Journey into the Void (46 page)

“Retreat!” he shouted, striking savagely to the right and left. “Retreat!”

He bent over his horse's neck and dug his heels into the brute's flanks. The horse, already maddened by the shrieks and the smell of blood, charged into the midst of the taan, bowling them over and trampling them beneath its hooves.

Klendist's only thought was to escape the carnage. He was surrounded by tents, surrounded by taan. One of his men cried out to him for orders, but he ignored him. It was every man for himself now.

A few of his comrades caught up with him, and they banded together, trying to fight their way out of the ring of death, slashing at taan faces that loomed, shrieking, out of the darkness.

Klendist saw a way out. He headed for it and at last he was free of the camp, out on open ground. He had maybe ten men with him, and most of them were wounded. He alone was unscathed.

He glanced back toward the taan camp and was relieved to see that the taan were not coming after them. They too busy with their killing. He could hear screams, moans, and the pleas of his men not to be left behind.

He knew very well what would happen to those who remained in taan hands. He'd seen for himself how the taan treated their prisoners. He'd seen living men disemboweled, seen their arms and legs hacked off.

Klendist grunted and rode on. He wasn't about to go back into that fiends' nest. Not with ten men, some of whom were riding dead men, by the looks of them. He galloped on, heading for the meeting place. Perhaps the other half of his force had experienced better luck. He'd join up with them, regroup, come back, and finish off these slimy gigs.

“Captain! Look!” one of his men called.

Klendist turned in the saddle, looked to the north. An orange glow lit the grasslands, coming from the direction of the other taan camp. Klendist smiled grimly and urged his horse toward the fire, hoping to at
least arrive in time to slit a few taan bellies before they were all killed. One man, riding beside him, slid off his horse, fell to the ground, too weak to remain in the saddle. Klendist ignored him, rode on.

He was close enough to see black shapes milling about the dancing flames when a figure loomed at him of the darkness. Klendist raised his sword and bore down on the foe.

“Captain! Hold! It's Jonson!”

Klendist arrested his killing stroke, yanked hard on the horse's reins to pull it up.

“Looks like you've had some fun!” he shouted. Then he was close enough to see Jonson's face.

“Fun, sir!” Jonson echoed in a hollow voice. He was deathly pale, his eyes wide and starting out of their sockets. He was covered in blood, and half the hair had been singed off his head.

“We rode into a hornets' nest! Or worse—a nest of Void sorcerers! I've never seen the like, Captain, and I hope to the gods I never see anything like it again. Dick Martle was riding next to me and one of those black-robed fiends came out and pointed at him and he…he…”

The man choked, leaned over his horse to vomit.

“Well?” said Klendist grimly.

“He turned into a living corpse. Right there in the saddle. They sucked the life out of him, all the juice, the flesh. I saw his skull grinning at me, and then he was nothing but a pile of ashes…Gods, sir! It was horrible!” Jonson retched again.

“But who set the fires? Didn't you?”

“They set them,” said Jonson with a shudder. “Who would have thought the gigs'd set fire to their own camp? Gives 'em light to kill by, I guess. You hear those screams, sir?”

Klendist was trying hard not to. “I hear them.”

“They're tossing our men into the blaze. Alive. Roasting 'em like pigs.”

“How many came out with you?”

“I don't know, sir,” said Jonson. “I wanted only one thing and that was to get out of that Void pit! I didn't wait around to see what anyone else was going to do.”

More of his men were arriving, riding up singly or in groups of twos or threes. Some who'd lost their horses rode double with their comrades.
Klendist made a swift count of about thirty. Thirty out of two hundred. He pondered what to do.

He did not like to be beaten. He was tempted to ride back into the taan camp with his troop and gain his revenge. Some of the men had their blood up, were urging him to do just that. Others sat trembling in the saddle, shaken and stunned, their faces blanched from the horrors they'd witnessed.

Better to cut my losses, he decided. Shakur will be angry enough at it is. At least, I still have men enough left to deal with the Dominion Lords—

A horse whinnied, someone shouted, but it was too late. Klendist thought for a wild moment that the night itself had taken on form and shape, for the darkness came alive. Strong hands grabbed hold of him and yanked him from his saddle.

Klendist landed heavily on his rump. He'd dropped his sword, but he had his fists and his wits. He knew that to lie for long on the ground was to lie forever in his grave, and he scrambled to his feet. He lashed out with his fist at the first face that came near, felt the satisfying crunch of bone.

Death was all around him. He saw Jonson fall, his skull crushed. Something struck him on the head. The blow dazed him, and he reeled backward, stumbled into strong arms.

“I can save you,” said a voice in his ear, a human voice, speaking Elderspeak. “But you'll have to keep your mouth shut and do as I say.”

Klendist gave a groggy nod.

An arm strong as a steel band wrapped around his chest. He felt the prick of a knife at his throat and any thought of struggling against his captor vanished.

“This one is mine!” said the human in harsh tones. “He is my prize.”

Klendist saw that his attackers were half-taan, the accursed offspring of human and taan. He was surrounded by these monstrosities, with their half-human, half-beast faces and their half-human voices. They regarded him with wide grins of glee. Their hands were dark with blood.

“I killed one, Raven!” said a half-taan in excitement. She wore hardly any clothes. Her breasts were bare and smeared over with mud. “I killed him as you taught me.”

“All are dead, Raven,” said another. “As you ordered.”

“You did well,” said the human, who had hold of Klendist. “Drag
their bodies back to our camp. We showed the taan we could outwit them. We will now show the taan we are warriors!”

The half-taan gave a cheer and shook their weapons in the air.

“Still, it would have been better if we had taken slaves,” said one of the half-taan. “The taan would have even more respect for us.”

“No!” said the human sharply, his voice rasping in Klendist's ear. “There will be no slaves in our camp. Your own mothers were slaves. You were slaves. You were tortured, tormented. Would you do that to another person? If so, you can leave my tribe. Clear out. I don't want you.”

The half-taan hung their heads.

“We are sorry, Raven,” said a female, chastened. “We did not think. Of course, you are right.”

“We make clean kills,” Raven said sternly. “These men were armed, they came to fight and to die. We came to fight and to die. That is war. Death and glory are the fate of the warrior, not slavery. And it is not a warrior's fate for his flesh to fill our bellies. Once we have shown the bodies to the taan, I will teach you how to build a burial mound for these men and how to honor the dead.”

The half-taan were bewildered by this concept. Several scratched their heads, but no one protested.

“What about the one you have, Raven?” asked the female. “What will you do with him?”

“He is their leader, their nizam, Dur-zor. I will question him.”

The half-taan chuckled. They thought they knew what was coming for the human.

“Could we watch?” asked one eagerly.

“No. He will talk more freely if it is just the two of us.”

The half-taan were disappointed, but the human added, by way of distraction, “You can keep the armor and the weapons you captured. Those are the honorable prizes of a warrior. And we will keep the horses. I'll teach you how to ride. No more walking. Walking,” he added with a grin, “is for taan. Now they will eat
our
dust!”

The half-taan cheered again, but the cheering was subdued. They were happy about the armor, but they glanced askance at the horses, clearly not enthusiastic about learning to ride the tall, formidable beasts.

The human gave Klendist into the keeping of the half-taan he had called Dur-zor, a female. Klendist had the disgusting impression, from the
way she looked at him and talked to him that this half-taan was the human's mate. He wasn't surprised. This Raven was a Trevinici, humans who were little better than savages themselves.

The half-taan bound Klendist expertly, hand and foot, then left him lying on his belly on the ground. From that vantage point, Klendist watched the half-taan fling the bodies of his men over the saddles of the horses and lash them securely in place. This done, Raven showed the half-taan how to lead the horses by their reins, showed them how to calm a spooked horse by rubbing its nose and speaking gently to it. The half-taan had a way with horses, seemingly, for the animals responded well to them. The half-taan began to grow more at ease.

“Will I stay with you, Raven?” Dur-zor asked.

“No, go back to camp. See that my orders are carried out,” said Raven. “You are nizam in my absence.”

A shadow of fear fell across her face. She looked from him to Klendist, lying on the ground.

“Leave me that horse,” said Raven, pointing. “That's your horse, isn't it?” he said to Klendist, who gave a nod.

“Raven…” said Dur-zor uneasily. She touched him gently on the arm. “Raven, will you…” She couldn't go on. Her courage failed her.

He put his hand on her ugly face, leaned down, and kissed her on the mouth. Klendist thought he was going to be sick to his stomach.

“Go back, Dur-zor,” Raven said. “Watch over our people.”

“Yes, Raven,” she replied quietly.

Rounding up the others, she led them away. She looked back once, as she did so. Raven smiled at her, and she smiled tentatively back. Then she faced forward, continued walking. Her people came behind her, leading the horses loaded with their gruesome cargo.

Raven watched them until they were out of sight, never spared a glance for his prisoner. Klendist had lots of time to think, and he finally had it all figured out.

“You're a free man now, Trevinici,” said Klendist. “Cut these ropes, and we'll get out of here before the gigs ever miss you. My horse can carry us both, at least back to my camp.”

The sky to the east was gray with the first faint light of the coming dawn. Raven squatted down beside Klendist, looked him in the face.

“That wasn't a ruse,” Raven said. “I belong with them. I don't expect
you to understand.” He shrugged. “I'm not sure I understand myself. But that is the way it is.”

Klendist scowled, struggled in his bonds. “I might have known. You're a damn savage. No better than these gigs.”

“And you, by your stink, are a Vinnengaelean mercenary,” said Raven. “Who hired you to come attack us? Who knows we're here? The Vinnengaelean army? Some local lord? Who?”

“The gigs are damned Void-spawn!” Klendist growled. “No one paid me to attack them. I had to live among them myself for months. I never turned into one of them, though. I never turned traitor to my race! It's a human's duty to rid Loerem of the monsters. It's the duty of every human.” He glared at Raven.

“I'd say you failed in your duty,” said Raven, grinning. “So you claim you thought up this raid yourself? You are either a great fool or a cunning liar.” Raven gazed intently at Klendist.

“I believe you,” Raven said at last. “Which means you are a great fool.”

“Cut me loose!” Klendist swore. “I'll fight you with my bare hands.”

“I'll cut you loose,” said Raven coolly. “But I won't fight. I could never wash away the yellow of your coward's blood.”

He sliced through Klendist's bonds. Klendist rubbed his wrists and looked about for his sword. He saw it lying nearby.

“I will take your horse,” Raven was saying. “A noble animal, far too noble to bear the likes of you—”

Klendist made a leap for his weapon. His hand closed over the hilt. He swung himself around, swinging the sword at the same time. Raven ducked the wild, slashing blow. His foot slammed into Klendist's groin, doubled him over. Klendist fell into the dirt, lay there clutching himself, rolling about in agony.

“I would not stay here long,” Raven advised. “Taan scouts will be out on patrol. You won't want them to find you.”

“You'll be sorry for this,” Klendist gasped. “I'll remember you, don't think I won't. There'll be rewards out for your head, Trevinici. Every bounty hunter from here to Dunkarga and back will be on the lookout for you, you damn gig-humper.”

“You've already wasted a lot of valuable time,” said Raven.

Picking up Klendist's sword, Raven swung himself up onto Klendist's
horse. With a smile and a mocking salute, the Trevinici rode off and was soon lost to sight among the hills.

Left alone, lying on the blood-soaked ground, Klendist took stock of his situation. He thought about Shakur. He thought about the taan scouts. Klendist decided that the Trevinici's advice was sound. Gritting his teeth, he pulled himself to his feet. Massaging his burning member, he staggered off, heading northward.

Klendist had a lot of ground to cover this day. Not only did he have to escape the taan.

He had to escape Shakur.

T
OWARD MIDDAY, RAVEN, MOUNTED ON HORSEBACK, RODE INTO
Dag-ruk's camp. His half-taan tribe followed him on foot, leading horses behind them. All was silent in the taan camp, except for the moans of the dying prisoners, staked out in the tall grass. The taan warriors gathered around Raven, but said nothing, made no move. The warriors eyed the bodies that the half-taan brought with them, eyed the horses that the half-taan led, the bloodstained weapons they carried. They noted that the half-taan walked with heads held high, walked proudly, as would a taan.

Raven did not deign to look at any of the warriors. He kept his gaze fixed on Dag-ruk's tent.

She emerged, as Raven rode up to the front of her tent. He dismounted, stood facing her. Dur-zor came hurrying up to translate. She did not kneel to Dag-ruk, as she would have once done. She stood proudly at Raven's side.

Dag-ruk looked at the bodies of the humans. She looked at the half-taan. She looked, last, at Raven.

“These humans escaped your warriors,” Raven told her. “They were going to regroup, attack your camp again. We stopped them.”

Dag-ruk's eyes flickered. She seemed uncertain how to respond. She could not deny that some of the humans had managed to escape, nor could she deny that the half-taan had brought them down. Raven waited for her to say something and, when it became clear she
had nothing to say, he remounted his horse. Reaching down his hand, he caught hold of Dur-zor and pulled her up behind him.

“We are returning to our camp now,” he said, “to celebrate our victory and to put the dead to rest.”

Dag-ruk found her voice. “They are strong food. Your warriors will dine well this night.”

Raven understood the compliment, and he was immensely pleased by it. He was careful not to show his pleasure, however.

“We will dine on the wild boar we killed yesterday,” he said. His gaze went to the six taan who had tried to steal it. “The dead we will bury.”

“That is not the way of the taan,” Dag-ruk said coldly.

“No,” said Raven, “but it is the way of the half-taan.”

 

K'let returned to the taan camps the morning after the raid. He cast a curious gaze at the human prisoners as he walked through the camp. K'let said nothing, asked no questions until he reached his tent. Immediately on arrival, he sent for Derl.

The aged, wizened shaman had been on the lookout for K'let, and he responded to the summons with eager alacrity. K'let took his preferred form, that of the albino taan he had been in life. He met Derl with a frown, for the shaman had to be assisted into the tent, leaning on the strong shoulder of one of his assistants.

“What have you done to yourself?” K'let demanded.

“I was injured in the battle last night,” Derl replied, with a proud glint in his eye. “A twisted ankle, nothing more.”

“He was leading the attack, Kyl-sarnz,” said the assistant. “He killed many before he slipped in some blood and went sprawling. Fortunately, the warriors found him and carried him to safety.”

“That the day should come when I have to be carried to safety,” Derl muttered, irate.

“Still, they did well,” said K'let. “I cannot afford to lose you, my friend. Now of all times. Leave us, Shaman. I will take care of him.”

The shaman deposited Derl gently upon the floor. The elderly taan appeared so frail and fragile that it seemed his bones might snap at a touch. K'let did not make a fuss over him, for that would have disgraced both of them. He ordered that strong food be brought to Derl and encouraged him to eat in order to regain his strength.

Derl had long ago lost any appetite for food of any kind, but he ate a little to do honor to his host.

“What happened here?” K'let asked, when Derl had shoved away his bowl.

“A human raiding party,” said Derl, and that was all that needed to be said on the subject. “But what of your mission, K'let? Do you have the Sovereign Stone?”

“No,” K'let replied.

“No?” Derl was disappointed. “Did Tash-ket fail in his mission?”

“He did not fail,” K'let said. “He obtained the Stone from the gdsk. I could have taken it. I chose not to.”

“But, K'let, your plan…” Derl was bewildered.

“My plan.” K'let chuckled. “Why settle for one Stone when I can have all four and Dagnarus into the bargain?”

Derl stared, amazed.

K'let was pleased with himself. He started to slap Derl on the knee, thought better of it. He might break something. He contented himself with tapping Derl on the chest.

“You have always said that the gods of the taan are with us, even in this strange land. You are right. I was on my way to meet with Tash-ket to obtain the Stone, when I came across Shakur. It seems that Dagnarus discovered that Tash-ket had stolen the Stone in my name. Dagnarus was furious, and he sent Shakur after me.”

“Shakur!” Derl spit on the ground. “Did you dispatch him to the Void where he belongs?”

“Shakur is a slave,” said K'let with contempt. “What honor is there in fighting a slave? It is his master I seek.”

“And you have found a way?”

“I have. The gods brought me in time to overhear Shakur tell one of his human toads that Dagnarus has set a trap for the four Sovereign Stones. Even now, chosen warriors of each race bring the stones to Old Vinnengael. And there, too, comes Dagnarus. The gods are with us, Derl,” said K'let, nodding. “The gods are with us.”

“We will give thanks this night to L'K'kald and Lokmirr for it is their hands I see in this,” Derl said, nodding wisely. “Are you certain that this Stone means so much to Dagnarus that he will come for it?”

“All that he has done in this land, all the blood of our people that he
has spent has gone to gain him this one object, this Stone. He will come for it.”

“This Stone must have very powerful magicks,” said Derl, his watery eyes shining with greed. “Perhaps you do wrong to give it up.”

“Bah!” K'let gave a snort. “Xkes magic. Worthless. The Dagger of the Vrykyl, now. That is Void magic. With it, I will create an army of kyl-sarnz. When we go back to our own land, we will be invincible. None can stand against us.”

“What do we do now? What are your orders?”

“You and the tribes will remain here and wait for Nb'arsk and L'nskt and their tribes to meet up with us. I will go on to Old Vinnengael. When I come back with the Dagger and my slave, we will travel to the hole-in-the-air and return through it to our land.”

“Your slave!” Derl rubbed his withered hands. “I know who one will be…”

K'let gave a hooting laugh. “Dagnarus will serve
me
for a change. Eternity will not be long enough for my pleasure at the sight of him kneeling before me.”

“But who will be your other Vrykyl?” Derl asked. He bowed his head. “I hope that one day you will so honor me, yet, I feel that I still may be of some use to you alive—”

“Not you, my friend,” said K'let, resting his hand on Derl's shoulder. “Someday, as you say, but not now. You must take us back to the gods, back to the old ways.”

“Then who?”

K'let rose to his feet. Going to the tent's entrance, he parted the flap. “Send for the human, R'vn. Tell him to bring food and water and his weapon. I have a journey to make, and he will accompany me. We are going to the City of Ghosts.”

 

Dur-zor and the other half-taan were elated when the messenger arrived with word that K'let had chosen Raven to accompany him on his mysterious mission to the City of Ghosts. Dur-zor could barely contain her glee as she translated the taan's message, and the other half-taan whooped and shouted and chanted Raven's name. The commotion grew so loud that some of the young taan warriors of Dag-ruk's tribe came running over to find out what was going on.

Proudly, Dur-zor told them. The young warriors gazed at Raven with admiration and envy. Some touched him in hopes that his good fortune would rub off on them.

Raven said what he knew that his people wanted to hear. He spoke of the great honor done to him, then he went into his tent to pack what he would need for the trip.

Dur-zor entered the tent. “Raven, the messenger grows impatient—What is the matter?” Alarmed, she caught hold of his arm. She stared at him, her face contorted in horror. “Raven! I forgot! The claim he made on your life…you can't go!”

“I have to. This is a great honor. Dag-ruk would give every magic stone in her hide to have this honor.”

He smiled at her, shrugged. “I am a nizam, Dur-zor, and one of the responsibilities of the nizam is to look after the welfare of the tribe. If I go with K'let, the half-taan will be honored and accepted by the taan, even if I am no longer here to watch over them.” He picked up his pack. “You are nizam while I am gone.”

Dur-zor flung herself into his arms. “I will wait for you. I will be here. We will all be here, waiting for you. I will pray to the gods for you. I will pray to your gods.”

“I would like that, Dur-zor,” he said.

As he left the camp, the half-taan cheered their nizam and, to his astonishment, cheers went up from Dag-ruk's camp.

Raven left the cheers behind, left all that he cared about behind. Looking back, he saw Dur-zor standing in the midst of the tribe, her tribe now. She raised her hand, waved to him. He waved back, then he faced forward. He never expected to see any of them again, and he was startled to find how much that hurt him.

He had gone about two miles when a dark shadow of enormous wings slid over him. Tilting his head, Raven looked into the cobalt blue sky.

A dragon flew among the clouds.

Raven had heard of these wondrous beasts all his life, but he had never been privileged to see one. He stopped walking to stare, entranced by the dragon's marvelous, deadly beauty.

The dragon was far, far above him, but even at that height, he could see the sun shimmer on red scales, so that they flashed with fire. He could
see the sinuous curve of the neck, the glistening tail, the slow dip and rise of the enormous wings. The dragon was too high to see him, save perhaps as a speck on the rolling hills.

The dragon flew on. Raven watched until it had disappeared from sight. He would never know that in that moment he had seen his wayward sister, Ranessa. Yet he knew that in some strange way, the sight of the dragon lifted his heart, gave him courage.