The Turner Chronicles Box Set Edition

by Mark Eller

  Slowly, too slowly, Lioth's breathing slowed while others slowly arrived. Han Chuk recovered faster than she. Rising, he began making camp a two full minutes before Lioth felt able to do the same. She rose, giving the creek a longing look, but knew it was too soon after the long run to put water on her stomach. Instead, she reluctantly gathered dry dung for their fire.

  Tired, she dropped several pieces to the ground, straightened, saw Han Chuk's steady gaze regarding her. A half-smile touched the corner of his mouth before he busied himself once more.

  Lioth headed for the creek to slake her thirst. Others were already there. Three warriors kneeled, faces lowered to suck water directly into their mouths. Peering at the other bank, Haldor stood on the raised log.

  Lioth ignored a stone digging into her right shin. Leaning forward over the bank, she buried her face deep into the water, allowing cool freshness to wash back into her hair. The water felt cold, almost too cold. She stopped drinking because she would rather have a little thirst than a belly tied in knots. Head tilted back, the water trapped in her hair ran across her shoulders and back.

  "Haldor!" Val suddenly called out.

  Lioth jerked her head to the side just in time to see Haldor fall. His face struck the log he stood on, and he rolled off it to lay face first in the water with his feet still on the log.

  Lioth leaped up in an instant, but she was too slow. Others stood around Haldor, raising him, looking for wounds. Han Chuk pushed angrily past her just as Cilla emitted a groan and fell.

  "Get back," Han ordered angrily, and the crowd fell away. If asked, Lioth could not have said why she did not do the same. Instead of moving away, she approached the bodies as Han scrutinized Haldor. Glancing at Lioth, he gestured toward Cilla. "Discover what killed her."

  Frowning, Lioth studied the dead woman. Unmindful of those watching, she carefully unclothed her to obtain an unobstructed view of her body. A thorough examination showed a few scratches but no wounds. Cilla's eyes appeared normal for those belonging to someone dead.

  Giving up on the body, Lioth worked her way through the girl's clothing, finding very little of note. She was almost ready to call the task hopeless, but then her fingers scrapped against a hint of something lodged in Cilla's right moccasin where the ball of her foot would land.

  Curious, Lioth went back to the body, placed Cilla's right foot in the river, and brushed water over it until skin showed from beneath the grime. A small speck of roughened black remained.

  Standing erect, Lioth took in the log's surface. Yes, as she had suspected, and this answered the mystery of how so many of her murdered tribe had died without apparent wounds.

  "Poisoned thorns," she told Han Chuk. "Very small. Look here. Only the tip shows above the rough bark."

  Lioth shuddered as Han bent low to examine the log. If he had not stopped her earlier, she would have placed her feet on the log while jumping the creek. It had been the most logical thing to do. In fact, and this thought drew her up, the log's placement seemed almost too logical and convenient.

  Waving everyone to silence, she looked the site over. Too many of the signs were gone. Enemy feet had trampled the area, and the war band had seen no reason to be careful. Still, the log's bark showed signs of having been submerged for a time. This did not surprise her since any wood in the immediate area would have been occasionally flooded by an overflowing creek. But this log was damp on its surface, and the bark was completely missing underneath.

  "This has not been here for long," she finally said. "There's no bark beneath the water, and the bark that shows is wet and spongy. A day is the longest it could have laid here."

  "Would twelve hours be too short a time?" Han Chuk asked.

  "No," she answered slowly, turning her gaze so it momentarily rested on each member of the band. "More likely four hours. The enemy arranged this trap for us." She turned her gaze to Cilla's naked corpse. "A deadly trap."

  "A four hour lead?" Han's voice sounded chill.

  Lioth nodded. "Their lead was longer, but this took time to arrange. In four hours travel we will be out of the flatlands. We should be in the low hills and the brush by then." She did not add their way would be dangerous. The hills and brush would offer the enemy more opportunities to make trouble.

  "We sleep," he ordered. "We start before light, and we will catch them shortly after noon."

  "But we won't be able to see the trail," somebody protested.

  "We won't," Han Chuk agreed. His finger jabbed out. "But she will. She has a magician's eye."

  He looked directly at Lioth. "Sleep," he ordered. "You'll not stand guard tonight. I want you rested."

  "I'll be ready," she promised. "I'll bring you to them."

  "Good," he replied. His face turned sad, pensive. "Or perhaps not. A man shouldn't have to kill his brother."

  * * *

  The stone arched high, reached its zenith, and fell back to the ground. Even the enthusiasm of the throw did not hold enough force to make it reach its intended target. The crowd stood too far back from the factory.

  "Blasphemer," Roger Khante, screamed, enjoying the sound of his voice raised above all others. He chuckled deep inside as he watched the factory workers step out the doors. They lined up, presenting a brave front of desperate people who were too few to save their place of employment.

  Not, Roger noted, that they weren't trying to protect the blasphemer's property, but they were too few. Part of him hoped only a couple would die from this little demonstration. Another part wanted a large body count. As a self-declared philosopher, he was not normally a man of action. He studied the use of words to fire up the masses. Never in his entire life had he pictured himself leading those masses.

  The experience was, he admitted, exciting. Leo, his younger brother, should be here. Leo was much more the physically gifted. He would have appreciated this opportunity. So would Gary.

  "They have weapons!" a woman screeched.

  As indeed they did. The factory workers clenched belt knives and brass pipes in their hands. Their stances were grim, determined. It gave him pleasure to imagine their fear.

  "They defend the blasphemer!" he screamed. Bending, he lifted another stone, a larger one this time. "Death to them all!"

  He was the first to run toward the bearing factory's defenders. His voice cried out, his fist raised the stone high, and his lead was followed by more than a hundred people.

  Roger led the charge, screaming invective with each step until the realization struck he was in the forefront. Ten yards from the factory workers he saw the defender's eyes held no fear. Suddenly concerned, he encouraged his foot to fall awkwardly, stumbled, fell, and was stepped on only twice by those following his charge.

  Laughing, he rose when the last person passed him by. Brushing off his clothes, Roger calmly sauntered away while people screamed and bones broke. Glass shattered. Shrill whistles pierced the air, and city guard ran toward his little riot.

  Roger kept his expression alarmed as the first guards passed. Only when the riot lay far to his rear did he laugh out loud. Leo would have loved this. Gary would have chortled and danced with joy, but then Gary had always been a bit different. Usually, he needed heavy supervision.

  * * *

  Keraloo Keraloo

  "Good eyes," Han commented. "I didn't catch it.

  "She's always seen what others miss," Ver Len told him. Her voice held neither praise nor censure. She spoke flatly, informing Han Chuk of a fact.

  Lioth remained silent. It was not her place to draw attention to herself, not when she still lay awkwardly on the ground after throwing herself into Ver Len. Her shove moved the other woman no more than inches, but those inches had been enough. The arrow heading for Ver Len's heart only grazed the woman's arm.

  "I don't like this slow pace," Lioth told them, rising.

  Her arm hurt from the impact. She had struck Ver Len off center, so she twisted her shoulder. Lioth flexed it experimentally. It ached, but not enough to be a h
indrance.

  "Six in the last mile," she continued. "We can't find every trap unless we move slowly and search everything. If we do, they will escape."

  "So we travel off their trail," Han told her. "We'll put half the war band on each side of their track. If the track changes direction, somebody will see it. This way should be safer since we won't walk along their exact route. I'll take one group. Ver Len, you take the other."

  "How far to the side do you want us?" Ver Len asked.

  "Far enough so we miss little, close enough to keep track of one another."

  Ver Len nodded agreement. "Lioth, we've worked together before. You will come with me."

  "I'll take the right side," Han Chuk said as a warrior approached. She handed Han Chuk the bow Lioth had barely seen in time. Partially hidden, it had been affixed to the trunk of a slim tree.

  The bow, Lioth saw, was a throwaway thing, little more than a child's toy. Still, its small arrow would have caused a death. She wondered how many more tricks the enemy held. Was this the last one?

  Doubtful.

  "Let's go," Han Chuk said impatiently, and he tossed the bow away.

  Not two hours later, Lioth shouted, "Look out!"

  Something did not look right, but Lioth didn't have time to complete her warning. Ver Len hit the dirt only moments after her yell, but it was already too late for Wandor. A log fell from high out of the tree. It bounced off the ground once, then landed on the hapless warrior, halfway tearing her head from her shoulders. The log flung Wandor's body to the side, but its havoc was not complete. It bounced one more time, lifted one end four feet high, and rolled uncontrollably down the hillside while warriors scrambled and jumped out of the way.

  Lioth anxiously watched as one woman barely made it to safety. The log bounced at an angle, changed direction, and then tore into Rella's legs. Cart-wheeling through the air, Rella's body struck the ground like a broken stringed puppet.

  The log continued on its way, finishing its deadly run against a tree's base.

  Ver Len rose to calmly walk over to inspect Wandor before Lioth managed to pull herself upright. Leaving Wandor, Ver Len went to where Rella lay. Lioth followed.

  Sweat poured off Rella's pale face as her eyes focused on Ver Len. Bone protruded from both her legs.

  "They're broken," Ver Len dispassionately noted.

  "Yes," Rella agreed.

  Ver Len knelt down to manipulate one limb. Rella gasped, drawing a disapproving frown from the older woman.

  Rising, Ver Len frowned. "This bone is splintered and the kneecap pulped. You will never use the leg again. The other appears worse."

  "Say my last thoughts were of them."

  "Say to who?" Ver Len asked.

  "My lovers." Rella closed her eyes as a spasm shook her.

  Lioth could not help but admire the warrior. When her time came, she hoped she died as well.

  Rella gathered her resources. "Tell them one at a time. I want each to think she meant the most to me."

  "I will see to it," Ver Len promised and drew her pistol.

  Rella's expression tightened momentarily, and then Ver Len shot her in her head. Putting her pistol back in its holster, she looked into the sparse trees. "This trap was well prepared. Much work went into it."

  "It took more hours to prepare than they had lead," Lioth agreed. "The retreat was planned before their raid. There will be other traps. Elaborate ones."

  "We will be more careful," Ver Len promised. "Lioth, tell Han Chuk what happened here. Bring back any messages he may have."

  "Yes," Lioth agreed. She studied at the expanse of land separating them from the other half of the war band. Her mission would take her over land the enemy had traveled across. She would take her time, be careful, and look at every inch of ground. Too many had already died on this chase. She did not want to join their number.

  * * *

  Gunfire roared.

  "They've only four or five rifles," Lioth shouted, shouldering her rifle one more time. The enemy was too distant for her liking, and they did not stand still to be killed at her convenience. Even so, she was not a bad shot. Lioth figured her chances of hitting at least one as possible to likely.

  The war band's return volley struck her ears like rolling thunder as more than twenty guns fired in a volley. Far away, two bodies fell as enemy guns returned fire, sounding weak in comparison. The bullets whizzing over Lioth's head were no less deadly.

  Ducking away from a vibrating whine, Lioth grimaced and nuzzled her cheek against her rifle's stock. A figure wavered into focus. She smoothly squeezed the trigger.

  The figure fell.

  Lioth started to smile at her luck, but then released a short curse as the figure rose again.

  "Don't let them reach the hilltop," Han Chuk ordered.

  Three running shapes hit the ground when six guns fired. Two rose back to their feet. Cursing, Lioth shoved five rounds into her mysteriously empty magazine.

  More explosions. A gun, firing near her right ear, nearly deafened her. She heard more shots through the sudden ringing.

  And then the third fallen figure rose and began running. Lioth cursed again. This was the woman who had been shooting at them with uncanny efficiency. They had not hit her at all. She had only fallen to get a steadier shot. No, wait, the figure stumbled as it went over the top.

  "Hold your fire" Han Chuk called as the last enemy warrior crested the hill.

  A low moan sounded from nearby.

  "How bad is she hit?" Ver Len's voice demanded.

  "Bad," somebody answered after a short pause. "Lung shot. She'll be dead in a few minutes.

  "Let her die," Han Chuk ordered. "We've no time to deal with the seriously wounded. Split up and let's go after them. Remember they're probably lying in wait."

  "I'll take care of her!" Ver Len's voice called out.

  "Go!"

  Lioth found herself sliding through the grass, mouth dry and nerves tense. Staying low, she only poked her eyes above the grass every once in a while to keep her bearing. She cast a thankful prayer to whatever God cared to listen. If not for the breeze making the grass sway, her people would have been easy for the enemy Chins to spot.

  More than half an hour passed as she made her careful way up the hillside. A strange rushing noise caught her attention, growing louder as she drew near. Lioth's nerves chittered and chattered. She felt more apprehensive of the noise than the enemy.

  "HiHeeHeeHeeHee!"

  Gunfire! Shrieks sounded ahead of her. She lifted her head in time to see Bernal fall after a bullet punched out her back. Other band members rose into view. They knelt, barrels leveled, and lead screamed as thunder roared.

  A single, hidden rifle answered back. Its booming sounded weak in her damaged ear, but its accuracy became apparent as a second member of the war band fell. Lioth watched the hilltop with all the concentration at her command as the rifle fired again and again. War band rifles answered, probing into the hillside in an attempt to ferret out the lone warrior.

  Ahhhh, Lioth smiled as something even she could not zero in on struck her as odd. She did not know why she chose a certain place to swing her rifle's barrel. Perhaps it was only luck. Without aiming, she pointed, squeezed the trigger, rode the recoil, and watched as a distant woman rose to her knees, a rifle flying from her hands. The woman's body fell back into the grass, and Lioth knew, at age sixteen, she had made her first kill.

  The air around her stilled.

  "Who fired that shot," Ver Len's voice demanded.

  "I guess I did," Lioth answered. "Is she dead?"

  "Dead as a four day old cinder," Ver Len promised. "To the top, people!"

  Their cautious approach proved to be unnecessary. When they reached the hilltop, the enemy warriors were gone. Only the dead woman remained. On the far side of the hill lay a churning river filled with fallen logs and spires of up jutting granite, the source of the noise she hadn't been able to identify.

  This river's rumbling comp
laints were greatly different from the gentler one's Lioth was used to hearing from those she'd encountered before. She felt ashamed for allowing its sounds to unsettle her.

  Jelsy rolled the dead riflewoman's body over.

  "This one couldn't go any further," she called out. "Has bloody tourniquets on both legs. It's a wonder she lived long enough for Lioth to kill her."

  Han Chuk's face darkened with barely suppressed anger and also pride. "Find the bodies." His eyes landed on Lioth. For the briefest part of a second they softened before turning unwaveringly hard once again.

  Six slain enemy were discovered. All women. Three unexpected bodies of their own war band were also found. Throats neatly cut, they lay dead in the tall grass growing between stands of trees. A piece of paper with markings on it lay beneath one warrior's hand. A letter, Lioth guessed. She'd heard of letters.

  Han Chuk's anger surged. His face turned shades of white and black she had never before seen on a human. He growled, but then he smiled as he looked down to the river where the marks of beached rafts could be seen.

  Lioth knew she was not supposed to overhear his words. They were private, almost whispered, meant only for the wind.

  "Well done, brother. Well done."

  * * *

  Three days later Lioth stiffened her back and wished she were anywhere but inside the emperor's private tent. Her belly quivered with nervousness despite her artificially still pose.

  "We encountered another twenty-three traps on our return," Han Chuk said to the emperor. "All were dismantled without causing harm. Even so, it would be best if we put out word the area is dangerous. I've no doubt we missed a few." His voice took on the slightest hint of pride. "My brother showed knowledge I never taught him. I didn't recognize several of the traps."

  Lioth admired his candid delivery and apparent equilibrium. For his part, Clack seemed anything but calm or understanding. His face suffused red. Veins protruded from his neck, and she could tell it took every bit of self-control Clack possessed to keep from snapping out at his general. Lioth had no doubt only the fact a large contingent of the tribe supported Clack on Han Chuk's say prevented Clack from ordering the general's immediate demotion or disposal.