Leitos stared in horror, but his captor was not finished.
“Unlike the accursed Izutarian slaves from north of the Sea of Drakarra, the enslaved of Geldain commonly serve men who in turn serve the Faceless One. I suffered as a pleasure slave to one of those men,” the Hunter grated.
“How … how did you get free?” Leitos asked quietly.
The Hunter shook away the troubled expression furrowing his brow, and a sinister gleam replaced the distant look in his eyes. “Lies and smiles, boy,” he said, casually adding more spices to the dripping meat.
“I do not understand,” Leitos said. After what he had heard so far, he did not really want to know, but a part of him felt that he needed to.
“My time in bondage was spent in my master’s bedchamber. That whoreson would lay with anything at hand: men and boys, women and girls, beasts of the field, or all at once. And when that failed to slake his vile lusts, he used cruelty, violence of the worst sort, doing things to me and others that I will not utter aloud.” At this, the Hunter unconsciously fingered the scar on his throat, and Leitos found himself gladdened that the man did not reveal the details of how he had come by it.
“During it all,” the Hunter said, “I taught myself that the body is nothing but skin and meat and bone, merely clothing for the spirit. And while any of us draw breath, the body heals. The mind, boy, is far more precious … fragile. I guarded mine well, sealed it off from all feeling. Most of the others with me failed at that. In their shame, many opened their veins or poisoned themselves, choosing death as an easy escape. I did not then, nor do I now, begrudge them their choice. Nevertheless, they were weak. I chose to live, boy, to fight for my every breath.”
Leitos swallowed, ashamed that he had begun the conversation with the idea of forcing the Hunter to kill him in a fit of rage, so that he might escape the silent oaths he had sworn to his grandfather. While he did not intend to become like the man before him, he knew he must, in some way, learn from him.
Grow strong and cruel. Was that what his grandfather had desired, for his grandson to become like the Hunter? It seemed doubtful, but at the same time, Leitos could hardly separate Adham’s instruction from what the Hunter was imparting. Uncertain, he continued to listen to the Hunter’s grim tale, feeling more sickened by each new word.
“Much the same as my mother betrayed my father and me, I turned on my master and gained what freedom I have. It was simple, really—a murmured lie here, bit of damning evidence there and, of course, my word against him. That last was key, for slaves do not accuse. For me to do so meant, to those who mattered, that I must be telling the truth. Neither the Faceless One nor the Alon’mahk’lar suffer even a hint of betrayal or opposition. Moreover, they delight in showing their displeasure with the disobedient—so much so that they gave me the privilege of tearing the skin from my master.”
The Hunter’s eyes shined with something like glee. “I peeled him like an overripe fruit, boy, relishing every scream. He begged for forgiveness, but instead of bowing to the folly of mercy, I gave back to him in double measure all the vile gifts he had bestowed upon my flesh. On that day, boy, I was reborn.”
Leitos thought he might vomit at the images flickering through his mind, but he did not. Grow strong and cruel. He still did not know exactly what that meant, but he was certain now that his grandfather had not intended for him to become like the Hunter, at least not exactly. And while he could understand why the Hunter had done what he had, Leitos’s sympathy had curdled, for he knew the man was rabidly insane.
He shook his head slowly. “You suffered evils,” he allowed, “but you were not ‘reborn’ that day. I think what you held most precious, the spirit you thought to protect and set free, began to rot. Willingly or not, you became as much a soulless abomination as those you now serve. In that, you are no better than your mother.”
The Hunter shot him an oddly stricken look, but Leitos ignored it, his thoughts turning inward. If he had learned anything from the Hunter’s tale, it was that self-deception, the so-called ‘lies and smiles’ was a deadly doctrine, a slow-acting poison that decayed a man, consumed him from within.
All at once, the Hunter leaped across the space between them, catching hold of Leitos’s neck. He did not squeeze down, but the threat of power was there, the feeling that he could snap bones with no effort. “Judge me as you will, boy, but you are a weak, useless fool. You will waste away and die as a slave, as all your people have before you.” With a sound of disgust, he flung Leitos aside, and returned to the hares.
Leitos sat up again, eyeing his captor. He struggled to bring his leaping thoughts under control.
Here before him was a man who might have been great. If not for the Faceless One, he could have been a warrior or a lord or even a king. Instead, the Faceless One and his ilk had bent him to their will as they had so many others, made him a hater and hunter of men. They had destroyed the Hunter’s mother’s soul, much the same as they had broken the spirits of multitudes the world over, making wretched beasts of mankind, who then willingly turned on each other for little or nothing.
That last was still hard to accept, but seemingly undeniable. And such, Leitos saw, was the Faceless One’s masterstroke. He had little need of great marauding armies to maintain power, for his subjects controlled themselves through their abiding mistrust of one another, and a desire to serve their own needs above the needs of others.
More thoughts spun through Leitos’s head, but they faded in the light of just one: How could he avenge the dying race of mankind? The only answer was the same enigmatic command that had been alive in his mind since he fled the mines. Grow strong and cruel. It was little enough to go on, all that he had in truth.
When the Hunter placed one of the roasted hares in Leitos’s hands, he abandoned all thoughts of not eating. Food would strengthen him and, he prayed, perhaps one strength would lead to gaining another, and another, until he could find a means to escape and resume his journey to find the Brothers of the Crimson Shield.
Chapter 11
“What is that?” Leitos asked, tugging the collar of the itchy tunic his captor had provided to keep the worst of the harsh sunlight off his back and shoulders.
While the Hunter had beaten him for speaking out of turn after dragging him from the river, the man had not so much as scowled since then for the same offence. For his part, Leitos had made it a habit to flinch and cower often around the Hunter, doing all he could to ensure that he seemed intimidated.
Now, at the worst, the brute ignored him when he asked after something, a silent indication that he would not answer. Most times, though, he responded to just about any question posed. The man held within his skull a wealth of information, apparently taught to him while he was a slave. Often, Leitos was simply curious about this or that. Aside from the vague images his grandfather’s stories brought to mind, he had no experience of the world.
Standing off to one side making water on a scraggly thorn bush, the Hunter turned his head at the question, squinting against the reddish light of the setting sun. They had paused on the crest of a sandstone bluff with a good view. “It’s a bone-town, you dolt,” the Hunter growled. “Just another open grave given over to sand and scorpions.”
Leitos ignored the insult, having grown accustomed to them. A few miles to the south, in the direction the Hunter looked, sprawled a sweeping collection of crumbled buildings. It was no mere town—bone or otherwise—but a city. They had traveled hard for a week. Until now, Leitos had seen only endless desert.
He studied the ruins more closely. Bleakness stole over him at the aspect of long abandonment, and darkness followed at a thought he could no longer afford to ignore. That is where I will kill him.
He had considered the same more times than he could count, but so far he’d not had the opportunity. Running was no option, for he had seen the uncanny way in which the Hunter could winnow out the signs of a passing serpent in the dead of night, and then follow it to its den and kill
it for supper.
I must kill him, he thought again. There was no other choice, and there could be no more delay. He had even decided how he would do it, although the idea of crushing the Hunter’s skull with a rock while he slept still turned his stomach. Also, it must be done in the first hour after the Hunter fell asleep. That was when the man slept the soundest. After that, he began stirring. Within two hours after falling asleep, the Hunter became restive, jerking awake at the faintest sounds. This night, I will take back my freedom.
He looked away from the desolation of what had once been a sanctuary for humankind. “Not the town,” he said, hoping the thoughts of murder wrestling behind his eyes did not show on his face. He pointed out another landmark an equal distance to the west. “That.”
The Hunter finished his business, then moved to stand beside Leitos. He surveyed the land in all directions, save the one in which Leitos pointed. Leitos had witnessed this behavior often since they set out, and had adopted for himself the habit of always keeping a wary eye for potential threats.
The Hunter finally rested his gaze on the series of ragged craters gouged into the face of the desert. Most were small, no larger than the tumbledown abodes in the distant city. One in particular was far larger, a great bowl sunk into the face of the desert, with weathered fissures spreading crookedly from its crumbly rim. A layer of sand had accumulated on the bowl’s bottom, but the darker hues of scorched rock showed along the sides.
“I have heard it told that when the Three died,” the Hunter said, “burning stars fell from the heavens for months, the world cracked and trembled, and the seas raged far inland. With my own eyes, I have seen great cities throughout Geldain reduced to rubble by the Upheaval. Slavers and traders and the like say there are signs that the same happened the world over. Their elders told of a time when the sun did not give its light for a season or more.
“When light came again, bringing with it the new age—some years before the Faceless One took power—everything had changed. Where green things once grew, the lands had become dry and desolate. Where deserts had stretched for countless leagues, baking under the sun year-round, winter’s touch had swept in, burying all under snow and ice. Where land once stood, it had crumbled, allowing the waves of the sea to wash over fertile plains.”
Leitos nodded, for he had heard those same tales, and worse. According to Adham, the new age the Hunter spoke of was an age of darkness and loss, giving rise to demonic rule and the collapse of humankind’s greatest achievements. The Hunter saw his reaction and burst out laughing.
“Men say much, boy,” the Hunter said, “but mostly they utter lies. Take Geldain. It is as much a desert realm as ever it was.”
“But you said you have seen the destruction,” Leitos said, hiding his exasperation. “Do you now deny it … or was that another of your lies?” Belatedly, he recognized that he was treading on dangerous ground. The Hunter either did not notice, or dismissed it.
“On that score, I spoke the truth. I have seen signs like those holes in the earth, or places where the ground had been ripped apart, leaving bottomless chasms. As well, I have sheltered in what must have been grand palaces, and beside monuments hidden within cities so vast as to addle your wits. All were crushed by forces beyond my ken. But, who can say what really happened, and more, should we believe all that we hear about the world fairly breaking itself apart, even as stars fell from the heavens?” the Hunter asked in philosophical tone.
While Leitos coveted the knowledge the Hunter shared, it also never failed to leave him troubled. It was easier to think of the Hunter as a man of cruelty with little more than base cunning.
“Take my grandfather’s grandfather,” the Hunter continued, “born just after the Upheaval, and just before the coming of the Faceless One. Having never seen what had been before, he could only pass down what his father told him of those days—”
The Hunter paused in midsentence, eyeing Leitos’s odd expression. “What is it, boy?” he asked sharply, then scanned their surroundings, his hand falling to the hilt of his knife.
Leitos told himself he must have misheard. “My grandfather told me those same tales.”
Finding no impending trouble, the Hunter shrugged his broad shoulders. “Why should that bother you?” he snorted disdainfully.
“Your grandfather’s grandfather,” Leitos said slowly. “That would mean the last age ended nearly two hundred years ago.”
The Hunter offered him a bland look. “Depending on who does the telling, the new age dawned near on three or four lifetimes of men gone,” he confirmed. “But to my mind, the only thing that really matters is that the Faceless One rose from the ashes of what was, and he has ruled these past seven score years.” Such a vast number in relation to the Faceless One did not shock him anymore than it did Leitos, for it was known that the Faceless One was not human. Just what he was, however, was a matter of speculation.
“You do not understand,” Leitos insisted. “My grandfather told me he was a boy before the Faceless One came. He was old, but not that old.”
“I keep telling you, men are liars. Your grandfather included. I suspect he fed you all manner of deceits, the whole of your life. He probably lied so much that he began to believe his own drivel. If you were not such a blithering idiot, you would have thought about that before you fled your masters, and spared yourself a mountain of trouble.”
Indifferent to any response Leitos might have offered, the Hunter turned and followed a wild goat trail down off the bluff. Slipping and sliding, using stiff brush for handholds, they managed to reach the bottom just as the sun dropped below the horizon, its legacy setting the sky ablaze with a dusky crimson light.
The Hunter cast a sidelong glance at Leitos. “I’m curious, boy, just where did you plan to go when you fled?” His tone was almost friendly, his posture at ease—two mannerisms at odds with what Leitos knew of the man.
“Trust no one, save those of whom I’ve spoken,” Adham had warned, and now Leitos took that warning to heart.
“Away … I just wanted to get away. The slavemasters were butchering everyone.…” he faltered, remembering the smell of blood spilled into the dust, the screams and howls of the dying, his mind skipping over the blank spot during which his grandfather had perished. “I ran because I did not want to die for something that was not my fault,” he added, thinking that might convince the Hunter, if nothing else did. The sheen of tears in his eyes was real enough.
“We’ll sleep in the ruins tonight,” the Hunter said after a time, seemingly satisfied. “There are a few good wells, and I have yet to go hungry when sheltering within those walls. I hope you like wild dog. There are plenty about.”
“Do you know what the town was called before?” Leitos asked, knuckling wetness from his eyes.
The Hunter absently shook his head. “To me, it is and has always been the second bone-town north from Zuladah.”
“Zuladah,” Leitos muttered, his voice shaking from the sudden jump in his pulse. “That is where you’ll give me over to the Alon’mahk’lar.” It was not a question but a statement of truth, based on what the Hunter had previously revealed.
The Hunter did not so much as offer a sympathetic glance in Leitos’s direction. Emboldened by anger and genuine bemusement, Leitos asked the question he had before. “You curse the Alon’mahk’lar and the Faceless One, yet you would hand me over to those who will torture and chain me, as you were once tortured and chained. Why not stand against them, rally men to your side to fight against those who corrupted your own mother?”
Instead of answering, the Hunter scowled in the failing light. With a low curse, he set out at a slow trot toward the ruins of the bone-town. Leitos watched for a moment, thinking about trying to escape under the cover of night, thus avoiding the need to kill his enemy. As before when this thought crossed his mind, he quickly dismissed it. To make good his flight, the Hunter had to die.
With no other choice, Leitos followed the Hunter over a terrain o
f rock and sand, skirting bushes to avoid thorns, as well as any serpents that might be resting under their scant foliage. In short order, they reached an ancient roadway paved with broken slabs. On firmer ground, the Hunter increased his speed.
Full dark cloaked the lands by the time they reached the outskirts of the bone-town. The stars and the dull gray half-moon gave a little light, but not enough to make out much detail beyond a crumbled wall half buried under drifts of sand. At one time, the warding wall must have stood twenty feet or more. Men bearing spears, bows, and swords would have walked it of an evening, guarding the nameless town against bandits, or welcoming trader caravans and weary travelers. But no more. Now the bricks lay in heaps, wearing away under the constant onslaught of wind-driven sand and infrequent rains.
The Hunter rummaged through the leather satchel hanging by a long strap across his chest. He had worn it since departing the first of two hideaways, and it seemed to hold a great many useful things. Leitos expected the Hunter to pull out some implement to light the way, but instead he produced a tangle of leather thongs, from which hung a pair of teardrop-shaped stones.
“We’ll likely not need these, but we will wear them, just in case.”
“What are they?” Leitos edged closer, until his nose was no more than a hand’s width from touching the thumb-sized amulets. While he was no judge of craftsmanship, it was easy enough to tell that an inept hand had fashioned the reddish stones. Something about that hue, even in the darkness, caught his attention. He had seen such colored stone before, had on occasion dug it from the earth at the mines. He supposed it meant nothing, for there were many types of stone to be found under the desert sands. He focused on the amulets. If not for their similar shapes, he would have guessed the amulets had been found as they were, the only alteration being the holes bored in their points, allowing the threading of the leather thongs.
Heirs of the Fallen: Book 02 - Crown of the Setting Sun Page 7