Guardians of the Lost (47 page)

“I'll do whatever he wants,” Raven said and sucked in a sharp breath, for Dur-zor was examining the wound on his back, probing at it with her fingers.

“The blade slashed across the bone,” she said, “but the bleeding has stopped. The wound will heal and leave you a fine scar.”

Raven started to nod his head, thought better of it.

“I owe you something, Dur-zor,” he said, chewing bark. “I owe you more than I owe that…K'let.”

Taking hold of his hand, she began examining his mangled fingers. “Keep your voice down,” she whispered.

“Why? K'let is a taan. He doesn't understand what we're saying.”

Dur-zor slid the Vrykyl a sidelong glance. “I think perhaps he does. He has been around humans for a long, long time. K'let was once the favorite of our god.”

Her voice held sadness in it, a sorrow Raven didn't understand. She lowered her head back to her task.

“I owe you, Dur-zor,” Raven repeated earnestly. “I saw you kill that taan. If you hadn't stepped in, I'd be dead and Qu-tok would be munching on my toes.”

He hoped this would win him a smile, but Dur-zor kept her head lowered so that he could not see her face.

“You fought well today, Dur-zor. You are a true warrior. No one can say otherwise.”

She looked up at him and he saw that this had pleased her. “I know. I am glad.” Slowly, carefully, so as not to hurt him further, she released his hands. “I do not think there is any serious damage, but you must watch to make sure that you do not fall ill with the stinking sickness.”

By that, Raven understood her to mean gangrene. “If you fetch me some water, I'll wash the wounds. Dur-zor, what's wrong?”

“I might not be permitted to go fetch water for you,” Dur-zor said quietly. “Things have changed. Look around.”

Recalling that the taan had been in the midst of a pitched battle, Raven noted for the first time that the fighting had stopped. He wondered what had happened. Dag-ruk stood talking to her warriors, who were gathered around her and the shaman R'lt. They appeared to be in heated argument, yelling at each other and gesticulating wildly. The other taan, the enemy, tended to wounded, cleaned their weapons or picked their teeth. The slaves sat watching the taan warily, cognizant that their fate hung in the balance, not certain how or why. The half-taan had been herded together, were being guarded by the enemy taan.

“There seems to be more talking than fighting. Is this how the taan always conduct battle?” Raven asked.

“K'let asked our tribe to join the rebels,” Dur-zor answered. “They are considering it. R'lt is in favor. Dag-ruk leans in that direction. Some of the warriors argue against it, but if Dag-ruk makes up her mind, that will be the end of it. They can either join or leave the tribe.”

She rose to her feet, looked down at Raven. “I will ask if they will let me bring you water. If not…” She was quiet a moment, then she smiled, straightened her shoulders. “I was a warrior,” she said proudly. “A good one. Our god will be pleased with me. He will take my soul into his army.”

“What are you talking about?” Raven stood up. He felt better, seemed to be able to think more clearly, although there was a strange humming in his ears. The pain had been reduced to a dull ache now, with the occasional flash. “Taking your soul. What does that mean?”

“If Dag-ruk joins with the rebel taan, K'let has ordered that all half-taan be killed. We are abominations. We do not deserve to live.”

Raven stared at her. She spoke calmly, matter-of-factly, as if she believed this herself.

“What? No! This is crazy!” He glanced groggily about. “Who do I talk to? K'let? All right, I'll talk to K'let.” Reaching out with his bloody hand, he seized hold of her wrist. “Come with me.”

Dur-zor stared at him blankly, too shocked to respond. When
she understood that he truly meant to do what he said, she tried to free herself from his grasp.

“You are the one who is crazy!” she gasped, pulling and struggling against him.

He said nothing, but dragged her after him. His legs were weak, he wobbled like a drunkard after a three-day binge. He wasn't certain what was giving him the courage to face the Vrykyl. Perhaps it was the bark, perhaps it was the fact that he owed Dur-zor his life.

No, he thought grimly, I owe her more than that. I owe her my sanity. If it hadn't been for her, I would have gone mad long ago, ended up like that poor woman who drowned herself in the river.

 

K'let was at that moment speaking to one of the shamans who made up his retinue. The shaman's name was Derl and he was the oldest taan then living and one of the most revered. His scars showed he had held his own in battle. Gems of great value and worth were embedded in his hide. He used the power of Void magic to extend his life, although no one was certain how he managed to do so. He was not a Vrykyl, he was a living taan. His hair had turned white, his hide was a dull gray. These and the fact that he moved slowly and deliberately, as if conserving every ounce of his strength, were the only signs that he had been in this world one hundred and fifty years.

Derl and K'let discussed Raven.

“Why do you take this human as one of your honored guard?” Derl asked, not bothering to hide his disgust. “True he is courageous and strong—for a human. And I know it amuses you to have a human serve you, as you were once forced to serve a human. Still”—Derl shook his head—“such a vile creature will be more trouble than he's worth.”

K'let regarded Derl with patient forbearance. “You do not look past the first bend in the road, my friend. True, the human will be some trouble now, but the day will come when he will serve me with unquestioning obedience. You know of the day I speak, do you not, Derl?”

The shaman's face creased into a grin. The grin was slow in
coming, for he seemed to move even his face muscles stingily. “The day when the Dagger of the Vrykyl is yours—”

“I have sworn to Lokmirr, goddess of death, that I will make no taan into a Vrykyl,” said K'let sternly. “Only humans. This one will be my second.”

“If he is the second, who will be the first?” Derl asked slyly, as if he knew the answer.

“Who do you think?” K'let asked.

Derl gave a dry chuckle. “You truly believe that one stab of the Dagger of the Vrykyl will end Dagnarus's many lives?”

“I think it is worth a try,” said K'let coolly. “You are a shaman of the Void. You tell me.”

“I tell you that you are sucking on the bones before your victim is in the pot,” Derl returned. “Dagnarus has the Dagger and he has named you a traitor, to be destroyed on sight.”

“The day will come when he will rue those words,” said K'let, magnificently unconcerned. “The day will come.”

Derl bowed his head. “I will this night make an offering to Dekthzar, god of battle and mate to Lokmirr, that he hears your words and grants your prayer. But for now,” Derl added, his cunning eyes shifting to a point behind the Vrykyl, “your pet human comes to speak to you.”

K'let turned to see the human in the hands of his bodyguards. Raven struggled to free himself, cursed them all roundly. K'let could not speak the human language and he did not want to, for the words had a soft and slimy feel to them. Having been around humans for over two hundred years, K'let had learned to understand the language. He pretended that he did not, for he knew that in their careless arrogance, humans would speak their true thoughts before him.

“Let me go, you bastards. I'm his bodyguard, same as you. I have something to say,” the human shouted.

Even as the human struggled with the guards, he kept fast hold of the wrist of one of the half-taan. She looked terrified.

“He speaks truly,” said K'let. “I have named him one of my bodyguard. Let him approach.”

The human stumbled forward, dragging the half-taan with him. He still wore the iron collar that marked him a slave and dragged his chain behind him. Raising his eyes to K'let's face, the human immediately lowered them. A shudder went through his body. He held his ground, though, and spoke with grudging respect.

“Dur-zor says that you gave me the chance to kill Qu-tok and redeem my honor. For that, I thank you, K'let.” He fumbled at the name.

K'let nodded and started to turn away. The human had said all that was needful to say or so he thought.

“Wait, uh…sir,” the human cried.

Startled, K'let turned back.

The human stood with his eyes lowered, staring at his feet. “Dur-zor tells me that you say the half-taan are abominations and that you mean to kill them.”

The human let loose of the half-taan, who flattened herself on the ground.

K'let pretended not to understand. He ordered the half-taan to translate. She did so in a faint voice, her forehead pressed into the dirt.

“I think that is a mistake,” said the human doggedly. “Tell him what I said, Dur-zor,” he ordered when the half-taan would not have translated.

She did so, looking up pleadingly at K'let and cringing, as if begging him to believe that such words were not hers.

“Ask him why this is a mistake,” K'let said, intrigued.

“Dur-zor tells me that you are rebelling against this god of yours,” said the human. He swayed where he stood, kept blinking his eyes. “Your army is not very big. You are vastly outnumbered. I would think you would want all the warriors you could get.” He gestured at Dur-zor. “She's a damn good warrior. Don't waste her. Let her and the others fight your battle for you. After all, what harm can they do? They can't breed. They'll soon die off.”

The human lifted his head and finally looked K'let straight in the eye. “It seems to me that if you don't want any more ‘abominations,' maybe you should tell your people to quit making them.”

K'let was pleased. He had chosen well. He found this human more amusing than he'd supposed.

“Have you rutted with him?” he asked Dur-zor.

Dur-zor was horrified. “Of course not, Kyl-sarnz! He is a slave.”

“There is something in what he says. Humans are practical-minded, if nothing else. What is this human called?”

“Ravenstrike, Kyl-sarnz.”

“He is called after a bird?” K'let was disgusted. “I will never understand humans. Tell this Ravenstrike that I like his suggestion and that I will do as he says. The half-taan will live, provided that they agree to fight for me.”

“We are honored, Kyl-sarnz,” said Dur-zor.

“You will make him a good mate. Tell him that.” K'let gestured.

Dur-zor stared at K'let.

“Tell him,” said K'let.

Dur-zor glanced back over her shoulder at Raven. She repeated K'let's words in a low voice.

Raven said nothing, his jaw tightened. Then, reaching down, he grabbed hold of Dur-zor's hand and pulled her to her feet.

“Thank you, Kyl-sarnz,” said Raven.

He turned to walk away, but he had not taken more than four steps before his legs buckled and he collapsed onto the ground, out cold. The half-taan glanced worriedly back at K'let, fearing that perhaps this display of weakness might cause the Vrykyl to change his mind.

K'let waved his hand. He had more important matters to consider than this human. The last K'let saw of the human who was named for a bird, the half-taan was hauling him bodily down the hillside.

 

Raven woke with a start to the sound of a sharp metallic clank right in his ear. A firm hand on his shoulder held him down.

“Don't move,” said Dur-zor. “We are removing your chains.”

Raven relaxed. He'd been having terrible dreams and although he could not remember them, the blow of the hammer hitting steel seemed to fit right in. He held still, gritting his teeth, while another
half-taan struck at the collar with a crude-looking hammer. Raven flinched at every blow, but, fortunately, the task did not take long. The collar fell away and with it, his chains. He sat up slowly, for his head still throbbed, and drew in a deep breath.

He was no longer a slave.

Darkness had fallen. He'd slept long. Sparks rose from a campfire in the distance. The sound of hooting and shouting and wild laughter came from the camp. The taan were celebrating, leaping around the fire, waving their weapons.

“I take it that this means Dag-ruk decided to switch sides?” Raven said. His hand had been cleaned and some sort of gunk smeared on it. His shoulder hurt with every move, as did his head. But he felt good. He could not explain his feelings any way other than that. He felt good.

“Yes,” Dur-zor was saying. “Dag-ruk was not pleased to hear that our god—” She halted, then said softly, “I must stop calling Dagnarus that. Dag-ruk orders that we are not to think of him that way anymore. She says that we will return to the worship of the old gods. The shaman Derl will teach us of these. I don't think I will like these taan gods, though. They have no liking for half-taan.”

“I will teach you of my gods,” said Raven. He watched the sparks dance in the air, swirl up to heaven. “My gods honor brave warriors, no matter what race they belong to.”

“Truly? Yes, I would like that,” said Dur-zor. “We will keep that secret between us. Dag-ruk was angered to hear that Dagnarus abandoned the taan in the land known as Karnu. She will follow K'let. Our tribe will travel with him.”

“What about the slaves?” Raven asked, feeling self-conscious. He looked around, but did not see them.

“K'let's warriors have taken them to the mines. The reward for them will go to the rebels. We will wait here a few days for the warriors' return, then we will move on.”

“Where?”

Dur-zor shrugged. “Wherever K'let decides.” She glanced side-long at Raven. “Dag-ruk came to visit you while you were unconscious. She said that she would be honored if you stayed with the
tribe. She will give you Qu-tok's tent, his weapons and his place in the inner circle. Will you like that?”