Fama paced before him then made a gesture. One of the men cut him free. Mindan stood slowly, rotating his arms, easing the cramps. He felt a moment’s dizziness and steadied himself on the tree.
“It will pass,” Fama said. “A small taste, not like we use normally. Now, why are you here?”
Mindan was grateful for the disorientation from the drug they had used on him; it masked any signs of his lie. “I’m part of a mission from Catanac to Ethalic. We stopped for the night at an inn just west of your border, a few miles from the ridge pass. Thieves pilfered some gifts being taken to Ethalic. I tracked them here.”
“These were the same who stole from you?” Fama pointed at the carcasses.
“I don’t know. I lost the track not long after entering Githira. I picked up this one and thought it might be my prey, but—”
“And you came upon this after the fact.” She walked over to the line of dead animals. “Two, three days at most. There are five of them. You came across the border today, you say?”
“At sunrise.”
“What would you do to the men who did this?”
Mindan remembered his reaction on first seeing the slaughter. He walked toward the ruin, into the stench, the drone of flies, the waste—
“Hunt them with us,” Fama said.
“Gladly.” He said it without guile. It was no lie.
Fama and her men were very good. Mindan studied them as they hurried in pursuit of the poachers, saw how they found and interpreted signs, noted the determination in their faces, their movements, their being. Quickly he understood how close to pain and death he had come in their hands. He began to doubt that he could have completed his task. More than that, he began to doubt he should complete it.
Early the next morning they came to a pond. Fama circled it, careful where she stepped while the others stood back, watching. Mindan saw admiration in the faces of the other men as they patiently let Fama study the ground.
“They’re heading due south now,” she said finally. “One day, day and a half at most.”
They moved at a half-run, almost silently. Mindan’s legs burned, but he managed to control his breathing, unwilling to show fatigue before these Githirans who seemed not even to have broken a sweat after miles. Fama set the pace, pausing only to verify the trail. Near sunset she stopped for several minutes, studying the landscape.
“Two of them went east,” she said. “Korsig, Nico.”
The two named took off in that direction without a word, leaving Fama, Rajek, and Mindan to continue after the others still heading south. They ran until the light finally failed into darkness. Frustrated, Fama broke off the chase to make camp.
Mindan gathered wood while Rajek built a stone circle and cleared underbrush. Fama disappeared into the night, then returned with three tree otters for the fire Mindan had going. She skinned and dressed them with an expert’s ease, spitted them, and laid them across the blaze while Rajek heated water for tea. The three of them said nothing while the meat cooked and the water boiled. When the meat was ready, Rajek cut equal portions for each, then poured the tea.
“So tell me about this mission,” Fama said.
Mindan almost flinched. He was glad of the dark and the flickering firelight that would mask his expressions. “A formal invitation to the Protector of Ethalic to attend the wedding of King Prester’s son.”
“Why such a large party for that? I would think a single emissary and his retainers would do.”
“We’ve been in talks with Ethalic for years over trade issues. It was decided to take advantage of the occasion to send another legation.”
“And the reason the gamekeeper of Githira was sent?”
“Moor tigers. We hoped to bring a breeding pair back.”
She nodded. “You wouldn’t want to leave that to the unskilled and inexperienced.”
“No.”
The explanations, as far as Mindan was concerned, had the benefit of being true, even the moor tigers—if he had completed this part soon enough, that was his next task. Everything could be proven.
“And you came after the thieves because—?”
“I’m the best tracker. And I’m not a soldier. The Overseer might take that amiss.”
“King Prester’s son,” Fama continued, “is of age, isn’t he?”
“Stephen is nineteen this year, yes.”
“A little old to be getting him married, isn’t it? Most like Prester have their boys bound to some child when they’re barely ten.”
“True. It’s been difficult for him.”
Mindan fell into a recitation of the last dozen years of his homeland. Wars—three of them—over borders, a plague that nearly destroyed two of Catanac’s closest neighbors, and King Prester’s response to seal the borders of Catanac that caused diplomatic difficulties with a score of other countries. The last several years had been a time of rebuilding old alliances, forging new ones, dealing with the problems created by forceful policies that appeared arbitrary and simply offered opportunities for aggression on the part of enemies and the envious.
“Marrying his son has become a question of strategy that beggars my poor imagination,” he said. “Who does he make dynastic cause with that won’t do as much damage as good?”
“Who indeed? What was the final choice?”
“Depending on how her presentation at court goes, King Prester is negotiating with Masady.”
Fama looked startled. “That’s a surprising choice.”
“There are benefits. Masady is vital. It has good relations with all its neighbors, a good reputation. On the road to Ethalic our ambassador explained all the aspects of such a union that would be to our benefit. I wondered, though, where considerations about the two betrothed came into it. He said ‘As long as the girl’s a virgin and Stephen gets an heir off her, there are no other considerations.’ Makes me glad to be a commoner.”
“The virgin part may be a problem. Do you know anything about Masady?”
“Some.”
“They are freer among themselves than most would feel proper. They school their girls with the boys. They let them take work outside the households. I’ve been told some women hold office in the government. As to marriage, it’s an open matter, a choice both parties enter into freely. Fidelity is barely an issue. I’ve heard they put no value on virginity for its own sake. If your king is hoping for one for his son, I am surprised he sought her in Masady.”
“Exaggerations,” Mindan countered. “Even if true among the populace, surely the royal house would take care for its legacy.”
Fama shrugged.
“You sound like you admire them,” Mindan said.
“I’m a woman in a man’s work. I’m never displeased when I hear a girl is given leave to be what she wants by her own effort.”
“How did you come to your position?”
“My father was sheriff until he died. I have no brothers, and he presented me to the Overseer as the only viable successor. There was resistance, even so, but I have an affinity for the work, and many of my father’s men knew me and knew what I could do. I’ve held the title for almost eight years now. I have to struggle to keep it every day. Something like this massacre undermines me in the eyes of my liege.”
“Surely he must understand that even—”
“That even a man couldn’t do better? Surely he must.” She gave him a wry smile. “But he doesn’t. For him I must prove myself twice or three times where a man would only have to prove himself once, if that often. Except it’s worse than that. These creatures, the einhyrm, this is the last place they exist. Here should be a sanctuary for them. They’ve been hunted out of existence everywhere else, but not here. Here they should be safe. Every time this happens, the herd thins more. They don’t breed swiftly. I haven’t seen new foals in four years. Rajek?”
“More like six,” he said.
“This is on my head,” Fama said. “I failed to keep these vultures out. I failed to protect the einhyrm.”
/>
“The power of their horn pulls at men.”
“Yes, and if there was any truth to the stories it might seem worth it, but the sad thing is none of it is true. The horns are only that—horn. There is no magic.”
“But—”
“No! We tested it, decades ago. Every trial the horn was supposed to serve, it did nothing. After that, the Overseer decreed Githira a sanctuary. My father was a small boy when the sheriff then traveled the world to find the remaining einhyrm and bring them here. All the good it has done. Men come from all those places, and we have never convinced them of the truth. They slaughter and steal. The worst of them don’t even come because they believe the legends. They come for pay.”
Or to serve their king, Mindan thought. He wondered then how much he believed in the reputed powers of the einhyrn horn. Though it did not matter. King Prester believed.
Mindan finished his tea and stretched out in his bedding. He found sleep difficult.
He woke to his feet being kicked. He saw a shadow against a barely bright sky and heard the sounds of camp being broken. He was on his feet at once, rolling up his doss, collecting his things, preparing to move. He walked into the nearby tree line to tend to his ablutions, then joined Fama and Rajek. A skin was passed to him.
“Two swallows,” Fama said, “no more.”
The liquid was bitter, but it sent fire through him. Within moments he felt more aware than he had in days.
They set out at a trot just as the light grew bright enough to see signs. Fama picked up the trail with ease, and they ran through the morning, pausing only to be sure of the track. Before noon, Fama smiled.
“They’ve slowed down. They think they’ve escaped.”
Fama drove them through the rest of the day, not pausing to eat. As tired as he was, Mindan felt pride at keeping up; it had been years since he had moved at such a pace. The sun was low before they finally stopped. Fama’s face glistened with sweat and Rajek was breathing hard.
Mindan watched Fama as she walked slowly over hard-packed earth, but she was not looking down. She seemed to be listening. His own breathing was loud in his ears. He tried to wrestle it under control and finally his lungs slowed, and he was able to at least try to listen with her, but by his own reckoning, Mindan guessed their quarry to be at least a good two or three hours ahead, hardly within hearing.
Fama grinned and gestured for them to follow. It was then Mindan perceived a slight whisper, a whinny, a whicker just barely carried by the wind across leaves and branches. He tilted his head to one side. Einhyrm.
She went silently to the west, away from the trail, through dense clusters of oak and ash. She moved with grace and seemed to leave no trace of her passing. Rajek was almost as good. Mindan felt clumsy and noisy by comparison.
They ascended a crest, and Fama dropped to all fours crawling the last few yards. Mindan dropped to his belly and came up alongside Fama, glad for the rest. He peered over the crest and caught his breath.
There were four of them. They seemed to be dancing. They pranced among the trees, weaving in and out crossing each other’s paths, their white, buff bodies flashing between shadows and trunks. Occasionally, two of them met and reared up, dropping to do a complicated thrust and parry with their horns then spinning around and careening off to resume the coil and cross of the ritual. They were, as far as Mindan could tell, full grown, all with thick manes and long tails. Their play was confined. As he watched he saw order, skill, and joy in the dance.
“I said,” Fama whispered, “that there is no magic. That was wrong. Here is the magic in the living animals themselves. Tell me I’m wrong.”
“I haven’t seen one since I was a child,” Mindan said. “I didn’t remember—”
The dance ended abruptly. All four einhyrm stopped in place, cocked their heads, ears twitching, and then, as if by some command only they could hear, they vanished into the woods.
There were five men in the camp; two must have been waiting for the others. They had erected a lean-to beneath the wide boughs of an ancient oak as well as two smaller tents on either side. Fama held back in the cover of the tree line, waiting to be sure of their numbers.
Mindan unsheathed two knives, his heart racing in preparation for the fight. Fama touched his arm and signaled him to be patient. From a sheath across her back she pulled out a long tube. She nodded to Rajek, who moved away to another part of the perimeter.
Mindan watched as she opened a pouch and extracted a thin dart which she inserted in the end of the tube. She then braced herself against a tree, raised the tube to her mouth, and waited.
One of the poachers moved away from the fire. Fama followed him with the end of the tube then forced out an explosive burst of air. The man flinched and grabbed for his neck. He turned, frowning, and stumbled. Fama loaded another dart as one of the staggering poacher’s companions came toward him. Again, she struck. Mindan saw two others also grab at their necks. The fifth ran for the lean-to.
Fama bolted. As the stricken men fell to the ground unconscious, she crossed the opening faster than Mindan could get to his feet. The remaining poacher turned on her. She collided with him, and they both went down.
Mindan ran toward them, reaching them at the same instant as Rajek. Fama struggled with the taller man, twisting to keep him off-balance. They grunted with effort, limbs shifting for advantage. For a moment it looked as if Fama was about to be overpowered. Mindan pulled one of his knives. In a move he barely tracked, Fama got one knee beneath her and drove the other up into the poacher’s crotch. He bellowed in pain. She knocked an arm aside, pressed a hand down onto his neck, and reared back with her own knife raised. Mindan expected her to strike. Her captive, frozen in pain and fear, stared at the blade above him with a mindless fixation.
“Fama,” Rajek whispered.
Fama stood, resheathed her knife. “Bind them.” She walked away.
Inside the lean-to they found three piles under leather covers. Mindan reached for the middle one, but Fama grabbed his arm. “In the morning,” she said. “I want them all awake. I want them to see.”
Mindan returned to the fire. Rajek had mounted four rabbits from the poachers’ own cache on spits and set them to roasting. There was also wine and biscuits.
On the ground by Fama’s bedroll lay the tube. Mindan picked it up. The surface, all along its length, was carved in an intricate pattern of symbols and whorls. He aimed it toward the fire, looked down the opening, and saw a delicate spiral etched into the inner surface. Fama sat down beside him.
“Is this what you used on me?” Mindan said.
She took it back. “Silent. Effective at a distance. Only lethal if I want it to be. All you need are strong lungs.”
“What will you do with them?”
“What the law demands.”
Mindan did not ask what that meant.
“You’ve done well,” she said. “You’re very good on the hunt.”
“Thank you.”
“If for some reason you find yourself wanting for another place, come see me.”
Startled, he looked at her. She was unrolling her bedding, paying him no attention. Mindan felt an urge to reject her offer. If you knew why I’d come—, he thought. He glanced toward the poachers, four of them lay still unconscious, side by side like bundles, the fifth bound to a stake in the earth, watching them, mouth gagged.
Mindan might so easily have been one of them; chance alone had changed that outcome. The anger he had felt for them since finding their last kill—that was real, but he wondered if it were not as much anger at his own intentions, anger at seeing evidence of the crime he had come here to commit. That he had planned to kill just one for its horn did nothing to stanch his guilt—degrees of wrong come as much from lack of opportunity as from modesty of ambition.
He prepared his sleeping blankets, then helped Rajek with the rabbits. They ate in silence. After, Rajek stood the first watch, and Mindan tried to sleep.
It seemed he had fi
nally drifted off when a hand on his shoulder brought him awake. Fama leaned over him.
“Your turn,” she said, handing him a small cup, then went to her bedding and stretched out.
Mindan poured water into the palm of one hand and splashed it onto his face. He drank the fluid, feeling the same rush, the startling wakefulness, as earlier. He gathered his weapons, stood, and stretched, then walked around the ebbing fire.
A sound caught his attention, a small, staccato hiss of air. He searched the blackness surrounding them. His eyes fell on the poacher tied to the stake. The man stared at him, his eyes pinpoints of reflected light from the dying fire. He seemed to vibrate in place and his mouth kept opening and closing. Mindan stepped closer, then heard the muffled words. “Please—please—please—”
Mindan walked away, his belly knotted around a lump of fear and disgust. He almost stepped on Rajek, asleep near the lean-to. Mindan’s heart raced. He did another turn around the campsite, finally calming down. Above, the sky was beginning to lighten.
He waited, listening until he felt certain both Fama and Rajek were asleep. Mouth dry, he slipped inside the lean-to. The instant the flap fell, he knew he had made a mistake. It was black inside. He stood in place, knowing roughly where the piles were.
Just reach down and take one. It’s just one, right there.
But he did not move. After a few minutes, he stepped back out and resumed his circuit of the camp as the early morning sunlight pushed the remaining night from the forest. Mindan paused. The hairs on the back of his neck tingled. There it was. Hand on the hilt of his knife, he went to Fama. Her eyes snapped open before he touched her.
“Someone’s coming,” he said.
She rolled to her feet with a knife in hand. She made a peculiar, bird-like sound, and Mindan saw Rajek rise, also armed. Fama touched Mindan’s arm and pointed for him to go farther to the left. As he reached his position, though, two men came out of the forest—Fama’s men, Korsig and Nico. One of them had a bandaged arm, stained with blood, two days old by the color. Both looked bruised and exhausted.
Gravity Box and Other Spaces Page 12