Blood Lust

by Garrett Robinson

  “I thought you might say something like that,” I told her. “But before you decide to run home and tell your clan what transpired here today, I would bid you to remember Tiglak. He, too, thought he could rely on the mercy of your elders.”

  Her eyes filled with fear at that, and I was satisfied. I untied her, and she bounded away south, in the same direction her fellows had run after our fight the day before.

  “Do you really think she will leave us be?” said Mag.

  “I know no reason why she should not,” I replied. “She may stalk us as she did before, but she will only see us heading west, and she knows we are chasing the weremage. She would never guess that we mean to find the satyr elders and threaten them, because, of course, that is an incredibly idiotic course of action.”

  Mag gave an easy smile and began to fetch food to break our fast. “Then we will have the element of surprise.”

  I laughed and helped her prepare the meal. As we ate, I began to form a plan. I had some vague idea of where the satyrs were—many treks through the mountains had brought me to their borders, so I knew the edges of the lands, at least. Most of their homes were in the western end of the mountain range. They had dwellings in the caves there, which they had connected with a series of tunnels so that they could travel through the mountains with relative ease. But satyrs did not naturally dwell within the earth except when they denned to birth and raise their children. More often, they were to be found in the open air, leaping from slope to slope and across all the flatlands along the valley.

  Therefore I guided Mag west, across the valley floor and into the mountains on the other side. There were no roads or paths in this part of the mountains, but we did not need them. The trail of the Shades was plain before us. Hundreds of feet had trampled the ground, so that it was churned and muddy, like a farmer’s field laid open and ready for fresh planting. Sometimes groups of bootprints would break off from the rest, turning north or south and away from the main march.

  And then, on the second day, the army’s tracks turned and headed north, deep into the mountains. But the tracks of a smaller party carried on west from the spot. They were few—mayhap a half dozen, no more. We stopped on the spot and ate our midday meal, enjoying the warm sun above, and then pressed on as soon as we had finished.

  I continued to lead Mag west, until we came to the end of the valley and the beginning of the mountains again. There we found a wide road leading up into the peaks. It was bordered by perilous drops in places, but wide and firm enough to provide no great danger. I had never traveled this road before, but in past years I had espied it from afar. I guessed that it was no construct of some long-gone king, as the Shade stronghold had been. This track was not paved at all, but had been worn into the ground by many feet—or, more likely, many hooves. It looked like an animal track that had been adopted by the satyrs, who would not have cared how steep it was or how high the drops on the side. It branched often, but I always led Mag on the most well-worn routes. Those, I hoped, would take us to the heart of the satyrs’ domain. The side tracks would likely lead to smaller camps and settlements throughout the mountains, or mayhap even into the heart of the cave system the satyrs had built.

  The horses did not seem to enjoy the journey much. They had some difficulty on the steeper parts of the road, and on occasion I had to find another way around, a gentler slope that would allow us to circle back to the main path.

  I should have been reassured by the absence of any satyrs watching us, but I found myself growing more and more perturbed as we pressed on. We had passed the borders of their lands already. All my experience told me they should have attacked us long ago. But there was no sign of them. I could not fathom it, though I spent much thought on it during the day when we rode and during the night when I stood watch. I could understand if the bulk of them had retreated farther into their caves and mountains when the Shades had passed this way. But their patrols should have increased. Instead they had vanished entirely.

  It was the third day after we had left the valley floor that I finally spotted signs of the satyrs again. We came around a bend in the path to find ourselves suddenly standing in plain view of one of their villages. It was little more than a glorified camp, with a few huts built of wood and mud, along with caves in the mountainside where I guessed most of them dwelled. Several campfires could be seen on the ground outside the dwellings, but none of them were lit. The place had been abandoned.

  “Where did they go?” said Mag.

  “I wish I knew,” I said. “Let us hope they are only hiding from the Shades.”

  We looked through the huts and poked our heads into the caves. The satyrs were not hiding—they had abandoned their homes. All their supplies and tools were gone. Though that seemed an ominous sign, it actually eased my mind somewhat. It meant they had had time to plan their departure, and had not been driven to flee in terror. I had harbored half-formed fears of some great force sweeping through the mountains, driving these creatures before it. But whatever had prompted them to go, they had had some forewarning.

  Still, I did not feel comfortable making camp in their village, so we found a flat shelf not much farther along on which to stay the night. I was especially dour as we laid out our bedrolls that evening, and Mag could not help but notice.

  “Your frown will freeze on your face soon,” she remarked.

  “I like the look of things less and less the farther we go,” I said.

  “Yet our way has been easy so far.”

  “Easy, yet troubling. Do you not wonder what drove all the satyrs out of this region?”

  She shrugged. “You are the guide, not I.”

  “I am the guide,” I grumbled, “and a wise woman listens to her guide when he says something is wrong.”

  Mag chuckled at that. Then she pointed over her head at the horses. “What are you going to name your gelding, by the by? Bad luck cannot be far off if you continue to ride him nameless.”

  “You think I am not already overwhelmed with bad luck? I am by your side, am I not?”

  A rock came flying, landing right between my legs. I gasped and rolled on my side, clutching myself as I fought a wave of nausea.

  “You have not chosen a name, then?” she said innocently. “Come, Albern, you know you tempt fate.”

  “Dorsean superstition,” I wheezed.

  “If you have not noticed, we are in Dorsea, or near enough to it,” she retorted. “Some guide you are, forgetting which kingdom you are in.”

  I blinked away the last of my tears. “Very well,” I said grumpily. “I shall call him Foolhoof, if it pleases you.”

  She raised her brows. “I cannot say that it does.”

  “And your mare? You have not named her, either.”

  “Oh, but I did,” said Mag. “She is called Mist.”

  I snorted. “Mist. You are like Loren, naming her black horse Midnight. No imagination at all.”

  “Midnight is a foolish name,” said Mag, smirking.

  “She is a child with dreams of being a legend,” I said, waving a hand. “What do you expect? Sky above, she calls herself the Nightblade.”

  Mag laughed. “Still, you wound me. Mist is a better name by far.”

  “I think you made it up on the spot,” I retorted. “If you named her before this very moment, I will eat my bow.”

  “You have caught me,” said Mag, bowing her head.

  “You see? And you had the gall to say I tempted fate. What tragedy will your destiny heap upon you for such a transgression?”

  The smile on her face died at once. “I think it has given me quite enough already,” she said, in a horribly forced attempt at nonchalance.

  I cursed myself for my foolish words. Yes, we had remembered many of our old habits from our mercenary days. But I had forgotten that campfire talk was supposed to steer away from bad fortune, and especially the grief of the near past.

  The rest of our conversation that night was stilted and awkward, and I was gratefu
l when I finally rolled myself in blankets to sleep.

  Far, far away, in the woods northwest of Lan Shui, a creature stalked through the woods.

  Through the trees, it could see the soft glow of firelight shining through the windows of a human home. And even through the walls, it could smell its prey inside. There were several of them—enough to feed on for days.

  The creature knew that would not sate its deeper, stronger hunger. But it was enough for now.

  It came out of the woods and stalked forwards, approaching the house’s front door. Each motion was virtually silent. The smell of the humans in the house was nearly overwhelming. It ran a black tongue along its browning teeth.

  Suddenly there came the sound of padded feet inside the house, and a snuffling. Then a low, rumbling growl.

  A surge of hate and hunger ripped through the creature. A dog. It had been so focused on its emptiness and the smell of the humans, it had missed the scent of the dog.

  Careless.

  It tried to step back, away from the house. But its broken claw caught on the ground, and it stumbled.

  Inside the house, the dog’s growls turned to full-throated barking. Chairs scraped against a wooden floor as the humans stirred.

  “Oku?” said one of the prey. “What is it?”

  The creature screeched with impatience and lunged, bursting through the front door into the house. Inside, the prey shot to their feet. They had weapons close at hand, and they seized them. Standing before them was the dog: a large wolfhound almost a pace in height, brown with black spots in its fur.

  The creature screamed in hatred and hunger.

  Snarling furiously, the dog launched itself at the creature. But a wild swipe staved the beast off, and it slunk back, favoring a light gash in its left flank. The prey drew closer to each other and took a step forwards.

  “Liu!” cried one of them. “Run into the woods! Take Oku!”

  “Mama!”

  The creature’s eyes shifted. Behind the three larger prey, one of their offspring stood at the back of the room, cowering in terror. Its eyes were wide, and palpable fear radiated from it.

  “Go!” cried another of the prey—young, but nowhere near as young as the child. “Oku, tiss!”

  The wolfhound bounded towards the child, taking his tunic in its teeth and tugging. Reluctantly, the child rose to its feet and scurried for the house’s back door, vanishing into the night. The creature dismissed it at once. It had been a tiny thing, and there were three full-sized prey still in the house—not enough to completely satisfy the hunger, but enough to stave it off for days.

  Roaring in fury, it leaped and sank its claws into its first victim.

  THE DAY AFTER WE CAMPED near the empty satyr town, we reached the crest of the western Greatrocks. Then, for the first time, I took us off the most well-worn path and up one of the side routes that climbed south, riding even higher into the peaks. South, because that was the direction of the heart of satyr territory, at least as far as I was aware. If we meant to find the elders, I was confident we would find them there.

  It was not long before we started to come upon more satyr encampments and villages. These were less populated than I had imagined they would be, but they were not entirely abandoned. I spent almost half an hour scouting the first one we came upon. Many satyrs moved from building to building, but from what I could tell, there were no fighters in the village, only children and those caring for them. The warriors were elsewhere. I guessed we would find them with the elders. That was not an entirely comforting prospect.

  When I had inspected the village to my satisfaction, I returned to Mag. “We must hide the horses somewhere and leave them,” I said. “If we bring them any farther, they will certainly alert the satyrs to our presence.”

  “There are no woods this high up to hide them from view,” said Mag.

  “We need a cave,” I said. “The satyrs do not dwell in all of them, nor are all of them connected. We should be able to find an empty one without too much trouble.”

  And that proved to be true; in less than an hour of searching, we found just what we needed. The cave was too shallow for the satyrs to have bothered with, but more than deep enough to conceal our horses. We hobbled them and tethered them to a rock that thrust up out of the ground. Foolhoof tossed his head as I wrapped his reins around the stone, and I gave him a reproachful look.

  “Do not even think of chewing your way free,” I told him. “I will find you if you do.”

  “Mist would never think of doing such a thing,” said Mag haughtily.

  I shook my head and led her from the cave.

  Without the horses, it was easy to slip past the first satyr village, and the second. We passed them every few spans now, clusters of crude buildings built onto whatever flat ground was available on those high slopes. Occasionally the villages had a sentry posted nearby, but they were easy to bypass. They appeared to be weaker members of their kind, satyrs with missing or twisted limbs, and they leaned heavily on their weapons.

  Always we found our way back to the main path, and now I began to notice markings upon it. They were not the prints of cloven hooves, but of heavy boots. Other humans.

  “Look,” I told Mag, pointing at the tracks. “It seems we are not too late. We might find our foe at the end of this road.”

  “I am right more often than you give me credit for,” said Mag. “Let us hurry. The weremage could be dead before the day’s end.”

  We were neither of us wont to bloodthirst, but hunting a foe will quicken anyone’s pulse. We pressed on faster. Yet despite our speed, it was early evening before we found what we sought. To our right, the sun was setting in a display that was as beautiful as it was fiery. It painted the ground in hues of red and gold, and the scant clouds in the sky blazed like the fires of war. But the light had not yet faded when we came upon a great gathering of satyrs, and I had to be quick to rush Mag behind cover before we were spotted. Together we crouched behind a boulder shaped like a black, broken tooth.

  On what looked like the top of the highest mountain for many leagues, a great circular space had been trodden flat by what looked like centuries’ worth of satyr hooves. Upon that space were now gathered mayhap two scores of satyr warriors, wearing wooden shields on their arms and hefting axes and clubs. They stood in a half-ring two rows deep, all their attention fixed on the center of the circle. There sat ten carved stone chairs, though only eight of them were occupied. The satyrs upon those chairs were old, wizened, and grey of fur, and I knew we had found the elders of the clan.

  But almost immediately, my attention went from the elders to the humans who stood before them. They numbered six, and they wore clothing of blue and grey. The Shades were here, just as Greto had said they would be.

  “Can you see the weremage?” whispered Mag.

  “I cannot,” I said. “Not from here.”

  “She may have taken another form.”

  “I cannot hear anything. We must get closer. I want to be certain before we attack.”

  “Very well.” Now that we were here, I found myself quite reluctant to draw any closer to the satyrs. But my desire to find the weremage overpowered my caution, as did my curiosity. I wanted to know what the Shades were saying that put such fear in the faces of the satyr elders.

  We left the cover of the rock and crept along a slope that fell away from the platform. We were careful to keep ourselves concealed, but it hardly seemed necessary. No one, neither the Shades nor the satyrs, looked away from what was going on. At last, when we were only a score of paces away, I bade Mag to hide again, for now we could clearly make out the Shades’ words. Again we ducked out of sight, each of us poking one eye into view to see what was going on.

  “—after you killed the messenger?” one of the Shades—a burly man with a thick, bristling beard—was saying. At first I dismissed him, searching only for the weremage. Then my better sense caught up with me, and I realized the weremage might very well have changed her app
earance. Though why would she do so, when she had no idea we were watching her?

  The elder in the center of the row shifted in her stone chair and bleated an answer in the satyrs’ tongue. I spoke but a little of their language and did not understand her, but there was a clear defensive tone in her voice, like a child who had been caught in wrongdoing and was inventing an outlandish tale to excuse it.

  An elder at the end of the row spoke in the common tongue. “Elder Seko says: Tiglak’s debt was paid. Then we drove the humans towards you. We have told you this already.”

  “But what you have not told us,” growled the Shade, “is why you did not tell us of these interlopers.”

  More bleating from Seko, and then the translator spoke again. “Elder Seko says: the Lord never said to tell you. He said not to let any humans pass through the valley and live.”

  The Shade thrust a finger towards the center elder. “Which is exactly what you did!”

  The translator quivered at the anger in his voice, but now one of the other elders spoke. He was not quite so hoary as the first, and there was a clear current of anger in his words. The translator looked uncomfortable, but after a sharp reproach from the elder, she spoke. “Elder Hagan says: we allowed nothing,” she said, her voice shaking. “We brought them to you. You allowed them to escape, not us.”

  I looked at Mag behind our rock. “We were right on that count, it seems.”

  “Never mind that,” said Mag. “I cannot see the Shades clearly enough to tell if the weremage is among their number.”

  “What of the leader?” I said. “Satyrs respect only strength and size. She would have better luck speaking to them as a large warrior than in her natural form. You saw how slight she was.”

  Mag frowned. “So it could be her, but how can we know?”

  Before I could answer, something happened in the circle. The Shades seemed to have had enough of the satyrs’ arguments. Their leader raised his hand, palm pointing towards the elders, and the circle fell quiet.

  “Enough,” said the Shade. “The Lord is tired of your excuses. There will be payment in blood. Two of you may present yourselves, or we can make the choice for you.”