Once We Were Kings (Young Adult Fantasy) (The Sojourner Saga) (3 page)

Better the monster eat her than me, he thought.  But then, from the front of the cave came a tiny sound.  Something that struck him as both odd and alarming.

"Meow?"

If he didn't already suspect delirium, Render would have remained completely still, within the cave until dawn.  But how was it that the cat stood there, near that dreadful monster?  And alive?

Unless...

Render approached the cave opening, standing as tall as he could for he had heard that if one were to confront a bear or a mountain lion, one must stand as erect as possible and shout loudly.

Steady now. 

Ready to shout....

He waited a moment, then leapt out into the open. 

"HYAH!" 

But there was no monster.  Had it hidden behind a rock?  A tree?  Waiting to pounce and shred him to ribbons?  To the left, he directed his eyes.  Then to the right.  Above and behind.  Nothing.

No monster.

And then...

"Meow?"  Warm, and furry, the cat rubbed against his bare ankle, just above his shoe.  Render jumped back and gasped.  "Oh, it's you." 

"Mrow." The little rascal.  With a tilt of its head, it gazed up at Render as if he had gone completely insane.  But then it continued to circle his legs, leaning in and rubbing warmly against them.  Had it no fear, no sense?

He scooped the cat up into his arms and stared down the hill.  Below, oil lamps mounted on cottage walls flickered.  The hinges on his master's door—his former master—squeaked.  Bobbington had a habit of complaining such that his neighbors could hear of his woes and perhaps commiserate.  Instead, they took to avoiding him.  

He could be heard now, muttering on about how Render had become more trouble than he was worth.  Bobbington rushed in and shut his door with a heavy slam that reverberated throughout the village.

"Well then," Render said, rubbing the cat behind its ears, "We'll not be going back, I suppose."  It purred as he slipped it inside his leather vest, sharing some much appreciated warmth.

From the top of Smyth's Hill, Render's shadow stretched down to the bottom and made him look enormous.  He gave the farming village, the place he'd called home for as long as he could remember, one last look, then turned to face the moon.  Amber light, brighter than he'd ever seen before, almost made him shade his eyes.  Within his vest, the cat moved.  It too stared at the strangely bright, strangely hued moon.  To Render's surprise, it turned its eyes to his, as if to speak.

"I've never seen anything like it before, either," Render said, and scratched gently under the cat's chin.  Its throat trilled as it leaned its head down in the crook of his thumb and forefinger.  From where he stood, Talen Wood ended behind him.  Before him however, an open plain stretched for about a mile and dropped off.

A howling wind chilled Render to the bone and nearly threw him off balance.  He held cat tighter and reestablished his footing.  "You all right?"

Its claws dug into his forearm.

And as quickly as the gust came, it passed, swaying tree branches below.  Like ripples in a lake, the tops of the trees shivered.

He'd never wandered this far from the village before.  But up ahead, he knew of a rocky precipice—the largest of several—which dropped so far, no one had ever returned to say just how high it stood over the plain.  Further East, miles past the white desert valley, a battalion of mountains lined the wasteland like sentries.  The Handara Mountain Range.  The tallest summit, towered far above the others like a commander inspecting warriors under his command.  Render's pulse quickened at the sight, for he had never gotten such a clear view before. 

What lay on the other side? 

Lacking proper education afforded only to the genteel people of Valdshire Tor's grand citadel, all he'd heard were tales, legends and rumors.

An escaped slave now, Render imagined life as an exile, crossing to the East.  As far from Valdshire Tor as he could get.  After all, to return meant certain capture—or re-capture, rather.  He'd heard rumors of young slaves being turned over to the traders because they either displayed defect or were not particularly useful.  And as he'd now proven himself a useless slave, Bobbington would probably have him hunted down, hauled off, and killed.  Like the runt of a litter.

"Sort of like you, eh, cat?"

It buried its head deeper into his vest.  At least he would not travel alone.  He was glad of the company.  But how would he traverse such a distance and so treacherous a terrain?

As if the ground had heard his question, a rumbling underfoot drew his attention to the wood.  The cat stiffened as the whinnying of horses and the thunder of their hooves approached.

Render tried to run.  But with nowhere to go but down, he froze in place.  Three riders wearing red tunics over chainmail shirts and hoods approached from all sides.

With all his might, Render dashed into the fast closing space between two of the horsemen.  The sickening sound of scraping steel filled the air as the dark riders unsheathed their swords. 

Glints of reflected moonlight flashed. 

Render was stopped in his tracks by the cold, sharp edge of a sword under his chin.

CHAPTER THREE

“Halt, if you fancy the head upon your neck," said the mounted rider.  "Or continue and leave it behind as a token."  From her tone and the shining decorations on her armor, Render gathered she was the leader. 

She scoffed.  "What's your name, boy?"

Not a word escaped Render's clenched throat.

"Seems to've misplaced his tongue," the rider to her right said.

"Speak boy," said the leader, leaning down so that the ends of her dark hair touched Render's face.  "Or I'll find that tongue of yours with my dagger."

"Please, ma'am.  My name is Render."  The cat squirmed.  He held it tight and out of view.

"Where're your parents?"

"Dead, Ma'am."

She let out a hearty laugh and the others joined.  "Perfect."  Pointing her sword down to the foot of the hill, she said to the rider behind Render, "Bring him back with the others.  That ought to be the last of them."

"Yes my lady," he said in a gravelly voice.  Between Render's shoulders, the point of the soldier's sword urged him downwards.

"If he resists, cut off his ears," the leader said, all humor gone from her tone.  "If he tries to strike you, cut off his hands.  If he tries to run cut off his feet.  And if he tries to call for help..."

"I understand."

"As best you should," the leader said.  "The wagon is nigh full by now.  You know where to bring them."

"Aye."

"Hyah!"  With slaps on their horses' rumps and a clinking of spurs, the dark rider and her remaining subordinates rode off. 

Down the hill, Render now saw a horse drawn wagon, covered with a heavy canopy.  Its driver sat at the reins, waiting.

When he stepped in, or rather, was shoved in, Render's captor forced him to sit upon a bench.  "I won't hesitate to dice you into vittles if ye try anything," the horseman said.   He then shackled Render's feet which were chained to those of some other unfortunate souls, whose faces were obscured in the pitch black wagon. 

Like his fellow prisoners, Render dared not speak.

The door slammed shut.  A thin beam of light stole in from the small square windows around the top of the door and walls.  Immediately, the wagon lurched forward.  Every bump in the path jarred him. 

From the stuttering breaths, drawn through clenched teeth, Render could tell that there were children around him in that cramped space.

"I want to go back," came a pitiful murmur.

"Me too."

"Quiet!" hissed a familiar voice.

Render blinked in surprise.  He sat up straight and inclined forward and whispered, "Kaine?"

"Keep to yourself, whoever you are, or I swear, I'll knock you down, kick open the door and toss you out.  Then you'll be dragged to death, or they'll think you're trying to escape and...and—"

"Kaine you idiot, it's me, Render!"

All went quiet.  Save for the rolling of the wheels, the blowing and snorting of the horses and the humming of the driver.

"Render?"

"It is you then, isn't it?"  Render's heart leapt.

"Over to the light where I can see you," Kaine said.

"You first."

"Bother!  Isn't it just like you to quarrel so?"  Kaine exhaled sharply.  "All the same, let's go to the edge so that we can see each other in the light."

"Right."

There at the end of the wagon, their eyes met and lit up. 

"Why, it is you."

"Of course it is," Render said and grabbed his arm.  He could not help but smile.  "We're going to be killed!"

"Yes!  Isn't it fantastic?"

If there was any joy at being taken prisoner by dark knights and horsemen, or whatever they were, it was in finding his brother and the twins.  Not that Render wished ill upon them.  It was just better not to face this alone.  He asked the twins if they were all right.  They were, but felt frightened.  Though he had no basis for saying so, Render assured them that all would be fine.

Kaine stared down at Render's vest.  "And what have we here?"  At the opening of his vest, the cat rested with one paw casually draped over the other.  It glared at Kaine with flattened ears.  "How in the world did that happen?" He asked.

Render lifted it out and placed it on his lap, soothing it with strokes along its stiff back and tail.  "As I said, I have a way with cats."  Still staring at Kaine, her claws gripped Render's pant legs.  "Anyway...I think she likes you."

"She?" Kaine scoffed.  "That beast is too fierce to be a she."

"What do you know of cats?"

"What do you?  I'll wager my slingshot that it's a boy."

"That so?" Not about to back off from a challenge, especially one which he knew he could most certainly win, Render held the cat up and lifted her tail.

"Reeeow!"  She swung around and swatted Render in the face.  Then she jumped out of his hands and went into the dark part of the wagon.

"You win," said Kaine.

"I told you so.  Now, if you would be so kind and hand over your slingshot."

"Of course.  As soon as I get back to retrieve it from my master's home."

Home.

The very word caused a twinge in Render's chest.  Never had he known such a place that he could truly call home.  Growing up a slave robbed him of something so important, so fundamental to being human: a sense of belonging. 

Oh, of course he belonged.  He belonged to Master Bobbington, as did cattle or sheep or any other livestock: property.  But Render envied children who went home to warm dinners, whose fathers took them hunting, taught them their wares, whose doting grandparents served as purveyors of forbidden confections.  Such things he beheld only from a distance, remembered only as a dream.

The carriage came to an abrupt stop.  A great deal of yelling and commanding alerted Render.  The cat returned to sit upon his lap.

Kaine, pulling the slack between his shackles and Render's, stood on his bench and peered through the slits in the wagon cover.

"What is it?"

He didn't answer.

"Kaine!"

"Shhh!"

Folen and Stewan whimpered, the chains of their fettered feet scraped the floor.  The cat, back on Render's lap, sat up and inclined her ears towards the window.

"By the decree of The Lord Mooregaard, Lord Duke of Talen Wood, advisor to King Corigan, open the gate!"  It was the horseman who threw Render into the wagon.

"Where are we?" Render whispered.  A cold drop of perspiration rolled down his spine.

"You're as observant as you are good with cats."  Kaine clicked his tongue.  "A blind man could see."

"See what?"

"That we're at the gate."

"What gate!"

"The Citadel, moss-brain."

The cat stiffened and leapt from Render's lap.  She then climbed up and squeezed through the window in the door. 

"Hey!"  Render didn't bother trying to stop her.  So distracted was he by sounds outside.  They were so alien, he hardly noticed that she'd gone.  Without realizing, he held his breath.

Heretofore, he had only heard stories of the great Citadel, where streets were paved with gold, where the highest forms of art, science and heraldry flowed.  And where those unfortunate enough to be deemed criminals suffered unspeakable horrors.

"Don't you understand?" said Kaine, excitement hanging on every syllable, "We've been appropriated."

"Appro...?" said Stewan.

"It means," Render said, "we no longer belong to our masters."

Folen leaned over and whispered.  "You mean, we're free?"

"I mean we're being sold."

CHAPTER FOUR

The Empire of the East

In the Eastern Empire of Tian Kuo, during the rule of the Lohng Dynasty, the greater part of the population lived in rural villages outside the capital walls, without the amenities of the Emperor's city.  This had not been the intention of the Emperor, but rather that of his widow, the Empress Dowager, soon after his demise.

Though they were afforded marginal protection by imperial troops during wars, for the most part these villagers were left to their own devices.  This is not to say that they were what one might consider provincial, uneducated or uncultured.  On the contrary, much of Tian Kuo's fading cultural, scientific and spiritual wisdom found its roots in the written and oral traditions of outcast cultures such as that of Xingjia.

Towards the Western border of Tian Kuo, between the Myng River and the Lohngdi desert, lay a peaceful hamlet set within tall palms and flowing silvery brooks.  The inhabitants of Xingjia were an uncomplicated people.  But many of them had once been scholars or government officials, and possessed an ancient wisdom, from which many a great storyteller and seer had emerged. 

And then put to death. 

For their beliefs were considered the dangerous superstition of the wealthy land owners, the so called "oppressors of the masses."  But that was over two centuries ago.  Ancient history.