Farn rolled his eyes. “And why in the unholy hells would they come back here and bury themselves under a pile or rocks? Pretty stupid thing to do if they wanted to survive yesterday’s massacre.”
Keemo reddened with embarrassment. “I was just saying…we don’t know who those people are.”
“They’re our brothers,” Rukh said. “Let’s get them out.”
They worked quickly and soon had a Kumma, a Rahail, and a Muran free of their encasement under stone. The three men had fought together, and when the caravan had been over-run, the Kumma, Jorn Streedout of House Priyatel, had blasted apart a section of the rock face with a Fireball, effectively burying the three of them. As the rocks had fallen, he had hastily thrown up a protective Shield, while Blok Dam, the Rahail, and Simil Triosole, the Muran, had hidden them with a Blend. They hadn’t slept a wink the entire night. If Jorn had let slip his Shield, the rubble would have crushed them, and if the Blend had dissolved, the Chimeras would have promptly known of their presence.
It took the rest of the morning as well as most of their water and scavenged food for the three men to recover.
“Any others?” Blok asked, his head drooping wearily.
Brand shook his head. “You’re the only ones we’ve found so far.”
“Suwraith’s spit,” Simil said, looking weary and sick.
“He was heading back to his home city. Nestle,” Jorn said. “He and his brother.”
“On Trial, all men are brothers,” Rukh said automatically. A moment later, he swore softly under his breath. In most instances, the phrase was trite to the point of losing all meaning, but now, it tasted like ash on his tongue. For the first time, Rukh truly understood what the words meant. But it was an understanding he wished he’d never gained. Too much death had been the tuition for his education.
“Damn Chims,” Brand muttered.
“Devesh damn them all,” Keemo agreed.
“What do you intend to do?” Jorn asked.
“We’re heading back to Ashoka to warn the city,” Keemo said.
As the others talked amongst themselves, Rukh remained quiet. A nugget of a plan – still in its formative stage – had settled in his mind, and he needed time to think it through. Eventually it came to him. “We’re not all going back to Ashoka,” Rukh said, interrupting their conversation.
“What do you mean? You aren’t coming with us?” Blok asked.
“Not yet,” Rukh said. “You three will go back and warn the city. The four of us…” he indicated Brand, Keemo, and Farn, “…are going to track the Chimeras. We’ll follow them to their home.”
“Are you sure about this?” Brand asked. “Wouldn’t it be safer to go back to Ashoka?”
Rukh turned to him. “Those Chims are the key,” he said. “If we can locate their staging area, we can take the fight to them.” His jaw firmed and a look of implacable hatred stole across his face. “And when we find them, I mean to help lead the Army of Ashoka straight to their houses and burn them all to ashes.”
“Now that’s a plan,” Keemo said in agreement.
*****
They followed hard on the Chimeras’ path, journeying as fast as they could. Their quarry was nearly a full Shatter of filthy Chimeras, and the Ashokans should have been able to close the distance much more quickly than they did. Their biggest obstacle was the need to hunt for food every night. It slowed them down, and it didn’t help that Suwraith’s creatures were also moving swiftly. The Chims had cut straight out of the foothills of the Privation Mountains and onto the Hunters Flats, picking up speed on the savannah.
During the hunt for the Chimeras, Rukh and the others didn’t speak much of the caravan. It was too soon, and the hurt was too close. Better to focus on the task at hand and not dwell on the past or what was lost.
So the days went, but even as they chased the Chimeras, Rukh insisted all of them practice their new Talents. He made the other Kummas learn to Blend. It was an exercise that felt wrong on a bone-deep level, and it left Keemo and Farn – and Rukh – feeling disgusted with themselves. All three of them hated it, but Rukh wouldn’t let up. As far as he was concerned, Blending might be the difference between life and death. Dying was easy, but duty demanded they live. All of them took lessons from Brand an hour every morning before they broke camp and an hour before they settled in for the night. They weren’t skilled and probably never would be, at least compared to Rahails and Murans, but they learned enough. They could hide themselves if the need ever arose and had even managed a shaky Link of their Blends so that at a distance, they could still see one another.
And, of course, Brand took instruction from the Kummas on his new Talents. A Fireball was the first skill he learned.
Several weeks into the hunt, they caught sight of cook fires. It was the Chimeras who’d annihilated the caravan. Rukh shared a smile of anticipation with others, one of their few moments of pleasure since the caravan’s destruction.
Rukh signaled the others, and they pulled aside to make camp several miles away in a small thicket of trees.
Brand went off to scout – being the best at Blending, his role was obvious – while the others ate a cold meal of wild carrots and roasted meat. They knew better than to bother with a fire this close to the Chimera encampment.
“Let’s hope we don’t run into any Shylows,” Keemo whispered.
“They’d go for the Chims first,” Rukh whispered back. “From what I’ve heard, they hate them nearly as much as we do.”
“Not nearly,” Farn corrected in a growl.
Just then Brand suddenly emerged back into view. “The caravan punched the Chims pretty hard,” Brand said. “They’re down to a little over ten Fractures.”
Farn smiled in grim satisfaction. “Then we killed over four thousand of them,” he said. “A good start.”
“There’s something else,” Brand added. “Something strange. All the senior Baels – the ones with the most feathers hanging from their horns – they’re all gathered in a shallow vale about four or five miles from the rest of the Chims.”
“Any idea why?” Keemo asked.
“Of course. We’ve all of us known what the horned bastards get up to at night,” Farn said with a derisive snort. “We just didn’t feel like telling you.”
“Do you actually know then?” Keemo challenged. “Or are you just blowing bilge out your backhole as usual?”
Farn shook his head.
“Then piss off.”
Ever since the caravan’s destruction, Farn had become increasingly sarcastic and impatient with Keemo’s admittedly asinine questions. Usually, their jeering banter grated on Rukh’s nerves, and sometimes he even had to hold himself back from knocking some sense into their fool heads. Tonight their arguing didn’t bother him. He barely even heard them. Something more important occupied his attention. But first, he had to stifle the uncertain excitement building inside. He needed to carefully think this through.
The senior Baels had separated from their main force. Could they do it? If there weren’t too many, then maybe…
“I need numbers and location,” Rukh said.
“There’s about fifty Baels and the same number of Tigons and Braids hanging around nearby acting as guards,” Brand said. “Last I saw, they were about two miles northeast of us. It’s just about a straight shot given how flat the land is around here. Why?”
All at once, the budding anticipation drained away and left Rukh feeling hollow. A hundred of them. Too many. Damn.
“What were you hoping to do?” Keemo asked.
“Kill them,” Rukh said.
“Kill who? The Baels?” Farn asked. “There’s no way. Even if there were only twenty of them. In case you hadn’t noticed, there’s no cover around here except for a few scrub trees and bushes. They’d see us coming from a half-mile away.”
“And you think I’m stupid,” Keemo replied with a contemptuous shake of his head. “We can Blend now, dumbass, remember? They wouldn’t see nothing, not un
til we were right on them, like ugly on your face…”
Rukh wanted to mentally slap himself. Keemo was right. They could Blend. Rukh was seized with sudden excitement. They could do this.
“If these Baels are their senior staff, and they’re having some kind of meet up, we could decapitate their army in one fell swoop,” Brand said, catching the fever of Rukh’s enthusiasm.
Rukh smiled, a predatory gleam in his eyes. “We’re still faster than they are,” he said. “Even Brand since he’s been practicing our Talents just like we have his. We can evade the Tigons and Braids and get close enough to Fireball half the Baels before the others even figure out who’s sending them to the unholy hells. And when they try to fight us…” he smiled again. “We slip away like ghosts.”
An answering gleam lit Farn’s eyes. “And then we hit them again when they try to return to their main army.”
“Yes,” Rukh answered. “We can’t take all of them, but we can whittle their numbers down, especially if we get the feather wearers.”
Keemo grinned. “Let’s do it.”
“Time to get some vengeance,” Farn said. “For all our fallen.”
Brand shook his head. “My Amma always warned me to stay away from you crazy Kummas. Always racing off from one desperate battle to another.”
Farn laughed. “Didn’t anyone tell you? Kumma crazy is contagious. By now, you’ve got it just as bad as the rest of us.”
“As long as I’m not Kumma stupid,” Brand replied.
*****
“The Tigons and Braids are excited,” Li-Dirge noted, standing with his back to the large bonfire at the center of the vale.
“We shouldn’t have brought them,” Reg said. “In the best of times, they are no more than idiots. When Mother arrives, they’ll discard whatever small wits Devesh was kind enough to grant them and lose themselves in their religious fervor over a false deity.”
“We need their blades in case the Shylows decide to visit,” Dirge said. “If nothing else, we can throw our fellow Chimeras at the damn cats until we can make good our escape.”
Li-Brood laughed. “It’s all they’re good for anyway: fodder.”
Dirge glanced to the darkened skies. The stars gleamed, twinkling and warm, while a half-moon shone down on them, making visible the heavy clouds lumbering slowly to the northeast. It wasn’t the lovely sheen of heaven’s vault that caught his attention, though.
There was a power in the skies.
He searched and found a distant place where the clouds swirled madly, lit by lightning. The sound of thunder carried to him on the night breeze. Soon it would become a whirlwind.
He trembled. “She comes.” He glanced around, gathering the attention of the other Baels. “Prepare yourselves.”
As one, the Baels fell to their knees, foreheads pressed to the grass of the vale. And as one, they chanted the prayer taught to them as young worms in the crèche pouches of their Bovar mothers, the improperly named Prayer of Gratitude:
By Her grace are we born
By Her love are we made
By Her will are we shorn
By Her fire are we unmade
And are reborn once more
Mother Lienna arrived in a torrent of lashing wind and sound. “My SarpanKum, you have ensured delivery of the trinket?” the Queen demanded in a voice of pealing thunder and cracking bones.
“It is done,” Li-Dirge replied in a voice far steadier than he felt.
“Good. It is as it should be,” She replied. “Now listen well for this is My will. Carry it forth.”
Li-Dirge sweated as the Queen spoke insanity. In his mind echoed the Prayer of Gratitude, the only means to hide his fear and contempt from Mother.
Chapter 9 – Indistinct Foes
Before waging battle, the ferocious warrior is certain of his friends. But the wise warrior is even more certain of his enemies.
-The Warrior and the Servant (author unknown), AF 203
Rukh crouched next to Brand, Keemo, and Farn behind a pile of boulders, the crumbled remnants of a small monolith that had once jutted up from the wide savannah of the Hunters Flats. The grass was long and itchy, and the smell of the nearby eucalyptus trees – a lemony kind of scent – blew their way during a restless breeze. The day had been hot, and the evening humid and muggy. It was perfect weather for mosquitoes and other pests. They buzzed around the Ashokans but never settled, their senses thrown off by the Blend each men had conducted. Sweat beaded on Rukh’s forehead and trickled down his back, but he didn’t bother wiping it away. He kept still – it was the stillness of a predator waiting to strike.
Before him, meeting in a shallow bowl of land about a hundred feet in diameter, were a number of Baels clustered in small groups as they spoke to one another. Based on the number of feathers they wore, all of them looked to be senior Chimera commanders. So far, the Ashokans had managed to avoid the Tigon and Braid guards with ease. The Blends – even the ones conducted by the Kummas – worked perfectly…or at least well enough. Thirty or so feet from the boulders behind which they crouched stood the Bael commander. Rukh assumed it likely since this was the only black-horned beast with red feather tassels hanging like confetti from his ebony horns.
The Baels were armed with their traditional trident and chained whip, and some even wore sheathed swords at their hips. The last were likely of Ashokan make, probably weapons the Chimeras had picked off the corpses of those they’d killed in the caravan. For the Baels, they would merely serve as long knives.
Bastards.
They wouldn’t be able to take down all the Baels, but the Ashokans could do some heavy damage. Rukh prepared to give the order to attack. It would only be a small vengeance for all those killed in the caravan, but it would have to serve. Just as he was about to give the final command, he paused. A small voice in his mind whispered for him to wait. He frowned and rapped the side of his head, not sure where the thought had come from. He decided it wasn’t important. Once more, he was about to signal for the Ashokans to attack, but again came the whispered voice, urging him to wait. Rukh paused, suddenly unsure. Something was going on here. Something a part of him felt was important. He stayed his order, choosing instead to remain silent. He ignored the questioning look in Farn’s eyes. He wanted to know what the Baels were discussing.
The beasts were in conference, and surprisingly, they spoke Human. Who would have guessed the creatures would share the same language as their enemies? The Baels spoke in an old-fashioned manner, but otherwise, they were easy to understand. And what they discussed shouldn’t have surprised him. The Baels apparently had little love for their fellow Chims, but the ease with which they discussed disposing of the Tigons and the others in their command was repulsive. Rukh’s lip curled in disgust. The primary duty of any commander was to use his warriors wisely and never waste their lives. Or so Rukh had always been taught. The Baels believed otherwise, and tonight only served to emphasize how utterly brutal and treacherous all Chimeras were. It wasn’t much of a surprise given the nature of their Mother.
A flicker of lightning caught his eye, and he looked to the south where a storm was building and heading their way. His eyes widened. The storm was moving against the prevailing wind. He stared harder at the oncoming inky dark clouds moving toward them. It raced forward, covering the distance more swiftly than any wind could possibly account for. Rukh’s heart pounded. He knew what was coming, or rather who was coming. The swirling clouds, moving in warped and incomprehensible patterns…no one had seen Her in a hundred years, but there were enough descriptions for him to know who it was.
“Holy Devesh. Please tell me I’m not seeing what I think I am?” Farn said, his voice quaking in terror.
“Quiet,” Rukh replied, the sweat on his brow suddenly turned clammy. “Focus on your Blends. If She sees us, we’re dead.”
This was a moment rarely reported in Human history: a close encounter with Suwraith, the Sorrow Bringer in all Her horrific glory. The clouds raced and s
wirled before a hurricane wind and lightning coruscated, shooting from sky to earth and back again, while thunder rumbled continuously. Despite the din, Her voice could be heard, a howling sound like crushed stone and the anguished scream of the tortured. Rukh had never heard anything so awful or terrifying. Her voice was like a nightmare made flesh, and he had to stifle an urge to plug his ears and flee for his life. He had never in his life expected to be so close to the hated being responsible for carnage and murder on such a vast scale that words couldn’t describe the true horror of what She had done. This was Suwraith. She was evil made real.
He reached out to Brand, who had risen from his crouch, a look of utter panic in his face. His fellow Ashokans weren’t doing much better, but after a moment, the four of them got their fear under control. They settled down behind the boulders, waiting and listening to find out what would happen next.
Never before had a meeting between Suwraith and her commanders been recorded. Until this moment, no one even knew how the Sorrow Bringer communicated with her armies. After all, the only other times Suwraith had been seen was when She was in the midst of annihilating a city. Very few people survived such an attack.
She rushed toward the Baels, flattening the grass for hundreds of paces around with a wind that threatened to lift the Ashokans off their feet and hurl them skyward into the teeth of the storm. Dust and grit billowed in the air until the only safety was for the Ashokans to mimic the position of the Baels: knees on the ground with bodies curled up and foreheads pressed to the earth.
Suwraith spoke, and Rukh forced himself to listen, despite the awful and hideous sound of Her voice. Ashoka’s existence might depend on what he learned in the next few minutes.
What was this about a trinket? And why did the red-feathered Bael, the general, look so fearful?
“And now take yourself to the gathering of My army. There you will empty this plain and feed the breeders of the Eastern Caverns so I may have three Plagues with which to attack Ashoka as soon as possible.”
A Warrior's Path (The Castes and the OutCastes) Page 18