by C. Greenwood
But I knew him well enough to know he was merely being the typical Red Hand and playing to his audience. He didn’t especially care one way or another about my return. It surprised me, the twinge of disappointment I felt at that knowledge. I’d been away for a while, but things hadn’t changed much here in Dimming. I had only been home for a few hours, and I was already slipping back into my old role as the hopeful hound, eager for my captain’s approval.
Later that night, as we all sat around the campfire, the old story was repeated among the outlaws of the time Terrac and I outsmarted the Fists and stole Brig’s corpse from under their noses. I listened with amusement to the embellished details of my heroism, but at the same time, was newly struck by the strangeness of the fact that my sole claim to affection among these people lay in the snatching of a dead body. I thought at this rate I’d have to steal a new corpse every year to keep up my popularity.
But despite this turn to my thoughts, it was good to be back among my people again.
There were four in particular, who kept close to me that evening: Dradac, Javen, Kipp, and Nib. The others were expected, but Nib’s welcome was a surprise, since he had never had any special fondness for me before. Then I remembered that incident a few years ago when we had shared the burden of keeping Terrac alive. Maybe that occasion had formed something of an interest, if not exactly a friendship, between us.
At one point during the night, Rideon joined us at the fire, and after a time, I built up my nerve sufficiently to approach him. I told him quietly about the events I had witnessed and taken part in during the attack on Hammond’s Bend. He listened in silence, his only reaction coming when I told how we had sought unsuccessfully to track the invaders back to their lair. I hesitated over the part about the ring in the ground and its magical barrier, because I didn’t know how to explain my sense of the magic without admitting myself to be a user of it—something I would never willingly confess before so many.
But it didn’t matter because Rideon didn’t give me time to get that far.
I looked up to find his face darkening at my telling.
“You attempted to follow them?” he demanded, “Without sending word to me? Without awaiting my orders?”
The response wasn’t what I had anticipated, and I was startled that his anger seemed directed at me, rather than the murderous attackers.
“Yes,” I admitted. “I thought you’d want to know all that could be learned of the invaders. I did what I thought you would have done under the same circumstances. ”
He waved a hand, giving me permission to continue, and I did so, although there wasn’t much left to tell. I concluded by explaining that I had brought the information to him as soon as possible.
When I had finished my tale, he said, “And do you imagine this attack you bring word of is news to me, Hound? Did you think anything of consequence could occur in Dimming, and I remain ignorant of it? Our scouts range wider than they once did now that the Fists are a strong presence in our territory. The discovery of Red Rock and Mole Hill last summer taught us a hard lesson. We paid a heavy price for allowing ourselves to go uninformed, and it’s a mistake I don’t intend to make again.”
“Then you also know about the executions at Hammond’s Bend?” I asked.
“No great surprise there,” he said. “The woods villagers grew careless. Someone talked too much and many suffered for the mistake.”
I was disturbed at what little effect their deaths seemed to have had on him. After all, those people had died because of their involvement with us. But it was his lack of interest in the mysterious raid that most took me by surprise.
“What plans are being made to defend against future attacks?” I asked.
“None. I know something of these strange invaders and don’t believe they’re any threat to our band. Let them pillage a few of the forest settlements until they’ve lost their blood-lust and spent their resources. Soon enough they’ll satisfy themselves and go back to where they came from. The band will keep out of their path in the meantime and let the Fists deal with them.”
I said, “How can you be so certain the attacks will end? Surely what affects the wood villages will eventually affect all of us.”
He looked scornful. “I tell you I’ve looked into it and am fully capable of handling the situation. Trust your captain, Hound. I know what we’re dealing with.”
But did he, I wondered. Did he really? Perhaps I had been away from home too long because suddenly I found it hard to find the unquestioning faith I had once stored in Rideon. It was all very well for him to tell me to trust him, but he hadn’t been the one caught up in the attack at Hammond’s Bend. He hadn’t watched the villagers’ deaths and witnessed the fierceness of the enemy.
But I tried to quash my doubts. Hadn’t the Hand taken care of us this many years?
Maybe he saw the emotions crossing my face as I wrestled with old allegiances and new questions, because he rested a firm hand on my shoulder, the first time I ever remembered him doing such a thing.
I barely refrained from flinching. The friendly gesture seemed so unnatural from this man who had always stood alone and above the pack, above this little dog most especially, that I was taken aback.
His smile was like a dash of cold water. “Talk to Ada, the newest member of our band,” he said. “She can explain a few things to you and maybe you’ll trust her, a stranger, where you no longer believe in your captain.”
Shortly afterward, I did seek out this mysterious Ada person, but she seemed to have vanished, and no one could tell me where to find her.
That night, I bedded down along with dozens of others within the main cave of the Cradle. This den was larger than that at Red Rock. We all had more space to spread out, but I regretted not having my private cubby as I had in our old lair. I missed the roar of the rushing waters that used to echo above me while I slept.
* * *
Sometime during the restless night I awoke and left my blankets. I tread carefully over the darkened forms sleeping around me to slip out the mouth of the cave. Seeking fresh air and solitude, I clambered up a pile of boulders along the side of the cave, until I stood atop the hill of rock.
Here I settled down to lie on my back and look up at the stars. This was one of the few places in Dimmingwood that was high enough above the treetops to afford a broad view of open sky. I closed my eyes and reveled in the sounds and scents that meant home to me. The smell of wood-smoke left over from our smoldering campfire drifted on the wind and mingled with the nearly overpowering scent of pine and elder trees. From this height, I could only distantly hear the singing of the crickets and the chorus of the tree frogs below, but the rustle of the treetops in the soft night breeze still made its way to my ears.
Unthinkingly, I cast out my talent around me like a web, savoring the familiar presences below. Dradac was moving around down there, possibly on his way out to relieve one of the sentries. Rideon felt quiet, probably sleeping. It was the same with Kipp and Illsman. And there was Kinsley. In my mind’s eye, I could envision him curled directly beneath me. With the reassurance of so many friends at hand, my restless thoughts grew quiet, and I felt myself drifting toward sleep.
A stealthy footfall crunched on the gravel behind me. I didn’t need to sit up or open my eyes. I asked, “Are you the new member? The one called Ada?”
I felt her brief hesitation in the silence before she came to join me. “How did you know?” she asked.
I shrugged, unwilling to explain that hers was the only unfamiliar presence I sensed in the camp.
“Practice,” I said, as if that explanation made any sense. “What brings you up here? Couldn’t sleep down there with the crowd?”
“No. Kinsley and Lanigan snore like pigs. Anyway, Rideon told me you had questions about the strangers that have been raiding the woods villages. This information isn’t to go beyond you and me, as Rideon says there’s no sense in stirring up the men. But he thinks it can do no harm for you to know.�
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Giving up thoughts of sleep, I rolled over and sat up. I was surprised when I caught my first look at the female outlaw. In the moonlight her skin glowed white, even paler than mine. Her silvery hair was tinted blue. I knew at a glance she wasn’t one of the interbred domesticated Skeltai descendents like my family and I. She was the real thing.
I should have been the last person to stare, but this was the first time I’d come face to face with one of my cousins from across the Provincial border.
“You needn’t look at me like that,” she said wryly. “I won’t skin and devour you. I’ve lived in the Provinces most of my life and am fairly civilized.”
“Of course,” I said, although I had no idea whether I believed her. Just being this close to a pure-blooded Skeltai savage was unsettling. Remembering Hadrian’s theory that the race had a stronger strain of magic than most, I had many questions for her. But none of them were the sort of thing you asked someone on your first meeting.
Instead, I said, “I don’t understand. If you’re one of the sav—uh, if you’re one of them— how did you come to be this side of the border? Everybody knows Skeltai don’t leave their lands and haven’t for a hundred years or more.”
“Everybody are idiots,” she said. “Half the things they say of us aren’t true and I should know. I was born and raised in the Black Forest edging Dimming, just along the provincial border. Actually, it’s also the kingdom border—”
“I know my geography,” I interrupted.
She ignored me and went on. “When I was a wee one, my family used to attend the blood rites on Sacrificial Night. Of course that wasn’t what we called them over there. In our tongue it would be the barra-clease on Sagara-Nouri.”
Even knowing how closely she was watching me, I couldn’t repress a shudder at mention of the famously gruesome festivals of our heathen neighbors.
Ada continued. “I didn’t like it much, all that killing just for the sake of killing, and against prisoners who had no sporting chance. Guess cruelty’s not too thick in my blood. Anyway, at some point I came to an age where I thought to myself, if I’m going to spend my life slaughtering strangers, I might at least be making a profit of it. My Meherra—that’s mother—wanted me to be a Moondancer, to spend the seasons in worship at the temple. But that idea didn’t suit me much. Even at a young age, I realized I didn’t believe in the Skeltai gods and had no taste for the killing they were supposed to delight in.”
She paused thoughtfully. “I met a dark-skinned trader from the Provinces, who taught me the ways and language of his people. He persuaded me to leave behind the magic and rituals of my race.”
I sat up straighter. “Did you say magic?”
She eyed me thoughtfully. “That’s right. The Skeltai are powerful in the dark arts and incorporate their uses into most aspects of life.”
“I know that,” I lied. “Tell me more about the magic of your people.”
She snorted. “They’re not my people. I left that life behind when I was scarcely more than a child, running away from my family and crossing over into the provinces. This is home to me now.”
“Yes, all right,” I agreed impatiently. “But explain the Skeltai magic to me.”
“There’s little to tell beyond rituals and sacrifices, spells and incantations. You know the foolish things superstitious people will believe in. If you wring a chicken’s neck over your grandmother’s grave on seventh night, she’ll awake to tell you secrets from beyond…”
“Does that really work?” I asked eagerly.
“No.” She looked at me as if I were a simple. “I was just giving an example. But truly, you’ve come to the wrong person to learn anything about Skeltai magic. My Meherra’s second brother was a Sageuon, a shaman, of my tribe, but I only journeyed to the temple once a year for Sagara Nouri. I was too young then to pay attention to anything but the blood. I was clumsy and fumble-witted throughout my youth, and my family gave up attempting to teach me even small magic spells early on. Maybe that figured into my decision to leave …”
She trailed off for a moment as if lost in the memories and then shook herself before asking, “Can you guess how I’m familiar with the invaders?”
“Because they’re Skeltai war parties?”
It would explain a lot, not least of which was how the invading warriors managed to create a magic circle to transport them away from Hammond’s Bend.
But I kept some of these thoughts to myself. I couldn’t have her asking how I recognized that the circle was magic. I wasn’t prepared to admit my experience on the subject, not even to someone who confessed to being a full-blooded Skeltai.
What I did say was, “Rideon is convinced the Skeltai raiders are no threat to the outlaws. He thinks they’ll attack the villages for a while, grow bored of the slaughter, and go home. Do you think that’ll happen?”
She snorted. “Of course not. Why should they stop at the raiding of a few villages when there’s no one fighting them back? It’s too easy. Anyway, Skeltai never tire of bloodshed. Rideon doesn’t know of what he speaks
I checked the defense that nearly leapt to my lips. Old habit prompted me to defend the Hand but even I had to admit his thinking seemed irrational.
I said, “What do you think they’re after, these Skeltai? There was no looting at Hammond’s Bend. They came out of nowhere and left as suddenly as they appeared. We looked over every cabin afterwards and not so much as a spoon was taken. It really seemed like their only intention was to create havoc, murder a number of people, and run off with a handful of others as captives. What was their aim?”
“You have said it,” she answered. “To steal away the villagers. At least, that’s what I believe, although I’ve never known them to reach so far for their captives. I remember stories my Meherra used to frighten me with as a child. Threats of how the Sageuon would send their warriors out to snatch up evil-doers to sacrifice for the Sagara Nouri.”
“Sacrifices?” I repeated. “You aren’t saying the Skeltai are snatching villagers out of Dimmingwood to use in their bloody rites?”
She shifted uncomfortably. “Sagara Nouri is approaching,” she admitted. “This year the sacrifices have special religious significance, according to the Skeltai calendar. I think that’s why they’re suddenly reaching this far for new victims. They do a series of smaller blood rites in the months building up to the big night.”
I swallowed my disgust. “Why? What started all of this?”
She shrugged. “It could be there’s a drought in the Black Forrest and the people want to appease the gods with fresh blood. Could just be extra rites to mark the death of someone important or the confirmation of a new High Sageuon. We can’t do more than guess.”
I glared into the darkness, remembering the destruction at Hammond’s Bend, thinking of a certain little girl I had buried there, and imagining the fates of the villagers who had been taken for sacrifice.
I said, “If these savages think we’ll allow them to continue snatching our people unopposed, they’ll soon discover otherwise.”
She said, “Maybe we should let the Praetor’s Fists deal with it.”
“The Fists aren’t clever enough to root out a nest of outlaws at their front door,” I pointed out. “I think we can consider any help from them little better than opposition. No, it’s up to us to find a way to push the invaders out.”
“Rideon has forbidden involvement.” She wasn’t protesting, just reminding me.
“Then he’s wrong,” I said, my view of life and the world reordering itself as I spoke the words. “If the Red Hand can’t be made to see the consequences this will have on all of us—”
Ada said, “I’ve tried to talk to him—”
But I didn’t let her finish. “If he won’t interfere in events and refuses to use the strength of the band to defend the wood villagers and keep the Skeltai out of our territory, then I’ll do it without him. No, we will do it without him. I know our men, perhaps better than Rideon himself
knows them. Once they understand what’s happening in Dimmingwood, most will want to step forward and fight to defend what’s ours.”
Ada looked as surprised at my rebellious declaration as I was. But all she said was, “And what of Rideon? What will he do to those who enter the fight against his wishes?”
I considered that. “Maybe he doesn’t have to know. Maybe it doesn’t need to be that kind of a fight.”
“I don’t understand. There’s only one way to go about a war.”
“I’m not so certain. Let me think about it. In the mean time, do me a favor, would you?”
“What?”
“I want a meeting tomorrow night at Horse Head Rock. All the outlaws should know the truth of what’s happening.”
“Rideon ordered secrecy,” she reminded me. “Once you defy him, there’ll be no going back.”
“I’m not going to defy him, not openly anyway. But can I trust you not to tell him what’s passed between us?”
She shrugged. “Why not? Us savages might as well stick together.”
“Don’t say that. I’m no Skeltai. I was born right here in the Province.”
“Say what you will,” she said, “but you’ve my fair hair and skin. Neither of us will ever quite fit in among normal folk.”
“Speak for yourself. As for me, I’m right where I belong. But I’ve been away awhile, while you’ve been here in Dimming. You know the moods of the outlaws these days—who can be trusted and who’ll go running to Rideon.”
I chewed on my thumbnail. “Kinsley’s Rideon’s creature, I know that. Dradac will help us. And Kipp, I think. Maybe Javen…” I let my voice trail off, mentally counting how many supporters I could be certain of.
As if following my thoughts, Ada said, “I think you’ll be disappointed at how few will be prepared to listen to you. Rideon’s followers are loyal.”
“Maybe, but we’ll make do with what we can get.”