Guardians of the Lost

by Margaret Weis

  Dur-zor stared at him blankly, too shocked to respond. When she understood that he truly meant to do what he said, she tried to free herself from his grasp.

  “You are the one who is crazy!” she gasped, pulling and struggling against him.

  He said nothing, but dragged her after him. His legs were weak, he wobbled like a drunkard after a three-day binge. He wasn’t certain what was giving him the courage to face the Vrykyl. Perhaps it was the bark, perhaps it was the fact that he owed Dur-zor his life.

  No, he thought grimly, I owe her more than that. I owe her my sanity. If it hadn’t been for her, I would have gone mad long ago, ended up like that poor woman who drowned herself in the river.

  K’let was at that moment speaking to one of the shamans who made up his retinue. The shaman’s name was Derl and he was the oldest taan then living and one of the most revered. His scars showed he had held his own in battle. Gems of great value and worth were embedded in his hide. He used the power of Void magic to extend his life, although no one was certain how he managed to do so. He was not a Vrykyl, he was a living taan. His hair had turned white, his hide was a dull gray. These and the fact that he moved slowly and deliberately, as if conserving every ounce of his strength, were the only signs that he had been in this world one hundred and fifty years.

  Derl and K’let discussed Raven.

  “Why do you take this human as one of your honored guard?” Derl asked, not bothering to hide his disgust. “True he is courageous and strong—for a human. And I know it amuses you to have a human serve you, as you were once forced to serve a human. Still”—Derl shook his head—“such a vile creature will be more trouble than he’s worth.”

  K’let regarded Derl with patient forbearance. “You do not look past the first bend in the road, my friend. True, the human will be some trouble now, but the day will come when he will serve me with unquestioning obedience. You know of the day I speak, do you not, Derl?”

  The shaman’s face creased into a grin. The grin was slow in coming, for he seemed to move even his face muscles stingily. “The day when the Dagger of the Vrykyl is yours—”

  “I have sworn to Lokmirr, goddess of death, that I will make no taan into a Vrykyl,” said K’let sternly. “Only humans. This one will be my second.”

  “If he is the second, who will be the first?” Derl asked slyly, as if he knew the answer.

  “Who do you think?” K’let asked.

  Derl gave a dry chuckle. “You truly believe that one stab of the Dagger of the Vrykyl will end Dagnarus’s many lives?”

  “I think it is worth a try,” said K’let coolly. “You are a shaman of the Void. You tell me.”

  “I tell you that you are sucking on the bones before your victim is in the pot,” Derl returned. “Dagnarus has the Dagger and he has named you a traitor, to be destroyed on sight.”

  “The day will come when he will rue those words,” said K’let, magnificently unconcerned. “The day will come.”

  Derl bowed his head. “I will this night make an offering to Dekthzar, god of battle and mate to Lokmirr, that he hears your words and grants your prayer. But for now,” Derl added, his cunning eyes shifting to a point behind the Vrykyl, “your pet human comes to speak to you.”

  K’let turned to see the human in the hands of his bodyguards. Raven struggled to free himself, cursed them all roundly. K’let could not speak the human language and he did not want to, for the words had a soft and slimy feel to them. Having been around humans for over two hundred years, K’let had learned to understand the language. He pretended that he did not, for he knew that in their careless arrogance, humans would speak their true thoughts before him.

  “Let me go, you bastards. I’m his bodyguard, same as you. I have something to say,” the human shouted.

  Even as the human struggled with the guards, he kept fast hold of the wrist of one of the half-taan. She looked terrified.

  “He speaks truly,” said K’let. “I have named him one of my bodyguard. Let him approach.”

  The human stumbled forward, dragging the half-taan with him. He still wore the iron collar that marked him a slave and dragged his chain behind him. Raising his eyes to K’let’s face, the human immediately lowered them. A shudder went through his body. He held his ground, though, and spoke with grudging respect.

  “Dur-zor says that you gave me the chance to kill Qu-tok and redeem my honor. For that, I thank you, K’let.” He fumbled at the name.

  K’let nodded and started to turn away. The human had said all that was needful to say or so he thought.

  “Wait, uh…sir,” the human cried.

  Startled, K’let turned back.

  The human stood with his eyes lowered, staring at his feet. “Dur-zor tells me that you say the half-taan are abominations and that you mean to kill them.”

  The human let loose of the half-taan, who flattened herself on the ground.

  K’let pretended not to understand. He ordered the half-taan to translate. She did so in a faint voice, her forehead pressed into the dirt.

  “I think that is a mistake,” said the human doggedly. “Tell him what I said, Dur-zor,” he ordered when the half-taan would not have translated.

  She did so, looking up pleadingly at K’let and cringing, as if begging him to believe that such words were not hers.

  “Ask him why this is a mistake,” K’let said, intrigued.

  “Dur-zor tells me that you are rebelling against this god of yours,” said the human. He swayed where he stood, kept blinking his eyes. “Your army is not very big. You are vastly outnumbered. I would think you would want all the warriors you could get.” He gestured at Dur-zor. “She’s a damn good warrior. Don’t waste her. Let her and the others fight your battle for you. After all, what harm can they do? They can’t breed. They’ll soon die off.”

  The human lifted his head and finally looked K’let straight in the eye. “It seems to me that if you don’t want any more ‘abominations,’ maybe you should tell your people to quit making them.”

  K’let was pleased. He had chosen well. He found this human more amusing than he’d supposed.

  “Have you rutted with him?” he asked Dur-zor.

  Dur-zor was horrified. “Of course not, Kyl-sarnz! He is a slave.”

  “There is something in what he says. Humans are practical-minded, if nothing else. What is this human called?”

  “Ravenstrike, Kyl-sarnz.”

  “He is called after a bird?” K’let was disgusted. “I will never understand humans. Tell this Ravenstrike that I like his suggestion and that I will do as he says. The half-taan will live, provided that they agree to fight for me.”

  “We are honored, Kyl-sarnz,” said Dur-zor.

  “You will make him a good mate. Tell him that.” K’let gestured.

  Dur-zor stared at K’let.

  “Tell him,” said K’let.

  Dur-zor glanced back over her shoulder at Raven. She repeated K’let’s words in a low voice.

  Raven said nothing, his jaw tightened. Then, reaching down, he grabbed hold of Dur-zor’s hand and pulled her to her feet.

  “Thank you, Kyl-sarnz,” said Raven.

  He turned to walk away, but he had not taken more than four steps before his legs buckled and he collapsed onto the ground, out cold. The half-taan glanced worriedly back at K’let, fearing that perhaps this display of weakness might cause the Vrykyl to change his mind.

  K’let waved his hand. He had more important matters to consider than this human. The last K’let saw of the human who was named for a bird, the half-taan was hauling him bodily down the hillside.

  Raven woke with a start to the sound of a sharp metallic clank right in his ear. A firm hand on his shoulder held him down.

  “Don’t move,” said Dur-zor. “We are removing your chains.”

  Raven relaxed. He’d been having terrible dreams and although he could not remember them, the blow of the hammer hitting steel seemed to fit right in. He held still, grit
ting his teeth, while another half-taan struck at the collar with a crude-looking hammer. Raven flinched at every blow, but, fortunately, the task did not take long. The collar fell away and with it, his chains. He sat up slowly, for his head still throbbed, and drew in a deep breath.

  He was no longer a slave.

  Darkness had fallen. He’d slept long. Sparks rose from a campfire in the distance. The sound of hooting and shouting and wild laughter came from the camp. The taan were celebrating, leaping around the fire, waving their weapons.

  “I take it that this means Dag-ruk decided to switch sides?” Raven said. His hand had been cleaned and some sort of gunk smeared on it. His shoulder hurt with every move, as did his head. But he felt good. He could not explain his feelings any way other than that. He felt good.

  “Yes,” Dur-zor was saying. “Dag-ruk was not pleased to hear that our god—” She halted, then said softly, “I must stop calling Dagnarus that. Dag-ruk orders that we are not to think of him that way anymore. She says that we will return to the worship of the old gods. The shaman Derl will teach us of these. I don’t think I will like these taan gods, though. They have no liking for half-taan.”

  “I will teach you of my gods,” said Raven. He watched the sparks dance in the air, swirl up to heaven. “My gods honor brave warriors, no matter what race they belong to.”

  “Truly? Yes, I would like that,” said Dur-zor. “We will keep that secret between us. Dag-ruk was angered to hear that Dagnarus abandoned the taan in the land known as Karnu. She will follow K’let. Our tribe will travel with him.”

  “What about the slaves?” Raven asked, feeling self-conscious. He looked around, but did not see them.

  “K’let’s warriors have taken them to the mines. The reward for them will go to the rebels. We will wait here a few days for the warriors’ return, then we will move on.”

  “Where?”

  Dur-zor shrugged. “Wherever K’let decides.” She glanced side-long at Raven. “Dag-ruk came to visit you while you were unconscious. She said that she would be honored if you stayed with the tribe. She will give you Qu-tok’s tent, his weapons and his place in the inner circle. Will you like that?”

  “Yes, I would like that,” said Raven. “But I am to go off with that…thing. His bodyguard.” He could not repress a shudder.

  “K’let has many bodyguards,” said Dur-zor off-handedly. “You will serve him only when he chooses to send for you. I hope that doesn’t disappoint you?”

  Raven breathed a sigh of relief. “No,” he said heartily. “Not in the least. Did all the warriors decide to go with K’let?”

  “Some of the young warriors did not agree. Dag-ruk told them they could leave, but they could take nothing with them, not even their weapons. And so they left with nothing. Their way will be hard, for as cast-outs they will not be readily accepted by other tribes.”

  They are alone in a strange land, Raven thought to himself. With no clear idea of where they are or how to return to what they had once been. And maybe there is no return. Certainly not now. Perhaps not ever.

  “Raven,” said Dur-zor softly, akin to his thoughts, “you are free. You can escape if you want to. You must not consider yourself bound to stay here because of me.”

  Dur-zor’s gaze went to the fire, to the taan, who were stomping their feet and leaping into the air, to the half-taan, who were bringing the taan food and drink, minding the taan children, assisting the taskers.

  “I could not imagine being a cast-out, leaving my people,” she continued quietly. “That must seem strange to you, considering how we are treated.”

  No, it didn’t. Not right now. Not at this moment. This moment was what mattered. None of those before, none of those that might come after.

  Reaching out, Raven took hold of Dur-zor’s hand and squeezed it tightly.

  “Why do you do that?” Dur-zor asked, puzzled.

  Raven smiled. “Among humans, that is a sign of friendship, of affection.”

  Dur-zor’s forehead crinkled.

  “Affection. Another word I don’t know. What does it mean?”

  Raven glanced over his shoulder, back into the grove of trees. “Come with me,” he said, taking her in his arms, “and I will teach you the definition.”

  “How close are we now?” Ranessa demanded. “Do we have to go through another of those tunnels?”

  “Be patient, Girl,” Wolfram returned irritably. “We’re a damn sight closer than we were a month ago and a whole heck of a lot closer than any other two-legged beast would be at this moment due to these very ‘tunnels’ as you call them. Their true names are Portals and you should be grateful to them instead of spitting on them.”

  “I did not spit on a Portal,” Ranessa stated.

  “You spit on the floor in front,” Wolfram stated accusingly. “It’s the same thing. A fine time I’ll have explaining that away to the monks.”

  “They won’t know!” she scoffed. “How could they?”

  “They have ways,” Wolfram muttered, rubbing the bracelet on his arm.

  Ranessa looked a bit daunted. Following their successful escape from Karfa ’Len, Wolfram had spent much of their journey telling her about the monks of Dragon Mountain. He laid heavy emphasis on the monks’ mysterious ways, their magical powers. He told her of the five dragons who guarded the mountain, a dragon for each of the four elements: earth, air, fire and water, and a dragon for the Void, the absence of all. He told her of the monastery in which the monks lived and of the library where the bodies of the monks were laid to rest and of how scholars came to study at the monastery and nobles and peasants came with questions and how the monks treated all as equals, gave every question serious consideration.

  Wolfram told Ranessa that he worked for the monks, that he was a “purveyor of information” as he was fond of terming it. He had to do this, in order to explain how he came to know about the existence of these Portals and how he and other “purveyors” like him were the only ones who could enter them. If he embellished the truth a bit (describing the monks as such exalted and awful people that the gods themselves might have been leery of approaching them), Wolfram considered these fabrications necessary. First, he hoped that Ranessa might reconsider and decide to forgo the experience and second, if she persisted in her determination to travel to the mountain, he planned to impress upon the unpredictable female the need to behave herself, speak respectfully, and act with decorum.

  A lesser man would have given up, but Wolfram continued to have hope.

  “This is the last Portal we go through,” he added testily, “if that’s any comfort.”

  “It is,” she said.

  “I don’t know what you don’t like about them,” Wolfram grumbled. “Many people find traveling through them to be quite soothing.”

  “I am not many people,” Ranessa returned.

  “There’s a true statement,” Wolfram said beneath his breath.

  “You’re always muttering. I can’t stand it when you do that. What’s the matter now? Have you lost the Portal?”

  “No, I haven’t lost it,” Wolfram retorted, although, in truth, the entrance to the Portal was not where he thought it should be.

  They had made their way across Karnu, covering over one thousand miles in a month. Once they left Karfa ’Len, their journey had been uneventful, for which Wolfram was grateful. They had avoided the southern part of Karnu, said to be overrun by horrible monsters who were trying to seize the Portal. Wolfram’s secret Portal had saved them the perilous journey through the Salud Da-nek Mountains. Two weeks’ hard riding had brought them to yet another secret Portal that had taken them to the Deverel river—the border between Karnu and New Vinnengael. During that time, they had seen not another living soul. Ranessa no longer had the feeling that they were being followed. The Vrykyl had given up the pursuit seemingly. Wolfram was thankful, but he couldn’t help wondering why.

  It was this second Portal that Ranessa had spit upon, drawing down Wolfram’s ire. After
crossing the Deverel river, they traveled another week through the forests of New Vinnengael, hugging the river bank, making their way south. Wolfram searched for the third and final Portal that would carry them to Dragon Mountain.

  During this same time, Ranessa’s brother Raven traveled with the taan and it was on the day previous to this one that he slew Qu-tok. Ranessa’s nephew Jessan and his companions spent this morning journeying to the Tromek Portal in company with Damra. Not that Ranessa was thinking of either her brother or nephew. She had left them behind on the shore of her life, and as her journey carried her forward, they grew smaller and smaller, receding in the distance until now she could no longer see them.

  In her thoughts and in her dreams loomed a mountain, Dragon Mountain. She saw it as a formidable jagged peak, dark and mysterious, silhouetted against the dawn of a purple and gilt-edged sunrise. Every morning she woke expecting to see this vision, and every morning she was disappointed. Bitterly disappointed. Ranessa was always in a bad mood in the mornings.

  Dismounting, Wolfram walked through the forest, searching for the Portal. He had never been inside this one and he went over in his mind the directions the monks had given him. At a sharp bend in the Deverel river, he was to look for the black and white striped rock. Finding the rock, he walked five hundred paces due east as the crow flies to the cave with the pictures. That morning, they had reached a sharp bend in the river and there was the black and white rock—a gigantic boulder that stood on the shoreline.

  Wolfram walked off five hundred paces, counting out loud or trying to, for he had to continually stop to tell Ranessa to shut up, her rambling talk distracted him. Trust the girl to travel in sullen silence for a week and then decide to talk the one time he didn’t want her to. He was almost sure that due to her chatter, he had miscounted, and then there was the fact that he could never remember whether monk paces meant dwarf-sized paces or human-sized paces.

  He came to a halt. This was the place, but where was the cave? He stumbled among the trees, pawed through the brush, prying and poking. The monks said that the entrance was hidden behind a stand of birch and he had yet to come across any birch trees.