The Ramshuk (Heirs of Legacy Book 3)

by Paul Lauritsen

  “Today will be a good day,” the other vertag announced. “Today, we make history!” He raised his water skin in a mock toast. “Today, we find the lost tribe.”

  Garnuk smiled thinly, raising his own water skin in salute before taking a deep drink. Inwardly though, he was concerned. If he had misjudged the lost tribe and their chief, he could well be walking into a trap, and an end to his ambitions to reclaim control of his kin. It was a risk he had to take though. He needed soldiers and a base to think and plan. Hopefully, the lost tribe would provide that for a time.

  When they had finished their simple breakfast, the two travelers shouldered their packs and set off down the mountainside. Before they began, Garnuk checked the position of the unusual structure, marking where it stood relative to natural landmarks. Thereafter, he checked their course every few minutes. If he had been right the previous night, there would be few signs of habitation to guide them on the lower slopes of the mountains.

  The descent took considerable time. The shoulders of the mountain were steep and rocky, broken in many places. And while Garnuk could have avoided some of the most difficult parts of the path, he was loath to move from his direct course. The shortest distance was a straight line, after all, and following a straight line would also prevent them from losing the recently found lost tribe. Or rather, Garnuk corrected himself, the structure which might be a building they had seen from the top of the mountain. He hoped it was a dwelling of the lost tribe, but it could just as easily be the hut of another exiled vertag. Or a natural formation. Or a trick of the light. There were so many disappointing possibilities that the Exile could not contemplate them all.

  The day wore on, the sun tracing its regular path overhead. Garnuk and Tarq shambled down the side of the mountain, going slowly and carefully lest they lose their balance and go tumbling horns over heels. They paid little attention to their surroundings other than to navigate a safe path. Tarq was not as vigilant in his scouting as he might have otherwise been, and Garnuk was too focused on not losing their first lead to pay the matter of potential hostiles any mind.

  They broke for lunch two-thirds of the way down the mountain, in the shelter of a pine that leaned out over the slope at a precarious angle. Its roots gripped a cluster of boulders desperately, winding over and around the rocks before disappearing into the ground.

  “We are close,” Garnuk murmured as he ate. “Very close. We should reach the structure before the sun sets.”

  “Not sooner?” Tarq asked.

  “No,” Garnuk replied, shaking his head. “It does not look it from here, but there is a fair amount of distance between this mountain and the cluster of peaks that stands nearer to the structure. The valley is quite wide here.”

  “A lot of open ground to cover if anyone is watching for us,” Tarq observed. “Could be dangerous.”

  “This whole affair is dangerous,” Garnuk grunted. “Crossing an open valley is the least of it. If there is an ambush – and there is every chance there will be – let me do the talking. I think I can get us an audience with their chief.”

  “As long as you don’t get us killed,” Tarq muttered.

  “If I do, you can seek your revenge,” Garnuk replied. “I will not stop you.”

  Tarq snorted, then shouldered his pack again. “Let’s keep moving,” he suggested urgently. “Wouldn’t want to keep our hosts waiting all day.”

  Garnuk nodded and set out again, picking his way down the foothills of the mountain. Soon enough, the ground began to level out and the hills were replaced by valley floor, undulating gently in front of them. The ground was still covered in a thin layer of snow and there was still little vegetation, but the going was much easier. Stiff and cramped muscles worked themselves out as the travelers crossed the valley, to the point where they felt almost rested by the time they began ascending into the foothills of the next cluster of mountains.

  These new mountains were not as bare as the ones they had previously traversed. Here the ground was soft dirt and tall, straight pines grew thick, their branches blotting out the sun. Garnuk tried to maintain his direct course, but all of the twisting and turning around trunks quickly made him lose track of his goal. He growled in frustration and swung around, trying to find any definable landmark.

  “Are we lost?” Tarq asked irritably, looking up at the branches far above.

  “Not yet,” Garnuk replied. “We are close. We just need to find the pass.” He peered through the trees, judging the lay of the land, trying to guess which way various peaks were. “A little to the left I think,” he said finally.

  “You’re the general,” Tarq said, shrugging. “I’ve lost all sense of direction in here.”

  Garnuk sighed heavily and set out again. He was tempted to draw his sword and ready his shield, just in case, but if he was armed for battle the lost tribe might react more aggressively. He needed to arouse their curiosity first, get them talking. Preferably before they tried to kill him where he stood.

  The two vertaga wandered on through the forest, circling tree trunks, stumbling over roots, always striving towards the pass into the valley. Garnuk had no feel for which direction they were traveling at this point. He just knew that if they found the pass, it would be a place where the land rose steeply to either side and gently in front of them. If he just followed the slope of the land, he could find such a place.

  Eventually. Maybe.

  The sun sank behind the mountains in the west. Garnuk pressed on, hoping he was close, peering into the shadows for any clues. Tarq followed behind, nervously scanning the trees for any sign of ambush, his hands flinching towards his axe and shield at every unexpected sound. His jumpiness was making Garnuk edgy, making him wonder if he should be just as scared as the other outcast was.

  It was not much longer before Tarq decided they had wandered aimlessly long enough.

  “Garnuk!” Tarq hissed urgently.

  “What?” the Exile replied irritably.

  “Admit it, will you, we’re lost!”

  “We are close, Tarq. I can – ”

  “Don’t say you can feel it. General, we are rational beings, and we both know that such portends as ‘feelings’ mean little in the real world.”

  Garnuk swung around, thrusting his horned head forward belligerently. “Well what do you suggest we do, oh rational one?” he demanded.

  “Go back to the valley. Start again, pick out more landmarks before we plunge in here. We could be going in circles for all we know.”

  “Not necessarily,” Garnuk murmured. “The sun has always stayed to our right. We are not that far from the path we set ourselves.” He turned away, searching for any sign, any clue as to which direction they should proceed.

  “We’re far enough from it,” Tarq muttered darkly behind his back.

  “Heard that.”

  “You were meant to.”

  Garnuk sighed heavily, admitting defeat. “Fine. We’ll try it your way. Let’s retreat to the valley and regroup, get some rest and some food. We can try again tomorrow. The structure we saw from the mountain won’t be going anywhere.”

  “Neither will you.”

  Garnuk and Tarq froze in the act of turning around, startled. Garnuk searched the trees with his eyes, trying to find the source of the unfamiliar voice.

  “Who’s there?” he called.

  There was a pause, then several uncertain, dim movements came from all sides. Garnuk squinted, trying to understand what he was seeing. Beside him, Tarq swore quietly and reached for his axe, shrugging his shield into position.

  “Leave it,” Garnuk said quickly. “We don’t want to provoke them.” He noticed that the vague shapes were coming closer, growing clearer with every passing moment. There were roughly a dozen of them, whatever they were. “We are not your enemies!” he called, hoping to put them at ease.

  There was a rush of movement, a snap of branches. Then, a noise as of a large object falling. Finally, a dark shape landed catlike in front of Garnuk, knee
ling on the forest floor with a massive spear in hand. The figure raised its horned head and rose to its substantial full height, looking Garnuk in the eye.

  “I will be the judge of that,” the vertag said quietly.

  Garnuk took an involuntary step back, wondering if he might have misjudged the situation. All around them were more vertaga, armed with the same heavy spears as their leader. In their other hands they carried tall, curved shields of hardwood patterned to look like pine bark. The warriors’ greaves and bracers were painted in the same fashion as their shields, perfect camouflage in the forest.

  “Stay quiet,” Garnuk muttered urgently to Tarq. “And stay still, no sudden moves.”

  “Seems reasonable,” Tarq muttered under his breath. “We could try to escape you know.”

  “But that is not what we want,” Garnuk hissed in reply. “We want their hel – ”

  “Silence!”

  Garnuk flinched as the leader’s voice boomed through the forest. He quickly stopped muttering instructions. Behind him, Tarq couldn’t resist one more comment.

  “You may get us killed yet, general,” he whispered.

  Garnuk glared at his comrade, but too late.

  “I said silence,” the leader repeated, leveling his spear at Garnuk and Tarq. “What about that was so difficult to comprehend for you two interlopers?”

  Garnuk wondered if he should respond or stay silent. Either way he’d be breaking a rule. He kept his mouth clamped shut, staring back at the other vertag.

  The leader snorted softly. “Nothing to say for yourselves?” He signaled the other vertaga and they continued closing in, forming a ring of menacing spear points. “Normally, trespassers have all kinds of last words. Or at least a false excuse for their transgressions.”

  Something about the way he said ‘last words’ made Garnuk realize they were in a much tighter spot than he had supposed. “Hold on!” he shouted. “We are not interlopers.”

  The leader cocked his head. “You are of the Banuk tribe then?”

  “No,” Garnuk replied patiently. “But – ”

  “Then you do not belong here,” the leader cut him off, slashing the air between them with his spear. “Only the Banuk may enter this valley. Such has it always been and will it always be, while the Sentinels defend this land.”

  “As I was saying,” Garnuk tried again. But he was cut off once more.

  “No! You are interlopers,” he said again, jabbing his spear at Garnuk, poking him none too gently in the chest. Behind Garnuk, Tarq stiffened angrily.

  But the Exile was already moving. Before the spear could be withdrawn he grabbed it behind the head, spun, and yanked it down over his right shoulder. The leader had a simple choice: be thrown into the air, or release the spear. He released the spear and Garnuk took the weapon, breaking it in two pieces. Thus armed, he spun and wrapped an arm around his opponent’s thick neck, resting the spearhead beside the vertag’s ribcage, pressing lightly but not drawing blood.

  The leader’s eyes were wide with fear. The entire sequence of moves had lasted less than five seconds from the moment he had jabbed Garnuk. Such speed and cunning he had never seen before in all his years defending the valley.

  The other warriors took a hesitant step forward then, seeing the danger to their leader, wavered.

  “Stay where you are,” Garnuk commanded. “I have no quarrel with any of you yet, but you will listen to me before you try to kill me. I did not come all this way to be slaughtered in a meaningless death.”

  “Me either,” Tarq muttered.

  Garnuk shot him a warning look, then continued speaking. “I request an audience with your chief.”

  “Ha!” the leader spat. Then he flinched as the spearhead pressed a little harder.

  “Quiet. I wasn’t finished. I have a proposition for him I think he will be most interested in.”

  “Nothing you have to say would interest the Banuk tribe!” the leader replied vehemently.

  Garnuk prodded him again. “Quiet. What part of that is so hard for you to understand?”

  The captured vertag made no reply.

  Garnuk snorted softly, amused. “Anyway,” he continued. “I have no quarrel with the Banuk. I am here to seek their help. To offer them an opportunity. There are two things that can happen now. One, you can take me to your chief and let me put my case before him.”

  “As though that would help you,” the leader muttered.

  “Or,” Garnuk continued, affecting a tone of total unconcern, “I can kill your leader where he stands and then my companion and I will take down the rest of you as well.”

  Silence stretched among the assembled vertaga. The warriors kept their spears at the ready, prepared for whatever command their leader might give them. Garnuk kept the spearhead pressed firmly against his captive’s side, reminding him the price of choosing poorly.

  Finally, the bark-camoflauged vertag slumped forward against Garnuk’s thick arm. “Very well,” he said, admitting defeat. “We will take you to our chief.”

  Garnuk shook his head. “I’m not stupid. If I do not get a stronger promise from you, then we’re going nowhere.”

  The leader gnashed his teeth together in annoyance. “You drive a hard bargain, interloper. But I will agree. Only because I know that once you enter our home, you will not leave it again.” He straightened, lifting his horned head and spoke in a firm, clear voice.

  “I swear on the spirits of the ancestors, I will not betray you. We will take you to our chief, and you will be protected until you plead your case to him.”

  Garnuk released the captive vertag immediately, and dropped the spear. “So be it,” he replied. “I accept your oath. Take us to the chief of the Banuk tribe.”

  Chapter 6:

  Valley of the Banuk

  “If you are entering our valley, you must be blindfolded,” the Banuk leader insisted, producing two strips of cloth.

  Garnuk smiled thinly and shook his head. “No need. If we are deemed a threat to your people, your chief will not let us leave here alive anyways. If we are not a threat, then there’s no problem with us knowing how to get here.”

  The warrior hesitated, thinking over this reasoning. “Fine. But I must take your weapons.”

  “Again, there is no need,” Garnuk repeated. “We are surrounded by thirteen of the Banuk’s finest warriors and will soon be surrounded by many more, I assume. One sword and one axe would be insignificant next to such strength.”

  The vertag heaved a frustrated sigh. “Fine. But you will travel in the center of our group. Where you can’t escape if you decide to try.”

  “Excellent,” Garnuk agreed. “That should also keep us safe from any of the more zealous defenders of your tribe’s isolation.”

  “There is that,” the Banuk warrior muttered. “I’m glad it’s you and not me.” He turned to his warriors, gesturing with a borrowed spear. “Form up. It’s time we were returning to the valley anyway.”

  As the small column shuffled into formation, Garnuk leaned closer to the Banuk leader. “You are planning to leave this pass unguarded?”

  The vertag smiled thinly. “Not at all,” he replied enigmatically. “Now, keep silent until I present you to the chief. That way, you are less likely to end up dead.”

  “Much appreciated,” Garnuk murmured, dipping his horned head.

  “I’m not doing this for you,” the vertag snarled. “I swore an oath to the spirits. They do not deal gently with those that break their oaths.”

  Garnuk nodded. “Indeed, they do not.”

  “Move out,” the Banuk warrior snarled, striding out in front, his spear at the ready.

  The other Banuk vertaga moved forward as well, two implacable lines of hardened warriors, their massive shields fixed firmly in place, their spears held upright in front of them. Garnuk noticed that they never relaxed or loosened their grip on their weapons. Their eyes were always moving, watching for trouble from the prisoners. And for trouble from outside of thei
r little band.

  “Do you have many issues with intruders?” Garnuk asked the Banuk leader quietly.

  “Sometimes,” the other vertag replied briskly. “But we have yet to fail to protect our secret.”

  Garnuk nodded thoughtfully. “That is an impressive achievement. And a difficult one to maintain through the years.”

  “It is worth the price of constant vigilance,” the Banuk warrior replied softly. “You will see.”

  They came to the peak of the pass and began the descent into the valley. The trees still grew thick here and Garnuk’s line of sight was restricted to a couple dozen meters in most directions. He felt vaguely cheated. He had expected that they would top the rise and be gazing down into a spectacular hidden world. The home of the lost tribe.

  But all there was to see was more trees. Towering firs, swaying in the breeze blowing in from the not-so-distant sea. The wind carried a faint smell with it, a smell that Garnuk was not familiar with. It was not unpleasant. Just different. He sniffed curiously, looking about.

  “That’s the sea,” the Banuk leader explained. “That’s the scent of salt water on the wind. It can take some getting used to I’m told.”

  Garnuk nodded absently, thinking over his strategy for convincing the Banuk chief to help him. Or at least, not to kill him. Behind Garnuk, Tarq followed mutely, striding along uncertainly in the midst of the Banuk warriors.

  The descent into the valley went on and on. They kept moving south, towards the sea, and the shorter mountains that stood directly in their path. Garnuk kept an eye out for any sign of habitation but saw none. No buildings. No livestock. No crops or obvious fields. Just the forest, stretching on endlessly in every direction, dusted with snow.

  Then they came to a clearing and the column stopped abruptly.

  Garnuk frowned, looking around curiously. There was nothing here to distinguish the place from the rest of the forest. Nothing at all. Tarq seemed just as confused, which led Garnuk to believe he was not missing something.

  “Why are we stopped?” he asked the patrol leader.

  “We are here,” he replied resolutely. “Welcome to the home of the Banuk.”