Heights of the Depths

by Peter David

  As for border patrol, the only moment of interest that had occurred in patrol anytime recently had been the squadron of Mandraques who had come upon none other than Arren Kinklash endeavoring to leave the city. Normally it was of little interest to Mandraques if one of their own came or went, but Arren was leader of the Five Clans and was expected to be available at all times to oversee disputes, of which there were typically many. Gorsham didn’t know why Arren was endeavoring to sneak away, although there were rumors that it had something to do with that brainless sister of his. Gorsham wasn’t really all that interested, but the law was the law and responsibilities could not be ignored. Especially when, as Arren had, one had connived and maneuvered oneself into that position of authority. So Arren had been returned to Perriz and, from Gorsham’s understanding, had received a rather thorough tongue lashing from Evanna. Because of that, the entirety of the population of Perriz had been keeping a wary eye on Arren and he hadn’t been going anywhere. Apparently he had resigned himself to his situation and made no further attempts to depart.

  They had been on station for several hours and the only thing that was stopping Gorsham from falling asleep in the warm night air was the buzz of conversation. Even that was beginning to lull him, and suddenly there was the sound of a distant pounding that was rapidly getting louder.

  The Mandraques looked at each other in confusion. “A stampede of whores?” guessed one.

  “Draquons,” whispered another, and this prompted fearful exchanges. If a squad of Travelers was galloping in, ready to carry out the Overseer’s bidding, then there was no way in hell that any of the Mandraques were going to get in their way.

  “Someone should take a look,” whispered a third, and all eyes turned toward Gorsham. As a house head, he was senior among them and it was expected that he was to take point on such things. The prospect of seeing Travelers bearing down on them was terrifying to Gorsham, but he didn’t see how he had any choice. The only available option seemed to be clambering up the side of the bank, verify what was bearing down on them, and then scampering back down, inform his fellows that it was indeed Travelers, and then hiding and hoping that the Travelers passed them by. When Travelers were heading somewhere, that was really all you could reasonably do.

  Taking a deep breath and praying it wouldn’t be among his last, Gorsham climbed up the side, digging his fingers and toes into the dirt as he went. He got to the top and peered over, trying to reveal as little of his head as possible.

  The oncoming noise was being generated by something in the distance that was mostly shadows. What he discerned immediately, though, was that there was a complete absence of mounts.

  “There’s no draquons,” he whispered.

  “No draquons? Are you sure?”

  “Positive. Whoever it is, they’re on foot.”

  “On foot?” There were mutters of incredulity. “How the hell are they making that much noise on foot?”

  “They would have to be huge. They’d…” Gorsham’s eyes widened. “Gods, they are! It’s Ocular!”

  “Are you sure?”

  Gorsham dropped back to the banks and said, “Do you think I wouldn’t recognize one-eyed giants when they’re stampeding right toward me?”

  “What do we do?”

  Glancing at the bridge over their head, Gorsham said grimly, “We stop them. That’s what we do. They’ll have to cross over there. We lay in wait and we take them down.”

  “How many of them are there?”

  “Hard to say. Around thirty or forty, I think.”

  This garnered some apprehensive looks from the Mandraques. Gorsham couldn’t believe it. As spoiled and occasionally indolent as he was, he was still fired with racial pride. “We are Mandraques! We have war in our blood, chaos in our hearts! Do you seriously think we cannot handle some Ocular?”

  “Of course we can!” said one of his lieutenants. “But to what end? To defend the city of the Firedraques? Who cares if some Ocular overrun them? They are more hindrance than help. We would be well rid of them.”

  Gorsham yanked out his sword. The lieutenant took a step back, apparently concerned that Gorsham was going to run him through. “There are Mandraques aplenty living within Perriz as well. Plus, for better or worse, we have already pledged troops to serve on behalf of the Firedraques, to protect the common interest. Mandraques do nothing in half measures. If we give our pledge,” and he had to raise his voice to be heard above the oncoming thundering, “then we see it through!” Without waiting for a response, he leaped straight up and clutched the underside of the bridge, pulling himself up to a ready position. He prayed that the others followed him, because otherwise he was going to wind up as nothing save a green/brown spot on the bottom of some gigantic feet. He breathed a sigh of relief when he heard his fellow Mandraques climbing up behind him, getting ready to leap upon the interlopers. For the first time in a long time, he truly felt like a leader of Mandraques.

  “Come in low!” Gorsham called to the others. “Go for the tendons behind their ankles, or at their knees. Sever those, and their size won’t do them a damned bit of good!”

  The Ocular drew closer, and then they hit the bridge. The Mandraques wanted to start scrambling up immediately, but Gorsham made a whipcrack gesture with his tail, indicating they should stay where they were. Gorsham had positioned himself at the far end of the bridge, ready to head off the point of the charge, with his lieutenant right behind him. He was both tense and yet oddly relaxed. It had been far too long since he had been able to thrust himself into direct battle. His body practically craved it.

  He was about to move, to tell them all to move, and suddenly the Ocular stopped running. He couldn’t understand it. Yes, Ocular had particularly acute vision during the night. Perhaps it was the gods’ way of making up for the giants being almost blind during the day. Even so, there was no way that the Ocular could possibly have spotted them in hiding below the bridge.

  Then he heard one of them say, from toward the back, “Everybody wait! Clarinda says to wait!”

  “They know!” whispered Gorsham’s lieutenant, and Gorsham had to agree. But there was no time to wait around and see what happened next. He made another decisive gesture with his tail, one that was unmistakable, and immediately he and the other Mandraques were climbing over the bridge and coming at the Ocular.

  Everything was instantly chaotic.

  Gorsham came at the lead Ocular, swinging his sword quickly, trying to get at the giant’s legs. To both his annoyance and chagrin, the Ocular—a female, by the looks of her—was extremely deft. She practically danced out of his way, and she shouted, “Up! Go up! Get the high ground!”

  The Ocular instantly did as they were instructed, moving with such uniformity of purpose that it was obvious to Gorsham that this was not simply a random grouping of Ocular. This was an army.

  Within seconds the Ocular had grabbed the upper sections of the bridge and taken refuge there. They shouted defiance and contempt at the Mandraques, and the female that Gorsham had tried to attack was the loudest. She had a club in her hand that had been dangling from her belt. It was the size of a small tree. It probably had been one before she had transformed it into a weapon. “Come here, little lizard!” she called down to him. “Is it true that if I tear your tail off you, it will grow back?”

  With a furious snarl, Gorsham tried to leap toward her. She swung the club and caught him in mid leap. It slammed him to one side, sending him crashing back down to the bridge. He managed to cushion some of the impact with his tail but was still jarred from the hit and a bit rattled. It jolted the sword from his hand and it clattered to the bridge. His lieutenant was there and handed it to him, looking a bit chagrined on Gorsham’s behalf. Gorsham grabbed it out of his hand. His mood was not helped by the delighted laughter of the Ocular…

  Laughter? Delighted?

  He looked up at the Ocular, looked at them carefully, really seeing them clearly for the first time. Gorsham was hardly an expert on Ocu
lar, but as he studied their demeanor, their attitude, their general appearance, the truth began to dawn upon him.

  “Children,” he muttered.

  His lieutenant looked at him. “What?”

  Gorsham spoke louder and with greater irritation. “They’re gods damned children!”

  “Children or not,” said the taunting female, “we’re still more than enough to dispatch the lot of you!”

  He wasn’t entirely sure she was wrong. Nevertheless the situation required that he keep up a bellicose attitude. Keeping his sword at the ready, he called up to her, “Go home, children! Go home to your parents and stop wasting our time!”

  “We have no home.” It was another who had spoken, another female, smaller than the first one and with a mournful sound in her voice. “We have no parents.”

  “That is none of our concern!” Then Gorsham paused a moment and, his voice a bit softer, he said, “What do you mean, you have no parents? If you have no parents, who do you have?”

  Every single one of the Ocular pointed toward the far end of the bridge.

  For a moment Gorsham thought, Don’t look! It’s a trick! But just as quickly he dismissed the idea as ludicrous and looked where the female was pointing.

  At first he didn’t quite understand what it was that he was seeing. Then he stared at it some more and he still didn’t comprehend it.

  There was a male Ocular standing at the far end of the bridge, and he appeared to have someone riding on his back. The one-eyed giant stared unblinkingly at him, and then whoever it was upon him slid off and dropped lightly onto the ground. It was impossible to determine whether it was male or female. The figure, though, was definitely not an Ocular. The proportions were completely wrong. It was cloaked and hooded, and as it approached the Mandraques it didn’t see to walk so much as glide. There were nervous glances among Gorsham and his fellows as the same thought occurred to all of them: Traveler? But that didn’t seem to make much sense. What would a Traveler be doing with a small army of young Ocular? Then again, what were they doing so far away from normal Ocular territory in the first place?

  Gorsham’s nostrils flared as he tried to pick up a scent from the oncoming figure. He didn’t quite understand what he was perceiving. It smelled like…dirt. And blood. And death.

  The figure came within a few feet of him and then stopped. It pulled the hood back and Gorsham couldn’t believe what he was staring at. “Are you…?”

  “A Piri. Yes.”

  “And these are what?” he said disdainfully. “Your meals on legs?”

  “They are my...” She seemed to be seeking a proper word and then shrugged. “My charges, I suppose.”

  “You,” and his face twisted in disgust as he stepped closer to her, “are a Piri. You are little more than an animal. Speak truly: What are you doing with these children, and what is your business here?”

  “My business here,” she said, “is that we seek sanctuary.”

  Gorsham looked at the others for a moment and then, almost as one, they burst out laughing.

  The female who had so cavalierly dispatched Gorsham said angrily, “Stop laughing! Stop laughing at us!”

  Managing with effort to gain control of himself, Gorsham finally said, “You cannot be serious, child.”

  “We are deathly serious, and my name is not ‘child.’ I am Berola and on behalf of myself, Clarinda, and these, the last of the Ocular, we demand sanctuary as guaranteed by the Firedraques for those in need of the protection of Perriz.”

  “Last of the Ocular?” the lieutenant said, looking with astonishment at Gorsham.

  Gorsham was no less flabbergasted. “The last? What the hell happened?”

  “We will tell you once we have been granted sanctuary.”

  All eyes were upon Gorsham. His mind was racing. The fact was that the Ocular bitch was right. It was known far and wide that the Firedraques, in an attempt to bring life and vitality to Perriz, had made the city available for any seeking sanctuary, ranging from the politically estranged to victims of wars. Thus far no one had taken advantage of it, because that was simply not the way the Twelve Races operated. Aside from the mixing of Firedraques and Mandraques—not unusual since they were basically two branches of the same tribe—the various races stayed to themselves. As for victims of war, most of them tended to be extremely dead and thus not much in need of sanctuary. So although there was indeed precedent for the request, the action itself was unprecedented. The Mandraques patrolled the borders to keep invaders out; not those seeking help.

  Gorsham’s instinct was to prevent them from entering Perriz, feeling it to be some sort of ruse under the guise of a sanctuary request. But he didn’t have the authority to make that decision, to fly in the face of stated Firedraque policy. Besides, the Ocular weren’t typically that interested in conquest these days. Not with that simpering fool Nagel in charge. Except Nagel was mostly interested in finding ways to battle the Piri, and yet here was a Piri leading them.

  “Are you saying Nagel is dead?”

  There were sullen nods from the Ocular.

  Gorsham scratched his throat thoughtfully while his tail twitched. Finally he said, “Very well. Sanctuary is granted for the Ocular…but not,” he continued, pointing at Clarinda, “for you.”

  “What?” said Berola. There were angry murmurs from the rest of the Ocular. The only one who did not react was the Piri, except to cock one pale eyebrow and smile as if she were not the least surprised.

  “Sanctuary is intended for true beings. Not parasites.”

  “She is not a parasite,” said Berola heatedly. “She is our friend.”

  “She is an animal. She will turn on you sooner or later.” He pointed at her with his sword. “She cannot help it. It is her nature. Whatever you think her motives are…however you may think she is trying to help you…I assure you, she has her own agenda. She may well be a scout for a possible invasion force.”

  “My understanding is that scouts generally try to obscure their presence,” said Berola, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “They do not generally walk right in and make their presence known.”

  “A spy then. She’s likely a spy.”

  “Is that not a determination for the Firedraques to make? It is, after all, their policy. Their city. Not your city. But I forgot: Mandraques don’t have a central city. You’re all nomads because anyplace you settle tends to get destroyed in your endless wars. Some of you serve as bondsmen to the Firedraques, but the rest of you are doubtless out on the plains trying to kill each other yet again.”

  “You,” he said to Berola, “know a great deal for someone who knows nothing at all.”

  And then the Piri, the one named Clarinda—a revelation surprising in and of itself since Gorsham had never given thought to whether the Piri even had names—said softly, “Berola, it’s all right. I’ll leave.”

  “What?” Berola looked stunned, and protests began to well up from the other Ocular.

  She put up her hands and they were instantly silenced by the gesture. “Listen to me,” she said. “He is right.” She spoke over the immediate tumult. “He is right. When first I encountered you, my concern was solely for my well-being. Not for yours. For mine. It is my nature to take without any thought of giving. I saw you purely as bodies to shield me against others of my kind.”

  “And we did,” spoke up one of the males, the one who had been carrying her. “And it felt good to do so. It felt as if we were accomplishing something.” He thudded his fist into his open palm. “Whatever your motivations, you helped us.”

  “Merely as a byproduct. I did not truly care about you. Only about how you could best serve me.” She let out an unsteady sigh. “But you are children. For all your strength, for all your size, for all your bravery…you are children. And children…” She hesitated and then her voice dropped even more, so soft that the Mandraques could scarcely hear her. “Children should be protected.”

  Gorsham was paying less attention to her words, th
ough, than he was to her right hand. Without even thinking about it—without even being aware of it, apparently—her hand had drifted to her stomach and rested there for just a second. Her fingertips momentarily brushed against her belly, and then her hand dropped away.

  And Gorsham knew. He knew the gesture all too well.

  “Children,” Clarinda said, “should not have to live…the way I’m going to have to live. I should not have made you a part of it. It was wrong of me. I did not realize that at the time, or if I did, I managed to rationalize it in my own mind. Now, though, faced with the prospect of you having genuine security, as opposed to the illusion of it that I offered you…there really is no choice to be made. This, my children, is where we part company.”

  She drew up her hood, obscuring her face, and turned away from them. Some of them began to protest, particularly the younger ones, but she again raised her hand preemptively and they lapsed into silence once more. Clarinda reached the far end of the bridge and kept walking without looking back.

  Berola cast a defiant glare at Gorsham and then with no hesitation, followed her. Clarinda stopped, turned to face her and said, “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Going with you.”

  “The hell you are. You’re staying here.”

  She drew herself up, emphasizing the size disparity. “Make me.”

  Clarinda looked as if she were about to argue, and then moaned and shook her head. “Do as you will.” She continued to walk and Berola followed her.

  Then the male who she had been riding fell into step behind the two of them. Then another Ocular, and another, and within moments the entirety of the group was walking away.

  The Mandraques stared at each other with undisguised amusement and a measure of relief. “Well,” said the lieutenant, “that takes care of that. The last thing we needed is—”