Messenger from Myris Dar (The Stone Guardians Book 1)

by Kindrie Grove

  “How close are they?” Torrin asked, a prickle running down his spine.

  “I’m not sure; Hathunor knows only that they are almost close enough to hear us.”

  Torrin looked at her sharply. “How much can they hear?”

  “We should be safe providing we keep our voices low and the horses are quiet. Hathunor has heard them before they will hear us.”

  Borlin growled and looked quickly around, pulling his short sword from its scabbard.

  Rowan made a calming gesture with her hand. “Raken hearing is far superior to ours. They will be distant yet.”

  They waited in silence for a short while until Hathunor emerged from the surrounding trees. He walked to Rowan and Torrin and gestured back the way he had come. “Half trieton come fast. We go around.” Hathunor pointed to the right. The ground was rocky and the trees crowded together but it was better than walking straight into a large group of Raken. Hathunor looked from Rowan to Torrin and back, his expression worried.

  It had taken Torrin a few days to identify his surprising range of expressions. “Lead the way, Hathunor.”

  The Raken glanced at Rowan again and turned away, stalking towards the dense trees.

  They moved as quickly as they dared through the forest while keeping a sharp watch for Erys’s Bane in the thick undergrowth.

  Torrin looked over at Rowan, who was squeezing her big horse between his own mount and a tree, pulling her foot up out of the way of the trunk. “How is it that Hathunor is able to sense other Raken but they don’t seem to notice him?”

  Rowan shrugged, eyes scanning the vegetation in front of her horse’s path. “From what I understand Hathunor is a different kind of Raken. Perhaps his senses are superior to the others. He could be different from them in many ways.”

  Torrin hoped so. They would be hard pressed to defend themselves from half a Trieton in this wooded terrain.

  They had threaded their way through the trees for perhaps twenty minutes when Hathunor turned north again. They kept their pace quick and were as silent as possible.

  Finally, Hathunor slowed and turned to look at Rowan. He nodded, then trotted ahead and disappeared into the trees again, scouting ahead.

  Torrin wondered again at the Raken’s apparent immunity to the Erys’s Bane vine. He had seen Hathunor walk straight through the plant and suffer no ill effects. The rest of them had to be careful not to touch the huge Raken, for fear the poison might transfer to them. Torrin had noticed that whenever they crossed a stream, Hathunor would carefully wash himself down to avoid just such an inadvertent contamination.

  They traveled north for the remainder of the day, putting as much distance between themselves and the Raken as possible. The sun was setting when they came to a small clearing with a shallow pond. They set up their camp at the edge of the water and decided not to light a fire in case it was seen from a distance. Hathunor emerged from the trees to join them as they began to share a cold dinner.

  Borlin, who was seated next to Rowan, leaned over to her. “Your friend ’as a surprising ability to know exactly when dinner is be’n served. If I didn’ know better, I’d be say’n he ’ad Stoneman blood.”

  Nathel grinned and Rowan’s laughter rang softly. “You would want to know where the food was too, if you were that big,” she said.

  “Aye, that’s the goddess’s plain truth,” Borlin chuckled.

  Hathunor sat on the other side of Rowan and looked curiously at the Stoneman, before beginning to devour his meal.

  Torrin leaned back against his saddle with his food in hand across from the trio. He readjusted his position to avoid a sharp stone that bit into his hip. Nathel, Dalemar and Arynilas settled beside him.

  “It is odd though,” said Dalemar, his bite of flat bread stopping short of his mouth. “He doesn’t seem to eat nearly enough for his great size. Why over the last few days, I’ve seen him eat barely as much as Torrin or Nathel and he must have three times their bulk, if not more.”

  The others looked curiously at their immense companion as he popped the remainder of his meal through his large teeth. He noticed their scrutiny and looked back with puzzlement.

  Rowan shrugged. “I had assumed he was catching things to eat when he was scouting.” She looked up at him. “Hathunor, do you eat more than this?” she gestured to the food still in her hand.

  The big Raken tilted his head to the side, then shook it.

  “You don’t eat any other food?” asked Dalemar in shock.

  Again the huge head shook and then Hathunor pointed upwards. The companions glanced up following his finger. “If sun Hathunor no need food.”

  They looked at one another, frowning in perplexed confusion.

  Then Dalemar gasped.

  Rowan watched his friendly expression change from puzzlement into amazement as his mobile eyebrows rose as high as they would go, crinkling his smooth forehead. His bread and cheese was still held up in one hand, completely forgotten. “My goodness! You use the light!”

  Hathunor nodded, a sharp-toothed smile on his face.

  “What do you mean? Use the light?” Nathel glanced from Dalemar to Hathunor and back.

  Dalemar turned excitedly from the Raken. “There is energy in the sun’s light! We feel it as heat. Hathunor must somehow be able to harness and use that energy for sustenance.”

  “He eats sunlight?” Nathel shook his head in disbelief.

  “In a sense you could say that, but I doubt it is the same process. Perhaps that is the reason that Hathunor’s skin is so black — to absorb more heat — and he is somehow able to use that heat like food.”

  “Well if he can use light to sustain himself, why does he need to eat food?” asked Nathel.

  “The sun does not always shine,” said Arynilas.

  “Does it ’ave t’ be sunlight? What ’bout firelight?” inquired Borlin.

  Hathunor shook his head. “Only sun.”

  Dalemar turned back to the big Raken. “Hathunor, if you had to, how long could you last without the sun before you would need to eat food?”

  Hathunor translated the question carefully. “Two days before hungry. Can go long time no food if sun, but Hathunor like food,” he said grinning.

  “How fascinating,” exclaimed Dalemar.

  Torrin frown in concern. He was no longer listening to the conversation. His mind was racing ahead, to Pellar and an invading army that didn’t need to eat; that didn’t need traditional supply lines; that could set a siege and simply wait out the defenders as they slowly starved to death. The rules of engagement would be completely different. How do you fight an enemy that could survive without food? The implications ran through his mind in cold, frightening clarity. The Raken made for a perfect invading army.

  Torrin looked at the huge Raken. “Hathunor, why are you so much bigger than the Raken we fought?” Hathunor stood a good head and shoulders taller than his kin, and he towered over Torrin. An image of having to fight a Raken army of Hathunor’s size flashed through his mind with alarming intensity.

  The big Raken pointed to his chest and rumbled, “Saa.” He then gestured back toward where they had circled the half trieton earlier and said, “Drae.” Hathunor pointed to Torrin. Repeating, “Saa.” And then pointed to Arynilas and said, “Drae.”

  Torrin nodded his understanding. “You are a different race.”

  Hathunor smiled, his frightening expression improving only slightly.

  “You do not call yourselves Raken?” Torrin asked.

  Rowan shook her head. “His word for his people is unpronounceable to us. Raken kind of suits them though.” She looked up at Hathunor.

  He made a strange clicking sound that blended to a grunt. The sound began deep in his chest and ended in his mouth.

  Torrin shook his head. He couldn’t repeat the word if he’d tried a hundred times.

  “How many races of Raken are there?” Torrin asked.

  Hathunor lifted his massive hand and held up four fingers. As he spoke
the names of each, he curled a finger down. “Saa, Drae, Cren, Grol.”

  “Are all Saa Raken as big as you are, Hathunor?” asked Nathel.

  The Raken nodded. “Some bigger. Saa – warriors. Big for protecting little brothers.”

  “Are ye saying the Raken we’ve bin fightin’, these Drae Raken are no warriors?” asked Borlin incredulously.

  Nathel drew in a breath and gave a low whistle. “Erys protect us. I wouldn’t want to fight a trieton of Saa Raken. The Draes are bad enough.”

  Hathunor put his head back suddenly and sent up a staccato rumble from deep in his throat. His red eyes were squeezed shut.

  Torrin took in the bewildered expressions of his friends and then noticed that Rowan was smiling – Hathunor was laughing.

  Hathunor shook his giant head. “Little brothers work hard. Make for high ladies. Make for brothers.”

  “Who are the high ladies?” asked Dalemar.

  “High ladies, mothers to all,” rumbled Hathunor.

  Dalemar stroked a finger across his blond eyebrow. “Are you saying that Raken have more than one mother?” he asked.

  Hathunor squinted as he thought about the question; then he brightened and spread out the clawed fingers of one hand. “Mother not know. All brothers born together. High ladies mother to all.”

  Dalemar nodded. “So the Raken are born in clutches, in eggs?” he asked.

  Hathunor frowned and rumbled, “What egg?”

  Rowan held up her hands in the shape of an egg. “You grow inside and then hatch.” She mimicked the two halves of the egg splitting apart.

  Hathunor smiled his toothy smile and nodded his head vigorously.

  “So are there only a very few females among your people?” Torrin asked.

  Hathunor’s huge head swivelled to look at Torrin. “When sister born, great happiness. Sister high honour.”

  Arynilas asked the Raken a question then. “Are there other Saa Raken in Eryos?”

  Hathunor shook his head sadly. “Hathunor only Saa Raken in this land.”

  Torrin glanced between Hathunor and Rowan. “Rowan mentioned that your people come from a distant land. Where is your homeland, Hathunor?”

  Hathunor’s eyes gleamed dully and his thick eyebrow ridges sagged downward, even the perpetual fierceness of his face dissolved into sorrow and grief. “Homeland far. Hathunor no feel. Too far.”

  “You can feel your homeland?” asked Dalemar in awe.

  The Raken sat up straighter. He brought a great hand to his chest. “Feel here.”

  Arynilas leaned forward, his sapphire eyes glittering in the fading light. “I can feel Dan Tynell. It is like a pull on my soul. Even blinded, I would be able to find the way home.”

  “How did ye get te Eryos, then?” asked Borlin.

  Hathunor stretched out a great muscular arm and pointed to the west, toward the last failing light of the sun. “Hathunor travel far; battle hard. Lose many Saa brothers before great mountains.” His face twisted suddenly in a ferocious snarl and a low-pitched growl emanated from his chest. “Blood debt,” he hissed.

  The companions looked at the Raken in puzzlement so Rowan elaborated for her big friend. “Hathunor and his other Saa brothers were hunted and killed by people from the west. It seems that there are some who find hunting Raken great sport. Hathunor was the only survivor of his small group and traveled on his own, crossing the Great Timor Mountains to get here. Much like me, he was alone in his quest.”

  “His quest?” echoed Nathel.

  “He crossed the Great Timors?” questioned Torrin at almost the same time.

  Rowan looked from one brother to the other. “Hathunor was sent by his people to rescue his kin, to find a way to free them. He traveled over the mountains to get here.”

  “Hathunor search long time. Found few little brothers. They attacked Hathunor, not listen. No soul in eyes. They fight wrong,” rumbled the big Raken, pointing towards Torrin’s big broadsword. “Little brothers’ metal teeth bad. They no like fight; they like make.”

  Torrin raised his eyebrows; he had a hard time imaging a soulful looking Raken. But then looking at Hathunor, as he recounted his tale, Torrin began to have an idea of how painful it had been for the big Raken to kill his own brothers during the battle with the trieton. He also now understood why Hathunor could wreak such havoc among his kin. They were not warriors, despite their speed and strength. The Drae Raken’s nature was inherently peaceful.

  The big Raken shook his head and continued in a voice full of despair. “Hathunor killed many but could not kill all. Their death hurt Hathunor. They capture Hathunor. They wait long time, then come kill Hathunor. Rowan save Hathunor. Rowan good friend.” The huge Raken turned to look down at the woman beside him.

  Rowan reached out to touch the Raken but caught herself before covering his hand with her own – she couldn’t risk Erys’s Bane transfer from him. Torrin watched her hand hover over Hathunor’s – tiny by comparison. “It is strange,” she said, “Hathunor seems to be the only one immune to the power that controls the rest of the Raken.”

  “How is it you have avoided being controlled like your kin?” Torrin asked.

  The big Raken heaved a sigh and shrugged his enormous spike-covered shoulders in bewilderment. “Message sent. Hathunor come. Save little brothers.”

  Dalemar stirred, removed his freshly lit pipe from his teeth and blew out a puff of smoke. “You received a message from your kin? How?”

  Hathunor lifted a finger and tapped his forehead. “Cren lore-keeper hear message. Dream. Tell Hathunor go. Little brothers trouble. Not safe.”

  “Hathunor doesn’t know how or why there are Raken here in Eryos, only that they need help. His people believe that there must have been be a Saa or Cren somewhere in Eryos that could send the message,” Rowan explained.

  “But Hathunor said he was the only Saa here,” said Torrin.

  Rowan nodded. “There are none now. If there were still Saa Raken, Hathunor said he would be able to speak to them or receive a message.”

  “You can mind speak?” asked Dalemar.

  Hathunor nodded. “Saa and Cren speak long distance.”

  “Hathunor, have you seen any Cren or Grol Raken in Eryos?” asked Dalemar.

  Hathunor nodded, “Grol Raken. Smaller than Draes. Sometimes together with Draes, sometimes alone.”

  “No Crens?” Arynilas leaned forward, his onyx hair falling around his shoulders.

  Hathunor shook his great head.

  “What do Cren Raken look like?” asked Torrin.

  “Crens big. Bigger than Hathunor.”

  “Lovely,” said Nathel sarcastically. “Well I guess we can thank Erys we haven’t seen any of them yet.” He took a swig from a waterskin and passed it to Dalemar, who ignored it completely.

  The Rith’s gaze was fixed upon Hathunor. “You mentioned a Cren lore-keeper, Hathunor, what is that?”

  The Saa Raken’s red eyes glowed in the dimness. “Crens few. Lore-keepers, makers of good. Crens guide brothers, dream for brothers and sisters.”

  “What a fascinating society you have. The different types of Raken not only perform different tasks but seem to be suited to those tasks physically as well,” Dalemar mused.

  Hathunor rumbled with humour. “Rith do what man not,” he tuned to look at Arynilas and Nathel beside him. “Archer do what Rith not. Fascinating.” The Raken’s rumble turned into a grating thunder as he began to laugh harder.

  Dalemar looked sheepishly up at the huge creature and a grin began to spread across his face. “I guess when you put it that way it’s not so unexpected after all.”

  The last of the Rith’s words were drowned out by Borlin and Nathel’s laughter as well.

  As the quiet once more returned, the Saa Raken stood and stretched his great bulk and then padded softly to the pond where he washed and drank.

  Torrin watched him thoughtfully and Dalemar spoke into the evening’s silence. “There must be a reason that Saa and Cren
Raken are not among the Raken here in Eryos.” The Rith turned to look at Rowan. “And why try to kill him instead of using him? Surely whatever or whoever controls the Draes would have no difficulty with adding one more Raken. Indeed, he would be a valued catch, being so much bigger with superior battle skill.”

  Rowan turned from watching Hathunor to look at the Rith. “That is a question I have asked myself as well.”

  “Perhaps there is something about the Saa Raken and Cren Raken that prevents them from being controlled by whatever it is that rules the others,” said Arynilas quietly.

  The first night crickets began to emit their humming-buzz, alternately close and then far distant. They sat listening to the tones as darkness descended and Torrin could no longer make out the faces of his friends. He sat up and stretched muscles that had stiffened in the evening chill and pulled his sleeping roll from the gear behind him.

  As the rest of the companions bedded down less the two that were taking first watch, Torrin thoughts returned to Hathunor’s story. The Saa Raken’s journey from the west across the Great Timor Mountains at least answered his earlier question – the Timors were crossable and if the Raken had found a way through, than perhaps others could as well.

  For good or ill it possibly represented a profound change for Eryos, and change was never easy.

  The Retreat

  Cerebus surveyed the advancing Raken as his charger danced restlessly under him. A brisk, chill wind caught the edge of his cloak, billowing it around him before continuing down the slope over the retreating coalition army. It had been a hard morning and Cerebus had lost one of his horses to a Raken spear.

  Thorn, a great red stallion he had truly loved, had crumpled under him without warning with a deadly spear buried deep in his stout-hearted chest. Cerebus had been pitched headlong into a line of Raken. Only the surprise of the fall had kept him alive, given him enough time to disengage from the few Raken that had attacked before his own cavalry unit had surrounded him and he’d climbed up behind another horseman.

  Now he looked out on the mixed Klyssen and Pellarian cavalry as it harassed the foe. Wedge shaped units kept up a revolving charge, cutting into the Raken ranks and then wheeling to disengage before they were surrounded. So far the tactic had worked well. They had lost few men and the enemy was never given the chance to gain enough speed to swarm the retreating army. They were still many miles from Pellaris though, and much could go wrong.