Sojourn gestured back toward the south. “Kilaltian’s group should be only three or four kays away if we cut across like Fit. If they lost dnu as we did, we should combine forces before riding forward.”
“And if they managed to keep most of their riding beasts, we can ride double to reach Darity’s camp.” Talon caught a glimpse of Gray Paksh and forced himself to peer after the wolf.
You gather your pack.
He didn’t bother to nod. There was a jumbled impression of wolves rejoining each other, of wet noses touching, of quiet snarls. The wild wolves did not send the clear thoughts he had been used to receiving. But he knew only Faren would trail him back toward Kilaltian’s group. Her direction from Gray Ursh was clear, and the other wolves would wait and eat what they could from the dead dnu left behind.
The raiders looked at each other. It was Rakdi who, in his calm way, pointed out, “The clouds are still heavy. We can’t see in the dark, and a light would draw worlags more quickly.”
Talon met his gaze, then the eyes of the other raiders. “I can see well enough. I will know if there is any danger.”
Harare shifted uncomfortably.
“Who rides?” It was Roc.
He barely glanced at the woman. “Dangyon, Mal, and Ki. The rest of us will run.”
Weed caught the satisfied expression on Dangyon’s face. He gave the heavy man a sour look. “You probably moved for the skates just so you could ride.”
The barrel-chested man grinned, and Talon knew that Weed, as usual, was only half joking. Dangyon had extralong toes and fallen arches; the big raider would do almost anything to ride rather than walk.
“Count your blessings tonight,” he tossed at the heavy man. “You’ll be running with the rest of us tomorrow.” It took almost ten minutes to load the dnu. Then they headed out of the clearing.
They rode at a slow trot that the runners could easily maintain, and they did not bother with caution. Without the moons, the forest was dark as a worlag’s mouth, but the line of the rootroad glowed clearly. Talon kept to the middle, where the road was hardest. There was tension in his shoulders. He was close—close to danger, but it was not from worlags or skates, but from the decision that squatted in his mind like a toad. It was not a decision of where anymore, but only of when and who. Harare, Roc, and Fit—they were questions. Harare, with those unreadable blue eyes, he simply wasn’t sure of. Roc and Fit were too vicious, too caught up in their own lust for violence. The rest would follow Talon. And with the power of that wolfwalker, he’d give his men the goal they lacked with Drovic, not the dream that was discarded among the other corpses they stacked.
XXXI
Talon Drovic neVolen
Bear the grudge to your grave.
—Ariyen saying
They found Fit barely a kay away. Gray Faren heard the man’s dnu long before Talon did, and the wolf turned back toward the road. When Talon saw her, he whistled a stop to the men and an oncoming signal to Fit.
A moment later, the smaller man pulled up.
“Report,” Talon ordered without preamble.
In the dark, the man’s eyes gleamed. “I didn’t make it to Kilaltian’s group. I was close, but when I heard the skates in the trees, I hit the ground like a raw egg. They went right overhead—never knew I was there, but I heard screams farther west. I waited until the skates were gone, went to look. They were hit hard. They’re dead.”
Talon eyed him for a moment. “All of them?”
“Dnu, men. Saw someone’s arm up in a tree. Didn’t stay to burn what was left—worlags follow skates.”
The other raiders muttered, but Talon was silent. He felt the cold distance of death, and his thoughts raced. “How far away were they?”
“Just over a kay from where I stopped. Hard to tell in the dark.”
Talon nodded. “Let’s go,” he called to the others. He turned to retrace Fit’s path.
The knifeman was startled. “Talon—” he urged his dnu after the tall man. “It was a bloodbath, Talon. There’s nothing left but the scavengers.”
Talon paused, his gaze suddenly sharp. Beside him, Rakdi rubbed his nose absently but studied the smaller man with an intensity that made Talon’s gaze narrow farther. “I want to see for myself.”
Fit shouldered his dnu in Talon’s path. “And I tell you, they’re dead. It’s a swarm year, Talon, and worlags follow skates. You take us over there, and you’re taking us directly into their path.”
Talon eyed him silently, then signaled the forward ride. Fit stared after him, then turned angrily into the group.
Talon didn’t need Gray Faren to warn him of the camp. The smell of wood smoke hit him on a lift of breeze, and the flickering light on the tree trunks showed the leftover presence of sloppy fires. From behind him, he heard Wakje swear. It was futile to breathe shallowly as he jogged, but like the others, he couldn’t help trying to keep the odors out of his nose.
Talon ignored the startled rustling of small scavengers. Kilaltian must have seen some of the beetle signs, and thought the swarm would be rasts. Instead, the fires had drawn the skates like a magnet. Talon forced himself to breathe. With this stench, it was only a matter of time before the worlags found the camp, and the poolah and badgerbear followed.
“By the moons.” It was Weed. The raider halted and rubbed at his bunched-up ear, then belatedly began jogging again to keep ahead of the dnu. Talon was not surprised at the sight of the camp. With the blood scent thick in Gray Faren’s mind, he had already known that at least some of Fit’s words were true.
The darkness closed around the clearing like a murderer. A wide pit of sticks still smoldered in the middle of the wreckage. It had been a hasty fire; most of the wood was unburned, scattered, and now darkened with body fluids. A few coals glowed orange-black where thicker sticks had been half consumed in the heart. A human body—he thought it was mousy Ilandin—lay partly in the fire pit; Sojourn dragged what was left of the woman free of the crackling fire. Three dead skates tumbled from her body. The odor of roasting, bloodied meat was sickening in their guts.
Talon felt icily calm as he studied the clearing. Dnu and human carcasses were so torn apart that it was difficult to tell where one body ended and another began. If there was any usable gear still left in the clearing, he could not see it. It would take an hour or more of sifting and sorting to find out what could be salvaged. If there were any dnu left alive, he’d be more than surprised. He stepped forward, slipped on something, and looked down. The mud was made of blood.
Behind him, the raiders dismounted. Talon’s nostrils flared; the wind clogged his lungs with odors. His hand trembled, and he clenched it.
Rakdi kicked at a shredded saddlebag. “Damn fools to build a fire.”
Oroan’s voice was as soft. “How would they have known? Unless Talon could have used the wolves to warn them—”
Talon turned on her savagely. He forced the words out through clenched teeth. “I . . . am . . . not . . . a . . . wolfwalker. I sent Fit to warn them—” His voice broke off. “A kay to meet Fit; a kay beyond that to the camp.” He twisted to stare at the knifeman. “Twenty minutes before they hit us— there was plenty of time to reach them. At a gallop, there was time enough to warn them, settle them, and even start back before the swarm hit the camp.”
In the dull light from the leftover fire, Fit’s skin seemed to sweat, but the smaller man’s words were steady. “I didn’t gallop. Couldn’t see the road well enough. You know my night sight’s not good.”
“The rootroads glowed well enough for us.”
“Part of the way was trail.”
Talon’s balance shifted subtly onto the balls of his feet. Fit caught the movement and said quickly, “I’m not you, Talon, and I didn’t have the wolves for a guide.”
In Talon’s jaw, a muscle jumped. Oroan and Rakdi saw it, and almost without volition moved subtly away from the man. Talon could feel the tendrils of gray stretching into his brain. He studied Fit and tasted the kn
ifeman’s smell. It wasn’t fresh scent, but sweat scent and fear scent. “You feel no guilt, do you?”
The other man eyed him warily. “Isn’t my fault they were stupid.”
“No,” Talon agreed. “Not your fault. Just your directions. You told them to build the fire. Told them the swarm would be rasts, not skates.”
Fit did not blink. “You’d have a hard time proving that to Drovic.”
“Ah.” Talon took a step forward. “But it is not my father who stands here.”
“You should be grateful, Talon.” Fit nodded at his narrowed eyes. “You lost half your enemies here. Had he lived, Kilaltian would have cut your throat.”
“In a blue moon.”
“In a heartbeat,” Fit snarled suddenly. “He had orders from Drovic himself. Moonworms, I was supposed to kill you if you tried to act against Drovic—if you tried to leave the group. I saved your life with this.”
Talon swallowed his fury and turned it to ice, holding it so that it fed his strength instead of the rising wildness that echoed to him from the wolves. “You saved nothing,” he snapped. “If you think I will take your word over my father’s—”
“You think Drovic trusts you?” Fit shook his head, the movement designed to take attention away from the hand that crept to the knife. But Talon dropped his own hand to his blade. Fit’s eyes gleamed at the obviousness of the gesture. The man’s voice was oily and low. “Drovic is testing you, Talon—testing you to find out if you’ll be loyal when he’s out of sight. And he was right. You’re going to turn. Going to take his men and ride off on your own. But you’re a brain-dead gelbug if you think you’ll ride away free. He has a hundred raiders in Ramaj Nadugur to draw on if you take these few with you.”
“Nadugur—” Talon broke off. He took a half step forward, and Fit maneuvered subtly so that the fire played into Talon’s eyes.
“You didn’t know that, did you? Drovic’s son—so educated, so skilled, and still blind as a babe. Your father has been collecting raiders for over thirty years. You’re just his latest prize.”
“His figurehead.”
“For the moment, until he gets a better one. But you could take that position and make it one of power. As Dangyon would say, ‘Trade up.’ ”
Talon’s voice was soft as dust. “You killed six men and women for my . . . benefit, and you think that I should thank you.”
Fit realized that the expressionlessness in Talon’s eyes was not acceptance. He laughed uneasily. “I gave you the freedom you wanted. I’ve seen the way you chafe under Drovic. I’ve seen how you disagree.” The smaller man grinned as he eased toward Talon’s weak side. He gestured with his chin at the carnage. “Better them than you, wouldn’t you say?”
“And this way, you take your revenge on Kilaltian, and pay me back as well. So for one man’s grudge, half a dozen die.” His voice was savagely cold.
“I’ve got no grudge against you—”
“That dog won’t hunt, Fit. The girl at the farm—Kilaltian pulled you off her, and I caught your expression when you saw her later in my tunic after I kicked you out of the loft.”
“She was a loose little farm bitch. She wasn’t worth your time.”
“But you wanted her.”
“I always want them. I take them when I can get them.”
“And you thought I had her instead. This way, you take out Kilaltian and lay the blame on me, because we rode into swarm country under my direction.”
The smaller man did not bother to deny it. “There aren’t so many of us here unwounded and able that you can afford to kill me just to ease your own conscience.” Dangyon murmured a soft oath, and Fit’s face hardened. “I know the north part of Bilocctar and Eilif better than my own heart. Look at them—they’re all from the far west counties. Not one of them knows the trails here—” The man broke off as Talon slowly shook his head. His voice took on an edge. “I did you a favor here. I’m one of your own men—”
Talon regarded him silently. “You could never be one of mine.” He feinted before he finished speaking. The timing almost caught Fit unawares. The smaller man danced back, but a line of red welled out on the man’s arm. Fit did not glance down, but his eyes were suddenly dangerous. “I’m better than you with a knife, county boy. This time, you’ve bitten a lepa.”
Talon circled warily. “ ‘Better’ doesn’t mean ‘winner.’ ”
“Always has.” The smaller man feinted in. His knife glinted in the dull light. It flashed and shifted as soon as Talon could see it. This time, it was Talon who felt the heat of blood. He did not yet feel the cut—the edges were too cleanly sliced, but it stung a moment later as the sweat and grit were rubbed across it by his sleeve.
They didn’t waste breath on words. Instead, the fight was eerily silent, punctuated only by the scuffing of their boots in the blood-soaked ground. Both men feinted in, danced back, measuring their movements—and both men made their targets. Talon twisted as if he slipped; Fit darted in. Talon’s knife flicked; Fit warded, punched Talon in the ribs. Talon caught Fit’s shoulder and threw the man in the fire. Fit rolled out without screaming, and took a brand with him. He threw it; Talon dodged, and the men behind them scattered as the coals broke free among them. The two men rushed each other in the firelight. Wolf eyes caught the balance point. Talon suddenly dropped and blocked, but it was his left hand, and it was weak. Fit caught him just above the knee and cut another line. Talon made no sound as he slashed the side of the other man’s arm and cut back as Fit tried to hamstring him. They scrambled apart. Fit’s knife was now in his other hand. Both men now bled freely.
Talon slowly grinned. He felt the weakness in his leg, felt the blood well out like a stream. He ignored it. Instead, he began stalking the other man, slowly, steadily, like a cat creeping toward a sprit.
Fit backed away. Even in the moonlight, there was something in Talon’s eyes. The tall man wasn’t a wolfwalker, but there was something not quite human in that gray, icy gaze. Fit felt his heart pound, felt the sting of his own sweat in his wounds. He backed away another step, circling the fire. “Talon,” he said quickly. “Let’s talk. You’re bleeding like a waterfall. All I have to do is stay out of reach another couple of minutes. You know I don’t carry a grudge past the payback. It’s over, as far as I’m concerned. We can end it here.”
Talon cut him off from the fire so that the light now flickered in Fit’s eyes.
“You’re already weaker—I can see it. They won’t help you.” Fit indicated the others.
Talon did not answer. The gash in his leg looked worse than it was, and his rage was strong enough to carry him however long it took. He smiled. His silence was unnerving.
Fit lunged suddenly as Talon went midstep. But the tall man had not truly shifted his balance. He parried out hard, caught the man’s arm, stepped in, and yanked it back in a sharp bend. Fit gutted himself with his own blade. The knifeman gasped. Talon cradled the smaller man, locking the steel in Fit’s body. Slowly, he laid Fit on the ground, keeping his grip tight. The other man convulsed. Gasped raggedly. Tried to curse. And died with his mouth hanging open.
Talon pulled the blade free, wiped it on the one fairly clean side of Fit’s jerkin, and got to his feet. “Bandages,” he said flatly to Ki.
The silky-haired man got them out, tossed them over. Talon bound his own leg. None of the other raiders moved. It was an odd silence, as if they were only now realizing that Talon had taken control. With Kilaltian’s group gone, with Fit dead, almost everyone left had some sort of debt to Talon.
Rakdi rubbed the side of his hook nose. Weed picked at a loose thread on his sleeve, and Dangyon rocked absently back and forth on his heels as the barrel-chested man considered, and considering, discovered some truths.
Talon finished bandaging his leg and straightened. With all the bandages around his biceps, forearm, thigh, and calf, he looked like a beaten refugee. He shrugged back into his tunic.
Movement. Blood scent moving.
In
stantly, Talon became alert. He held up his hand, and the others stiffened, their ears straining for sound as they brought up their bows. Talon half turned till he faced the sound, but he kept his head cocked to the side so that he did not look directly at it. Yes, there was movement. Something rising from the ferns. No one shot—it was too easy to shoot high in the dark, as the mind had no clear reference for size.
Man scent, blood scent. The hunter.
It was Kilaltian who moved into the light and then leaned casually on his sword. Talon’s gray eyes narrowed. There was blood on Kilaltian’s arms. Ki lowered his ready bow and started to speak, but Sojourn stilled him.
“Talon,” Kilaltian said. The man’s voice was flat, but Talon did not mistake that expressionlessness for calm. His nerves started to tingle.
Blood scent. Challenge. Lunge.
He twitched with the need to leap forward. He remained still with an icy strength. “Kilaltian,” he returned softly.
The other man moved slowly toward the fire. “I didn’t think you’d bother to come. Not after sending Fit.” He leaned on his sword at the edge of the firelight, but Talon was not deceived. Kilaltian’s stance was too casual for the rage that burned in his eyes.
Silver Moons, Black Steel Page 33