The ma continued its cautious forward movement until it stood within the semicircle. It appeared to be half asleep. Then with one abrupt motion, the male Talent on the near end of the semicircle raised a heavy club and brought it down against the slim, sloping neck where it joined the skull. The ma crumpled, instantly, painlessly dead.
The men were lifting the hind legs in preparation to drag it back to camp when suddenly all the Talents froze in their places momentarily, then dropped what they were doing and ran back toward the camp, leaving their prize game animal where it had fallen.
“This looks bad,” Tlad said and started to scramble down the tree. “Something's wrong!”
The tery followed him to the ground, but once on all fours, he left Tlad behind as he raced for the camp. He found chaos, with silent, grim-faced people running in all directions, grabbing weapons and harnessing mounts. He immediately looked for Adriel and could not find her. A chill of foreboding stole over him as he hunted up Komak.
He finally found him at the weapons wagon, filling a quiver with arrows. The tery hesitated, fearful for Adriel, yet unable to learn a thing about her.
Tlad arrived then, puffing from the run, calling for Komak. The big red-haired man ignored the call and strode toward his tent without answering. Tlad, however, would not be put off. As the tery watched in the waning light, he intercepted Komak and matched his stride. After a brief exchange, Tlad stopped short and grabbed Komak's arm. They seemed to be arguing. Komak finally wrenched free of Tlad's grasp and hurried away.
The tery approached Tlad, hoping he might learn something from him.
“There you are.” He squatted before him and put one hand on his shoulder. “Listen, my furry friend, and listen well: Adriel has been captured by Kitru's troops. No one knows how it happened but there are tracks to the south that show Adriel and Dennel walking right into the arms of a squad of troopers.”
The tery felt as if he had been hit in the chest with a battering ram. He couldn't breathe.
Not my Adriel!
He turned to head toward the keep but Tlad pulled his head back around and stared into his eyes.
“Listen to me! These fools are going after her – they have some crazy idea about storming the keep. That may be just what Kitru wants. Not only will he have a Finder in his control, but he'll be able to slaughter all the Talents who escaped when the proclamation first came through. You” – he slapped the tery's shoulder – “must get to the keep first. Get in there and get her out. I don't know how you're going to do it, but try. Not only does Adriel's life depend on it, but the lives of everyone in this camp. You owe them, and now it's pay-back time. Get going!”
The tery needed to hear no more. Without a backward glance he turned and trotted into the trees, pacing himself for what he knew would be a long and dangerous journey through the darkening forest. With easy, loping strides, he left the scrambling psi-folk behind. He would get there long before them.
He was well on his way to the keep before he realized that, without the slightest hesitation, Tlad had told him what had happened, what he should do, and why he should do it – fully expecting him to understand every word.
11
THE KEEP WAS A DARKER BLOT against a darkened sky when the tery reached the edge of the forest. He stole through the narrow streets between the huts and houses of the village that surrounded it. The main gate was well guarded and well lit. Torchlight flickered off the guards and the metal fastenings of the gate itself, and off the rotting crucified corpses nearby, remnants of heretics and criminals and anyone else whose misfortune it was to displease Lord Kitru. The bodies hung and stank until they rotted off the spikes that pinned them there or until the spot was needed for a fresh miscreant.
The tery turned away and moved off into the darkness. Finally, far from the gate, he stood at the base of the high outer wall and gathered his strength and wits. He had never been in the keep before, but that didn't bother him – he had often hunted unfamiliar sections of the forest and come back with game over his shoulder.
This would be like a hunt – the keep would be an unknown section of forest, the troopers would be the big predators with which he was always in competition, and Adriel would be the prey. He geared up his confidence. He could do this. He had been raised in the forest with a club as his only weapon – he learned either to use his strength with stealth and cunning or go hungry. The tery had seldom gone hungry.
He began to climb. The outer wall was crudely made of rough stone, and his long fingers found easy holds as he scuttled upward. He reached the top and raised his eyes above the ledge. A narrow walkway ran all along the outer wall with wooden stairs leading up to it. Sputtering torches and oil lamps placed at odd intervals within the wall showed a number of irregular buildings that made up the keep, one standing noticeably higher than the others.
A bored-looking sentry approached along the walkway. The tery lowered himself and hung by his fingertips just below the ledge until the guard had passed, then slithered over the top, dashed across the parapet, and dropped into the deep shadow under the walkway.
With his heart pounding, he crouched and waited. No alarm sounded, no troopers came running. He had penetrated the first line of defense. The next step was to decide which building to search first.
His gaze was drawn to the tall, imposing structure that stood over the other buildings. That would be where Lord Kitru would reside – it seemed logical that a man who believed himself above other men would want to live where he could look down on them.
With neither weapons nor clothing nor accouterments, the tery was a fleeting shadow among other shadows as he made his way to the base of the tower. Yes, Kitru would dwell here. And who would better know the location of the captured Finder than the lord of the keep? Perhaps he had even quartered her here to assure her safekeeping.
He looked up the face of the tower wall. It was made of the same rough stone as the outer wall, so climbing it would be no problem. The surface was pierced here and there by narrow windows which the tery judged wide enough to allow him entrance. He started up. He had traveled only three man-heights when a shout from below caused him to freeze and hug the wall.
“Ho! You there on the tower! What are you doing?”
The doors to the trooper barracks flew open, followed by the sound of many running feet in the darkness.
The same voice spoke again. “You! Come down from there! I've got a crossbow now...start down now! No tricks or I'll spit you with a bolt!”
Glancing up, the tery saw the lowest window not far above him. He made a sudden frantic leap to reach it. True to his word, the guard below loosed a bolt. The missile grazed the tery's ear and smashed against the wall in front of his face. Fragments of stone and mortar peppered his eyes. Recoiling, he felt his fingers slip off the stone. Despite his best efforts, he lost his precarious grip and fell. He landed on all fours but found nowhere to run – the wall was to his back and two full squads of troopers faced him with drawn weapons.
“Someone get a light and let's see who we've got here.”
A torch was quickly brought and the troopers recoiled in surprise at the nature of their captive.
“It's one of those damned beasts!” exclaimed a burly guard with a pike. He drew the weapon back and the tery readied to dodge. “This'll finish –”
“Stop!” cried a voice from somewhere in the dark.
The troopers turned to see who had dared tell them to spare a tery. A young man dressed in civilian clothes stepped into their midst with an imperious manner.
Dennel.
The sight of him walking free within Kitru's keep froze the tery in shock.
“Just who are you to be giving orders around here?” said the man with the pike.
“Never mind that,” Dennel said. “Just let me tell you that if this tery is killed, Kitru will have your head. This particular beast could be very valuable to him.”
The trooper paused, uncertain, looking as if he was considering
using the pike on Dennel. The tery sensed his resentment at being told what to do by someone he considered an unblooded, baby-faced, non-combatant upstart. But if this youngster were telling the truth, the trooper might well end up on the receiving end of Kitru's wrath – and that was not a place anyone wished to be.
He turned to the man beside him. “Get Captain Ghentren.”
There followed a short period of tense waiting during which the tery put aside his surprise at Dennel's appearance and looked for an avenue of escape. He found none. The troopers formed a tight, impenetrable semicircle around him.
Half-dressed, his eyes puffy from sleep, the captain arrived and the tery felt an involuntary growl escape his throat. His body crouched to spring. He knew this man. This was the officer who had ordered his men to slice but not to kill...this was the parent-slayer!
One of the troopers who was watching him more closely than the others heard the growl and recognized the tery's stance. He raised his crossbow.
“Watch him!”
The tery forced himself to relax as the troopers pointed their bows and pikes at him, ready to kill at the slightest move. He would never reach the captain.
The officer glanced at the tery without the slightest hint of recognition in his expression, then turned to his men.
“This had better be important enough to wake me – I'm to leave on a mission for Kitru before the first light.”
The burly trooper with the pike stepped forward and pointed to Dennel. “This whelp says Kitru will have my head if we kill the tery.”
The captain turned to Dennel. “Oh, so it's you. Since when do you speak for the lord of the keep?”
“Because I know this beast,” Dennel replied. “It's the girl's pet and she's very attached to it.”
“I care nothing about the Finder's pet,” he snarled and turned away, throwing a command over his shoulder. “Kill the ugly thing and burn its filthy carcass in the pit.”
“You'd better care about the Finder's pet!” Dennel shouted.
The captain whirled, rage blazing in his eyes. “You watch your tongue or I'll have it removed!”
“I – I'm sorry, sir,” Dennel said quickly. “But I'm only trying to be helpful. The Finder is immensely important to Kitru. He can try the drugs first, but if they fail, he'll need a lever to get cooperation from the girl. This beast might just be that lever.”
Drugs? the tery thought. What are drugs?
But the question washed away in the rush of anger that followed as he realized Dennel had been a party to Adriel's abduction – had planned it, perhaps.
The captain was pondering Dennel's remarks. The tery silently urged him to find some advantage in keeping him alive. For the tery now had two scores to settle.
“If the drugs work on the Finder, you can burn the tery at dawn or whenever you wish,” Dennel said to the captain in a low voice. “But if the drugs fail – and I understand they are not too reliable – the tery might prove useful to Lord Kitru, and then you will be glad he is still alive. Then you can take full credit for his capture.”
“Perhaps you are right,” he said with sudden mildness. He turned to the troopers. “Take the creature below and throw it in with the crazy one. I think they'll make excellent company for each other.”
This brought a laugh from all the men and broke the tension. Dennel turned and departed.
“By Mekk's beard, who was that?” one of the pikemen muttered as they watched him go.
“A coward and a traitor to his own kind,” Ghentren replied in a low voice. “He thinks he's got Kitru's ear, but the lord himself told me that as soon as he has no further use of the whelp, I can do what I wish with him.”
The tery saw the captain's smile and knew from experience what kind of torment it could spell.
A pikeman gave him a poke with the sharp end of his staff and he was prodded toward a sunken stairway that led under a building adjacent to the main tower.
“Below” consisted of a small underground chamber broken up into three tiny cells. Apparently they little need for incarceration facilities at the keep. Executions were far more economical and certainly less time consuming. Sharp, jabbing pike tips herded him into the middle cell and the lone guard locked the door behind him.
Amid harsh barks of laughter someone yelled, “Company for you, Rab!”
The laughter faded as the tery watched the troopers file out. The guard reseated himself by the door and tried to doze. The tery rattled the door and tried to figure out why it wouldn't open. He had heard of locks, but had never seen one. He was peering through the keyhole, trying to see the inner works, when a gentle voice startled him.
“You're a man, aren't you.” It was not a question.
The tery whirled to see a filthy, bearded, bedraggled man standing behind him, watching him.
“I can tell by the way you examine that lock that you're more than just an intelligent animal.”
He looked old at first, but as he moved forward and came into the faint light from the hall, he appeared to be somewhere between youth and middle age.
“Can you speak?” he asked.
The question was so casual, it took the tery by surprise. The man's attitude reminded him of Tlad. He hesitated a moment, then realized that there was little point in hiding his ability from his cellmate.
“I can speak,” the tery said in a slow, harsh, grating voice. “But I'm not a man.”
So odd, speaking to this human. He had never really spoken to anyone but his mother and father in his entire life. He had repeated words and sentences to make Adriel happy, but that was hardly speech.
“Oh, you're a man, all right,” the dirty one said, looking the tery over. “It's just that nobody ever told you so. My name's Rab, by the way.”
“The troopers called you ‘crazy,’ ” the tery said pointedly. “Twice.”
“And I must look the part, too,” Rab laughed. “But anyone who's been locked up in a hole for months without a bath, clean clothes, or decent food will start to look a little crazy” – his voice lowered briefly, almost as if speaking the next phrase to himself – “and perhaps even feel a little crazy at times” – then rose again – “but I assure you I'm not. And I also assure you that you're quite as human as I.”
The tery snorted. “Do not play with me. I may not be human but neither am I a fool.”
“But you are human.”
“I know what I am: I'm a tery, a product of the Great Sickness.”
“And I'm a doomed heretic for knowing that you're not!” Rab shouted angrily.
The tery turned back to the lock. The soldiers were right. This man was insane.
Rab eased his tone. “Sit down and let me tell you what I've learned. You'll find it hard to believe because it goes against everything you've been taught since birth. But I can prove it – at least I could when I had my books. Sit. We've got plenty of time.”
The tery was not so sure of that. Yet, what else could he do? He had tried the door and knew it was proof against even his strength. The conversation he had overheard between Dennel and the captain had eased his fears about Adriel being in any immediate danger...and perhaps this deranged human could help him if humored.
“Please?” Rab said. “Please?”
No human had ever said that word to him. Reluctantly, he eased himself down onto the damp, straw-littered floor.
“Good,” Rab said, squatting opposite him, rubbing his filthy hands together. “First off, I've suspected since my early youth that the tery is not the mutated beast tradition tells us he is. In fact, I more than suspected it – I knew it.”
“How could you ‘know’ it?”
“Never mind how. That's not important now. Let it be enough for the moment that I did.”
“Everybody knows that teries were a product of the Great Sickness after it swept across the world.”
“No-no! That's not true. Listen. You'll see. I was raised a scholar in Overlord Mekk's court and had the training and time to search i
nto the past. I found old manuscripts from as far back as the time of the Great Sickness. Our language has changed much since then but I did manage to decipher them and found many references to a group of people called ‘the Shapers,’ and ‘the Teratols.’ Just who they were and what they did was never explained. It seemed to be taken for granted that the reader knew.
“All this whetted my appetite for more, so I searched deep into the caves and ruins that surround Mekk's fortress. In one I chanced across some old – very old – volumes. They were lovely things, different from all the others, in perfect condition, printed on incredibly thin sheets of metal...five volumes... you've never seen anything like them...”
His voice trailed off as he briefly seemed to relive the find, a scholar's ecstasy beaming through the grime and matted hair that covered his face. Then he shook himself and resumed his tale.
“Yes...five volumes. I finished translating four of them a few months ago and was so caught up with what I'd learned that I ran to tell Mekk himself.”
He paused and smiled grimly. “That was a stupid thing to do – for that act alone I deserve to be called Crazy Rab. I didn't get to see Mekk, of course. No one gets to see the Overlord these days since the True Shape priests took over as his advisors. I was shunted off to one of the high priests and should have had sense enough then to keep quiet. But no. Crazy Rab had to lay the entire translation out before the high priest. I was so excited about what I'd found that I never considered what a threat it was to the political power the True Shape cult had acquired.”
The tery listened with growing interest. If the True Shape cult felt threatened by Rab's discoveries, perhaps there was something to them.
The Complete LaNague Page 52