Raveler: The Dark God Book 3

by John D. Brown

  “Your sister,” Harnock said. “The lion wants her.”

  Talen’s brain stuttered for a moment. “Right,” he said.

  “She’s a fine woman, your sister.”

  “Yes, well, she’s also got a war going on, and a woodikin queen she has to teach. Tell the lion she’s going to be very busy for some time.”

  “The turn of her ankles and her naked feet are very attractive,” Harnock said.

  “Will you stop it,” Talen said. “If this is what goes for humor with hermits, I can tell you—”

  Harnock raised a hand to silence Talen and snapped his attention at something downstream.

  Talen followed Harnock’s gaze but couldn’t see or hear anything. “What?” he whispered.

  Harnock motioned for him to shush and listened, his eyes bright. A few moments later he pitched his voice to a whisper. “Come with me, Hogan’s son. And keep quiet.” Then he moved back away from the shore, away from the thick brush at the tree line, and began to head downstream, slipping through the trees.

  Talen followed, watching the shadows play along Harnock’s brindled fur. They crept a few dozen yards, and then Harnock suddenly stopped, his muscles bunching like a cat preparing to pounce on something. “In the tree down by the bend,” Harnock whispered. “Do you see it?”

  Talen searched and did indeed see something move. A dark shadow.

  “Woodikin,” Harnock whispered. “Send your eels out.”

  “Roamlings,” Talen corrected.

  “Go,” Harnock said.

  Talen realized that while his twisted blend was a curse, it also had its advantages. He sent his roamlings forth over the moving face of the water, down to the bend, watching for skir as he went. When he was close, he rose and peered at the woodikin. But it wasn’t just the one in the tree. There were four more down below. Talen had noticed that his Spiderhawk escort all wore necklaces. There was a variety to them, but they all had at their center a wooden carving of a five pointed flower. None of these five woodikin carried that. “They’re not ours,” he said. “The carving on their necklaces is a fang.”

  “Orange Slayers,” Harnock said.

  “Do you think they’re hunting us?”

  “I don’t know. We’re deep in Spiderhawk territory. I don’t think raiding parties would come this far. Can you fly high, get a birds-eye view and see if there are others?”

  Talen sent his roamlings up until the canopy of the forest lay below him like a rolling carpet. He was uneasy up here and checked every direction for the pale orange skir. There weren’t any about. There were a couple of larger dark skir flying high up in the distance. And there were other small creatures flitting here and there like insects. One long swarm of them looked like bits of spider web hovering over a tree.

  He turned his attention to the forest below him. From this height he could see River and the woodikin escort. He could see two of the woodikin sentries Chot had sent out to watch while the rest ate. Beyond them a river wound around a hill. Some distance downstream, a large number of woodikin forded the river.

  Talen said, “There are at least fifty woodikin downstream. More in the woods behind them.”

  “Same colors as these?”

  “Colors are different here,” Talen said. “But the head feathers and garb all look the same.”

  “This isn’t a raiding party,” Harnock hissed. “This is a hunt. They picked up our trail.”

  “How is that possible?”

  “They can smell. They can see the signs. The queen slipped us out at night, but they must have had scouts watching. Regret’s stones, they might have had their own eyes and ears in the tanglewood. I bet Mokad has offered a very large reward.”

  Below Talen’s roamling, the Orange Slayer woodikin in the tree made hand signs to the woodikin on the ground. All of them looked in the direction of one of Chot’s sentries. Three began to carefully move forward.

  “I think they just spotted Chot’s sentry up ahead,” Talen said.

  Harnock rumbled deep in his throat.

  “Three of the Orange Slayers are advancing. Another is running away, down a path toward the main body.”

  “He’s going to alert the others,” said Harnock. “Bring reinforcements. Do you see any others close by?”

  “Just the one in the tree and the four below.”

  Harnock bared his teeth. “Good. That’s going to make this easier.”

  Talen began to build his Fire. “Should I go back and warn the others.”

  “No,” said Harnock. “No time. And I’m going to need your eyes. Which direction is the one running to report?”

  Talen pointed out the line that would intercept the woodikin.

  “Get your bow strung,” said Harnock, “and keep up. Then he raced up the slope of the hill through the trees.

  Talen strung his bow and chased after, but he found he could not keep up. He increased his Fire. Increased it again. He increased his Fire even more, felt the vigor seep into his limbs, and sped forth.

  Directly on the other side of the hill ran the lone Orange Slayer. To the right, by the stream, the others continued to sneak up on the Spiderhawk sentry.

  Harnock moved with huge powerful strides. He topped the hill in a very short time, then stopped and waited for Talen to catch up.

  “Where?” Harnock asked.

  Talen pointed in the direction of the fleeing Orange Slayer. He was only one or two hundred yards ahead. Harnock raced down the hill. Talen’s body sang with Fire. He was more than doubled. But he could not match Harnock’s speed nor his twenty-foot strides down the slope. But Talen didn’t want to match those long strides; he was having a hard enough time keeping himself from smacking into a tree at his own pace.

  They covered the first hundred yards quickly, leaves crunching under each step. The Orange Slayer scout heard the noise, glanced back, then put on more speed, using his long arms to run in a sort of lope. He reached the bottom of a shallow dale and began to run up another hill. With his roamling, Talen could see Harnock about to close in on the woodikin. It was an odd sensation, seeing himself, Harnock, and the woodikin from above.

  The woodikin scout nocked an arrow to his bow, drew the string back to his cheek, and spun around. But he was too late. Harnock was upon him. He hurled his long knife, which cut through the woodikin’s wooden armor and buried itself deep in its chest. The woodikin jerked, released his arrow that flew wide. Then Harnock was upon him, another long knife in hand, and slashed the woodikin’s throat.

  The creature staggered back, then fell to the leaves below.

  Harnock made another cut, and a great spray of Fire rose up from the woodikin’s body; it was followed by the shining of its soul. A moment later, as if carried on the wind, the scent of both Fire and soul reached Talen. He wanted them both, but he kept his roamlings on a tight rein and watched as Harnock picked up the woodikin’s body and hid it under a fat spruce.

  The Fire dissipated on the wind. The soul lingered by its flesh and tried to attack Harnock to no avail. By the time Talen reached the site with his body of flesh, Harnock was covering up the blood-splattered autumn leaves.

  “Where are the rest?” Harnock asked.

  Talen looked. “They’re still back by the stream, approaching our sentry.”

  “Now’s the time to see how well your father trained you,” Harnock said. “We can’t let them give any signal. They’ll have heard us running, and will be alert. So you keep your footsteps quiet. You let me know when we start to get close. Are you ready?”

  Talen nodded and they set off down the animal trail back toward the other scouts. With his roamling, he kept an eye upon the woodikin and the surrounding area. He saw birds, squirrels, a cluster of deer. In the distance he heard the awful chuffing he’d heard before his roamling had been eaten. His pulse quickened, and he frantically looked about
, but he didn’t see the orange skir.

  Nevertheless, he kept an eye out. As they ran along, he also sent a roamling back over the hill to make sure another Orange Slayer scouting party hadn’t stumbled upon River and the others. He found her and Chot’s escort still oblivious of the small army of woodikin approaching.

  Talen and Harnock quietly padded along an animal path until they were about a hundred yards away from the other woodikin scouts, and then Talen hissed softly, and they stopped.

  Talen drew a map in the dirt of the Orange Slayer positions.

  “We’re going to have one chance to keep this quiet,” Harnock said. “Be quick and sure. And stay downwind.” Harnock pointed at the mark representing the Orange Slayer scout the closest to them. “You’re going to shoot that one. I’ll take the others. If any escape me, it’s your job to take them down.”

  Talen nodded. He nocked an arrow, and they continued forward. When they were about fifty yards from the scouting party, Harnock moved away from Talen to circle around through the trees. Talen watched him with his roamling, then turned his attention to his task. He saw where the woodikin were headed, saw a break in the trees that would give him an excellent line of sight and quietly moved into position.

  The power these roamlings gave him was immense—to see afar off in many directions, to know your enemy’s movements. If he was careful, he could sneak past any picket. Avoid any enemy. With him, an army could surround and ambush with confidence. They could strike when and where the enemy least suspected it.

  Talen stepped on a branch that popped loudly. He froze. Two of the woodikin looked in his direction. He cursed himself. Fat lot of good all his eyes did if he didn’t watch his feet. He waited, and the woodikin eventually looked away.

  Behind the woodikin, Harnock crept close, low, like a cat preparing to pounce on its prey.

  Talen moved forward, carefully watching his step this time, found a spot next to a tree, knelt into position, and readied himself for the shot. It was a perfect line.

  Up the slope, the Spiderhawk sentry scratched his leg. Below, the closest Orange Slayer did not expose himself in the break Talen thought he would. Instead, he took position next to a tree not in Talen’s line of fire, and slowly raised his bow to shoot the sentry.

  Why couldn’t the rotted Orange Slayers follow the plan? Talen stepped to the side to find a shot that avoided the many twigs and branches between him and his target.

  The woodikin nocked an arrow, most likely laced with some poison, and raised his bow.

  Talen raised his own bow, drew, sighted the woodikin, and released. He immediately nocked another arrow, sighted, and released. The first arrow glanced off of the branch of a tree with a clack, shot off at another angle, and sank deep into the trunk of a tree with a loud thwup.

  The woodikin turned toward the sound, exposing his full upper body. The second arrow took him in the chest, but Talen knew that it sometimes took many arrows to kill a large animal, so he drew another arrow, aimed, released. But the woodikin fell backward to the forest floor, and the arrow sped past him.

  Talen nocked another arrow, tried to find a target, and noticed the woodikin’s Fire curling up and away from his wound. He tore his eyes away from the Fire and saw the other three woodikin scouts draw their knives. Then one of the woodikin spotted him and barked a warning. At that moment Harnock sprang.

  One of the woodikin snarled and turned to meet him, but Harnock slashed him in the neck as he’d done to the other. He followed that same motion through and struck the next woodikin a massive blow to his chin, sending him flying. The last woodikin charged, but Harnock side-stepped him, grabbed him by the back of the head and slammed his face into a tree. The tree shook with the skull-breaking blow, and the woodikin crumpled.

  All of the woodikin began to bleed Fire. The soul of the first struggled out of its flesh. A few moments later the smell of the Fire and soul filled Talen.

  “Gah,” Talen said, and then the woodikin that Talen had first shot staggered up, Fire rising from its wounds.

  Talen shot again and sank an arrow into the creature’s side.

  It bared its teeth and howled an alarm. The sound echoed about the hill. So much for stealth, Talen thought.

  Then Harnock was there with his long knife. The blade flashed in the sun, and then the woodikin’s head toppled from its body.

  A gout of Fire billowed up into the sky, and Talen’s heart fluttered with desire. Just before the Fire began to wash over him, he remembered his roamlings, and sent them high into the sky, far above the maddening, tantalizing smells.

  On the ground, Harnock knelt down by the creature, sliced open its belly, then reached up and in and ripped out the woodikin’s heart. The wet organ glistened in his hand.

  Talen stopped, and almost lost the fish he’d eaten.

  Harnock looked up, blood staining his arm. “Help me hide the bodies.”

  A little distance away, one orange skir searched along the tops of the trees. Talen realized it must be able to scent Fire and soul just as he could. Probably better. He watched it with one of his roamlings and moved to help Harnock.

  12

  The Bull’s Ring

  TALEN AND HARNOCK finished hiding the last body with the souls of the dead woodikin looking on. Above them, the orange skir caught their scent and came to investigate. It darted above the trees, then made a fluting sound. The souls of the dead woodikin looked up. A few moments later, the creature began a horrid clacking, the same sound Talen had heard just before his roamling had been torn from him. Talen sped his parts back to his body and quickly pulled them in and shut his door. The sights and sounds and multiple views of the yellow world vanished, and Talen’s world resolved to the refreshing simplicity of the blue world.

  Harnock found some weed with giant leaves that reminded Talen of rhubarb and began to wrap the bloody woodikin hearts in them.

  The sight sickened Talen. “What are you doing?” he asked.

  Harnock ignored the question. “Tell me what happened to the Fire and soul of those woodikin.”

  “The last I saw, one of those orange sharks was coming in to sniff.”

  Harnock wrapped another huge leaf around his bundle. “And did it chase another predator away?”

  “No, it was the only thing about.”

  “That’s not true,” Harnock said. “You can’t fool yourself in this game, Hogan’s son. That’s the sure way to failure.”

  How was he fooling himself? Then Talen realized what Harnock was driving at. “I did not imbibe,” he said.

  “Not even a sniff?”

  “You can’t avoid smelling it,” Talen said.

  “What about tasting?”

  “I wanted to, but I did not.”

  “Maybe you are Hogan’s son after all,” said Harnock. “Maybe I can put off killing you until tomorrow.”

  Talen pointed at the hearts. “And what about you?”

  Harnock just smiled.

  They hurried back to River and the others. When they arrived, Harnock explained what had happened, then he unfolded the leaves he’d wrapped the wet sticky hearts in and held one out to Chot.

  Chot took it and held it up for the others to see, then gave it to one of his troops, who carried it over to the wasp lord. The wasp lord took a bite, the bloody juices dripping onto his fingers and nodded his approval. He took some of the meat he’d masticated and gave it to his wasps. Chot tossed the other hearts around to his troops. They all hooted, each taking his portion. When they were done, Chot held the bloody remains of one heart out to Talen.

  Talen waved it off.

  “Do not offend them,” Harnock growled.

  “I can’t,” Talen said.

  Chot shook his head and held the flesh out to Harnock who took the heart and bit in with relish.

  “Stupid skinman,” Chot said. “You will
be haunted. The heart gives power over the dead.”

  Talen nodded, but didn’t think now was the right time to tell Chot the truth.

  River waved off the piece of heart offered to her. She turned to Talen with a concerned question on her face.

  “I’m okay,” he said. Although he was a bit uneasy with Harnock’s frightful power. Woodikin were stronger and faster than men. But Harnock had handled them as if they were children. He motioned at Harnock with his chin. “He’s not just a loreman, River. Not some mad sleth.”

  “No,” said River. “He’s a creature twisted for killing.”

  “He’s murder itself. He was terrifying.”

  “Aren’t you glad he’s on our side?”

  “I’m something,” he said, thinking about the relish with which Harnock had eaten the woodikin’s heart. He was going to say more, but Chot ordered them to move out, and they were soon running, the woodikin leading them down a narrow valley between two hills with steep slopes and outcroppings of rock.

  When they were down the path a ways, Talen carefully sent his roamlings out to make sure they had made a clean escape. They hadn’t. There were some woodikin higher up on the slope that he hadn’t seen the first time. One up in a tree spotted them and blew a horn. Moments later another horn answered in the direction of the woodikin army.

  Chot barked something in woodikin, and his troops moved faster.

  Talen leapt over a rock in the path. “Where are we going?” he asked Harnock.

  “I think we’re headed for another Spiderhawk tanglewood.”

  “How far away?” asked River.

  “If it’s the place I’m thinking, we’ve got a few hours yet in this race.”

  Talen looked back with his roamlings and saw the woodikin army turn. “I think we’d better move faster.”