Slave glared at Tatya. ‘That was stealthy?’ he said, before offering his hand to the woman at his feet. She accepted it.
‘Keshik is not the only one out here,’ Slave told her. ‘You should raise the alarm.’ When she did not move, Slave gave her a gentle push. ‘Now,’ he said.
She bolted.
‘We should follow her,’ Tatya suggested.
‘You do that, I want to unsettle a few more before Keshik gets here.’
Tatya growled and bounded off after the fleeing woman, leaving Slave shaking his head at her before slipping into the tall grass in search of another of the simple campsites.
The next one he found was cleverly hidden beneath the level of the grass. Three tents, pitched low, were facing a shallow water sink. There was no one visible, although Slave could smell someone hiding nearby. He waited in silence, controlling his breathing to match the natural rhythm of the waving grass. The sun rose higher in the sky, bringing with it the searing, dry heat so common out here in the plains. Insects chirruped and birds fluttered overhead as they hurried from place to place. The wind, slowing since dawn, vanished completely.
A faint, out of place, rustle alerted Slave to the presence of another watcher. He looked to where the sound had come from. Across the sink hole, he noticed a slightly darker patch amid the grass. Staring intently, Slave was able to make out a shape within the dark patch. He heard a slight creak, the kind of sound only made by the limbs of a bow being drawn back slowly.
I’ve been seen.
The bow was drawn back to its full extent. Slave sensed the archer control his breathing. From this distance, in this light, with the arrow crossing an open space between the tents, Slave was confident he could avoid the arrow, so he was not concerned about that attack. What he was interested in was where the others were. They had to be somewhere close, but he could neither see nor smell them.
The archer released. Slave moved aside to allow the arrow passage. It hissed past him to vanish in the grass. It happened so quickly that Slave decided to try something. He groaned and slumped to the ground.
‘Good shot,’ called a female voice to Slave’s left.
‘Is he dead?’ called another voice from behind one of the tents.
‘I think so, he went down fast enough,’ replied the archer.
‘I hope it wasn’t Keshik.’
‘No. Keshik smells different.’
While the conversation was going on, Slave took advantage of the noise and the lack of attention to slither away on his belly towards the voice to his left. He came upon her with total surprise. She was down before she knew he was there.
Next was the archer. He had risen from his crouching position and was walking into the campsite by the time Slave reached him. The noise of his own careless passage through the grass covered Slave’s own, so the first he knew of Slave’s presence was the pressure of the Claw at his throat.
‘You missed,’ Slave whispered into his ear.
The sound of approaching horses reached them just before sunset. The woman Slave had knocked out, a Lac’un named Drikka, had recovered by then. They were all seated around the little sink in the midst of the camp, talking quietly. The archer, Yannik from Apros, commented first.
‘Looks like someone reached Keshik with the news of your arrival,’ he observed.
‘He’s got a new horse,’ Slave commented.
‘You can tell a horse by its sound?’ asked Drikka.
Slave nodded. ‘They are more distinctive than people.’
The third member of the group was a dark, quiet Midacean named Eliguio. He sat watching Slave. It was he who had identified by smell that Slave was not Keshik. Eliguio spent a great deal of time fingering the blade of his knife. Slave wondered if he was an assassin.
After Slave had disarmed the first two, Eliguio had simply sat where he was, apparently awaiting Slave’s decision as to what to do with them. When Slave told them he wanted to wait for Keshik, Eliguio gave a curt grunt of assent. He then spent the time listening to the conversation about military tactics, fighting strategy and killing methods. From the way the others kept looking to Eliguio as if for approval, Slave had surmised he was the leader of this little troop.
Keshik arrived at the campsite late in the afternoon. He was accompanied by three other riders: two men and a woman whom Slave surmised was Maida. Slave rose to his feet to greet them.
‘Keshik,’ he said.
‘Slave,’ Keshik called back. ‘I guessed it was you from what I was told. There can’t be many looking like that in the world.’
‘Your army is interesting,’ Slave commented.
‘They need you,’ Keshik said as he swung down off his horse.
‘If you are going to take on the Revenant, they need more than me.’
Behind Keshik the others dismounted. Slave noticed Maida staring at him with blank eyes.
Do I know you?
Yet there was something in her eyes that Slave could not put aside. He had met her before, and it was meaningful. With a chill, he guessed it was to do with rage, an uncontrolled attack that he could no longer remember.
Did I kill someone you know?
‘Are you here alone, Slave?’ Keshik was asking.
‘Myrrhini is following.’
‘What’s this I heard about a huge black monster with you?’
‘Tatya, she’s a —’
‘Tatya?’ Maida interrupted. ‘Tatya is here?’
‘I’m here,’ Tatya growled. She walked slowly out of the grass to stand beside Slave. When Maida went to approach her, she raised her yellow mane and roared. ‘Don’t come near me again,’ she warned. ‘I am not your pet any more.’
‘I never thought you were,’ Maida said, but anything more she might have said was drowned out by another of Tatya’s roars. Maida stopped her approach and stepped back, a look of sadness on her face.
Keshik looked around at the campsite.
‘Good camp,’ he said. ‘How did Slave get in?’
Eliguio cleared his throat. ‘He came under the level of the grass from over there. I heard something and warned Yannik. Drikka was already hiding over there, not far from where Slave was. She waited while Yannik prepared to shoot. He missed, but Slave pretended to have been hit. When we assumed he was down, he used the noise of our own movement to cover his counterattack. He is very good.’
‘He is the best,’ Keshik assured Eliguio. ‘How many other camps have you hit?’ he asked, switching his attention to Slave.
Slave shrugged. ‘A few.’
Keshik shook his head before turning to the man at his left.
‘Hayde,’ he said. ‘Go back to our camp and fire the Apros Smoke. We should get ready to leave.’
‘Tatya,’ Slave said. ‘Would you go and tell Myrrhini where to go?’
The spurre gave a growl as she bounded away into the grass. Hayde watched her go before remounting his horse and riding with the other man who had arrived with Keshik.
‘Break camp,’ Keshik ordered Eliguio. ‘Meet back at my camp by sunset tomorrow.’
Eliguio looked up at the sun. He squinted as if making calculations. ‘Sssa,’ he said. ‘We can do that.’
On their way to Keshik’s camp, Slave rode Maida’s horse while she rode double with Keshik. Slave still did not like horses and would happily have run alongside, but Keshik wanted to move faster.
‘What did you think of Eliguio the Midacean?’ Keshik asked.
‘He’s different to the others. More cautious, more dangerous. He’s calculating.’
‘He’s Habigga,’ Keshik said. ‘An assassin. I am thinking of making him a Tuk.’
Slave shook his head. ‘No, he’s not trustworthy. The others obey him only from fear, I think, not respect. I prefer Yannik. He’s skilled.’
Keshik scowled. ‘Are you going to join us?’ he asked Slave.
An army. Can I join an army? The answer was easy, but he knew it was not what Keshik had to hear.
‘No,’
he said.
‘I thought that was what you’d say,’ Keshik said. He urged his horse on to a gallop. Slave kicked the flanks of his own horse and followed them.
Keshik’s camp was set about fifty paces away from the large, trampled area where Hayde and another man had their camp. They were sitting beside a small tent. Hayde stood when Keshik and Maida rode into the clearing.
‘Break camp,’ Keshik ordered as he galloped through. He did not linger to see whether his orders were carried out.
Once in his own camp, he reined his horse in, swung his leg over his saddle and jumped down to the ground. Maida slid off to stand beside him. Slave was happy to be off the back of the horse, happy to feel the ground beneath his feet.
‘I didn’t think you would join an army,’ Keshik said without preamble. ‘But would you ride with us? Just to help me.’
‘Why do you need my help?’
‘You know strategy, you know how to move silently, you are the best fighter I have ever known. We will need every blade, every strong back we can get when we face the Revenant.’ Keshik stopped to stare straight at Slave. ‘The Revenant you released into the world.’
‘And the other one?’ Slave said quietly.
‘Sondelle and the Blindfolded Queen,’ Keshik said. ‘She summoned the Tulugma to fight with her against the Revenant, but they were already on their way. Sondelle lied to them.’
Slave could not speak. When Keshik spoke Sondelle’s name, he felt the fear form as a hard knot in his gut. His breath started to come a bit more quickly. He closed his eyes in an effort to control his breathing, but his heart was already racing. His rapid breathing and pounding heart were beginning to make him dizzy. Just the mention of his old master’s name could reduce him to this. He cursed his weakness inwardly while feeling his knees start to buckle. With a gasp, he lowered himself to the ground. It did not help. The shock at hearing his master’s name, discovering that he was not only alive but close by, was almost too much. The fear was rapidly building to blind panic. With what was left of his rational mind, he realised the danger he now posed.
If anyone touches me, I won’t be able to control it. Someone will die.
He heard the sound of feet. His mind was so full of panic, of unreasoning fear, he could not discern anything else. He felt black rage forming at the edges of his mind, slowly reaching inward, taking control. His hand moved of its own accord, wrapping his fingers around the warm, metallic spurre carved onto one arm of his Warrior’s Claw.
No! I will not …
But before he could even complete the thought, the rage took him completely. A bellow of insensate fury was torn from his lips as he sprang back to his feet. Memory ceased along with rational thought and he was replaced by the howling beast that had taken him so often since leaving the labyrinth beneath what used to be Vogel.
Sense returned sometime in the night. He groaned in pain and tried to roll over, but could not move.
Am I dead at last? Did you finally take me, old friend?
Pain ripped through his shoulder, shocking him into full wakefulness. He tasted dirt in his mouth.
Not dead, then.
He spat out the dirt and tried again to move, but this time he realised he was securely tied, hand and foot. Forcing his eyes open brought the discovery that he was face down. More exploration expanded that to the knowledge that he was tied down, arms and legs splayed wide, with chains. He jerked his arms, but there was no give at all in the chains.
Probably staked out and left to die.
For a moment, he pondered this end — left to die on the endless plains of Midacea, chained to the ground, face in the dirt.
A bad end, but probably fair.
How many did I butcher this time?
‘He’s awake,’ a voice called.
‘Release him,’ Keshik called back.
At least I didn’t kill Keshik. That’s something good.
Rough hands held his legs while others busied themselves at unlocking the shackles. When his legs were free, they turned their attention to his arms after which they all stepped back, as if expecting a sudden explosion of violence.
Probably got weapons aimed at me. Move slowly.
As he pulled his arms in to lever himself up, he heard the unmistakeable creaking of bows being drawn back.
Six. How many did I kill to warrant six?
Slowly, without any hint of subterfuge, Slave turned over and sat up. Pain shot along his back with every movement. Blood trickled down his body from dozens of small wounds that reopened as he moved. He looked around at the ring of archers, all holding bows at full draw aimed at him. He held up his hands, trying not to wince at the pain.
‘Slave,’ Keshik said. ‘Are you badly wounded?’
Slave shifted his gaze to find Keshik standing beyond the ring of archers. When their eyes met, Keshik gave a brief nod of reassurance. Slave flexed his upper body, stopping at the sound of a bow twitching as one uneasy archer flinched. He held up his hands in a show of his lack of intent.
‘I am not badly wounded,’ Slave said. ‘A little surprising.’ He allowed his gaze to drop to the ground. ‘How many did I kill?’ he asked.
‘None,’ Keshik said.
Slave lifted his head to stare at Keshik. ‘None?’ he repeated. ‘I didn’t kill anyone? But —’
‘I know you,’ Keshik interrupted. ‘I have seen what you do, so I prepared.’
‘How?’
Keshik gave a curt gesture and a man walked into the circle of archers. He was carrying a large, heavy net. In the dim light of Grada, Slave could make out the glint of dozens of small barbs set into the weave of the net.
‘As soon as you started to talk in that language,’ Keshik explained, ‘I had Delfonso here take you down. It’s not a gentle method, but it was effective.’ Keshik gave another gesture and the archers lowered their bows as they released the tension in the strings.
‘What language?’ Slave asked.
‘I don’t know it,’ Keshik said. ‘But you use it every time you …’ he hesitated, ‘do that.’
Slave grunted. He did not want to talk about what happened to him whenever he lost control. No matter what had happened, he was alive and had killed no one, and that was enough. He felt his jerkin, realising his Claw was missing.
‘Nice weapon,’ one of the Tulugma commented. Slave looked around sharply to see a man holding the Warrior’s Claw, examining it minutely. ‘Where did you get it?’
Slave snarled, suddenly angry. He reached out his left hand, gesturing at the weapon. To everyone’s shock, the Claw spun out of the man’s hand, streaked across the intervening space and landed in Slave’s open hand. The Tulugma cried out in surprise and pain as the preternaturally sharp blades sliced through his hand. He grabbed the bloodied hand with his unhurt hand and dropped to his knees, his cries shifting up to screams of agony.
Slave wiped the blood off the Claw before tucking it under his jerkin. The anger did not fade as he rose to his feet and looked down at the screaming man. ‘Never touch my Claw,’ he said, stalking away.
A Tulugma archer dropped his bow to kneel beside the injured man. He examined the wound before looking up at Slave’s retreating back.
‘Ice and wind, man!’ he shouted. ‘He’s lost half his hand.’
Slave ignored him as he strode away into the grass where he was quickly lost to sight. When he was sure he could no longer be seen, he dropped into a crouch before turning and moving as fast as he could to his left. After about a hundred paces, he stopped to listen for pursuit. There was none, just the sounds of anger and pain from the Tulugma. Slave tried not to think about what had just happened, but his mind, for all its discipline, held on to the sight of the Tulugma fighter falling to his knees, screaming at the ruin of his hand. The Claw, in response to Slave’s angry mental summons, had sliced clean through the hand from wrist to knuckles, taking off the outer half of the hand and with it the last three fingers. The man’s fighting life was done. No one could wi
eld a sword with two fingers and, at his age, switching to the off hand would never be complete. In a heartbeat, his life was irrevocably altered. And for what? Examining a weapon. Admiring a piece of craftsmanship the like of which he probably had never seen before. Hardly a crime worthy of such harsh retribution.
The wind shifted slightly, bringing the scent of a spurre. Slave looked around as Tatya slipped along beside him. She lay flat on the ground with her head resting on her forepaws.
‘Did you kill any?’ she asked in a low grumble.
‘No.’
‘That’s a shame.’
‘Not really.’
‘We don’t need humans, you and me,’ the shapeshifter said.
‘Why not?’
Tatya did not answer. After a while, Slave realised she was asleep. He considered waking her up, but decided against it. Instead, he lay back against her warm body and stared up at the vast, infinite expanse of velvet black sky, practising the discipline of not panicking.
12
Myrrhini and Camaxtli followed Alyosha into Keshik’s camp late in the afternoon. Myrrhini saw no signs of Slave or Tatya, but there was a great deal of activity. Hundreds of men and women were gathered, appearing prepared to move on. When Keshik saw them, he gestured to Maida, who waved for Myrrhini to come into the midst of the throng.
‘Do you have any idea how dangerous this is?’ Camaxtli said.
‘Why?’
‘These are all Tulugma. Every one of them could kill us both without raising a sweat. This would have to be the most dangerous collection of trained murderers and assassins in the world.’
Myrrhini looked at the nervous merchant and, remembering the destiny she’d Seen when she first saw him in the Hidden City, shook her head.
‘You are perfectly safe with me,’ she assured him. As I am safe with Slave. She looked around and, Seeing Slave hiding from everyone with Tatya about fifty paces away in the grass, wondered why. No doubt he had his reasons. As long as he was here, she did not care.
The Tulugma parted as the wagon passed through them towards Maida. Myrrhini tried to ignore the stares as the fighters noticed her burning eyes. Several made strange gestures like warding signs at her, one or two went so far as to grip weapons, but no one made any overt move or threat towards her.
Revenant Page 11