by Xenia Melzer
“HOW MANY men have we lost?”
The dark eyes of the leader were glinting in anger. Attacking the caravan had been meticulously planned, and he hadn’t reckoned he would suffer such serious losses. As it had turned out, the mercenaries of the Valley were even more efficient than the stories told about them had made him think.
“All in all, seventeen, Ma’Duk.”
The man who had spoken those words ducked in fear. He had served his leader long enough to know how unfair he could be when angry. During such moments, it wasn’t a good idea to be close to him or to attract his attention. The hand of the bulky man with the wild dark eyes and the three rhombic tribal scars on the forehead darted toward his dagger. But before he could vent his anger, he was interrupted by a call from the caravan.
“Ma’Duk, this one is still alive!”
Ma’Duk frowned. Usually his men were quite efficient, and as far as he had seen, all the mercenaries had received more than one lethal blow. Slightly worried for reasons he didn’t understand, he hurried to the man who had called him.
“I’m warning you, Da’Ryen. If this is your idea of a practical joke, I’ll personally rip your heart out.”
The thug gulped but didn’t retreat. “You should know I don’t make jokes about such matters, Ma’Duk.”
The leader hesitated. Da’Ryen was one of the four men who had followed him from the semidesert at the northern end of the Hot Heart to this faraway place. And even though they all had sacrificed their past and convictions to this new life as outlaws, there were still some things that remained sacred. Not making jokes about death was one of them.
Ma’Duk leaned over the body Da’Ryen indicated. It was the long-haired warrior who had led the caravan and who had inflicted the greatest losses on them. His formerly gleaming equipment was smeared with blood and dirt, his long black hair was tangled around his body, and the extraordinary jewelry around his neck was dulled. Ma’Duk himself had rammed his sword deeply into the torso of this man who had come like a curse over his men. By all rights he should have been staring at a corpse, but when he looked closely, he could see the chest of the fallen moving ever so slightly. Suddenly Ma’Duk reared back and made a gesture to fend off evil powers. In front of his eyes, a cut on the man’s arm closed, healed so cleanly it was as if it had never been there.
“Holy ancestors, what is this?”
Da’Ryen had turned pale. Even in the remote part of Ana-Darasa where they had come from, he had heard stories about the people from the Valley and the fact that they were immortal. The closer they had gotten to their immediate sphere of influence, the more fantastic the tales had become, until they reached a point where they had stopped believing them. He had been opposed to attacking a caravan that was so obviously meant for the Valley, but Ma’Duk hadn’t listened. He was conceited enough to believe he could cope with any enemy.
The other men had realized something was going on and started to draw closer. When they saw how the wounds of the fallen man started to close with increasing speed, some of them turned and ran. Those who stayed kept their distance and tried to rush their departure. Only one man didn’t seem to know any fear. He knelt next to the still unconscious man to inspect him closely. A malicious smile appeared on his lips.
“What, Elgir?”
Ma’Duk was getting impatient. The men’s reaction wasn’t to his liking, and he, too, felt the burning desire to leave this place as fast as possible.
“It seems as if the rumors about the immortality of the people from the Valley are true indeed. I know quite a few people who would love playing with a dainty morsel like this one. And who would pay even more for the privilege to kill him.”
Da’Ryen made a choking sound.
“I knew you were a sick bastard, Elgir, but this is taking it too far. Apart from that, don’t you think the other warriors are going to come to look for one of their own?”
“Pah, I’m not planning to wait for them. A friend of mine knows a thing or two about magic. It shouldn’t be a problem to hide this perfect prey. Don’t you idiots get it? This guy here is worth more than the entire caravan!”
Unsure, Ma’Duk stared at the man on the ground. Elgir’s words did make sense, and even managed to tempt him, but an uneasy feeling remained. The fallen was the only one recovering from his wounds, which meant he was special. And even though he would never admit it, Ma’Duk had no intention of facing a man like the Wolf of War directly.
He turned away from temptation.
“We leave him here. Man the carts, then we’re out.”
Da’Ryen didn’t hesitate to follow his leader. Elgir hesitated. Then he slowly rose to his feet.
“I think this is where our ways part, Ma’Duk. It was fun, but I’ll be damned if I let this once-in-a-lifetime chance slip through my fingers.”
Ma’Duk stopped him with a wave of his hand. He had anticipated this from the moment Elgir had joined them and wasn’t exactly sad to part ways with him.
“Do what you have to, but don’t come running to me when things go awry.”
“Don’t worry, I wouldn’t dream of it!”
CASTO WAS on his way to his and Lys’s favorite spot at the lake when he heard the howling. By now he was familiar enough with the wolves to realize instantly that something was wrong. The shrill sound, like a siren through the Valley, had a desperate undertone. Casto felt shivers running down his spine when he remembered that Daran would be coming back today. Lys turned on the spot and hurried back as quickly as the narrow path allowed.
In front of the stables, a nightmarish scene unfolded. Renaldo, Canubis, Sic, Noran, Aegid, Kalad, and Hulda were standing around a dun horse Casto recognized as Sirana, Lukan’s mare. Her light fur was smeared with blood, and the king glimpsed a hunched figure on her back. When he came closer, he realized it was Lukan—Lukan who was cold and dead. Casto gulped. The noble was about his age, and although they hadn’t known each other closely, he had thought him to be likeable.
“Lukan! No!”
Elua, Lukan’s wife, was screaming in despair. The usually collected and unapproachable mercenary was trembling all over. Her face was contorted in pain, her voice like the screeching of a demon. Casto could sympathize with her. Full of horror, he remembered the battle of Elam, when he had thought he’d lost Renaldo. Never having to feel the terrible emptiness, the gut-wrenching despair and the paralyzing sorrow again was something he prayed for every night. He felt tears pricking in his eyes, and then Renaldo was there.
“It’s all right, my own. It’s fine. I’m here.”
Casto managed a weak smile, pulled himself together, and came right to the point.
“What has happened?”
“We don’t know yet. Sirana arrived like this. Kalad was at the stables at the time and stopped her. Lukan is dead, but he still had the strength to tie himself to the saddle.”
“Renaldo!”
Aegid’s voice stopped the Angel of Death in his explanation.
“We’ve found a message. Looks like he’s written it himself.”
Canubis and his brother stared at Lukan’s coat, on which the events of the previous day had been written with blood.
“What on Ana-Darasa has happened?”
Noran was shaking his head in disbelief. None of them would have thought it possible that anything could happen on this routine operation. Hulda stepped forward. Her fingertips grazed the coat of the fallen man. Then she rubbed the thin film between her fingers and sniffed it. Disgusted, she shook her hand.
“I think I know. Well, it’s pretty obvious that the caravan has been raided. The attackers used a drug that confuses perception, and managed to win this way. If I had to guess, I’d say it was Ishe-Ryein. It’s a powder made of the pulverized poison fangs of the Ishe lizard. Not very reliable and impossible to control. Plus it only works when you inhale it directly. My weapon of choice would be something different. But it’s cheap and easy to obtain.” The killer wrinkled her nose. “Nevertheless, it
seems to have been effective in this case.” Canubis’s voice was deadly calm. Whoever had dared to raid the caravan would pay a high price for this sacrilege.
“Get Lukan off and prepare everything. We’re going hunting.”
Nods accompanied the flatly spoken words. Two servants brought a bier, on which they placed Lukan. Elua leaned over him and kissed his pale forehead, full of love.
“I’m going to miss you, my sweet one. Wait for me on the other side.”
Hot tears trickled down her cheeks and wet the motionless body of her husband. Then she suddenly felt a light touch on her shoulder. Sic had stepped toward her, his friendly face full of pity. He knelt down next to the bier to place his hand in silent farewell on Lukan’s chest. The moment Sic touched the dead man’s skin, he froze. His eyes rolled up until only the white was visible, and his lips started to tremble.
“Sic! What’s the matter?” Noran wanted to hurry to his lover, but Hulda held him back. Her voice was like a whip.
“Noran, stay here. Elua, come over!”
The warrior obeyed instantly. When she reached Hulda, Sic started to make strange sounds, which the assembled fighters could barely hear. His entire body seemed to blur; the contours of his torso were shimmering, as if an inner light illuminated them.
“What is going on?”
Canubis’s hand was at the hilt of his sword, ready to strike.
“Put your weapon away, you idiot.” Hulda’s voice was tense; she was concentrating on Sic and Lukan. “Don’t you understand? He’s calling him back!”
Awed silence descended, only interrupted by Sic’s almost inaudible singsong. Then Lukan’s hand started to twitch, and he opened his eyes. At the same moment, Sic fell silent. The light around him vanished as if it had never been there, and his eyes returned to normal. He seemed to be slightly dazed.
Noran came to him like an avalanche. “Sic! Are you all right?”
The smith smiled weakly. “Of course. I just wanted to say my goodbyes to Lukan, but then….”
He hesitated, composed himself in search of the right words, and then spoke on carefully, as if he was afraid his words could shatter in his mouth.
“I could still feel him. It was similar to how it was with Daran. That’s why I asked him to come back. I do feel kind of bad about it. There was peace.”
Insecure, he looked at Elua, who was holding Lukan in her arms. The noble winked at him.
“I heard you, Lord Sic. And I saw your light. It was surprisingly easy to follow. I thank you. Don’t feel bad about breaking the peace. I wasn’t ready for it yet.”
Before Sic could answer, Canubis took over. “I think this can wait. Lukan, what has happened?”
The warrior’s face darkened. “We were attacked, about a day’s ride away from the Valley. The highwaymen bombarded us with spheres of clay that emitted a strange powder that kept us from thinking. Daran sent me to tell you. He tried to help our men. I was hit by an arrow and took some measures in case I didn’t make it.”
“That was very thoughtful of you.”
Canubis placed his hand in an appreciative gesture on the young man’s shoulder.
Suddenly Kalad appeared in front of them, his lively brown eyes clouded by worry. “What happened to Daran?”
“I really don’t know, Lord Kalad. When I left he was still hale, but we were heavily outnumbered. I don’t think he made it unscathed.”
Aegid appeared behind his brother, forcing his voice to sound confident. “Don’t forget, he’s Echend’dim, Kalad. He’s probably waking up right now.”
“Then we should hurry and get him. I want to have a personal conversation with those thugs who dared to attack one of our caravans.”
The amber eyes of the Wolf of War glinted dangerously. There was no mistaking the dark mood he was in. “Hulda, choose twenty riders. I want to be gone in an hour.”
The killer nodded, stone-faced. She regarded Elua and Lukan. “Can you two be ready in an hour?”
Elua’s face had returned to its usual expressionless mask. “Of course. It’s going to be my pleasure to send those bastards to the Mothers.”
Lukan nodded as well. “We’ll be there.”
SLOWLY DARAN was regaining consciousness. A hubbub of voices assaulted his ears, and he could feel that he was lying on a carpet. He tried to get up, but his hands and feet were tied. Groaning, he closed his eyes again. It seemed as if the Wolf of War was even angrier than he had anticipated.
“Seems like you’re done with your beauty sleep, prey.”
The mocking voice jolted Daran up. That was definitely not his god! After his masters had killed Egand, he hadn’t thought he’d ever have to listen to such a derisive, hateful tone again. He opened his eyes and tried to discern the owner of that repulsive voice. The man looming over him was coarse, with a broad face, small lips, a crooked nose, and scornful eyes in which Daran could see something else as well, something that made him shudder.
Now the man grabbed him by the collar and yanked him up.
“Look, it’s just like I told you. His injuries have healed completely.”
In front of a fire, two men, who were obviously brothers, had been watching them. Both of them had light, ash-blond hair, gray eyes, and generous lips. They were of lighter build than the man holding Daran, yet they emanated the same brutality. Daran had lived with Egand long enough to know a pimp and oppressor when he saw them.
With a calculated movement, he threw his head back and was rewarded with a crunching sound when his captor’s nose broke. The man let go of him, wailing in pain. Skillfully, Daran rolled over the ground, cutting the ropes on his feet with the knife he had taken from the belt of the coarse man. Then he turned the blade to get rid of his wrist chains as well, but before he could do so, he heard a threatening growl at his back. A shadow sailed through the air, hit him hard at the shoulder, and brought him down. A dog of roughly a hundredweight was standing above Daran, growling deeply, his lips curled back, showing sharp, white fangs.
“What a lively little devil.” The voice of one of the brothers sounded amused. “Our customers are going to fall all over themselves for the privilege to play with you.”
Daran gritted his teeth. He had lost the knife, and if he didn’t want the dog to tear his throat, he’d better comply.
The second brother stepped closer, sent the dog running with a wave of his hand, and yanked Daran up. “But it’s not a bad idea to teach him some manners, don’t you think so, Drik?”
The older one laughed, a hollow sound without any real amusement in it. “An excellent idea, Druran. I also think our good friend Elgir wishes to have a talk with you. You did break his nose, after all.”
The derisive laughter turned Daran’s stomach to ice. He glared at them.
“It would be better if you let me go right now. You’ve no idea with whom you’re meddling.”
Druran and Drik shrugged dismissively.
“We’re grown men who don’t believe in old wives’ tales. The mercenaries of the Valley may be dangerous, but not invincible, as you should know better than anybody else. And they should have a hard time finding you here. This place is perfectly safe.”
Daran cringed. He didn’t doubt his masters would find him. He just didn’t want to be rescued by them again, especially after the argument they’d had before he left. Whatever the cost, he had to escape from this place on his own. Unfortunately the brothers weren’t even half as dumb as Daran had hoped. After his little display, they were meticulous about keeping him chained, and they had replaced the ropes with steel. As much as he tried, he just couldn’t find a way to break free.
AFTER THE blood had been washed from his body, Daran was brought into a room lit with countless candles. Cushions the size of a man and covered with purple and golden cloths were draped on the ground in a semicircle so that anybody lounging on them had a free view of the opposite wall, where countless instruments of torture, such as whips, knives, hooks, and other monstrosities were displaye
d. From the ceiling hung cuffs that closed mercilessly around Daran’s wrists.
Druran caressed the flawless skin of his prisoner reverently.
“I’ve to admit, I’ve never seen merchandise as outstanding as you before. Even if you couldn’t do that trick with the healing, you’d still be a catch. This, on the other hand”—the wandering fingers had reached Daran’s collar and were tugging at it—“should be disposed of as soon as possible. After all, there’s no need for you to have it here. Let me see.”
Druran stepped around his helpless prisoner to open the catch of the collar. His amazement was great when he saw the complicated mechanism that couldn’t be opened without a key.
“What’s this? A proud warrior like you wearing a slave collar?”
Daran didn’t even bother to look at Druran. “It was a present.”
“From somebody dear to you, am I right? Otherwise you wouldn’t be wearing it.”
The pimp grinned gleefully. Like most of his kind, he called a certain amount of empathy his own, which made it easier for him to play with his merchandise as well as his customers. And just now he had found the proverbial gold mine. Slowly, savoring every second, he selected a small dagger from the wall.
“Since I can’t open the catch, I have no choice but to cut the leather. Don’t move—you don’t want to get hurt.”
Desperately Daran tried to evade the knife. “Don’t you dare!”
Druran laughed in amusement. Without minding his prisoner’s attempts to fight him, he cut the collar and part of Daran’s throat at the same time. The thief gurgled and gulped for air. Blood streamed down his chest, forming a pool at his feet, which lost their footing on the slippery ground. The smell of iron was heavy in the air, like an ominous perfume telling of things yet to come. Just when unconsciousness was closing in, Daran could feel his body healing the wound.