Guardians of the Lost

by Margaret Weis

  He didn’t care. He would die soon. The other taan would kill him. He was only surprised they hadn’t done so already and then it occurred to him that they were probably waiting to torture him to death for this crime.

  He shrugged. Only one thing mattered to him at this moment. Raising his bloody hands into the air, Raven reared back his head and gave a Trevenici victory yell—the howl of a coyote over a kill.

  Raven had never before known such elation, such satisfaction. His howl died away. His shoulders sagged. He slumped over the body of his dead foe and then toppled sideways, unconscious.

  Dur-zor dropped her kep-ker and bent over Raven. Placing her finger to his neck, she checked for the pulse, then looked up and announced proudly, “The beat is strong. He lives.”

  The taan looked at each other, then looked at the Vrykyl. No one was sure what to do. The taan warriors applauded Raven’s courage and tenacity. They were impressed with the kill. But he was a slave, a slave who had dared raise hands against his master and, no matter how courageous, he must be punished. Normally the taan would have tortured him for days, as an example to other slaves, before they finally allowed him to die. After that, they would have done him the honor of eating his flesh, even fought over who got to devour his heart. Now the taan looked to the Vrykyl, grateful to him for having provided them with this show, but uncertain how he wanted them to proceed.

  The Vrykyl’s name was K’let, the most powerful of the taan Vrykyl, and the most revered. K’let left his hilltop. Accompanied by his bodyguards—immense taan, accoutered in rich armor—the Vrykyl walked among the taan, who parted at his coming. Many of his followers reached out to touch him as he passed. The Vrykyl’s bodyguard was in truth an honor guard, for no taan, not even his enemies, would dare harm him, nor was it likely any taan could. The taan of Dag-ruk’s tribe drew back as he approached, watching K’let with respect, but also distrust.

  K’let stood over Raven, looked down upon the unconscious, bloodsmeared human, who still wore the iron collar of a slave. His chain was now anchored to a corpse.

  “This human has the heart of a taan,” K’let announced and the other taan clicked their tongues against the roofs of their mouth in agreement. “He is strong food,” K’let continued. “I myself would be honored to dine on his flesh.”

  The other taan concurred, some thumping their weapons against the ground or tapping them on their breastplates.

  “I have known only one other human this strong,” K’let said. “Dagnarus.”

  The taan who followed K’let grinned at each other. The taan who followed Dag-ruk fell silent, stood frowning. Dagnarus was not a human. He was a god who, for some strange reason, chose to take human form.

  “Yes, I say Dagnarus is human,” said K’let. He wore a dark helm that was the face of a ferocious, grimacing taan frozen in black metal, and he turned that fearsome visage to stare at the warriors of Dag-ruk’s tribe. “I know that he is human. I was with him from the beginning. This is what I was then.”

  The Vrykyl armor dissolved. In its place stood a taan. He was tall and muscular, his body was covered with the scars of many battles. His hide was not the brown color of the hides of the other taan. K’let’s hide was white. His hair was white, his eyes were brilliant red. None of the taan were surprised by this transformation. They all knew K’let’s story, for his story was their god’s story. Taan loved this tale, however, and had no objection to hearing it again.

  “I was born with white skin, a shame to my parents. The tribe shunned me, threatened many times to cast me out. Then Dagnarus came among us. He was a human, but he was powerful. The most powerful human any of us had ever known. He fought and killed the nizam of our tribe. We did him honor and said that he would be our nizam. Dagnarus refused. He announced he would hold a contest to choose a new nizam. In those days, we fought to the death for the right to be leader. Not like these days, when the taan have grown weak.”

  K’let glared around, his eyes flaring. Some of the taan lowered their heads, but others—Dag-ruk among them—faced him defiantly.

  “I went to Dagnarus,” K’let continued. “I honored him then as did all the rest of the taan. I told him that I would take him for my god if he would grant me the strength to win the contest. He agreed, providing that I would agree to surrender my life to him any time he chose. I made the bargain. I won the contest. I defeated the other taan. I accepted Dagnarus as my god. I walked at his side as we traveled through our land, converting other tribes of taan to his worship. I fought at his side to prove our worth to the nizam of these other tribes. I helped convince the taan to choose Dagnarus as their god. I came with him to his world, to fight his battles. When he called upon me to fulfill my promise, I gave Dagnarus my life. He made me a Vrykyl.

  “It was then, when the Void had taken me, that I saw Dagnarus for what he truly is. A human. A powerful human, a human who has been chosen by the Void, but a human all the same. In that moment, I knew myself to be more powerful than Dagnarus and in that moment, I knew he was not a god.”

  His followers lifted their voices, cried out K’let’s name. Some of Dag-ruk’s people looked uncertain and cast side-long glances at each other. Dag-ruk glowered around at them, said something to the shaman, R’lt, who lowered his eyes and shook his head. Dag-ruk looked troubled.

  “Through the magic of the blood knife, Dagnarus felt my doubt,” K’let continued. “He intended to prove to me that he was my master. He would make me see that I had no choice but to obey him, for he bound me to him by the Dagger of the Vrykyl. He ordered me to kill my mate, Y’ftil, and to feast upon her soul, depriving her of the chance to fight the final battle of the Gods War. The knife was in my hand. I saw my hand lift, I saw my feet carry my unwilling body toward Y’ftil. Dagnarus’s will forced me on. My will fought against him in a struggle very much like the one we have witnessed this day, for we, too, were chained together, except that our chains were forged of the Void.

  “I won,” said K’let and his voice resounded in the sudden silence. “I defeated Dagnarus. I took the knife that he would have made me use on Y’ftil and I plunged it into the throat of one of his shaman. Then it was that I knelt before Dagnarus and I swore to him an oath of loyalty, not because I was forced to swear, but because I believed in his cause. I swore to follow him, so long as he treated the taan with honor. He promised me that he would give the taan this fat world with its forests and plentiful water to be our world. He promised me that we would feast on its people and have many slaves. He promised me the wealth of this world, its steel and its silver and its gold, its jewels to put into our bodies to give us strength.”

  K’let paused. The taan murmured agreement. All knew that Dagnarus had made such promises.

  “One by one,” K’let said, his voice quivering with anger, “Dagnarus broke his promises.”

  K’let jabbed a finger at the slaves. “Are you permitted to keep these strong slaves for your own use? No, you are not. You must give them to Dagnarus.” He jabbed another finger at Dur-zor, who shrank back from him. “Are you permitted to destroy these abominations? No, we are forced to tolerate their kind among us. Are you permitted to fight to the death to choose your leaders? No, your leaders are now chosen for you. Are we permitted to worship the old gods, the gods who brought the taan to the world and gave us life? No, we are told that those gods are false gods and that this human is the only god. Are we permitted to return to our homeland? No, we are not. The Portal that would take us back to our world is guarded day and night. Those taan who try to re-enter it are put to death.

  “Has Dagnarus kept his promise and given us this land for our own? No, we must fight yet another battle for him and yet another battle after that.”

  Dag-ruk stirred and then raised her voice defiantly, “Does Dagnarus care for the taan? Yes, he does!”

  “No, he does not!” K’let thundered. “And I will prove it to you. He sent some of our people south to a land called Karnu, there to battle humans and seize a mag
ical Portal. Our numbers were small, for Dagnarus told us that these humans were weak and that they would run before us like panicked rabbits. That was a lie. These humans proved to be strong like this one.” He pointed at the unconscious Raven. “They had hearts like taan and fought like taan. We died on the field of battle and still we could not prevail against them. Our leaders went to Dagnarus and told him that the taan could defeat these humans, but only if he sent us more troops.

  “His answer was no.”

  A silence fell that was thick, profound. The taan did not move, but stood rigid, staring.

  “Dagnarus refused to send reinforcements. He said that he needed the troops for a more important battle, a battle in the land of the gdsr.”

  The taan scowled. The “gdsr” were elves, a people known to be weaker than humans, a people of no value whatsoever. If the taan capture an elf, they pull off his arms and legs, like an insect.

  “Dagnarus said that our taan in the human land were on their own, must fend for themselves. They must stay and fight and either conquer or die.”

  Dag-ruk kept her unwavering gaze fixed on the Vrykyl, but all could see that doubt was upon her. R’lt, the shaman, began talking to her, whispering in her ear.

  “It was then I told Dagnarus that if he was not loyal to the taan, I did not consider myself bound to be loyal to him. He laughed at me and said that I had no choice. I had defied him once, but he was stronger now. I dare not defy him again. He would destroy me.”

  K’let spread his arms. He raised his voice to the heavens and shouted, “Iltshuzz, god of creation, be my witness! I stand here before you unhurt, unharmed. Dagnarus could not carry out his threat. He tried, but I was too powerful. I turned from him and left him. Now I fight my own war in this land. I fight a war to free the taan. I fight to return the taan to the worship of the old gods. I fight a war against this human who dares to claim that he is a god.”

  “If you are so powerful, K’let,” Dag-ruk said, shoving aside the warding hand of the shaman, “why did you not slay Dagnarus?”

  K’let lowered his arms. He shifted his gaze from the heavens back to Dag-ruk. “A fair question, warrior. I can see why you are huntmaster.”

  Dag-ruk gave an abrupt nod to acknowledge this, but she was not to be ignored.

  “Your answer?” she said insistently, if respectfully.

  “Dagnarus is not a god. He is human, he is mortal, but he has many lives, lives piled on top of lives. Every life he takes through the power of the Dagger of the Vrykyl increases the span of his mortality. I could not kill him once. I would have to kill him many times over. He fears me. He keeps himself constantly surrounded by other Vrykyl, those who are still bound to him. I am the only one thus far who has managed to break away from his control. My time is not yet. It is coming, but it is not now.”

  Dag-ruk thought this over, made no comment one way or the other.

  K’let abandoned the illusion of himself as he had been. Once more, he stood before them in his black armor. A powerful force, he looked around at his people. “It is wrong for us to kill each other. The blood of many fine warriors has been spilled in this battle and I am sorry for that. I am pleased I had this chance to speak to you. I ask you to put down your weapons and join me. For a time, we must continue to remain in this land, but I vow to you that the day will come when I will lead us back to our home. Back to the land you never knew, back to the true gods. Those who are willing to swear an oath of allegiance to me lay down their arms. Show your loyalty by handing over your slaves and by killing the abominations, those known as half-taan. If you choose not to join me, we will fight you in fair battle. I give you time to spend with your huntmaster to consider what you will do.”

  K’let turned back to look at Raven, who was starting to stir. “As for this human, I am pleased with him. I will take him as a member of my bodyguard. He is to be treated with all honor. You”—he motioned to Dur-zor—“tell him what I have said.”

  Dur-zor knelt down beside Raven, helped him to sit up. He blinked, trying to see what was going on. One eye was gummed by dried blood and the other was swelling and starting to turn purple.

  “I’m not dead,” he said thickly, leaning weakly against her.

  “No, you are not. You have been greatly honored,” said Dur-zor and told him of K’let’s command.

  “Huh?” Raven had trouble understanding. “Who is K’let?”

  Gritting his teeth against the pain the movement caused him, Raven looked up at the Vrykyl. The image took him back to the hideous black armor, that nightmare ride.

  “No!” Raven cried, shuddering with horror. “No! I won’t.”

  “You do not know what you’re saying!” Dur-zor pleaded with him, aware of K’let watching them intently. “You must do this or he will slay you. Your death will be a terrible one, for your refusal will be an insult to him.”

  “I would rather die!” Raven mumbled through bruised and bloody lips.

  “Would you?” Dur-zor asked, smiling, though her lips trembled. As one of the abominations, she knew her own death was not far off. “You did not fight Qu-tok like a man who wants to die. You fought to live.”

  “I fought to kill,” said Raven. “There’s a difference.”

  “And it was K’let who gave you the chance,” said Dur-zor. “Do you think Qu-tok’s fellow warriors would have permitted a slave to fight him in honorable contest? They were ready to kill you, but K’let ordered them to let you fight.”

  “He did?” Raven looked up at the Vrykyl. Unable to stand the sight of the grotesque creature, he hastily averted his eyes.

  “You owe him Qu-tok’s death,” said Dur-zor. “Sit up so that I can see your shoulder wound.”

  Raven groaned. His head hurt. His shoulder was on fire. One of the taan shamans, after a glance at K’let, came forward and held out something in his hand to Raven.

  “What’s that?” Raven looked at it suspiciously.

  “Tree bark,” said Dur-zor. “It will ease your pain.”

  Taking some of the bark, Raven put it into his mouth, chewed down on it. The taste was bitter, but not unpleasant. He tried to clear his thoughts. Dur-zor’s logic cut knife-like through the weariness and the pain. You fought to live. Apparently he wasn’t as ready to die as he’d supposed.

  “I’ll do whatever he wants,” Raven said and sucked in a sharp breath, for Dur-zor was examining the wound on his back, probing at it with her fingers.

  “The blade slashed across the bone,” she said, “but the bleeding has stopped. The wound will heal and leave you a fine scar.”

  Raven started to nod his head, thought better of it.

  “I owe you something, Dur-zor,” he said, chewing bark. “I owe you more than I owe that…K’let.”

  Taking hold of his hand, she began examining his mangled fingers. “Keep your voice down,” she whispered.

  “Why? K’let is a taan. He doesn’t understand what we’re saying.”

  Dur-zor slid the Vrykyl a sidelong glance. “I think perhaps he does. He has been around humans for a long, long time. K’let was once the favorite of our god.”

  Her voice held sadness in it, a sorrow Raven didn’t understand. She lowered her head back to her task.

  “I owe you, Dur-zor,” Raven repeated earnestly. “I saw you kill that taan. If you hadn’t stepped in, I’d be dead and Qu-tok would be munching on my toes.”

  He hoped this would win him a smile, but Dur-zor kept her head lowered so that he could not see her face.

  “You fought well today, Dur-zor. You are a true warrior. No one can say otherwise.”

  She looked up at him and he saw that this had pleased her. “I know. I am glad.” Slowly, carefully, so as not to hurt him further, she released his hands. “I do not think there is any serious damage, but you must watch to make sure that you do not fall ill with the stinking sickness.”

  By that, Raven understood her to mean gangrene. “If you fetch me some water, I’ll wash the wounds. Dur-zor, what’s
wrong?”

  “I might not be permitted to go fetch water for you,” Dur-zor said quietly. “Things have changed. Look around.”

  Recalling that the taan had been in the midst of a pitched battle, Raven noted for the first time that the fighting had stopped. He wondered what had happened. Dag-ruk stood talking to her warriors, who were gathered around her and the shaman R’lt. They appeared to be in heated argument, yelling at each other and gesticulating wildly. The other taan, the enemy, tended to wounded, cleaned their weapons or picked their teeth. The slaves sat watching the taan warily, cognizant that their fate hung in the balance, not certain how or why. The half-taan had been herded together, were being guarded by the enemy taan.

  “There seems to be more talking than fighting. Is this how the taan always conduct battle?” Raven asked.

  “K’let asked our tribe to join the rebels,” Dur-zor answered. “They are considering it. R’lt is in favor. Dag-ruk leans in that direction. Some of the warriors argue against it, but if Dag-ruk makes up her mind, that will be the end of it. They can either join or leave the tribe.”

  She rose to her feet, looked down at Raven. “I will ask if they will let me bring you water. If not…” She was quiet a moment, then she smiled, straightened her shoulders. “I was a warrior,” she said proudly. “A good one. Our god will be pleased with me. He will take my soul into his army.”

  “What are you talking about?” Raven stood up. He felt better, seemed to be able to think more clearly, although there was a strange humming in his ears. The pain had been reduced to a dull ache now, with the occasional flash. “Taking your soul. What does that mean?”

  “If Dag-ruk joins with the rebel taan, K’let has ordered that all half-taan be killed. We are abominations. We do not deserve to live.”

  Raven stared at her. She spoke calmly, matter-of-factly, as if she believed this herself.

  “What? No! This is crazy!” He glanced groggily about. “Who do I talk to? K’let? All right, I’ll talk to K’let.” Reaching out with his bloody hand, he seized hold of her wrist. “Come with me.”