The Moroi Hunters

by A R R Ash

  Sar-Kyul forced himself to sit a bit straighter and said with the most authoritative voice he could muster, “I am Sar-Kyul of the Moroi Hunters, and I have come for an audience with Rel’gor.” As if that effort exhausted the last of his energy, Sar-Kyul slumped and nearly fell from his mount. He managed to control his descent enough not to drop into an ignominious heap, though he leaned heavily against his horse.

  Shayala tensed at the sound of bowstrings being pulled taut, though the disciplined archers did not loose their missiles.

  “See t’ their wounds,” ordered the grisly warrior.

  Shayala dismounted. Yet before taking more than two steps, a warrior approached her with his hand extended. She made no move or response to the gesture, but stared threateningly at the warrior before her.

  The grisly leader said, “Women may not be armed.”

  Shayala scoffed, though she caught a glimpse of Sar-Kyul, who looked pleadingly to her. She hesitated before, begrudgingly, pulling the scabbards from her waist and relinquishing them. She calmed her mind, preparing for the warrior to request to search her. Yet he did not. Such men often underestimate women, she thought.

  As they followed the lead warrior into camp, another moved to assist Sar-Kyul. He refused and walked of his own volition. A shame he could not be strigoi, she again thought, considering it the height of a compliment for a feral human.

  Sar-Kyul and Shayala were led to an infirmary, where female attendants came to tend their wounds. Sar-Kyul accepted their ministrations without complaint and would not have been able to fend them off even if he were inclined. Shayala refused care and forbade them from touching her. When one attendant placed a hand upon Shayala’s shoulder, the latter forcibly, with a strength completely unexpected by the human, gripped the woman’s wrist and lifted the offending hand. Shayala allowed the woman to keep that hand attached to her body, though she had considered otherwise. The attendant backed away, holding her wrist and looking at Shayala with a mix of frightened surprise and anger.

  “She, ah…doesn’t like to be touched,” Sar-Kyul muttered in an attempt to diffuse the situation. Despite his pain and exhaustion, he was not without his wits.

  “Then how can I treat her?” the attendant asked, looking at Sar-Kyul.

  “I require no aid,” Shayala answered instead. To preclude further argument, she added, “It looks worse than it is.”

  The attendant shrugged and moved to assist Sar-Kyul.

  Shayala observed the ministrations. One attendant inserted a bit into Sar-Kyul’s mouth to protect his tongue. The second poured grain alcohol over the wound and cleaned the blood away from the puncture. Sar-Kyul gasped and grunted and gnashed upon the bit. Using a thin dagger to enlarge the opening, she slid a finger into the wound to feel for the head of the arrow. Sar-Kyul screamed. As the arrowhead had not penetrated bone and had avoided his lung, she was able to pull it free without exacerbating the damage. By this time, Sar-Kyul was unconscious. The attendants sewed the wound with catgut sutures and wrapped it with a bandage, then withdrew, leaving Shayala in thoughtful silence.

  Day 25: Light

  Shayala recognized a change in Sar-Kyul’s breathing, indicating he had awoken, though his eyes remained closed and he said nothing. Through her dormancy, her minor cuts and scratches had nearly disappeared; her arrow-inflicted wound had begun to mend, but, without additional nourishment, would require several more days to fully heal.

  *

  Sar-Kyul’s entire body was sore and stiff, though, save for his chest, much of the pain had subsided. By the extent the sunlight brightened his closed eyelids, he judged it was at least mid-morning. Although she made no sound, he sensed Shenla’s presence and expected she was aware that he was awake.

  Let her wait and wonder. Sar-Kyul took the moment of quiet to consider his current predicament and options. Have I made a mistake in trusting Shenla? The answer seemed undeniable. Yet, did the revelation of her nature change the prudence of what she proposed? Perhaps not, but it certainly called into question her motives. And why would she provide the free tribes with the means to defeat her own kind? Could he—or even should he—conceal her nature from the Moroi Hunters? How would they react if they learned what she was? Once the monsters are brought down, it will doubtless be necessary to eliminate her as well.

  *

  Shayala heard the approaching footfalls. The tent flap opened and in came a man who, with only slight exaggeration, made Sar-Kyul look to be a dwarf in comparison. Shayala assumed this to be Rel’gor. Although the tracings of considerable muscle were visible, he was older than Sar-Kyul, and the weight of age concealed much of the definition. Other than his dark, deep-set eyes, most of his bronzed, leathery face was hidden by an unruly beard of umber, with only the beginning hints of gray; plaits of long dark hair fell on either side of his face. His cloak was open, and he wore boots and trousers of goatskin. His right breast exhibited a tattoo of a boar’s face, and his left breast was marked with a similar display of a wolf.

  Rel’gor was followed by the grisly lead warrior from the night before. Trailing him were three other warriors, armored in brigandine of silver-studded jerkins and thickly padded, leather greaves, all bearing a scabbarded sword upon their waists and carrying a polearm.

  Sar-Kyul opened his eyes at the sound of their entrance. He noted no attendants were present.

  “Greetings, Sar-Kyul of the Moroi Hunters,” Rel’gor said in an imposing, bass voice.

  “Greetings, Rel’gor,” Sar-Kyul returned, sitting up and grimacing, swaying from a sudden dizziness.

  “My healers assure me you will recover,” Rel’gor said.

  “I am grateful for the care and feel much improved.” Sar-Kyul pushed himself to his feet, steadied himself, and extended his arm.

  With only a moment’s hesitation, Rel’gor grasped the other’s wrist.

  “Some feared you’d grown soft in your comfortable existence,” Rel’gor said, which Sar-Kyul understood to be both insult and compliment.

  Sar-Kyul forced a laugh, causing a sharp pain in his chest. “Not soft, but perhaps complacent. An affliction that has spread among all the free tribes.”

  Rel’gor seemed to consider whether he and his tribe had been insulted, and the men behind him tensed.

  Shayala remained casual in her demeanor, though she prepared to strike if necessary.

  Finally, Rel’gor said with a not-so-subtle challenging tone, “And that is why you’ve come? Our complacency?”

  Sar-Kyul shrugged, and his chest stung from the movement. “I’ve come to discuss matters affecting all the free tribes. But first, I would ask something more of you. Something I would reciprocate if our positions were reversed.”

  In a magnanimous tone, as if granting a great boon, Rel’gor said, “Ask.”

  Gesturing to his wound, Sar-Kyul said, “We were attacked in the night by a band of…” He hesitated for a moment, considering Shenla beside him. “Monsters. Shenla and I were the only survivors, though none of the creatures escaped. I would ask you retrieve the bodies of my warriors, that they may be given proper rites.”

  Sar-Kyul believed that even Rel’gor would not deny a request to honor those who had fallen against the monsters. To do so would be tantamount to declaring open hostility toward the Moroi Hunters.

  “It will be done,” he assured Sar-Kyul.

  “My thanks,” Sar-Kyul offered. “They are several miles to the south, along the primary path.”

  Rel’gor turned and nodded to the grisly warrior, who, in turn, nodded to one of three behind him. This last warrior snapped to attention and withdrew from the tent.

  “Are you able to walk?” Rel’gor asked Sar-Kyul, who understood a negative answer would be viewed as weakness.

  “Yes.”

  “Then, come. We can eat, and you can tell me of our complacency.”

  The fact was not lost upon Shayala that, other than when he first entered the tent, Rel’gor had not glanced her way during the entire conversation.<
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  Rel’gor turned to exit the tent, having to duck to pass through the portal. The three warriors moved to allow Rel’gor to pass, followed by Sar-Kyul. When Shayala attempted to follow, she found her path blocked.

  The grisly warrior seemed amused. “You’ll be shown t’ th’ other women.” He spoke the last word as if it were an insult.

  Shayala offered her counter proposal. “You will step aside, or I will move you.” Her posture was threatening in its casualness.

  The other warriors snickered, though the lead one smiled cruelly and replied in a tone reserved for an obstinate child, “You should ’ware that tongue o’ yours. It’d be a shame if one so young lost all ’er teeth, eh?”

  The blow that connected with his nose sent a spray of blood and dropped him as if he had run headlong into a tree. Although she had fed during the previous night, the blood tantalized her, especially in her piqued state. The remaining two warriors leveled their polearms at her.

  From without the tent came the call, “Dagroth! Where in the hells are you?”

  A moment later, Rel’gor peeked his head into the tent and saw Dagroth splayed, barely conscious, upon the ground and the guards brandishing their weapons against the female.

  “What in hells’ asshole happened here?” he roared, stepping fully into the tent.

  Sar-Kyul followed, his expression a combination of resignation and surprise. A chuckle nearly escaped Sar-Kyul’s lips, though he covered it quickly with a cough.

  “She attacked Dagroth,” one of the guards reported.

  Rel’gor glanced at his smitten lieutenant and cast an angry, disbelieving eye at the guard.

  “Aye,” the second guard confirmed.

  “Hit him? With what?” Rel’gor’s deep voice was all the more pronounced when raised in anger.

  “Ah, her…her fist,” the first guard said in a less certain tone.

  Rel’gor seemed incapable of overcoming his disbelief. He could not decide which was more incredible: that a woman had done this to his veteran lieutenant, or that the guards had attacked Dagroth and hoped to blame the woman. He looked hard at Shayala. Many warriors would have withered under that gaze, though Shayala met his stare easily, challengingly, which only increased his ire.

  “Well, girl?” Rel’gor asked in a voice filled with menace.

  Sar-Kyul was breathless, awaiting her answer.

  “I defended myself,” Shayala replied, mocking his attempts at intimidation with her calm self-assuredness.

  Although Sar-Kyul feared the incident might destroy any opportunity of alliance with the Silver Blades, he was more concerned it would reveal what Shenla was. He took a step forward. “A misunderstanding, I’m sure. Shenla is from the east and is unfamiliar with our customs.”

  “Oh, is it the custom in the east that women strike the men?” Rel’gor asked, sarcasm tinged with threat. He took a step toward Shayala, who made not a twitch in reaction.

  Despite himself, Sar-Kyul admired her unflinching comportment against such an imposing figure, though he did not have time to dwell upon that sentiment. He clarified quickly, “It is the custom, as in many of the free tribes, that any person has the right to defend himself—or herself.” He added, hoping Rel’gor would find a more pragmatic argument persuasive, “It would not reflect well, were it known your lieutenant was felled by a woman.”

  Rel’gor thought on that before saying in a tone of disgusted disappointment, “Perhaps former lieutenant. No, it would not, but neither is law and order served by allowing such a crime to go unpunished. If word of this incident becomes known, I will have no choice but to see it done publicly.” Indecision still on his face, he looked pointedly at Shayala. Turning his attention to Sar-Kyul, he continued, “A female may not strike a man, even in self-defense. This is your only warning. I hold you responsible for her actions.”

  Sar-Kyul sighed and nodded.

  “And she will be confined with the other women,” Rel’gor finished.

  “My thanks,” Sar-Kyul said, exhaling in relief that the meeting had not opened—and ended—with a declaration of war between the Silver Blades and the Moroi Hunters. He knew Shenla would fume at such a relegation, but at least she would be frustrated in her wont to stir antagonism and to flaunt the laws of the tribe.

  Rel’gor grunted. “Not a promising start to your visit. At least Dagroth’s already in the infirmary.” To the guards, said he, “Deal with him.”

  The guards placed Dagroth upon a cot, then one withdrew to fetch a nurse.

  Rel’gor spoke again to Sar-Kyul. “Your mounts and bags are secure at the stable. You bring an arsenal with you.” With an inflection of curiosity and warning in his voice, he added, “I trust your little band was not the vanguard to an attack.”

  Sar-Kyul kept his expression staid; he was not surprised they would have searched their gear. “Those are for you.” Before his mind became aware of the exercise of his tongue, he continued, “Perhaps Shenla could be allowed to fetch a sample for a demonstration.”

  “I need no fucking demonstration,” Rel’gor bellowed.

  “Not of the weapons,” Sar-Kyul clarified, “of something far more valuable.”

  Rel’gor said nothing, seeming on the verge of a rageful outburst. Sar-Kyul glanced at Shenla to note her reaction and wondered how he would defend himself if attacked.

  To his relief, Rel’gor said, “You are trying guests. She will be escorted at all times. Do not test me further.”

  “My thanks, again,” Sar-Kyul said.

  The other guard returned with a nurse. Rel’gor stepped past them and exited the tent, followed by Sar-Kyul. As the nurse knelt to tend to Dagroth, the two guards flanked Shayala as they left and made for the southern stable.

  *

  Sar-Kyul followed Rel’gor through the ordered alleys of the cantonment. Nearly every individual they passed greeted the chieftain deferentially, withdrawing from his path while ignoring the one accompanying him. Sar-Kyul observed several open training grounds where warriors drilled under the demanding instruction of their commanders. Two troops of children, one of barely pubescent young men and the other of even younger boys, drilled side by side. Sar-Kyul noted that, unlike among the Moroi Hunters and most other free tribes, no children—rather, no males— seemed to be engaged in any sort of instruction other than martial.

  Rel’gor and Sar-Kyul soon passed beyond the western edge of the camp proper, crossing a small tract of dirt and yellowed grass to arrive at a solitary, single-story wooden abode, around which were positioned several armed sentries. One guard opened the door in advance of the pair, and the two passed within.

  *

  Accompanied by her escort, Shayala noted that, in addition to the orderly design, another difference from the camp of the Moroi Hunters was the occasional wooden structure interspersed among the tents. The trio soon reached the southern stable, a long, narrow, pitch-roofed wooden structure, with eight stalls to a side. The door to the stable was open, and a groom busily shoveled hay from a barrow into a stall at the far end.

  Even among the many equine scents, Shayala recognized the odor of the horses she and Sar-Kyul had ridden to the settlement. Their horses were in a single enclosure to her right, with the three sacks heaped in front of the stall’s door. As Shayala reached into a bag, the two guards gripped their polearms tighter and angled them, not quite horizontally, toward her. She sneered; she needed no weapon against them.

  Her gloved hand withdrew, holding two silver vials. She dropped the vials into her pouch and walked toward the exit. The guards took up position to either side as they led her to Rel’gor’s cabin.

  While they walked, Shayala ignored the inhabitants and paid scant attention to the layout of the camp, rather considering her action against the lieutenant. In the seclusion of her thoughts, she could admit the possibility she had been rash to strike him. Yet admission did not mean she regretted the act; he had been deserving, and she would yet bring these humans to her cause.

  Th
ey neared the western cabin and approached the oversized door, high and wide enough to allow Rel’gor to pass unimpeded. The sentries had been instructed to await their arrival, and one opened the portal as they passed, closing the door behind them.

  They entered upon a large, open space with only two doors leading to smaller rooms. Considering the size of the hall, it was sparsely appointed. Other than utilitarian wooden furnishings, the only other contents visible were weapons of many sorts and designs, and of various materials—silver, steel, wood. No adornments or decorations were present, and a significant portion of the space remained empty to allow room for training.

  The guards led her through the rightward door to the kitchen, where Rel’gor and Sar-Kyul sat at either end of a rectangular table, the latter with his back to the entrance. Gamey meat roasted in the stone hearth, and two women, who appeared to be sisters, bustled to pour spiced stout and serve food from crockery, beginning with a broiled, herb-encrusted lakefish.

  Shayala struggled to recall a time when the aroma of such spices and herbs would have appealed to her, but she found that generations of human lifetimes had faded the memories beyond recovery. Dismissing such idle thoughts, she brought forth the two vials and handed them to Sar-Kyul.

  Rel’gor dismissed the guards and said to Sar-Kyul, “The woman waits with the other females.”

  Sar-Kyul almost flinched, expecting another outburst, though Shayala remained laudably restrained. His eyes met hers, and when she nodded in understanding he nearly sighed in relief.

  After the course was served, the women escorted Shayala through a rear door, through stores of foodstuffs and kitchen supplies, to a smaller table and four chairs squeezed into the center of the room.

  The women appeared to have only just passed their second decades: full black hair, full figures, and a freshness about their skin and eyes. They wore thin, colorful, form-fitting dresses, which reached but mid-thigh, and heavy-soled sandals. They alternated between eating and tending Rel’gor and Sar-Kyul in the adjacent room.