Revenant

by Bevan McGuiness

  ‘What did you do to him?’ she asked.

  ‘He is still alive,’ Keshik said. ‘He is lucky.’

  Maida had nothing to say as she fell in beside Keshik, walking quickly on his way out of the Tulugma camp. The eyes of the warriors that followed them were not simply filled with distrust: there was anger, fear and even respect in some. It was clear to Maida that Keshik had left the Tulugma amid mixed emotions, and his return would awaken them.

  Their campsite had been left untouched despite the six Tulugma standing guard around it. Keshik appeared not to notice them as he stalked, muttering to himself, past them. They in turn gave the impression of barely acknowledging either him, Maida or the camp they were guarding.

  It was only after she and Keshik were seated by a modest fire, cooking a few small rodents together with some root vegetables and herbs from one of the saddlebags they had commandeered, that a thought occurred to Maida.

  ‘Why are they here?’ she asked, jerking a thumb over her shoulder at the silent guards.

  ‘Making sure we don’t leave,’ Keshik said.

  ‘Why do they want us to stay? I would have thought they would want us — well you anyway — to leave.’

  ‘Sondelle said something was going to happen today. He wants me around for it.’

  Maida went to ask a question, but Keshik held up his hand to forestall her words. ‘Listen,’ he said.

  Maida concentrated, but beyond the hissing of the wind through the tall grass that ringed their camp, the occasional snort of the horses, the buzz of the insects, she could hear nothing. Keshik’s face was a mask of intense concentration, then he broke into a broad smile.

  ‘That’s what he was waiting for,’ Keshik said.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Agents.’

  ‘Agents? Why?’

  ‘We will find out soon.’

  Maida continued her simple meal, all the while listening for whatever it was that Keshik had heard. After a few moments, she finally heard the sound of approaching horses. She looked up, her eyes unfocused as she concentrated on the sounds. Keshik saw her listening and nodded in approval.

  How did he hear them so early? My hearing has always been better than his. What has he been doing while I was away from him?

  They continued to eat their meal, apparently unconcerned by the approaching horses, while the Tulugma guards betrayed their unease with muttering, nervously touching their weapons.

  ‘Hold, Tulugma,’ Keshik murmured. ‘Keep discipline.’

  His words had an immediate effect, straightening backs and stilling voices. Hands dropped away from weapons, eyes became steady.

  ‘Better,’ Keshik said. ‘Now turn around, to face the threat as it comes.’

  When one guard hesitated, Keshik rose quickly to his feet.

  ‘I am Tulugma,’ he hissed. ‘I am no threat to your unarmed back.’

  Shamed, the guard turned away from Keshik.

  Keshik muttered under his breath as he strapped on his swords, preparing himself for battle. Maida could just make out the words of his dofain. The realisation that the arrival of some agents was bringing Keshik fear gave her own hands speed to prepare herself. She pulled on a leather jerkin over her shirt, laced her high leather boots then buckled her sword belt, from which hung a sword and a small axe.

  Unlike Keshik, she left her hair free, not tying it back as he always did. His hair was longer than hers, for one thing, but she had discovered her hair could be a distraction to some. Fighting a woman troubled some men, and an overt sign of her femininity had often given her an opening that had saved her life. It was why she sometimes eschewed heavier armour in favour of revealing portions of flesh. In addition, Keshik fought more ferociously when he knew men were staring at her with desire. There were times when she wondered if entering a battle naked might not actually be an advantage.

  Use whatever weapons you have to hand.

  If only that little idiot Myrrhini had known that back in Usterust!

  Standing, their heads were visible above the top of the grass, giving them a view of the agents as they rode towards the Tulugma camp. They were coming from the northwest, riding carefully. Maida estimated their numbers in the hundreds.

  A small troop of Tulugma rode out to challenge them. Muted voices carried over the waving grass, indistinct and unintelligible, but there was no threat of imminent violence in their tone. After a brief exchange, the two groups rode together, back to the main body of the Tulugma.

  ‘Off alert,’ Keshik ordered the guards.

  Despite his status, they obeyed. Maida sensed frustration from Keshik, as if their obedience was in some way an affront to him. He muttered irritably.

  ‘Come on,’ he finally said clearly. ‘Let’s go and find out what they want.’

  Instead of leading the way, as guards should, they fell in behind him, forming more of an honour guard than anything else. Maida walked at his left, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword, wondering why he still muttered his dofain.

  By the time they reached the Ogedei’s tent, the agents were already inside. A large crowd was gathered around the tent, waiting quietly, watching. They parted without complaint to allow Keshik through, as did the Habigga guards around the tent.

  Keshik strode across the open ground, his boots crunching on the flattened grass. When he reached the tent, he pulled aside the entry flap and entered without hesitation. As if they were expecting him, the Ogedei, Sondelle and two agents simply looked up at his entrance. They were seated, cross-legged, on large cushions on the ground, around a massive brass bowl nearly two paces across and half filled with a gently glowing blue liquid. Sondelle’s head, bowed over the bowl, was wreathed with a slowly moving yellow gas.

  ‘Sit with us, Kabutat Keshik,’ the Ogedei said. ‘You too, Maida of the Tusemon.’

  There were spaces for them, in between Zhan Tien and the agents. Keshik seated himself first, beside the Ogedei, leaving Maida to sit by the agent. She crossed her legs then looked to the agent, preparing to utter some meaningless greeting, but froze at the look of sheer hatred on the agent’s face.

  ‘I know you,’ he hissed.

  Maida shrugged, as if such hatred was a thing not unusual, to be ignored like the rain or a blistered toe. The man, however, was not to be put off. He grabbed Maida’s arm with a hard grip.

  ‘You’re that Tusemon slag Huitzilin found,’ he snarled.

  The Ogedei surged to his feet, fury in his eyes. Keshik also was on his feet in an instant.

  ‘Take your hand off her!’ the Ogedei barked.

  The agent hesitated, but under the ferocious glare of the Ogedei, he relented.

  ‘We will speak of this again,’ he spat at Maida.

  ‘Not if you want to live,’ Keshik said. He glared, his hands resting on the hilts of his swords. The agent rose, his own hand gripping the hilt of his weapon. For a heartbeat there was silence, as the two men faced each other, neither moving.

  ‘Enough,’ Zhan Tien snapped.

  Keshik snorted, a dismissive half-laugh, and sat down while the agent, suddenly deprived of his opponent, looked vaguely cheated before reseating himself on his cushion.

  ‘We are here to discuss the words of the Blindfolded Queen, not to air past grievances,’ Zhan Tien declared, fixing Maida with a hard stare.

  Maida began to protest, but stopped when Keshik rested his hand on her arm. ‘Now,’ the Ogedei went on, ‘Tlatoque Cualli has something to bring to us?’

  The other agent cleared his throat and leaned forward slightly.

  ‘My queen,’ he began, ‘is known throughout the world for her mystic visions and her ability to know the truth behind mysteries.’ The Tlatoque paused for effect. ‘She has had a vision of the city of Vogel.’

  ‘Ahh,’ said Zhan Tien. ‘So that is what this is about.’

  ‘The world faces two threats, both alone unlike anything we have ever seen; combined, they are beyond comprehension. The first, that of the Sorcerer Reven
ant, cannot be faced by force of arms — it will be dealt with by others — but the second, the Warrior Revenant, falls to you and your Tulugma.’

  ‘Falls to us?’ Keshik asked.

  ‘The Warrior Revenant has gathered a vast army and is laying waste to C’sobra, having already obliterated Lac’u. My queen has discerned that your Tulugma is the only force that can halt their advance.’

  ‘An army that can lay waste to whole kingdoms, and you want the Tulugma to stand in their way?’

  The Tlatoque hesitated. ‘Want? No. My queen has had a vision that you will be successful if you chose to stand in their way.’

  ‘And if we don’t?’

  ‘The world will fall into smoking ruin.’

  Silence fell on the tent as each considered these words in their own way.

  Keshik spoke into the quiet. ‘We have no choice.’

  ‘Only if we trust this mystic,’ Zhan Tien responded.

  ‘How can you not?’ the other agent demanded.

  Tlatoque Cualli glared at his subordinate, who subsided with obvious reluctance.

  ‘How long do we have to decide?’ Zhan Tien asked.

  ‘If you leave now, you will meet the army just south of Leserlang.’

  Zhan Tien rubbed thoughtfully at his chin. ‘The wilderness of C’sobra would not be my preferred battleground.’

  Sondelle raised his head from his contemplation of the liquid in the metal bowl. His eyes were unfocused, as if staring at something a great distance away. A frown creased his brow before speaking. ‘No. It is not the place to meet such an army as this one,’ he agreed.

  ‘What sort of army is it?’ Zhan Tien asked.

  ‘Did you see the fight that happened when Keshik arrived?’

  Zhan Tien nodded.

  ‘Do you remember how those who survived the blackness fought with speed and great strength, but any subtlety of form or technique was absent? It was as if they had lost their minds, keeping only the basic, ingrained battle skills.’

  ‘It was like that.’

  ‘Those who fight for the Revenant fight the same way. They have lost their minds, with only instinct and madness to guide them. They have forgotten the words fear and pain, knowing only the orders of their Beq.’

  ‘Beq?’

  ‘Their warlord. It is a Scaren title,’ Sondelle supplied.

  ‘But the Scaren are extinct,’ Cualli protested.

  ‘No, not entirely extinct,’ Sondelle assured him. ‘There is one left, at least.’

  Cualli’s eyes went wide in horror. ‘Slave? That fiend? He is Scaren, isn’t he? It’s him.’

  Sondelle gave him a look that sent shivers through everyone in the tent. All his malice, his pent-up rage, his disappointment, his ancient powers, were contained in that look. Maida had to lower her eyes, but Cualli could not. He held Sondelle’s stare as if locked there until he gave a single gurgling gasp and dropped to the ground.

  Sondelle looked up from the motionless figure; his face was dark with rage, his eyes burned with hate.

  ‘My slave is Scaren. I raised him from an infant to do one thing, and he failed. In failing, he unleashed these two horrors on the world. I want him back — alive.’

  Keshik lifted his gaze from the dead man to fix Sondelle with a stare every bit as steely as the sorcerer’s own.

  ‘You are to blame, not Slave,’ he said in a flat tone. ‘When he escaped you, he fled and you hired me to complete his task. This is all your doing.’

  Sondelle shifted his attention to Keshik, but before he could speak, Keshik flicked his wrist so fast it defied sight. A small dagger flew across the tent to embed itself in the sorcerer’s throat. With a sound more like a sigh than a death rattle, the old man fell backward and lay still.

  Zhan Tien leaped to his feet, shock on his face.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he screamed at Keshik. ‘Did you never learn self-discipline!’

  ‘Watch, before you make judgements,’ Keshik chided his former Ogedei. He pointed at Sondelle. ‘Wait.’

  For a while nothing happened, then Sondelle stirred, groaned and sat up. He pulled the dagger from his throat and flipped it across to Keshik, who caught it and slipped it back under his jerkin.

  ‘He’s a necromancer, a dealer in death,’ Keshik said. ‘When that thing that I released killed him, he was little more than upset for a while.’

  ‘You are not as dull as I suspected,’ Sondelle said.

  Keshik spat on the ground between them.

  ‘I will train as many Tulugma as want to learn in the skills I have acquired since leaving the Kuriltai,’ he said as he rose to his feet. ‘I will lead them north and west to face the thing Slave released onto the world and his army.’ He jabbed his finger at Sondelle. ‘The other thing is yours to deal with, necromancer.’

  ‘You are wrong, Keshik of the Tulugma. You will need Slave to kill the great Warrior Revenant, as I will need your sword to send Kielevinenrohkimainen back.’

  Keshik stalked to the opening of Zhan Tien’s tent, and paused.

  ‘Then send me Slave when you find him, and I will face Kielevinenrohkimainen again for you.’

  9

  Slave thrust. Myrrhini attempted to parry, but his blade evaded her flailing swipe, coming to rest just touching her chest.

  ‘You’re dead, again,’ he told her.

  ‘It’s only a knife,’ she countered as she stepped back to rest, bending over, her hands on her knees. She was breathing heavily, sweating in the heat even though it was nearly sunset.

  ‘Do you know how far you heart is below the skin?’

  Myrrhini looked up and shook her head. ‘No idea,’ she panted.

  Slave held up his knife and measured a shallow depth from the tip of the blade.

  ‘Only that far?’

  ‘And all the rest of the blade still to go.’ Slave drew his finger along the blade until it came to rest at the hilt. ‘And then.’ He moved the hilt back and forth as if the blade were deep inside her. ‘Dead, again,’ he repeated.

  ‘Dead, again,’ Myrrhini agreed. She forced herself upright. ‘Again?’ She held her knife as if ready to spar once more.

  Slave looked at her, sweaty, hair tangled, her leather jerkin tight around her body, the shirt beneath it drenched with sweat, her boots dusty and scuffed, and shook his head.

  ‘What? Are you afraid of being beaten now that you are tired?’ she taunted.

  ‘No,’ Slave said as he slipped his own knife back into its scabbard.

  Myrrhini drove her blade at him, high, aiming at his face. Instinct took over for Slave. He pulled his head back to make Myrrhini’s thrust go too far, causing her to overbalance. As she staggered forward, Slave grabbed her knife wrist and wrenched it down. With a cry of pain, Myrrhini dropped the knife. Slave drove her onto the ground and without thought, slammed the heel of his hand into the back of her neck, just at the base of her skull. Myrrhini slumped, stunned.

  ‘Ice and wind,’ Slave muttered. He crouched beside her as she moaned softly. ‘Not again.’

  Myrrhini pushed herself over to look up at Slave. ‘You did it again,’ she mumbled.

  ‘I warned you.’

  ‘I have to learn.’

  ‘Why?’

  Myrrhini tried to stand. Slave stepped back to let her. He had tried to help her up after knocking her down before, but she had rebuffed him each time. Now, he just watched.

  When she was up, she walked slowly, if unsteadily, towards the wagon where Camaxtli waited, pretending not to be amused by her repeated failure.

  ‘Why is our meal not prepared?’ Myrrhini demanded.

  ‘It is, Myrrhini.’

  ‘Good.’

  They ate as normal, in silence, as the night darkened, turning the Midacean plains from waving silver into rustling black. It had been like this for many days now as they had travelled north, seeking sign of Keshik and Maida — travel during the daylight, a knife-fighting lesson for Myrrhini as Camaxtli prepared their meal, followed by a
night of silence during which they all became lost in their own thoughts. At first, Myrrhini had tried to engage the two men in conversation, but Slave found little to say in response to her prattle and Camaxtli seemed either afraid or contemptuous, or perhaps both in turn. Either way, he, too, had little to say, so after a few days, Myrrhini stopped trying. Slave preferred the silence, it gave him the opportunity to listen to the night, to become used to the sounds and smells of the plains.

  After failing to get conversations going, Myrrhini decided that she wanted to learn to fight. She made some comment like, ‘If my destiny is to be close to you, I should be able to fight.’ It made no sense to Slave, but he agreed to show her some basic fighting skills.

  She was a slow student with little physical skill and less endurance, but she was determined, Slave had to afford her that concession. So, he gave her very few training scars, and none on her face. She seemed to appreciate that.

  Camaxtli, for his part, was surly. Angry at having been dragged out of the city, angry at having his entire stock appropriated, but mostly upset at having to sleep on the ground. Slave had never imagined it possible that one man could complain so much about so little — there was water to drink, food to eat and, while it was warm, the weather conditions were safe. Slave had to admit that the water was a little dirty and brackish taken as it was from surface sinks, but it was water nonetheless. The rodents that they had found were a little bitter, but plentiful, and there were roots available. What more could the man need?

  At night, after the silence had become too much for Myrrhini, she wrapped herself in a blanket and went to sleep beside the wagon. Camaxtli slept in the wagon and Slave lay under it, trying not to think about the emptiness of the blackness all around him. The noises of night in the plains quickly became normal to him, allowing him to sleep more easily.

  He lay under the wagon, the quickly cooling ground beneath him, the merchant snoring loudly above him and the increasingly confusing Myrrhini not far to his left. That she was possibly trying to seduce him was beyond doubt — and possibly the source of Camaxtli’s annoyance — but why would she be doing that? And why was she so inconsistent in her efforts? Kirri had been direct, as had Waarde, but this one …