Several pairs of small yellow eyes peeped out at him. He smiled toward the wagon, feeling suddenly that no matter what happened now it had all been worthwhile, and galloped around to rejoin his friends.
As he did so he passed a number of Zhis’ta bodies. Several of them were small and hardly formed. All had been mutilated. He started looking for goblins to kill.
But the majority of the killing was over. The last wagon cleared the gap in the brush barrier and plunged noisily down the trail. Only a rare, fitfully aimed arrow threatened the escapees, save for one or two goblins who were so mad with rage that they were foolish enough to challenge their intended prey on foot.
This provided Praetor with the chance to see just how accurate Sranul’s assessment of Zhis’ta fighting ability was. If anything, he decided, the roo had underestimated them. They were unbelievably fast, with reflexes that would put the quickest human fighter to shame. The few goblins who pursued never had an opportunity to use their weapons. The Zhis’ta cut them down as soon as they came within arm’s-length, and they did so silently. Out in the open, the goblins didn’t have a chance. Most of them knew it and didn’t try to pursue.
Praetor also saw how the Zhis’ta had managed to survive the trap until they’d been rescued. They had no archers of their own, but so fast were they with their swords and axes that they were able to deflect the majority of arrows and rocks that had been directed at them.
With Maryld and Praetor riding cover on the flanks and Sranul bringing up the rear to discourage any lingering belligerents, the re-formed line of wagons made its way out of the canyon onto the next level of the plateau. Not a thousand armed goblins would challenge the family on an open plain.
The wagons slowed and again formed a square. Quietly, patiently, the wounded waited their turn to be treated for their wounds. An elderly male went from wagon to wagon, counting the missing.
Praetor brought the foaming, exciting Kaltar to a halt. Blood was congealing on his sword. Maryld rode up alongside him, panting as hard as her mount.
“It’s finished,” he gasped. “We did it. Now we can continue on to Shadowkeep.”
“No, not yet,” she told him. She dismounted. “First we must see if there is any additional help we can render. They are tired and many are injured. You saw back in the canyon? The young ones who did not get out?”
“Yes,” he replied quietly, “I saw.” He looked back the way they’d come. Only the distant hooting of goblin obscenities came from the vicinity of the ravine. There would be no more fighting this day. “It made it a lot easier for me.”
“I watched you fight. Were you trained as a warrior? You handle a sword exceedingly well.”
“No. But I’ve helped to make more swords than most men ever see, and my master was a great fighter. He said that as long as I was going to make them, I might as well learn how to use them.”
She nodded. “He taught you well. I did not expect you to fight with such skill.”
“Nor I you. What of the peaceful, pacifistic thaladar? What of Maryld of the family of sages?”
“Merely because we chose not to fight does not mean we do not know how to. This, too, is knowledge, even if little used.” She turned and started walking toward the wagons. “Come. Let us see what we can do to help the injured.”
Of those Zhis’ta who had been wounded, however, most seemed to require only perfunctory attention. Their thick, scaly skins protected them from all but the most powerful goblin bows and they had actually suffered far more from the rocks which had been flung down on them. It seemed that if a Zhis’ta was not slain on the spot, it would eventually recover completely no matter how severe its wounds.
“We do not die from injuriess,” the mature female explained to him. “That iss why we never leave behind any of our wounded. We do not have the equivalent in our Old Tongue for ‘fatally wounded’.” She gestured behind her, toward the wagons. “All of my family who are here will live.”
“You’re all related, then?”
“Yess.” Her voice was unexpectedly soft, not at all the harsh reptilian rasp he expected. As she spoke she continued to work at binding up the gash in the shoulder of the young male seated in front of her. “We are all family, man. Unlike thosse of the other racess, we Zhiss’ta do not believe in resstricting the upbringing of a young one to only itss natural parentss. Any male or female may help to raisse up any child, and our children resspond well to all thiss attention.” She looked back toward the canyon. Praetor tried to read her feelings from the tone of her voice but could not. He did not know the Zhis’ta.
“Perhapss we devote sso much care to the raissing of our children becausse we have sso few. We do not give birth ass often ass humans or rooss. That iss why we fought sso hard. The goblin folk may have believed we would run and leave our wounded behind, or would ssurrender to them. They do not realize that a family of the Zhiss’ta with children will fight ten timess ass hard and long ass any war party.”
Praetor nodded understanding, turned his gaze back to the wounded male. The cut was wide and deep, and he was still bleeding quite a bit despite the older female’s efforts to staunch the flow of blood. From the moment she’d begun, even when she’d poured disinfectant into the wound, the warrior hadn’t uttered a sound. He acted more like a silent participant in the conversation than someone in need of vital medical attention.
Certainly he was aware of Praetor’s stare. Now he spoke for the first time, without a hint in his voice of the pain he must be feeling.
“Tell me, human. Why did you help uss? Humanss have no particular love for the Zhiss’ta.”
Praetor tried to shrug it off. “My friends and I decided we couldn’t just ride past and let you all be slaughtered.” He searched the wagons until he located Maryld, pointed. “The thaladar said that you are people and the goblin-folk are not, and that all people should stick together. I confess I hesitated at first, but what she said makes much sense.”
The warrior nodded, a faint, slightly sideways movement of the head. “Ssometimess what the thaladar ssay does.”
The old female continued to bind up the wound. “I am ass surprised to see a thaladar stand up for the Zhiss’ta ass I am a human. Their wissdom cannot be denied, but they are not famed for rissking their livess for otherss of another race. Now, the roo, I can undersstand. They love a good fight and are all a little crazy bessidess. But the actionss of the thaladar I do not undersstand.”
“This isn’t your usual thaladar,” Praetor told her. “This one is different.”
“Different sso,” she murmured. Cold, thoughtful eyes turned to regard him. “Different ass are you, man.” She hesitated, then returned her attention to the male she was nursing.
“How doess that arm feel now, Torun?”
The warrior stood, experimentally flexed the injured shoulder. “It hurtss a great deal, ssenior mother.” This was spoken in an unstressed, perfectly normal tone of voice. “But the movement iss much improved.”
She gave him that brief, sideways nod. “Usse it ass little ass posssible for five dayss. Give the flessh and musscle a chance to heal. Then you can usse it again if you musst.”
“Thankss to your sskill, ssenior mother.” He bowed back to her, turned and trotted off toward several other warriors who were talking in low tones nearby. To see him move, Praetor thought admiringly, anyone would have thought he’d suffered nothing more serious than a scrape.
“Tell me, man,” said the senior mother, speaking to Praetor as though to an old friend, “how come a human, a thaladar, and a roo to be traveling together on the plateau? And ssuch an unussual trio.”
“I met both of them along the way.”
“Along the way to where?”
“To Shadowkeep.”
She mulled this over in her mind a moment before asking the inevitable second question. “And what doess ssuch a sseemingly ssenssible young human like yoursself sseek in Sshadowkeep? That iss a place to be sshunned, not ssought out.”
&n
bsp; “So everyone says. It’s not very encouraging.”
“The truth iss not alwayss encouraging, my warm young friend.”
He sighed. “I go to try and free the wizard Gorwyther so that we may prevent a great evil from spreading out across the world. As to my friends, the roo comes with me for adventure and the thaladar to help with advice. I don’t suppose you have any, other than advising me not to go there?”
“We know little of Sshadowkeep ssave itss reputation. We musst travel ssouth and quickly, lesst the cold of winter trap and kill uss here ass ssurely as the goblinss would have. We can ssurvive the cold of the plainss and the plateau, but the children could not.” She smiled at him, showing a multitude of small, sharp teeth. “You undersstand, we cannot linger.”
Praetor nodded solemnly. “My friends and I are not afraid of Shadowkeep as much as we are what may be festering deep within its walls. The demon king has taken it over and uses it as a sanctuary from which to plot against the rest of the world. Whatever he intends, if it is not stopped now, will spread out to infect the entire world. Including,” he added significantly, “the warm countries of the south.”
Her reply was chilling in its import. “Not even demonss dare to trifle with the Zhiss’ta. Sstill, we are firm believerss in preventive medicine.” She turned and Praetor admired the play of muscles in her upper body, wishing he were half so powerful himself. But no human was. Shone Stelft, as strong a man as Praetor had ever seen, would not be capable of lifting as much as this elderly Zhis’ta female.
“I had not thought to ssee the family ssurvive. We would all have perisshed in that canyon if not for the intervention of you and your friendss.”
He frowned uncertainly. “What are you trying to say, senior mother?”
She glanced back at him, and the tendons in the thick neck twisted like cables. “That we have a debt to pay.”
“Oh no,” he said quickly, raising his hands. “We didn’t help you because we expected some kind of reward or payment. We did it because it was the right thing to do.”
“Sspoken like a true thaladar—or an exceptional human. All three of you are unussual—nay, unique. Therefore the fourth member of your party sshould be equally exceptional.” She started off toward the gathering place where the wagons formed a central square with Praetor protesting in her wake.
“You shouldn’t feel obligated. I don’t want you to feel obligated to us. We would’ve done what we did for anyone trapped like you were.”
“But you did not rissk your livess to ssave ‘anyone’. You did it for uss. Sso the obligation iss incurred whether you wissh it or not. You no longer have a choice in thiss. I no longer have a choice in thiss. It hass been decided.” She eyed him firmly. “We have our lawss too, you know, and we musst adhere to them.”
“I’m not sure what you’re proposing,” he muttered, “but wouldn’t it be simpler all around if we just went on our way? Wouldn’t that free you of this ‘obligation’ or whatever it is?”
“That would only make matterss ten timess worsse, man, becausse we would have to follow you until you agreed to accept payment for the debt or until we perisshed from the trek.”
“Oh.” Praetor was subdued. “I guess I’m stuck with it, then.”
“I am sorry, but it iss our law.”
“Oh, okay.” He considered. “I guess we could use a couple of extra swords, something along that line if you have them to spare. Or fresh food to replace what we’ve polished off the last few days. We’re pretty well stocked and we haven’t had any trouble finding food along the way, but if that will help clear up this problem, we’ll take whatever you want to give.”
“It iss not sso ssimple, man. You rissked your livess for uss. We musst repay the debt in kind.”
“Huh? I don’t follow you.” But, of course, he did, right into the center of the square where the surviving Zhis’ta had gathered.
Everyone looked up when she entered, and a respectful silence fell over the extended family. They waited patiently and with interest for whatever the senior mother had to say.
She gestured at the man standing next to her. “This iss the human called Praetor, foremosst among thosse who ssaved us from the handss of the goblin-folk.”
Immediately and without further instruction, the entire family, from the eldest to the youngest, performed that strange sideways bow of the Zhis’ta. They repeated the genuflection while Praetor looked on uncomfortably. When they had finished doing him homage, at least half concentrated their attention on him instead of the senior mother.
“He offered up hiss life for ourss. With what sshall we repay him?”
“With life,” declared a chorus of solemn, softly modulated reptilian voices.
She turned to face Praetor. “There, you ssee how it iss with uss? I did not prepare them.”
“You’re not planning some kind of crazy sacrifice or anything, are you? Because I won’t stay around for something like that, and I don’t give a damn if it is your law.”
She let out an amused hiss. “Do you think becausse we choosse not to live in citiess that we are not civilized? We do not make ssacrificess. We give life for life, not death.” She turned back to face the members of the family, scanned their attentive faces. “Who volunteerss to ssatissfy the debt?”
The strongest of the Zhis’ta rose from his squat. “I, Hargrod, will go. The children will not misss me ass they would ssome others, and I can sstand the cold better than mosst memberss of the family,”
“All of what you ssay iss sso,” agreed the senior mother, “but who will lead uss in battle if the family iss attacked again?”
Another elder rose to speak. “I do not think the goblinss will trouble uss further. Not after the lossess they have ssuffered. From here to the river valley the way iss wide and clear. There are not more narrow placess in which we could be trapped. I think we are ssafe now.” He eyed the younger warrior. “Hargrod sshould go.” Other adults murmured their assent. “It iss owed.”
“Ssenior father iss right,” said Hargrod. “The family will be ssafe now. Out in the open none will challenge uss, and I will rejoin you all ass ssoon ass the debt hass been paid. Do any object?”
“I object.” All eyes turned to where a young female had risen near the back of the group. “I object from memory, so that my objection may be remembered, though I, too, agree that the debt musst be disscharged.” Praetor saw the way in which Hargrod and the female stared at each other and felt guilty, but he’d done everything possible to dissuade the Zhis’ta from their course of action, with no success. Raising further objections would only make things worse. Apparently this Hargrod was bound and determined to accompany them to Shadowkeep, whether Praetor wanted him along or not.
After a moment the female sat back down and Hargrod turned away from her. There was no touching, no exchange of embraces, but the pair had already made their farewells.
The warrior picked his way through the rest of the family until he was standing before Praetor, who looked the new addition to their little company over carefully. Hargrod was shorter than any of them except Maryld but was much heavier than Praetor. A double-bladed ax was slung across his back. Each blade was nearly as long as the thick, leather-wrapped wooden handle. A short handle and a short reach, he thought, but anything that moved within range of those swinging blades would die.
The Zhis’ta’s arms were as thick as his legs. Diffuse sunlight shone on gray scales. Hargrod reached out and ceremoniously placed a hand on each of Praetor’s shoulders. Though he squeezed gently, Praetor could feel the power in those steellike fingers. He didn’t doubt that if the Zhis’ta chose to contract them with all his strength, he could snap Praetor’s collarbone like a pencil.
Perhaps he shouldn’t seem so reluctant to accept this offer of assistance. Hargrod would be a valuable ally. And as the senior mother said, he had no choice in the matter anyway.
So he put his own hands on the Zhis’ta’s shoulders. “I hope we will become good friends
and that we will find glory together.”
“Only enough so that I may disscharge the obligation,” Hargrod replied evenly. “Then I will leave you. I have other ressponssibilitiess.”
“I know, and I accept that. You are free to leave whenever you feel you’ve done enough.” He dropped his hands at the same time as the Zhis’ta did. “If it was up to me, I’d just as soon that you stayed with your family, but senior mother says that wouldn’t be right.”
Hargrod nodded tersely. “I would have ssaid the ssame thingss as sshe hass ssaid. A debt iss a debt and musst be repaid. Do not think thiss painss me, man. We owe you far more than my mere pressence. Let us sspeak no more of it.” The Zhis’ta made an effort to change the subject.
“You ssay we go to find glory. Where?”
“To Shadowkeep.” Praetor was very interested in the reptile’s reaction. It was much as he expected. Hargrod simply nodded.
“I go to gather my belongingss.” He turned and headed toward the far wagon.
The senior mother moved a little closer to Praetor. “He will prove a great help to you, man, even more sso within the confiness of Sshadowkeep than out here in the open. Few beingss can sstand for long againsst a Zhiss’ta in closse-quarter conflict, and Hargrod iss the besst fighter in the family.”
Praetor rubbed his left shoulder, which still tingled from Hargrod’s gentle grasp. “I believe that.” A sudden thought made him frown. “Maryld and I have horses and Sranul there needs none.”
“Neither doess Hargrod. Hiss sstride may not be ass long ass thosse of your mountss and he may not bound ass high ass the roo, but he can run for dayss without tiring. Hargrod is a warrior’ss warrior.” This last was said with unconcealed pride.
“What if winter comes early, before we’ve finished our work at Shadowkeep?”
“Do not worry yoursself on that concern, man. Hargrod will manage.” Again the show of sharp teeth. “Not only can he take care of himsself, he will alsso take care of you.”
Praetor was a little miffed. “We’ve done all right so far. Not that I’m not glad of all the help we can get.”
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