DemonWars Saga Volume 2: Mortalis - Ascendance - Transcendence - Immortalis (The DemonWars Saga) (184 page)

Yatol Daek relaxed, though, and the moment of danger seemed to pass. “You may remain in the village,” he decided suddenly, and he waved his hand and looked away.

It took Brynn a moment to catch on, but she realized that she had been dismissed, and so, with a shrug, turned and started toward the door.

“Without a proper pronouncement of departure?” came Yatol Daek’s question behind her.

Brynn turned, looking at him with confusion. Apparently, she had broken yet another rule.

“I will forgive yet another of your transgressions,” Yatol Daek remarked haughtily. “But if you intend to stay here—indeed, Brynn Dharielle, if you intend to survive—then you would do well to learn what is expected of you.”

Brynn resisted the urge to show him her sword again, this time horizontally and point out.

She made no gestures at all, though, no sign of confirmation or denial of his last statement, and walked out of the room and out of the building. She knew that Daek Gin Gin Yan was inside conversing with Dee’dahk at that very moment, likely trying to discern the best method for discrediting Brynn in front of the other To-gai-ru, or for simply eliminating her altogether. She knew that she would be watched every step during her stay in Yatol Daek’s domain, and she suspected that her refusal to bend to his will would force a confrontation with him, and with Dee’dahk, fairly soon.

She knew, too, the dangers of that course, for this was a fine opportunity for her to come to better understand the truth of the present state of To-gai.

But so be it, she decided.

L
ayered in skins, from the shaggy and heavy coat of the brown ox to the silver
accents of the wolf, and with a tall and strong physique of corded, rolling muscle, Ashwarawu looked every bit as fierce as the reputation that preceded him. His long legs hung far below the belly of his pinto pony, seeming as if he could guide the creature easily through any maneuver.

Which he could.

His jaw was square and firm, his brow furrowed, a line of thick black hair accenting it from one side of his face to the other. That pronounced brow only added to the mystery and intensity of his dark eyes below it.

It was said that many of Ashwarawu’s enemies simply surrendered to him on the battlefield, begging for a quick and merciful death. Anyone who looked upon the angry To-gai-ru warrior did not doubt those rumors.

“They have not finished the wall,” one of the great leader’s scouts reported to him.

Ashwarawu nodded grimly, then turned to regard the single stone marker set in the grass, up from the banks of a dry riverbed: the spot where a young To-gai-ru man, Jocyn Tho by name, had been staked out and murdered.

Ashwarawu had brought his gang there purposely. He wanted them to see this marker—yet another example of the brutality of Yatol Grysh and his murdering soldiers. Many of Ashwarawu’s warriors were of that assaulted clan. Many had known Jocyn Tho.

It was just one more insult to the To-gai-ru, one more reminder that they and the Behrenese were not alike and not allies, and that they, whatever the cost, had to expel the conquerors from their sacred lands.

Ashwarawu walked his mount right past the stone marker. He tapped the tip of his great spear once, twice, thrice on the stone marker, a traditional signal from living To-gai-ru warrior to deceased that his death would soon be avenged. One by one, Ashwarawu’s warriors walked past the grave marker, tapping their weapons similarly.

The leader looked at his clansmen, his warriors, his friends, and he knew that they were ready this day.

“The builders understand?” Ashwarawu asked his scout.

“They believe that they can sneak in a score, and hide them,” the man answered.

A sly smile crossed the leader’s face. The folly of the conquerors to use the conquered in projects as vital as the building of fortifications! It hadn’t taken much effort on Ashwarawu’s part to make contact with the To-gai-ru wall-building slaves, and had taken even less to convince them to render aid in the attack.

He barked out a command to one of his undercommanders to organize the score of infiltrators, and with precision honed over the months of fighting, the undercommander was soon away, trotting across the steppes with nineteen eager warriors in tow. They would hide in the grass outside the town Douan Cal until dusk, and then, as the slaves arranged for distractions, crawl into the town one by one to their appointed hiding places. It was all too easy.

Ashwarawu led the attack just before the next dawn. With a hundred warriors
riding behind him, the great outlaw charged the still-sleeping settlement of Douan Cal.

Cries went up along the wall, from the sentries, calls to all the Behrenese settlers to take up arms and defend their homes. Dozens of men and women went up to those walls, twenty skilled To-gai-ru soldiers filtering up beside them.

Ashwarawu came in straight and strong, his spear held high above his head, the song of the warrior god, Joek, on his lips. The settlers rained arrows down on the attackers, but the thundering horde did not slow and did not turn.

And unlike the frightened Behrenese, the fierce To-gai-ru did not loose their missiles from a distance. They waited until they were in close, drawing back powerful bows—and no race in all the world could handle a bow from horseback better than the warriors of the steppes.

The thunder of the charge held, then, with Ashwarawu and his warriors milling about the base of the wall, which was barely higher than a tall man, firing arrow after arrow.

A Behrenese occasionally rose up to return the fire, but the barrage had him ducking, or had him dead, almost immediately.

Another group within the To-gai-ru archers went to work then, tossing grapnels up over the wall top, then turning their powerful ponies about and starting the pull immediately. As pony after pony hooked up, the wall began to groan and sway.

The Behrenese responded by charging to the spot, ready to loose a fierce barrage, ready to slice through the tugging lines.

But then the score of To-gai-ru infiltrators sprang up among the defenders, disrupting their shots and shattering any coordinated defense. Outposter after outposter was heaved over the wall, to fall to the dust at the feet of the merciless Ashwarawu.

Then the wall came crashing down, and battle was joined, and the mounted To-gai-ru sliced the lines of standing Behrenese apart with devastating precision.

For all of its construction, Douan Cal was not prepared for so large an attack, and had no chance of beginning to repel even the first assault. Many were dead or on the ground screaming in agony within a few minutes. Outmaneuvered, outflanked, and outfought, those who remained soon enough threw down their weapons, pleading for mercy.

Their answer came in one chilling word, “Ashwarawu.”

The captive men were bound and taken away, out to the dry riverbed, where a select few were untied and forced to dig holes in the sand, so that their bound kin could be buried up to their waists. In turn, Ashwarawu’s own warriors dug the holes for the remaining captive men.

Then, with forty-three Behrenese men squirming in the sand, buried to their waists and helplessly bound and blindfolded, Ashwarawu led in the To-gai-ru nomads of Jocyn Tho’s tribe, showing to them the many stones left by the dried-up river.

The stoning went on for hours, until the last Behrenese outposter leaned over limply, dead.

Most of Ashwarawu’s men left before it was finished, returning to Douan Cal to have their way with the Behrenese women before killing them outright.

The few children of the outposters were killed mercifully, at least, a single blow to the head before being thrown atop a large bonfire.

Jocyn Tho had been avenged.

H
er last transgression when leaving Yatol Daek, she learned, was one that offended her profoundly. In leaving the presence of Yatol Daek, To-gai-ru were expected to drop to one knee and bow their heads.

Brynn took great care over the next few weeks to avoid the Yatol, for she doubted that she could bring herself to do that, whatever the result.

The young ranger also took great care to learn well the rituals of life in the settlement. She tried to fit in as well as she could, though since she would not go anywhere without her sword and the bracer at least, she always seemed to stand out.

She also made time every day to go and see Runtly. The pony, who had run free all of his life, was not pleased to be indoors in a stall.

“Not much longer,” Brynn promised him every time she went to him. “We will be away to the wide fields again.”

The pony seemed to understand, and always calmed down when Brynn came in to see him. The last few days, though, Runtly had continued his cribbing, biting the wood at the front of the stall and tugging it back, even when Brynn was there, a clear sign that he was not happy.

Outwardly, Brynn remained calm, not wanting to distress the pony any more. Inside, though, the woman bit it all in and swirled it about, adding the situation to the list of crimes of the Behrenese, using it to build her hatred even more.

But she refused to allow her simmering anger to boil over. She was learning much there about the Behrenese and about the present state of the proud To-gai-ru. Many were assimilating; to Brynn’s distress she heard more than one of her fellow villagers claiming that the new way of life introduced by the Behrenese conquerors was preferable to the old ways.

Not all of them felt that way, though. Certainly not old Barachuk and Tsolona, who peppered Brynn for tales of Kayleen Kek every night after they had retired to the old couple’s home. Though she didn’t have many tales to tell of that long-past time, Brynn always tried to accommodate—and she always tried to draw out recollections of the past from the old couple. And so it happened that these two, Barachuk and Tsolona, became Brynn’s informal tutors, schooling her in the way things had been, and in the way she intended for things to be again.

All remained relatively stable during those weeks, with the village preparing for the onslaught of winter. Just north of the Belt-and-Buckle, winter did not hit hard, but the To-gai steppes were of high enough elevation for the winter wind to bite.

One day, the clouds gathering overhead with a threat of the first snow of the season, Brynn was going about her regular duties, bringing water from a nearby river, when she noted a commotion within the village, over by the stables. Sensing immediately that Runtly might be involved, Brynn dropped her two buckets and sprinted over, to find many Behrenese, including a fair number of soldiers and including Yatol Daek and Chezhou-Lei Dee’dahk, bringing out several of the pinto ponies.

Brynn winced when she saw Runtly come out of the barn at the end of a lead, handled by a cursed Behrenese.

She pushed through the gathered folk, to the front of the To-gai-ru line. “What are they doing?” she asked a young To-gai-ru woman, Chiniruk, who was standing beside her.

“Yatol Daek thins the herd,” the woman explained. “The chosen horses will be taken to Behren for sale.”

Before Chiniruk had even finished, Brynn started across the short expanse of open ground, toward Yatol Daek, who was directing the handling. He saw her coming, obviously, but pretended not to, continuing his stream of commands, including one to Chezhou-Lei Dee’dahk to return to his side—a clear sign to Brynn that he meant to incite her.

“My horse is among the group on the left,” she said, not waiting for an introduction.

“The group on the left is leaving for the market in Dharyan,” Yatol Daek replied, turning to regard her.

“My horse is among—”

“You have no horse!” the Yatol snapped suddenly, the volume and intensity of his voice bringing Dee’dahk’s hand to the hilt of her sheathed sword and bringing many of the nearby Behrenese soldiers to attention. “By the terms of surrender, all horses are the property of Chezru Chieftain Yakim Douan. Learn the rules and your place, wandering Ru.”

Brynn glanced over at Runtly, but only for a second, turning back on the Yatol, her rich brown eyes going narrow. “Runtly is my horse,” she said.

Yakim Douan glanced back at her, seeming rather amused by it all. “Truly?”

“Truly.” Not a hint of submission sounded in Brynn’s cold tone.

“Learn your place, wandering Ru.”

“If this is not my place, then I will take my horse and be gone from here,” Brynn replied.

Yatol Daek gave a snort and a chuckle. “You have no horse.”

“You are To-gai-ru,” Brynn declared. “You understand the meaning. There can be no mistake here!”

“Do not allow the mistake that I was born of To-gai-ru parents to bring any misunderstanding, fool. You have no horse. Now go back to the other peasants and be silent, before I lose patience with your ignorance.”

Brynn turned to Runtly and gave a shrill whistle, and the horse reared and
threw his head, tossing the Behrenese handler to the ground.

“Desist, or I will have the horse killed!” Yatol Daek cried, and when he looked again at Brynn, he looked, too, at her unsheathed sword.

“Release my horse, Yatol,” Brynn replied, but Daek was in full retreat already, issuing a shrill cry.

“Kill the girl! Kill the horse!”

As she started to pursue, Brynn saw Dee’dahk coming in hard, her curving blade out, spinning a vertical circle on her right, then working its way impressively over to the left, then behind her back and back out to the right again. Her charge came in perfect balance, that sword spinning effortlessly, and Brynn knew that in a fair fight, this warrior would be a worthy opponent indeed.

But this was not a fair fight, Brynn knew, for Dee’dahk thought little of Brynn’s fighting prowess. To the mighty Chezhou-Lei, Brynn was just another Ru, and unmounted. That did not amount to much in the Behrenese warrior’s estimation.

So she came in hard and fast, sword spinning to the right, sword spinning to the left, sword always out too wide to deflect.

Brynn kept her apparent focus on Yatol Daek, pursuing the man, but not really closing ground. She waited until the last possible second, until Dee’dahk was upon her. Then, with muscles honed and balance perfected from all her years of
bi’nelle dasada
, the elven-trained ranger pivoted on her back foot and thrust out, one, two, three, her magnificent sword slicing through the layered armor and driving hard into Dee’dahk’s chest.