
matter if you’re about to go over the edge, does it?”

Iden muttered something horrified, and the group tightened
into a little defensive knot — a hunt pack, expert partners in defense against
animal and element...and no experience with human enemies. Trussed and
drugged and entrenched in the experience that each human life was precious and
crucial to the survival of the whole — and still not used to thinking of any
human life in terms of a threat.

“We’ll help!” Gwawl blurted.

“Don’t drop her!” Mungo added.

“Please!” Iden said, the most heartfelt of them all.

And Kelyn said, “I know another way.”

~~~~~

She took them back along the trail, then cut away to head
upward. By then her leg ached heartily; Kelyn didn’t feign her reliance on the
staff. Her wrists and ankles chafed and bled under the rough ropes. Clarity
returned to her thoughts — and to judge from the puzzled glances her pack mates
gave her, to theirs as well. For they were starting to wonder — and worry — what
she was up to. She made it a point to catch Iden’s eye, to stumble forward
long enough to mutter a reassurance in Mungo’s ear. To give Gwawl an assertive
nod, and to smile at Frykla — who still knew very well that she would be first to
die should the slavers grow impatient. She was the youngest, and she’d already
caught their eye.

Kelyn didn’t blame them for wondering, not even for
worrying. For she led them right back up the trail to the nightfox den...back
to where not a day earlier, they’d left offerings for the rock cat.

But we
know
about the offerings, and about the
cat.

The slavers had not the faintest idea.

~~~~~

“We
have
to go up!” Kelyn said in desperation, as
Frykla dangled over another edge. “It’s the only way around! We have only to
crest this peak, and then we’ll start back down again. But — ”

“You
arguing
with me?” the leader said, incredulous
expression clear even beneath his raggedy beard. Frykla froze under his hand,
waiting to fall.

Kelyn shook her head most emphatically, her hands
white-knuckled around the staff as she watched Frykla. “I was only going to
tell you that this is the best camp spot we’ll see before dark. It doesn’t
matter to
us
, we’re used to sleeping on the edge of things. I just
thought — ”

He shut her up with a sharp gesture, but he also reeled
Frykla in and shoved her off in the direction of the pack. Then he hooked his
thumbs over his wide, stained leather belt and stared at them. Stared at
Kelyn. Suspicious. “Aren’t you just the cooperative one.”

Kelyn couldn’t help the anger in her voice. “I don’t want
to be used unto death and tossed over a cliff. What would
you
do in my
place?” And then she hoped he was dull enough — or overconfident enough — so he
didn’t come up with the right answer.
Lead you into trouble and leave you
there.

For she’d already done the first part. Just above this spot,
they’d made their offering to the rock cat. There’d be one in the area, now — not
taking kindly to intruders, either. Rock cats, proficient hunters that they
were, didn’t need human prey. But they didn’t tolerate human presence,
either. Perhaps one human...perhaps two. Perhaps someone who was quiet and
didn’t intrude on the night.

Kelyn wouldn’t leave things to chance. She pointed up the
steep slope and said, “If you’re any good at climbing, you can find
choi-buttons up there. A whole bush full. We’ve been letting them mature for
harvest, but if you like such things — ”

Gwawl shoved her. “Those are ours!”

“What’s it matter now?” Kelyn said, glad to have one of the
others finally, finally catching on and lending a hand — for the hallucinogenic
seed pods were nothing the pack ever touched. Stupid, to rob your own wits in
Ketura’s mountains. “If the buttons make them happier, our lives will be
easier.” She nudged Gwawl, nodding at the tight space beneath a granite
overhang sparkling in the rays of the setting sun.

The rock cats attack from above.

Gwawl wasn’t the only one catching on; Iden looked at the
retreat with sudden understanding. As the slavers carried on a loud discussion
in their harsh native tongue, the pack moved close enough to the overhang, and when
the leader turned to them with a peremptory gesture, it was of no matter at all
to sit just where they’d wanted to be. For the first time they were close
enough to exchange words, but for the first time it was unnecessary. They knew
the stakes. Ignoring the pain of her bloodied wrists, Kelyn subtly tested the
ropes, checking to see if they’d loosened over the day’s activity — they had — and
if she could slip her hands free.

She couldn’t.

But she still had slightly more freedom than the rest of
them...and she could work at it. They all worked at it, watching as the
slavers quickly set up camp, putting the sleep powder packet on the rock for
later. The men split up, and one took on the task of climbing the steep rock,
a gleam in his eye. A man who knew and liked the effects of the choi button,
and was willing to make the climb even with dusk coming on.

Kelyn hoped he didn’t make it back down alive...but if he
did, then while the slavers crushed, burned and inhaled the powerful choi, the
pack would still have a chance to escape.