Servant of a Dark God

by John Brown

  Goh, these arrogant Mokaddian garlic-eaters. This would go to the Koramite Council. And the Council would take it to the Shoka lords. He was within his rights-every one of these men should pay! And that thought was enough to take the edge off the flood of tears pushing up within.

  Talen stood. He almost toppled over, but then his dizziness seemed to recede.

  Two other horsemen rode up from the village and joined the bailiff. One was the bald Fir-Noy he had seen at the gate. His black beard and eyebrows were even bushier than they had first appeared. His Mokaddian wrist tattoo with its boar’s tusk had been extended up his forearm, showing not only his clan, but also the military order to which he belonged. The other Fir-Noy was a small man, a messenger. He rode a horse that was lathered and blowing from a long gallop.

  The bearded Fir-Noy shifted on his saddle and the leather creaked under him. “We tried to find you, Zu,” he said to the bailiff. “There’s been a Sleth hunt, and it appears that things have taken a turn for the worse.”

  The bailiff turned. “A Sleth hunt?”

  The messenger eyed Talen, then addressed the bailiff. “We identified the parents of the abomination pulled from the river. Yesterday, our forces closed in on Sparrow, the Koramite master smith of the village of Plum. But things did not go as planned. His two hatchlings escaped. And then some Sleth spawn came back and slaughtered a family in the village.”

  Except for the buzzing in Talen’s head there was dead silence. Sleth, he thought. What are these men doing wasting their time chasing me? They should be out-

  Then his brain processed that last statement. There were Sleth among the Koramites, among Talen’s people.

  “We have reports,” the messenger continued, “that they were spotted in this district. A Koramite girl and her blind brother.” He turned to the men. “There’s a sizeable bounty for any who bring them in, dead or alive. A miller’s annual wage.”

  The reports of Sleth that sailors brought this spring had given him nightmares. A Sleth wife taken in Mokad who had filed her teeth into sharp fangs-they’d all thought it was to make her more fearsome in battle. But the hunters discovered the true reason when they broke open her smokehouse and found the bodies of four men hanging, butchered and half cured.

  And that was just this year. There were stories of Sleth stealing your soul away, then walking about in your body. Sleth growing horns, growing gills so they could swim in close and drag unsuspecting fishermen into the watery depths. Sleth were forever stealing sisters, wives, and husbands to use in unnumbered abominations.

  If these men thought he was associated with Sleth…

  Or was this simply another Fir-Noy scheme?

  He realized it didn’t matter at this point. If these men thought he associated with such evil, then his life floated like a piece of duff over a bonfire.

  “What are you doing here?” asked the bailiff.

  “Trading for chickens, Zu,” said Talen. “That was my crime.”

  “Then why did you run?” asked the Fir-Noy.

  What a stupid question. “It’s hard to tell,” said Talen. “I’m usually quite solid when facing a charge of Mokaddian villagers.”

  Of course, stupidity was bred into the Fir-Noy. Their clan was forever trying to stir all the others up to push the Koramites into the sea. It was probably this man who started this whole thing.

  Sabin clopped Talen on the head and sent him reeling to his knees. “Respect your betters.”

  Talen steadied himself and stood again. The right side of his rib cage pained him. He took in a large breath, expecting to feel the sharp pain of a broken bone. There was a twinge, but it didn’t feel like it came from a break.

  He looked at the bailiff. “I’m sorry, Zu. Let me restate.”

  “No,” said the bailiff. “There’s no need to restate.” His face was full of a pent-up anger. “There soon won’t be any chickens, Talen. There will be nothing for you Koramites. You squander opportunity after opportunity, your race. You can’t keep yourselves clean, can you?”

  “Zu,” said Talen. “All I did was come for layers. And these men, without provocation, set upon me.”

  “You ought to press him,” the Fir-Noy suggested. “Who knows how wide their network is? And think about it. I’m told this skinny thing is a half-breed. But not just any old mongrel. This one’s connected to high places, given special treatment. I’m told Argoth is going to adopt him into his family and give him a chance to earn the wrist of a Shoka man.” He spat at Talen’s feet. “This one can walk about and spy without being given a second glance.”

  It was true Uncle Argoth and Da had recently talked about marrying Talen to a Mokaddian. It wasn’t necessary for him to be adopted into a Mokaddian family to do so. But it would smooth the process. However, there were some Shoka who thought it a scandal. Even among the Shoka of Stag Home there were still a few who still wondered how Talen’s mother, a Mokaddian of some station, could willingly debase herself and foul her offspring by marrying and mating Da, a full Koramite. There were those who saw her untimely death as a confirmation of that poor choice. Nevertheless, Uncle Argoth was determined to make him a full member of the clan, wrist tattoo and all.

  “Are you spying?” asked the bailiff.

  “Zu,” said Talen, “I mean no disrespect, but what would the purpose of such spying be? I have no idea what this is about.”

  “Don’t feign ignorance,” the Fir-Noy growled.

  “I am what you see,” Talen said to the bailiff. “Nothing more.”

  “He’s lying,” said the Fir-Noy. “Take him and press the truth out.”

  The bailiff turned to the Fir-Noy. “This is Shoka land, not Fir-Noy. Your news has caused trouble enough. I won’t let it bring murder to my fields.”

  “Killing a Koramite isn’t murder.”

  “It is here,” the bailiff said.

  The Fir-Noy licked his fat lips and shook his head in disgust, but he made no reply.

  Talen addressed the bailiff. “You know my family. Surely, you can’t think I am one of them.”

  “I can think anything I want,” said the bailiff. “I stake my reputation vouching for you and your people. But your actions have begun to stain me.”

  “No, Zu. Not mine. We carry no stain.” The bailiff knew him. Da had given his boy a foundling wildcat. He’d taught the bailiff himself a better way of drawing his bow. And, in return, the bailiff had invited Da on many a hunt. Surely, the bailiff’s vision would not be clouded with Fir-Noy rubbish.

  The bailiff looked at Talen as if he were weighing him.

  “I find no cause to accuse this boy,” the bailiff finally said. “Not today.”

  Talen bowed in gratitude. “Zu, you are clear-sighted and wise.”

  “Then prove me right. Packs of bounty hunters will begin to stalk these woods. But if a Koramite were to bring the hatchlings in, that would say something, wouldn’t it.”

  “Yes,” said the Fir-Noy. “It will say that Koramites, like crows, feed on the carrion of their own kind. It proves nothing.”

  Anger flashed up in Talen. Fir-Noy did nothing but pick and feed on the work of others. He knew he should keep his mouth shut, but he couldn’t help himself. The words were leaping out before he knew what he was saying.

  “Well, Zu,” said Talen, “at least we’re willing to make something useful of our carrion; it appears the Fir-Noy simply let theirs parade about full of maggots and stink.”

  Anger flushed the Fir-Noy’s face, and he kicked his horse forward to get at Talen.

  Talen cringed, but the bailiff grabbed the Fir-Noy’s reins and pulled the horse up short.

  “He’ll take that back!” said the Fir-Noy. “I won’t stand for this, Shoka land or no.”

  The bailiff turned to Talen. “This is the last time you can expect protection from your own stupidity. Apologize!”

  “Yes,” said Talen. “Of course.” He faced the Fir-Noy and stood as tall as he could muster. “Zu, I’ve been knocked half o
ut of my mind. I apologize. Such untruths are only given voice by fools.”

  “Rot,” said the Fir-Noy. Then he wrenched the reins away from the bailiff. “Your territory lord will hear about this.”

  “I have no doubt,” said the bailiff.

  The bailiff turned to Talen, his pale eyes sending a trembling up Talen’s back. “There’s going to come a time, Talen, when there will be no one to hold such men back. And the Koramites will be purged. It might be already too late. Now, you tell your da I expect him to order the Koramites in my district. I expect assurances. And know this: we’ll be picking over every rock and stone. And by the Goat King’s hairy arse, we’ll make no distinction between those who harbor hatchlings and those who practice the abominable arts. Now go.”

  Talen nodded. “Thank you, Zu.” He began to walk back down the slope. “Excuse me,” he said, trying to get past two of the men to go back to the bridge to fetch his cart.

  “Where are you going?” the bailiff demanded.

  “Zu?” asked Talen.

  “I just gave you an order.”

  Talen paused. He could see no sympathy on the faces of the men. He wasn’t stupid, but at the moment he felt very much like a dunce. Then he realized there would be no picking up his cart and baskets.

  “Directly home,” said Talen, changing his course. “That’s where I’m going.”

  The bailiff only looked at him with those pale eyes.

  Talen walked across the field toward the trail. He hurt all over. But he could walk. He could breathe. And that was something to be thankful for. He remembered the peppercorns and felt to make sure bag was still hanging from his neck. He hadn’t lost those, yet another thing to be thankful for.

  As he departed he heard the bailiff lecturing his men, but he was so rattled he couldn’t focus on what the man was saying.

  Talen crossed the fence and began to follow the trail. He looked at the wood in front of him. The hatchlings had been seen in this district. And where would hatchlings hide?

  They wouldn’t be here. Not right here. Of all the miles upon miles of woodland available, why would the Sleth hatchlings choose this little section of the district right here in front of him? The chances were so remote that it wasn’t worth thinking about. But his heart wasn’t listening to his mind. It was said Sleth needed to feed often on the Fire of other men. And a lone stripling walking in the cover of a thick wood was a perfect target.

  Furthermore, Sleth never came alone. There was always a big nest of them. So it was likely there were more than this one family, which meant there were probably adults, full of the dark art, looking for those hatchlings as well.

  And even if the Sleth didn’t find him, then there were the bounty hunters the bailiff had mentioned. Only the fiercest of men took it upon themselves to hunt Sleth. And because these Sleth had been found among Koramites, the hunters would suspect every Koramite they came across, and he did not want to fall into their hands for questioning.

  He looked back at the bailiff and the village men making their way toward the river.

  Goh, he thought. Mobs and monsters. Being chased about by Ke and River now seemed a pretty thing.

  He faced the woods again. He didn’t have much choice. Besides, even if someone were waiting behind a bend in ambush, standing here like a coward wasn’t going to improve his odds.

  He searched the ground for a sturdy stick and a few good throwing stones, and then Talen entered the wood.

  Talen tried to keep himself from running. But the farther he got into the dark, old wood, the more he felt like a fat worm sinking on a hook into the water.

  A fat worm that had already been worked over. He catalogued his pains. There were two spots on his head that hurt to touch them. There was his eye that was now almost swollen shut. His ribs smarted. His kidneys, he was sure, had been abused. It hurt his back to walk. Lords, even his toes protested. He looked down, saw a smart bruise on his left foot and realized someone must have stomped it.

  But these were physical pains. They would heal. At least, he hoped they would, especially the blows to his brain. The Sleth, on the other hand, were different. And he couldn’t tell what would be worse: to be taken by the Bone Faces and forced into a nine-fingered enslavement or to be kept in storage like a living carcass, to be feasted upon or twisted into something unnatural. At least with the Bone Faces he’d die a man.

  And how could he follow the bailiff’s suggestion and bring in the hatchlings, the children of these Sleth? A proper Sleth hunt required one hundred men. It required a Divine. Was he expecting the Koramites to field groups of hunters? But the bailiff had been looking at him. It had been clear he was suggesting Talen join in the hunt. Except, what could one runt do?

  If he had his bow, he might be able to do something. That is if the Sleth didn’t know the arrow was coming. He’d heard once at an alehouse that Sleth could whisper to arrows. Even so, he didn’t have his bow. He was defenseless. What were a few stones going to do against Sleth? The thing to do now was get back to Da and the others as quickly as he could and alert them.

  The hatchlings were somewhere in these woods. He tried to act calm-the last thing prey should do is act like prey. But then the distinct thock of a branch breaking sounded off to his right followed by a squirrel screeching out a warning.

  His heart leapt up into his throat. But he told himself it was a falling branch, told himself to stand upright and walk like a man. He quickened his pace despite the twinge in his back.

  Then came a grunt and high keening, something moving toward him, scuffling through the leaves on the forest floor.

  You are not prey, he told himself, you are not prey, but try as he might, he could not be calm. Could not walk. Could do nothing but abandon all pretense, ignore his injuries, and run.

  Not once did he look back. He dared not. Eyes to the front, he told himself. He couldn’t afford to smack into a branch or step wrong, or, most especially, see the face of the thing that surely was behind him. He knew if he saw the beast, his courage was likely to completely desert him. At that point it would be impossible to do anything but cringe upon the ground like a cornered rabbit. So it was eyes in front, even when the woods broke before him and he saw the river below and the farm stretching away from him on the far side.

  Talen ran down to the river, stumbled through the shallow water of the ford, and scrabbled up the other side. Only when he reached the smoke shed did he stop and turn, and, with much panting, search the woods.

  Nothing. Nothing at all.

  The Sleth children, if there had ever been any, must have been one-legged pigeons. No regular monsters would have let him escape alive.

  Of course, there probably hadn’t been a thing in those woods besides squirrels and mice. The sound he’d heard was most certainly somebody’s renegade pig.

  Coward, he told himself, and bent over, resting his hands on his knees. He was such a coward.

  “Where’s the handcart?”

  Talen turned. Da sat in the shady side of the barn, sharpening his scythe. Seeing that great horse of a man brought immense relief.

  “Back at the bridge,” said Talen. He took a breath.

  “Ah, that’s what I like to see. A boy who races home to work and leaves the chickens to fend for themselves.”

  “Da,” said Talen. “The bailiff wants you.”

  “We’re mowing the fields now. The bailiff can wait.”

  Then he stopped and looked at Talen more closely. “Is that blood? What happened to your face?”

  Talen poured out everything that had happened, including his run through the woods. As the story progressed, Da stroked the braids of his beard with increasing anger.

  When Talen finished, Da set his scythe aside and stood.

  “Are you going?”

  “It appears I am,” said Da.

  “Should we bring our bows?” asked Talen. “Or would billhooks be better?”

  “Billhooks?” asked Da.

  “In case we’re a
ttacked.”

  Da grunted. “You’re going out to glean. We’ve got a field that needs stacking.”

  “But the hatchlings,” said Talen.

  “The hatchlings,” said Da. “Son, did you not learn anything from your adventure this morning? Even if the children were Sleth, the greater risk is being mistaken for a Soul-eater by an idiot with hunt fever. We’re talking about two children, however ferocious they may be.” Da shook his head. “You said a Fir-Noy rider brought the message? That’s the problem right there.”

  “Shouldn’t we at least give the warnings some credit until we find out otherwise?”

  “Sparrow was a good man,” said Da. He heaved a great sigh.

  Talen had not known the smith very well. However, he’d always wondered about his name. He’d thought it funny such a mighty man would be named for such a little bird. Talen, Ke, and Nettle were named after noteworthy ancestors. His sister was named so she might be granted all the qualities-the strength, life, purpose-of a River. But Sparrow? Talen had found out that the smith’s family had a long line of Sparrows, all named after an actual bird that had saved one of the family’s progenitors from drowning. He’d always wanted to hear that tale, but now he wasn’t so sure.

  A great weariness seemed to descend upon Da. “You could search this whole land. You could search the whole Nine Clans, and not find Sparrow’s better.”

  “But he was Sleth,” said Talen.

  Da shook his head. “If Sparrow was Sleth, then fish swim in the deep blue sky.” He turned to Talen. “Do you still have the peppercorns?”

  Talen nodded. He opened the small pouch hanging around his neck that served as his purse, poured out the corns, and handed them over.

  Da took them with his large fingers and carefully placed them in his own pouch.

  “Get out to the field and help with the stacking,” said Da. “I’m going to fetch us some hens and go talk to the bailiff.” Da turned and headed for the barn. “By the way, I found your pants wadded up under your bed,” he called back. “They’re lying on the table.”

  “I looked under my bed,” said Talen.

  Da shrugged. “They were there, plain as day.”