Not so stupid after all, then, if his plan is to release me to help in any possible fight to come.
But it was a grinning Thet-mun who emerged from the dark. The firelight glimmered from his teeth and eyes. He looked immensely pleased and went straight to their heaped gear. ‘Where’s the palm wine?’ he demanded. ‘Ha! Here’s my beauty.’ He lifted a skin and took a long pull, wiped his mouth.
‘We have them, turtle-boy! Got them both. You should’ve seen it. It was laughable. They walked right in. Ha!’ He raised the skin and poured another stream into his mouth.
Heng-lon – turtle-boy, apparently – laughed as well, though he obviously had no idea why.
The rest of the bandit crew now came tumbling in from the dark. All were grinning and snorting laughs. Two carried a roped body between them that they threw down next to Pon-lor. A girl, or rather a young woman. She was unconscious.
By the Founders! Was this the witch? Could they have really …
Jak arrived to snatch the skin of palm wine from Thet-mun’s hand. He leaned over Pon-lor, took a sip, then stood staring down at him for some time. Finally, he pulled an exaggerated moue of disappointment. ‘You high and mighties. Look at you. Useless.’ He straightened to peer about, spread his arms wide. ‘I beat you! Me! A lowly cast-out nobody you sneered at! Well … look at you now!’
‘Coming!’ one of the bandits shouted from the jungle.
Coming? What could they …
Heavy measured steps sounded over the pattering of raindrops. They came from beyond the cover of thick wide leaves. Pon-lor straightened where he sat. They’ve done it! Brought it to me! Time to end this ridiculous charade.
A heavy curved blade flashed before his vision to press against his neck. Myint’s head rested on his shoulder from behind. ‘Don’t try anything, sweetie.’ And she blew a kiss into his ear.
Pon-lor let his shoulders drop. Why do I keep underestimating these wretches?
Jak snapped his fingers, gesturing. A spear was thrown to him and he spun it to rest its keen bright iron point against the unconscious woman’s side. The stand of tall ferns shook, tossing raindrops everywhere, then was thrust aside and an armoured giant strode through, a wide bright yataghan blade outstretched before it.
‘Hold!’ Jak called. ‘Or I thrust through your mistress.’
To Pon-lor’s utter astonishment the yakshaka froze.
‘Sheathe your weapon.’
The soldier complied.
Pon-lor stared, dumbfounded. How was this possible? How was its conditioning overcome? He had to discover how. This simply had to be reported to the ruling Circle of Masters.
Jak was nodding to himself and he shot Pon-lor a quick triumphant glance to make certain he was taking this in. ‘Your mistress will be under guard constantly. Someone will always be within sword’s reach. So behave.’ He pointed to a tree on the far side of the encampment. ‘Sit.’
The armoured giant’s helm turned aside as it regarded the tree. Then it lumbered heavily to the spot and put its back to the trunk to stand glittering in the shadows, arms crossed.
Jak shrugged. ‘Good enough.’ He looked to Pon-lor, jerked his head to the yakshaka. ‘I couldn’t believe it understood me.’ He frowned, lowered his voice. ‘Is there a man in there?’ Then, realizing, he waved the question aside.
‘What about you, sweetmeat?’ Myint breathed into his ear. ‘You gonna behave?’
Pon-lor gave a long slow nod. Yes, he would. At least until he had questioned this witch.
‘Aw.’ Myint pouted her disappointment. It was an awful twisting of her features, given her disfigured lip. She slit the gag, managing to slice his cheek and ear at the same time. ‘Sorry,’ she dropped, not sorry at all, as she walked away.
Pon-lor felt the warm blood drip down his neck while he sat cross-legged, staring straight ahead at the shadowed figure across the camp where the firelight winked and flashed from its mosaic inlay. Perhaps it was only his impression, but it seemed the creature dropped its helmed head as if unable to meet his gaze.
The next day Pon-lor was awake before everyone, as usual. He waited for the woman to rouse. Through the night the bandits had been trading off watches, keeping someone always close. Now it was Myint’s turn and she hauled the woman up and marched her off – perhaps to see to her morning toilet.
Pon-lor was disappointed by what he saw. She was just a local girl; a peasant from any one of their villages. For a time he’d played with the possibility that she was some sort of agent for Ardata and that by capturing her he could learn secrets of the Witch-Queen’s court in fabled Jakal Viharn. Now, however, he had to wrestle with the mystery of how this peasant could possibly have suborned a yakshaka soldier. The most likely answer was that she had not; that this soldier was flawed and had somehow fixated upon her. She probably had no idea why this thing was following her around, and had become terrified and run off.
Or had been run off by her terrified fellow villagers.
As the bandits broke camp Pon-lor sat, still tied up, and wondered why Jak had brought her back. If she really was an agent of Ardata then he ought to have killed her right away. That would have been the safest course. Like him, then, Jak must have realized that she was no servant of the Witch-Queen. She was merely his convenient guarantor of the yakshaka’s cooperation. Clearly, then, once Jak had delivered his prize, he would still have her for his revenge.
Very greedy is this Kenjak Ashevajak, the Bandit Lord.
And clearly it was about time to end this investigation. A word or two with the girl should settle things one way or the other and then he would be free to collect their wayward property for examination and dissection back in Anditi Pura. This particular soldier must possess some flaw that had allowed it to shake off its immediate orders. But there was no way it would be able to resist the deep-conditioned key command words that lay at the foundation of its reconstructed consciousness.
Pon-lor broke off his musing as he became aware of someone’s steady regard. He turned to see the villager, the young woman, frozen at the edge of camp, staring at him with ferocious intensity. He gave her a small nod that said: yes indeed, I am a Thaumaturg. Then he raised his brows to say: don’t you think we ought to have a chat?
Her reaction surprised him. Instead of deflating, terrified, she raised her chin and waved him off with the back of a hand as if to answer: I will accept no aid from a filthy wretch such as yourself.
Whence came such regal poise? Then he glanced to the silent waiting yakshaka and shook his head in sad regret. Ah, child, just because you may command such a thing for the moment does not mean you have conquered the world.
Myint jabbed with her spear none too gently, urging the young woman onward. Jak, wolfing down the last of his morning meal of rice and boiled plants, came to meet her. He was brushing his hands free of the sticky grains. ‘You surprised me once before, witch,’ he said. ‘But not again. Try anything and you’ll get run through before you can raise your spells. Understand?’
Though her hair was a dirty nest of twigs, her face smudged with dirt, and her skirts sodden and muddy, the young woman still managed to maintain her poise. The answering nod she bestowed upon the bandit was a sneer.
Pon-lor winced, for he knew this was precisely the wrong approach to take with Kenjak Ashevajak. The young man raised his hand to strike her across the face but the grating of stone and the hiss of steel on wood halted him. All eyes turned to the yakshaka; it had taken a step and half drawn its sword.
Jak slowly lowered his hand. ‘For now, bitch,’ he murmured, low. ‘For now.’
Throughout, the young woman hadn’t flinched, and Pon-lor felt a grudging admiration. He also saw now that the woman had adopted this attitude of scornful superiority precisely because it so enraged the bandit – just as he wielded it as well.
Jak turned to the camp where everyone stood or crouched, motionless, watching. ‘Well?’ he demanded. ‘What are you all standing around for? You lazy useless idiots!’ H
e swung a kick at Thet-mun. ‘Let’s get going!’
Through the last preparations of breaking camp, Pon-lor wondered which course he ought to pursue. Should he slay the lot of them? They were now leading him in entirely the wrong direction. Yet without their guidance he would be utterly lost in this dense green abyss. Coercion or bribery then. He would leave one alive and promise him or her a rich reward for guiding him back – or he would torture the outlaw into cooperation. So, which one?
A point jabbed him in the back and he flinched into motion while glaring over his shoulder. It was a grinning Thet-mun, his livid facial pocks and pimples even worse now, and his hair a matted glistening ropy cascade.
Pon-lor realized that he had his man. They marched through the thick undergrowth, shouldering aside hanging lianas dense with clinging blossoms and pushing through stands of razor-edged grasses. After the line of march had strung everyone out, Pon-lor cleared his throat and murmured, low, ‘That fool Jak treats you like a dog.’
The point jabbed him. ‘Quiet, you.’
‘You deserve better – you’re the best scout here. Where would they be without you?’
He was jabbed again. ‘ ’Strue,’ the youth snarled. ‘But Jak … He has the plans.’
‘You could too—’
‘Don’t listen to that one,’ a girl cut in from behind.
Pon-lor peered back over his shoulder. The witch paced behind Thet-mun. Myint walked behind her, laughing silently, spear in hand. ‘You should kill him right now,’ the witch continued. ‘His kind mean to bring the Visitor down upon us and wipe all of us from the face of the earth.’
Pon-lor stared back at the young peasant woman. Her answering gaze remained steady and defiant. ‘That’s nonsense. The ruling Circle of Masters would never do such a thing.’
‘How do you know this?’
Pon-lor drew breath to answer, clamped his mouth shut. Because … there are rumours … they’d tried it before. And it had been a disaster.
In the face of his silence Myint laughed her hyena scorn. She set her spearhead alongside the woman’s neck. ‘Speak again and it’ll be gags for both of you.’
Pon-lor turned away. Damn the witch. By the teachings of the ancients, I am now tired of this. I have quite demonstrated my denial of the flesh, my indifferent endurance of arduous conditions. The Masters cannot fault my assiduousness here! At the next stop, when everyone’s gathered together, I’ll put an end to it.
Towards midday the troop gathered for a break in the march. The sun stabbed down in a punishing blinding glare through gaps in the high canopy. The bird whistles and distant animal hoots and roars had died down with the heat of noon. The ground here was covered by an overlay of twisting knotted roots that supported the surrounding massive trunks, which were bulwarked by enormously wide bases, as large as buildings. Pon-lor made a show of throwing himself down to sit hunched. He drew in great shuddering breaths as if he were utterly spent.
Another of the troop guarded him now, a quiet oldster with a hard cold gaze. Probably a runaway petty criminal. Or maybe not. He mustn’t make the mistake of underestimating these outcasts again. Perhaps the man was a multiple murderer. Or a violent rapist. There was no way to know. He wasn’t certain of his name – not that it mattered. Weenas, perhaps. Something like that.
He turned his head to glance sideways up at the man. ‘Hey … you.’
The eyes snapped to his, then narrowed, calculating. Without a change of his indifferent expression he jabbed the glinting point of his spearhead into Pon-lor’s shoulder. The point withdrew smeared a bright crimson. Pon-lor clamped down on the pain and kept his face flat, determined to match the man’s impassiveness. The oldster, Weeras, studied the wound and licked his lips, smiling.
Sadist. Even worse than I’d imagined. The throat for this one, I think. So vital, that one slim locale. So much going on in such a narrow passage.
Pon-lor pitched his voice low: ‘How can you breathe with …’ then he trailed off as he realized something.
The old man’s face wrinkled up in annoyance. ‘What?’
Pon-lor searched the surrounding jungle. It was silent. The constant hum and susurration of insects had fallen away. No birds called from the canopy. Casting his awareness wide he now detected why: they were surrounded. The yakshaka, he noted, had turned its helmed head to stare off into the dense leaves as if at nothing. He stood, called out, ‘Jak!’
‘Shut the abyss up!’ Weeras snarled, and thrust at him.
He easily sidestepped the point and kicked the old man down. ‘Where are your scouts?’ he called to Jak who now stared, frozen, a handful of rice at his mouth.
Thet-mun, next to the bandit leader, was not so slow to understand. He threw himself flat, disappearing immediately between the thick snaking roots everyone sat upon.
I chose well in that one, Pon-lor congratulated himself.
A hissing like bees sounded all round. Leaves were flicked, then a storm of arrows punished the gathered bandits. Complete chaos engulfed the troop. Everyone scattered. Some even dropped their weapons to run, terrified.
‘Cannibals!’ someone screeched.
Cannibals? Pon-lor wondered, quite astonished. He shifted to put his back to one of the immense tree trunks. He edged his head aside as something darted towards him. A slim arrow slammed into the thick spongy bark next to his head. Paint and feathers decorated the deadly graceful object and he understood. Ah, these villagers are from the border region. They grew up hearing the stories of the natives of Himatan. Ardata’s Children, call them what you will. Cannibals, head-hunters. Of course such a reputation for ferocity serves these locals well – it keeps everyone away, doesn’t it?
A sudden wash of enormous power, like a huge wave, thrust him back into the tree. The witch was raising her aura. And what strength! He stared, stunned by the depth of it. How came she by such might? She screamed however, then, and her aura flickered, snapping away just as it burgeoned to life. She clutched her leg where an arrow now pierced her thigh.
Jak and Myint had pulled together a group and this knot now charged the jungle, probably meaning to break through the encirclement. Showing surprising speed, the yakshaka scooped up the witch and stormed off in the opposite direction, crashing through the undergrowth like an enraged elephant.
Pon-lor searched for, and found, Thet-mun’s frantic gaze where he peered out over the top of a root. Pon-lor motioned aside, after the fleeing yakshaka, and after scanning his fallen cohorts around him the lad gave a curt nod.
His arms still tied behind his back, Pon-lor ran after the yakshaka. Arrows hissed past him. One plucked his arm. As he ran he sensed a growing numbness in that arm – a toxin. He suppressed the blood flow to that limb and hoped to live long enough to deal with it later.
Lying among the dead leaves ahead was one of these Himatan locals. The warrior was painted head to foot and wore a kind of armour over his chest of bent bamboo and rattan strips lashed together. His head was crushed as from some terrific blow. The yakshaka. At least he was still on the right trail. Soon, however, he knew he would lose his way. He believed he could now sense this witch should he put his mind to it; but the question was how best to get from here to there, what to eat, and what not to step on.
He ran on then, not certain of his direction, but wanting to put some distance between himself and the ambush behind. After some time, pushing through hanging vines and tracing round the fallen rotting logs of these forest giants, he paused for breath, panting. This time he was not faking it; Thaumaturg training, it seemed, was perhaps negligent of raw physical endurance.
He flinched, then, jumping, as someone emerged from the thick dripping fronds next to him: Thet-mun. ‘You’re too loud,’ the youth growled, peering warily about.
‘Cut my bonds.’
‘What for? What will you do for me?’
‘Get me back and I’ll see to it that you’re richly rewarded.’
The youth grinned. ‘That’s more like it.’ He pulle
d out a large, wicked-looking curved knife.
After which I’ll see you executed as a criminal.
He sawed through Pon-lor’s bonds. ‘You’re wounded,’ he yelped, indicating his arm.
‘Yes.’
The youth stared, confused. ‘But … there’s poison on them arrows.’
‘Yes, there is.’
The youth’s face revealed unguarded wonder. He drew a small packet from within his shirt. He offered it to Pon-lor. ‘Well … try this.’
Pon-lor unwrapped it to reveal a whitish paste. ‘What is this?’
‘Should kill that poison.’
Kill it? Ah, an antidote of some kind. Perhaps an alkaline agent. I am impressed. He smeared some on the cut. Thet-mun tore a strip of cloth and bound it. ‘How did you learn this?’ Pon-lor asked.
‘My ol’ aunt taught me the recipe. Come to think of it, some called her a witch, too.’
‘Ah. So, which way now?’
The youth pointed the blade. ‘That way’s west.’
‘No. Which way to the yakshaka?’
The scout flinched, hunching. ‘Wha’? No one said anything about trackin’ him down.’
‘I have to return with it. That’s the only way I – we – can get our reward.’
Sheathing his blade, the pock-marked youth glanced away, frowning, sullen.
Pon-lor could see his mind working: how he was thinking that maybe he would have a better chance alone after all, and so he murmured, ‘What will you do when you run into those cannibals again?’ A shudder of terror rewarded him. ‘Or the Night Children? They say the man-leopard, that legendary killer, still haunts these forests. Tell me, Thet. What will you do if he comes for you in the night?’
The youth ground his teeth, almost whining in his frustration and fear. ‘You made yer damned point.’
‘Very good. Now, which way?’
He gestured onward. ‘Couldn’t miss it if you was blind.’
Pon-lor invited him to lead the way.
* * *
Alone in the jungle a woman knelt drinking water she cupped in a hand from a thin stream. She wore only a cloth wrapped about her loins. Her breasts were high and firm, the areolae a dark nut-brown. Sweat-caked dust and dirt smeared her limbs, face and torso. Her hair stood in all directions as a wet black nest. Hand at her mouth she paused. Her bright hazel eyes shifted aside and she smiled, humourlessly.
Blood and Bone Page 45