Giahem's Talons

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Giahem's Talons Page 12

by Katharine Wibell


  “You saved our lives,” added the young soldier. “If only we could have done the same for you. If I had known you were not right behind us, I would have come back. You know this.”

  “Yes.” Lluava gave his arm a quick squeeze.

  Nodding toward the other horse, Derrick inquired, “Where is your companion?” Sniffing the air, he added, “There is a definite odor of…”

  “One of the nomads from the south. He is gone now.”

  “Don’t tell me they are attacking us, too.”

  “No. He is the only one in Elysia that I am aware of. He is not a threat,” reassured Lluava.

  “Things are going to get quite interesting,” Derrick muttered to himself. Many of his men had already shifted. Two of them were holding the reins of the horses.

  “The nomad is under my protection,” Lluava hurriedly explained. “Leave him be.”

  “Oh, I am sure he is,” noted Derrick as he glanced at Lluava’s split lip. “Where are you coming from?”

  “South.” Lluava was happy to alert them. “Varren is alive and well. He is traveling with the Obsidian Guard to Amargo, where an army is amassing. He will take back his kingdom. You should go there. He will have great need of you.”

  “King Varren? Alive?” Derrick seemed more surprised than pleased at the news. “The gods are with him, then.”

  “One can hope,” acknowledged Lluava, trying not to praise the divine.

  “Why aren’t you with him?”

  “You know me,” Lluava said vaguely. “I have a plan in the works. But truly, Varren has need of you.”

  “Well, there is a bit of an issue,” admitted Derrick as he signaled one of his men. The redhead let loose a howl as Derrick went on, “We aren’t working alone anymore.”

  Lluava’s stomach knotted. “Who are you working with?”

  The sound of hundreds of hoofbeats was heard by Lluava’s heightening senses. The stench of sweat and men stung her nose. Her pupils narrowed automatically. Had Derrick turned, joining forces with Yena and the Outlanders? If so, she had just revealed the king’s plans to the enemy.

  But this was Derrick. They had trained together in the Southern Camps. He had proven himself a true Elysian. Moreover, he had always been one of Varren’s most ardent supporters. He would not betray his country. He would never become a mercenary.

  The thrum of approaching riders was growing. Lluava’s mouth began to dry out. “Who are you with?”

  Suddenly, a throng of riders galloped into sight and encircled them. Shouting and yipping with excitement, they snapped whips in the air and raised their spears. Lluava recognized one man as he broke away from the ring and approached.

  Yamir smiled at her and said, “The Clans are happy to see that you are well, Theri.”

  Chapter 14

  Crane and Lift

  Lluava was momentarily at a loss for words.

  Derrick barked out a laugh. “After our escape, Yamir led us to his family.” He nodded toward the clansmen. “We have been living among them ever since.”

  “Hospitable hosts, I hope,” Yamir teased as he slid off his horse.

  “No better kind,” joshed Derrick. Lluava had never seen the young man in such amiable spirits. His fierce and stoic view of the war had always made him appear a bit hard-hearted. Now, however, Derrick seemed unusually relaxed despite the situation.

  Yamir’s smile had also returned. Lluava had thought she’d never see that smile again. He resembled the youth who had antagonized the officers in the camps far more than he did the war-weary young man beaten down before the Fall. He still spiked his hair in his stylized fashion, but now his ruddy skin was decorated with many piercings as well as a small tattoo on his arm. With shredded fringes on his clothes, he looked every inch the clansman. Any sign of the Elysian soldier was gone. He had even donned an Endun outfit made of fragmented pieces of stolen cloth that was much the same as the garb his people wore.

  Looking past Lluava, Yamir said, “Father, see who has returned to us.”

  Lluava spun around and spotted the leader of the Cloven-Hoofed Clan. At first, she thought he looked thinner, yet at second glance the rolls of fat appeared the same as before. Father’s grin revealed a new golden tooth. When he spoke, the long, thin strands of facial hair that sprouted from each corner of his mouth rippled in the air along with his second and third chin. “Lluava, it seems ya can never be away from us fa’ too long. I knew m’ good looks were getting to ya.”

  With a grin, she shook her head and said, “I can’t believe you all are alive and well.”

  “Oh, we are more than that,” admitted Yamir. His oval-shaped eyes sparkled. “Every clan has come together. The Razor Back, the Silver Tongue, the Tri-Gilled, and all the others. A treaty between us has been made—grudgingly, mind you, but one where we all fight with a singular purpose. We are not going to be forced from our homeland by marauders from beyond the sea.”

  “How many are you?”

  Father nodded at Yamir, who was one of the few in the clan who could count. “Three thousand fighting men. Another six if you want to add those willing to lay down their lives.”

  Lluava breathed excitedly, “That’s amazing.”

  Derrick entered the conversation. “Lluava was just telling me that there is an army forming in Amargo to take back the kingdom.” His words caught their attention. “She says that King Varren will lead them, and our help would be welcomed.”

  Yamir spat on the ground, and several others did the same. “To the seven hells with King Varren.”

  “He’s your friend!” Lluava exclaimed aghast.

  “He decreed that my people were to be slaughtered,” Yamir retorted icily.

  “That wasn’t him. I told you that was Selene’s doing. He had no—”

  “Because of his decree, 672 good men, women, and children were slain. Their blood is on his hands. He is a butcher, just as is the Raiders’ king.”

  Lluava couldn’t breathe. She had not realized that the decree had taken so many lives before it was revoked. But Yamir needed to understand that his friend and king had been manipulated; he had not been himself.

  “That man,” began Father, “ate food at our table, slept under our tents, received our protection. He then had th’ audacity of turnin’ on us.”

  Though spoken much more calmly than Yamir, Father’s rage was unquestionable. Derrick pressed a hand on Lluava’s shoulder as a warning. So, they would be of no help to Varren’s cause. What did that mean for the kingdom?

  “We’ll speak of th’ young tyrant no more t’night. Instead, let us rejoice that a true friend has returned. Come, Lluava, let’s break bread t’gether.”

  She hesitated but realized that her refusal would be perceived as ill-mannered and disrespectful. “I would be ever so pleased to partake of your hospitality.”

  As they headed toward the clans’ camp, Lluava grew anxious. This break in her journey was not welcome, yet she felt forced to stay for supper that evening. Although her growing saddle sores rejoiced at their temporary reprieve and the sound of children’s laughter was refreshing, her sense of peril grew.

  Yamir had declared himself Varren’s enemy, as had Father. Would they try to prevent Varren’s return to the throne? Surely, Yamir would not want to kill the young king! These thoughts made Lluava’s stomach queasy.

  She waited near the wagon cages that had once held a sorry menagerie of performing animals. Now, they were only hollow shells. Was this what Cronus had become?

  When supper was announced, Lluava made her way to the seat of honor, on a low bench at Father’s right hand. Yamir was seated on his left. Derrick sat nearby with his brethren and half howled with laughter when some joke was told. All around the circle, clansmen talked and bickered and carried on; they did not seem concerned about the enemy in their homeland. Yet this façade would easily crumble if even a whisper of the Raiders’ presence came to their ears.

  After the third course of food was presented (on mismatched p
latters and serving ware), Father changed the direction of the conversation. “Why have ya come this way? Alone? Derrick mentioned ya are working on a plan of sorts.”

  Suddenly the honeyed wine seemed to cling to the inside of her throat, and Lluava coughed up the golden liquid. Father waited patiently for a response. She had to be careful. “I’m heading back to Cronus.”

  “The capital is overrun by th’ Raiders. Ya should stay w’ us where it is far safer.”

  “I wish I could, but I must be off in the morning.”

  “What’s in Cronus, Lluava?” Yamir asked, beyond Father’s shoulder.

  She had to tell them something. Did Yamir even know about the Outlanders and the Fall? “I am seeking help to fight the Raiders.”

  Father guffawed. “The only thing that far north are traitors and th’ sea brutes.”

  Although she wished to leave it at that, Lluava’s hand was forced by Yamir.

  “Lluava would never head into enemy territory without due cause,” he said. Then her friend’s eyes widened. “If Varren’s in the south, something has happened to Cronus. The king would never have willingly left his throne.”

  Lluava felt a multitude of eyes upon her. “I let an army of Theriomorphs enter the capital, a group of Outlanders that I had met over the winter. They hold Cronus now. They follow the Old Ways, and their leader, a high priestess of Crocotta, turned on us and killed every human they found. We fled—the few of us that could. Talos and Rosalyn were left. I don’t know if they escaped or not. The loss of the capital was my fault. I am doing what I can to undo that wrong.”

  “You said they were killing humans,” began Yamir. “Talos and Rosalyn are not human.”

  At least he still cared about those friends; if only he viewed Varren in a better light. “I know. That’s why Talos chose to stay. He said they would pledge allegiance to Yena, the priestess, in order to ensure their immediate safety.”

  “Why would he do that?” Yamir asked, as Derrick and his group moved closer to the conversation.

  “Because Rosalyn is pregnant. They did not want to risk the child.”

  There was no time to be elated by such news. Derrick inquired, “So you are going back? For another rescue mission?”

  “Not exactly,” admitted Lluava. “Even if I found them and got them out, where would they go? Where is it safe? Our kingdom has fallen apart. There is no refuge. Not until all this fighting ends.”

  “What, then?” Yamir asked. Next to him, Father quietly listened.

  “In order to defeat the Raiders, we need an army of massive proportions. Varren does not have that. Yena does not have that. But together, we would have a chance. I am going to Cronus to give Yena’s people what they want if they will agree to join with Varren’s troops and combat the Raiders.”

  “And what do they want?” Father asked.

  Lluava felt all the others’ eyes bore into her. “Me.”

  Some who overheard laughed, yet not one who knew Lluava made a sound until she explained. “They believe in the Old Ways. They believe that I am a host for Issaura, her Incarn, for her second coming. They believe that I will bear a child that will lead them into a better future. Because of this, they want me.”

  “Are you the one?” Derrick asked. His seriousness had returned.

  “I think so.”

  Men’s whispers fluttered around the camp like the wings of bats. Interest in Lluava spread like wildfire.

  “You would turn yourself over to someone you view as an enemy?” Yamir was appalled. His belief in her was unquestioning, as was his faith in the pantheon. “You would give them that power?”

  “I have to.” Yamir looked displeased, but Lluava continued. “I have to try to make things right. The Raiders cannot win.”

  “That is for certain,” snarled Derrick. His men were standing behind him. “We are coming with you.”

  “As is the Cloven-Hoofed Clan,” Father announced. Then, taking a moment to stand up, he boomed, “Tomorrow, the Cloven-Hoofed Clan rides for Cronus to join the Theriomorph army!”

  At a nearby campfire, an elderly man stood up and shouted, “As will the Silver Tongues!”

  “And the Tri-Gills!” exclaimed a third.

  Soon, every clan leader had proclaimed that they would join Yena’s people.

  Lluava beheld the hooting and hollering men. Had she just given Yena the army she needed? Had she destroyed Varren’s chance to regain Elysia?

  ***

  When morning’s light encroached on the night’s sky, the clans were ready to ride out. All of them. From the elderly to the newborn, all were prepared to make the journey. Lluava attempted to dissuade the men. “You need to know that we will most likely face the Berserker Legion. They are gigantic men that have inhuman properties. They—”

  “We are well aware of the Berserkers,” said Father sullenly. “They have slaughtered fellow clansmen and reduced our numbers.”

  “Then why risk your families? Fighting men, I understand, but them…” Lluava gestured to the wagons that were already lined up.

  “They cannot be abandoned. With our fighting men gone, what protection would they have against enemies of any sort?”

  So they came. All of them. Close to fifteen thousand strong. The slower speed of this large a caravan would almost double the days it would take to travel to the capital.

  “You could leave them,” Derrick whispered to her one night. His men seemed unusually prepared for some anticipated order.

  “They would follow, regardless,” said Lluava as she scanned the circled wagons.

  “They could get you killed,” Derrick stated coldly. His dark skin barely reflected the sliver of moonlight. “They make you an easy target.”

  “I could die either way. And they are my friends.”

  “Would you rather your friends die or yourself?”

  “I would prefer all to live.” Lluava let loose a large sigh. “At least now, we are more attractive to Yena.”

  Derrick looked pleased at her response. He stared at the cloud-filled sky that was strangling the moon. “It’s as if the storm were waiting for the right moment to break. Strange.”

  Stranger still was the shape hurtling down at them from above.

  “Watch out!” Lluava yelled, as she pushed Derrick aside. She had seen too many projectiles impale people. However, this one was different. Instead of the expectant crash, there was not a sound when the object landed. Long and thin, this was no spear or crossbow bolt. This was a sarus crane, standing erect.

  “Ruire Thoth?” asked Lluava, for he was the only Theriomorph she had met with that particular avian form.

  The crane’s sharp eyes seemed to quickly assess the number of clansmen gathering around them. Shifting, the strong, wiry man replied, “Theri.”

  “You know that is not my name,” Lluava retorted.

  The kohl eyeliner made Thoth’s eyes appear even fiercer. “You now know that it is. Nevertheless, I have not come to bicker but to warn. You must not continue to Cronus. It is not safe.”

  “Will ya refuse to let us in ya gates?” Father questioned. “We are Theriomorphs come to serve our people.”

  “I know your intentions,” noted Thoth as he adjusted the purple wrap that covered many of the intricate tattoos on his torso. “You must cease your journey immediately.”

  Lluava had to force herself not to fidget. Of course, Yena would have been watching them in her mysterious pool of black water. Did she know the real reason Lluava was coming to Cronus? Did Thoth?

  “Do ya not want our help?” Father asked. “Even though we ride with the Incarn of Issaura?”

  Thoth glanced back in Lluava’s direction. “The more reason for you to turn around. The Ocean Men have real monsters. They will kill you. All of you.”

  “Monsters?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  These and other questions were shouted by the crowd. With one sharp gesture of his hand, Thoth restored silence. “Their monsters are f
ar worse than their bear-men.”

  “Bear-men? You mean the Berserkers. What else could there be?” questioned Yamir.

  Lluava knew what he was thinking. There could not possibly be anything worse than those oversized brutes.

  “The Ocean Men have something else with them. Though human in appearance, they are not. They cannot be.” Thoth paused to look in the direction of the capital. “We thought we knew the enemy. We were wrong. We have entombed ourselves behind the walls. There is no escape for us.”

  “Then how did you?” Lluava asked dubiously. Certainly, this was just a ploy to keep her away from the Outlanders. “Escape, I mean. If you flew away, why can’t others?”

  Pulling aside his wrap, Thoth exposed the broken shaft of an arrow protruding under the inked rune for honor on his chest. “I doubt that I will be returning to Cronus.”

  “Find a healer,” a Razor Back clansman shouted.

  “Somebody get Grandmother,” ordered Father.

  Thoth ignored those scrambling to help him. “I was sent to ensure that you and your army would not meet the same fate as ours. You are too important to our future, Theri.”

  “Why would the high priestess send you, the Ruire, the ruler of the Outlander people, if she knew you would surely die?” Lluava questioned.

  “Would you have believed this warning from anyone else other than the high priestess?”

  The faces of Apex, Talos, and Rosalyn appeared in Lluava’s mind. If Yena’s people would die, so would they. “Return to Cronus,” Lluava affirmed. Her voice was deadly calm. “They have medicine that can save you. You know this to be true. At the very least, try.”

  Thoth considered her thoughtfully. Their relationship had always been one of distrust.

  “If you make it,” she said, “tell Yena to ready the lift at the rear of the city. We will arrive soon.”

  Chapter 15

  Murder Is Great

  Addressing them all, Lluava explained, “There is a lift designed to deliver goods directly to the markets in Cronus. It is large enough to hoist several wagonloads of people at a time. It is our best option to enter the capital without encountering the Raiders’ army positioned at the main gate.”

 

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