“What is it?” the assassin asked.
Kahn Taruk smiled. “A Tynell. Inside it are two substances, that when mixed produce a violent fiery explosion.”
“I have never heard of such a thing,” Lyra said, leaning forward to get a better look at the ball.
“Of course you have not. It was created by our alchemists and no one else has the knowledge to produce them,” Kahn Taruk added with pride.
“Alchemists?” Thalon said, clearly unaware of the term. “I have heard of no such word.”
“It matters not. Our knowledge of such things is far beyond yours,” he said. “What matters is that when these are dropped onto the ships, they will create fiery havoc. So, I will ask one more time. Can you dismantle the Kaelian navy?”
Thalon looked at Ayden, then Lyra, who looked away, still not willing to commit to the idea. But Thalon didn’t care. With their spells, and these new Saricon weapons, the chance of success suddenly got better. “We will do as you ask. We want five thousand dracks before we leave for Eltus and another five thousand after we complete the job.
Kahn Taruk sat back in his chair. The sum was a king’s ransom. Even the stoic Saricons sitting next to him looked shocked by the sum.
Lyra looked back at Thalon, wondering if she heard him correctly, but knowing that she did. Tulk tensed, easing his meaty hand towards his sword, worried that the Tongra would be so angry that he’d attack. Tulk knew that Saricons were prone to quick and sudden violence and he did not want to be caught unprepared.
Thalon stared at Tongra Taruk, his lavender eyes revealing nothing.
Finally the Tongra spoke. “I agree to your sum.” Then he leaned forward, his huge arms pressing down on the table, his blue eyes narrowing. “But if you do not succeed in this task, I will make it my personal mission to hunt you down and kill you, all of you. In Heln’s name I will crush you, and no amount of aura magic will save you. Do you understand?”
Thalon smiled, but the others did not. “We understand.”
***
It was mid-day and Tangar sat on his horse, looking down expectantly at the trackers before him. Two men inspected the ground, conversing quietly as they analyzed the disturbed earth. Fifty men sat on horses behind him.
They had been following the trail since daylight. Tangar estimated that Brant and Uln had escaped at least four hours before the bodies were found. At that point it was too dark to set out blindly after them. They had to wait until the sun came up the next morning. That meant that they had at least a half day’s lead on them, but also that they had been running for many hours. He knew they were tired and hungry, and on foot. They would find them.
Tangar was beyond furious. Brant had killed his slave, the hounds he had raised since birth, and had humiliated him in front of all the tribes. He would make them pay dearly for what they had done. And then there was that Dy’ainian scum, Kulvar Rand. Tangar had been so angry when he found out they had escaped that he had confronted the Dygon Guard immediately. Swords were nearly drawn, but his father, Chief Byn’ok, would not allow his guests attacked without proof or provocation. But Tangar knew that the Dy’ainian Lord had something to do with their escape. It was too coincidental that he had visited Brant that night, and that soon after he poisoned his hounds and escaped. Where else would he have obtained the poison? When Kulvar Rand had been confronted he had defended himself by saying that the poison was common amongst the tribes and that Brant had probably just found some, or perhaps stolen some. But he knew that was not the truth. It couldn’t have been. Brant didn’t spend any time in the village for just that reason. And he was always chained or under constant surveillance. Kulvar Rand had helped him escape, and he would pay for his treachery, alongside Brant.
Tangar looked at the setting sun. It was going to be dark soon. “How far away are they?” he asked in frustration.
The scouts stopped talking and looked up. One spoke. “We think they are a half day ahead of us. I think they are heading for the river.”
“And how far away is the river?”
“We will reach it mid-day tomorrow. They might reach it before dark.”
“Will we be able to catch up with them tomorrow?”
One tracker grunted, looking at the one who spoke. “It will be more difficult to track them if they reach the river. But yes, I believe we will find them tomorrow, tomorrow evening at the latest.”
“Get on with it then.”
The trackers mounted their horses and moved forward, their vigilant eyes scanning the signs left behind by the men. Luckily, the big Varga left deep imprints in the grass and they could follow their trail easily enough.
The sun had nearly disappeared when Brant stopped jogging. He was exhausted and his legs hurt badly. Uln pulled up short, sucking in deep breaths. He too was tired, but he had not been wounded and he looked at Brant with concern. They had entered a small copse of trees and Uln inspected it briefly, moving back to Brant who had peeled a piece of fruit, handing a chunk to Uln. They both ate their meager rations, savoring the sweet juices that only briefly quenched their thirst. But it wasn’t enough. They needed to get to the creek.
“I think we should sleep for a couple of hours. This spot looks good,” Brant suggested.
Uln nodded in agreement. There was a small bonet tree nearby that looked like an ideal place to bed down. The branches drooped low, almost to the ground, creating a natural shelter big enough for two people. Uln walked over to some nearby trees and ripped off branches, showing a great display of strength. He laid the leafy bows against the outside of their shelter, creating another layer of protection from the outside elements. Soon, the Varga had created a simple enclosure, protected by dense foliage. Hopefully it would be enough to maintain their body heat. The evenings on the steppe could get pretty cold. They crawled inside and were asleep in moments, the last vestiges of the sun’s light vanishing behind the horizon.
They had slept longer than they wanted, their exhausted bodies refusing to heed their intentions. With only several hours left before daylight they took off hastily, hoping to get to the creek as soon as possible.
Shortly after they left they were jogging through another small copse of bonnet trees when suddenly Uln, with a great surge of speed, jumped in front of Brant. Something struck him, spinning him sideways and to Brant’s left.
“Kite’ens!” he roared, lifting his axe before him and crouching lower in the tall grass.
Brant noticed a small sharp object sticking from Uln’s left shoulder but he had no time for further inspection as three strange forms materialized from the grayness of dusk following several thrown projectiles. One struck Brant a glancing blow on his thigh, opening a shallow cut, and he was able to avoid the second missile by ducking low. Whatever it was moving towards them Brant had never seen before. They had detached themselves from the nearby trees and attacked very quickly. Being tall and lanky, their skin looking exactly like the bark of the bonnet tree, they were able to blend in perfectly with the trees common on the steppes. Patches of green covered their entire body and to Brant it looked like some kind of moss. They had three long fingers that looked like gnarly sticks sharpened to points and their heads resembled stumps of different shapes, a row of sharp teeth visible even in the early morning darkness. Each one carried a long crude spear with a white bone tip and their long loping strides brought them to an attacking position very quickly.
One jabbed its long spear forward in a powerful lunge hoping to catch Brant off guard. Ducking from the projectile weapon had put Brant in a good low position. He was tired from running and didn’t want to risk using the Way, afraid it might drain him too quickly. Sidestepping the attack, Brant grabbed the spear handle and attacked the creature with his stolen sword, striking the thing two times across its long thin torso. It felt like he had hit a tree, the power of his strikes reverberating up his arm. And the creature was strong. Faster than Brant thought possible the Kite’en, if that’s what it was called, yanked his spear from Bra
nt’s grasp and whipped the opposite end around, striking a glancing blow on Brant’s side as he pivoted away from the attack. Brant struck the creature again, hitting it hard in the thigh, but it had little effect. His sword didn’t seem to be doing any damage, barely cutting into the creature’s hard skin.
“Go for glowing green spot!” Uln roared, fighting against two of the beasts off to his left.
Brant hadn’t seen a glowing green spot at first, but as he spun and attacked the creature, he caught a flickering green light under some sort of hard carapace on its stomach. You couldn’t see it when looking at the creature straight on, but when it turned, or Brant did, he could barely make out several narrow gaps in its hard exoskeleton that shed small vestiges of a strange green light.
It would be a tough spot to hit, Brant’s blade barely fitting between the slots to begin with. They fought on, both exchanging attacks for defensive maneuvers. The thing was fast with long gangly arms enabling it to attack Brant from a distance. He had to get inside the thing’s defenses and penetrate the gaps in its abdomen. The Kite’en made a strange gurgling sound just before it kicked out with its right foot. Brant side stepped the attack and leaped in close, aiming his blade for the glowing green opening. The creatures gurgling turned into a high pitched screech as Brant’s blade found the slot, pushing into the thing at least a hand span before the beast spun and jumped away, pulling Brant’s sword with it.
Weaponless, Brant glanced at Uln as the Kite’en jumped away screeching, trying to dislodge the sword from its side. Uln had already dispatched one creature and Brant saw him unleash a barrage of powerful swings with his axe, cutting into the remaining creature’s legs and arms like a logger felling a tree. The Kite’en was screeching and desperately trying to evade the devastating onslaught of the powerful warrior.
Brant ran forward hoping to take down the injured Kite’en and finish his work, remove his sword, and help Uln finish off the last beast. But as he neared the frantic creature Brant glimpsed an even bigger shape hurtle towards him from his periphery. Reacting on instinct, Brant channeled a little energy into his legs, using the burst of strength to catapult himself out of the way. Tumbling, Brant came to his feet to face the new threat. His cuts on his legs hurt but he had bigger problems to face. And it was definitely bigger. Another Kite’en, nearly three heads taller than Brant, missed him by a hair and came to its feet quickly. This one held a long bone in each hand, the head heavier and carved into a sharp edge. To Brant they looked like bone axes. Gurgling loudly, the thing bolted forward.
Brant was tired and weaponless, afraid to use the Way, worried that he might drain himself completely. Crouching, he readied himself for the attack, thinking of nothing else he could do.
And then Uln crashed into the creature, their bodies rotating and tumbling through the tall grass. Brant saw Uln’s massive body rise up from the grass and his small axe descend again and again, the creature howling and screeching eerily the entire time. Brant realized just then that there was no way he could’ve defeated Uln without the use of the Way. He was simply too big and strong.
Fifteen strikes later and the Kite’en lay still. Uln stood up to his full height, the rising sun in the distance silhouetting his giant form. Brant walked over to him.
“Is it dead?”
“Yes.”
“What were those things?”
“Kite’ens. They blend in with tree, very dangerous.”
“And the green spot?”
“It’s heart.”
“I’ve never heard of them,” Brant said.
“They rare. Live in surrounding forests. Only venture to steppes when food scarce.”
Brant saw Uln’s injured shoulder. “Are you okay,” he asked, indicating his muscled arm.
Uln glanced at his shoulder, seemingly forgetting the projectile sticking from it. It was small, or at least it looked small in his colossal shoulder, and chipped from some black stone. It had three blades in the shape of leaves and the edges looked very sharp. Uln reached up and removed the weapon with a grunt, dropping the bloody thing to the ground. It looked to Brant that it had only penetrated his hard skin an inch or so. “It not serious. You hurt?” Uln asked, looking at his bleeding leg.
“The old wounds opened up. And I got a scratch on my leg and a few bruises. I’ll be fine. Thanks for saving me. How did you know of the attack?” Brant realized that the projectile that barely hurt Uln could have killed him. Not to mention the fact that Uln had killed three to his one. He would be dead now if it weren’t for the Varga and his axe, which seemed like the perfect weapon against these beasts.
“I heard them.”
“I didn’t hear a thing.”
Uln smiled. “You are Dy’ainian.”
Brant was used to Uln’s jabs about his race and ignored him. “Just the same, thank you for saving my life, twice.”
Uln stepped towards him, placing his giant hand on Brant’s shoulder. “You rescued me. Didn’t have to. I see family again. For that, friend Brant, I will always be in debt.”
Brant nodded, not sure of what to say. He looked over at the creature he killed and moved to get his blade. “Let me get my…”
“No sword. It gone,” Uln interrupted.
Sure enough Brant could see that his sword was destroyed. Whatever the thing’s heart was made from reacted violently with the steel of the blade. It was no longer usable, the steel melted and bound in the things hard exoskeleton. “Let’s get going. I want to reach the river soon and clean these wounds and hopefully get them off our trail.”
“Lead on, friend Brant.”
It was late morning when Brant and Uln finally reached the slow moving stream. They had rationed the food that Brant had taken and they were now down to two hunks of bread. Panting heavily, they both stood at the edge of the creek. Brant tossed Uln a piece of bread while he ate the other.
“This is where we part,” he said, breathing deeply from the long run and biting into the hard crust of the bread.
Uln nodded and swallowed his portion in less than three bites. “Thank you, friend Brant.”
Brant nodded and smiled. “Good luck. I hope you find your family.”
“Good luck to you,” the Varga said, extending his huge hand. Brant shook it, his own hand looking like a child’s in comparison. “You need anything…I help. My home deep in Heyrith Forest. Look for me there.”
“How would I even find you?”
Uln smiled. “You not. I find you.”
Uln patted Brant on the shoulder, turned, and ran to the edge of the stream. It was a large creek and the section before them was fifteen paces wide but not very deep. Brant watched the Varga push through the sluggish current easily, his massive legs cutting through the water as if it were air. Once on the other side, Uln turned and waved before disappearing into the brush that flanked the water.
Brant took a moment to inspect the wounds on his legs, which had become very painful. He walked to the edge of the creek and untied the bandages around his thighs. They were dirty and sweaty, and caked with blood. He didn’t like what he saw. The flesh was red and puffy, but at least the bleeding had been reduced to a mere trickle, and it did not yet smell of infection. But that could come soon. They needed to be cleaned. Sitting at the creek’s edge, both of his legs submerged in the cold clear water, he let the slow current wash away the dried blood and dirt. Then, painfully, he used his fingers and gently rubbed the cuts to clean them out further. Dried blood broke free like a crumbling dam, and fresh crimson poured from the wounds, mixing with the water, and swirling momentarily before washing down stream. Grabbing the dirty strips of cloth, he washed them in the creek as best he could. He knew he couldn’t dally any longer. Standing, he retied the wet strips around his legs, the fresh blood staining the cloth immediately. He was tired and weak, and his thighs throbbed with pain. But he couldn’t stop. He knew that Kaan’s farm was somewhere south of his location, and if he followed the creek he would find his friends home soon enough
. That is if the creek before him was Bygon Creek, of which he could not be sure. But he had no other plan.
Using his hands as cups he gulped down a generous amount of water. He no longer had the energy to run, which was fine with him as the terrain along the river was not always easy going. Many times he had to climb over rocks or logs, up steep embankments or push his way through the dense brush that grew along the creek’s edge. He had set off at a fast walk, following the creek bed and walking in the water as much as he could in hopes of throwing off the trackers that he knew would be following them. Tangar would never let them go, especially after he had killed his hounds. And the Schulg had some of the best hunters and trackers in all of Dy’ain. They were behind him, he had no doubt.
Ten Dygon Guards led by Kulvar Rand rode their tired steeds into the town of Amorsit. They had been riding hard for the entire day, stopping for a one hour break at mid-day to take food and rest the animals. When the sun dropped behind the horizon they had set up a quick camp. Kulvar ordered the men to sleep for six hours before they would mount up again and head out. He was hoping to reach the town by late morning. They had made good time and found the town in full swing. The sudden appearance of ten warriors, dressed in silver armor, with the instantly recognized black and silver symbol of the Dygon Guard, caused quite a stir. It wouldn’t be long before the town’s own guard arrived to greet them.
The Steel Lord: Book 01 - BannerFall Page 26